All Around Me Are (Un)Familiar Faces

The feast that night was a sombre event. The lords and ladies were talking about the bouts they had witnessed during the day, but the hushed conversations that were heard all around the hall were definitely about the bout between the Mountain and the White Wolf. If one was to listen closely at the words being spoken, they would have been assured that none had anything better to say about the infamous knight from the Westerland. But that was a conversation among the most trusted allies and friends, for none wanted to attract the ire of the Lord of the Rock.

Even the King was in a sombre mood that evening. He drank his fill, of course, but the bluster and the boisterous boastings that were the norm for the man were absent. He took his leave from the feast quite early and asked his foster father and Hand, Lord Jon Arryn to join him for a cup at his solar.

"Young Jon truly is his father's son, eh Jon?"

"Yes, Robert. Ned has done well in his duties."

"Come now, Jon. You and I both know our Ned very well. Do you still think he is Ned's get?"

"Robert…" Lord Arryn's voice was full of caution.

"His eyes speak of his parents, Jon. You and I both know who Ashara Dayne danced with at Harrenhal. Blood speaks true, Jon. Can you deny the fact that you don't see Ned, Brandon and..." He let out a sigh, "Lyanna all put together when the lad stands before you?"

"Robert, mayhaps we shouldn't speak of all these out in the open…"

"Damn you, Jon! And fuck all these Godsdamned vultures who circle to pick at our carcasses. I see those lads and envy Ned. His heir, a bright, young lad with his Stark features and mother's colouring. Already led and won a battle in his own right. And then there is the famed 'bastard' of his. We both know why Ned claimed him as his bastard. But that is not the issue here, the lad is a damn fine warrior at this young age and a future rallying point for his men. A symbol of hope for all. I see them and I curse my damned luck that all I have to show for my legacy is a whiny piece of shit for a son who plans to rule the kingdoms by hiding behind his mother's skirt."

Lord Arryn sighed, he was thankful that Robert at least had the presence of mind to not raise his voice as he ranted. Even the King's solar was not secured from Varys' reach. He could only shake his head at his foster son's despair – You do have a son who could have been the epitome of Baratheon legacy. Alas, you will probably never get to know him.

"Come now, Robert. It is not proper for the King to -"

Robert cut him off, "Fuck you Jon…and fuck all these protocols." He slurred, "Bring me more wine!" He roared at the serving maid stationed outside of the doors, who jumped and ran to carry out the King's order.

Jon Arryn could only sigh.

[CotW]

Inside of the Queen's chambers was another conversation taking place, between Lord Tywin Lannister and his daughter, Queen Cersei.

"What do you know of these Northerners?" Lord Tywin asked in his no-nonsense voice as he sipped his wine.

Cersei frowned and took a moment to gather her thoughts –

"News has reached here about some savages attacking the other Northern savages, the Starks were at the forefront of that confrontation -"

"I know about all those," Tywin stopped her, "I do have a source of information in the North. What I want to know is why they are here and what exactly they have been up to."

Cersei had narrowed her eyes at the mild rebuke, she drank from her glass and again took a moment to think of what she was to say, "Robert was insistent that Eddard Stark comes out of his frozen hole to play with him after he heard about his whelps' exploits. I had to endure his whining that the Quiet Wolf remained reclusive after the Greyjoy Rebellion. He was so sure that this time his friend would visit him, but once again, Stark proved to be quite wily in his decision to send his sons in his stead. Although, I heard that Jon Arryn gave him the choice in his wordings in the missive that he sent."

Tywin nodded, "Continue."

"When they first arrived here, they didn't seem any different than any other of their age - uncouth, blathering lordlings, but as you know Robert, he pressed them so they may start to boast about their experience. It was then the Bastard of Winterfell appeared as nothing that I had expected him to be."

"What do you mean?"

"I, along with everybody else thought that the bastard would start to boast about how he ended the conflict by his lonesome, but he didn't. Rather, he explained the darker side of their conflicts that the bards forget in their songs. It was quite a beautiful verbal slap, father. I have never seen Robert flounder for his words quite so." Cersei giggled behind her cup at the memory.

Tywin only raised an eyebrow in reply, Cersei composed her posture and continued –

"Jon Arryn looked as if he was quite ready to declare the bastard as his heir. I have watched that Selmy and Jaime both had quite an appraising look on their faces for the bastard then."

Tywin leaned back in his chair, "Yes, that is another matter of concern. Both of your brothers are quite enamoured with the boy. What is your observation on that?"

"Well, the bastard seemed to be quite a scholar that he could hold his own against in any debate with Tyrion. And as you know father, no matter what, the dwarf is indeed quite clever. They have formed a sort of friendship and put enough clues together to dig up some dragon eggs from the pit. I don't know what he actually told Jaime, but since the next day of their arrival, Jaime could be seen practising with them in the yard. And then, of course, as you know, he denounced any reward for his part of finding the eggs and clearing the city of the wildfire, instead he restored Jaime's honour, and he, in turn, knighted the bastard."

Tywin laid back in his seat and kept watching the flickering flames of the torches. When he turned his intense gaze upon the Queen, Cersei squirmed in her seat.

"You would do well if you get out of the habit to call the boy a bastard."

Cersei gaped at him, "What…"

Tywin raised his hand to stop her, "If even half of the rumours about him are true, that boy is no mere bastard. News has reached my ears that the boy is not Ned Stark but Brandon Stark's son."

Tywin once again nodded his head at Cersei's widened eyes, "Yes, imagine my surprise when I heard that there was a possibility that Brandon Stark had married Ashara Dayne in secret and that boy is the result of the union. It would certainly explain a lot about the sudden proof of decadence of the honourable Ned Stark and his vehement denial to name the boy's mother. Brandon Stark was betrothed to Hoster Tully's eldest daughter, the now Lady Stark, Catelyn. If he had said that the boy is Brandon's son, old Hoster would have pressured him to kill the boy as a recompense of him dishonouring his daughter and making sure that his own blood inherits the North."

Tywin got up from his seat and started to pace around the room, "Instead, Ned Stark made sure that his sibling's blood remained safe and claimed him as his bastard. I don't know what he plans for the boy, but news has reached me that his ruse is a poorly kept secret. It is said that many of the Northern lords have already figured out about the boy's origin due to his nature. He is said to be as ferocious a fighter as was his father, and that is indeed true if Jaime saw it fit to knight him. He is sure honourable in his Stark upbringing as we all saw this afternoon in the jousting. I have doubts that anyone else would have tried to save Clegane's life the way he did. If only to see the end of a despicable man."

Tywin paused to pour himself some wine, "I know what you are thinking, why am I suddenly praising a man who has killed my attack dog? Believe you me, if he had done this in any other way, I would not have rested till I have everything he holds dear turn to ashes. But we cannot deny our own eyes that it was an accidental occurrence and the fact that the boy did try to save Clegane despite his own injuries. For what it's worth, I cannot blame him."

Tywin turned to see that Cersei had her head in his hands and massaging her temples.

"Son of Brandon Stark and Ashara Dayne, and probably trueborn too…who would have thought…" Cersei muttered to herself.

"Indeed," Tywin took a sip of his wine, "I am also quite sure that both Lord Arryn and Robert had an inclination of the boy's birth the moment they laid their eyes upon him. What I truly want to know is what the boy's plans are? Why did he insist upon clearing Jaime's name? Why he helped Tyrion to further the Lannister legacy? What does he want from us?"

"Recognition?" Cersei offered.

Tywin turned an irritated look on his daughter, "I taught you better than that, Cersei. Do you know what his current titles are? Ser Jon the White Wolf, the Protector of People, the Sword of Justice. Every child of the realms knows his name. No, it is not recognition he is after. He is quite an anomaly to the rules of the game of thrones. Him and his group of friends, which includes his brother Robb Stark, the heir to the North. Is it wealth? While it is true that the Northern realm is a poor one, this boy alone had earned quite a bit of wealth for himself in just a single tourney. He won the archery event, lost to Jaime and secured second place and the reward for it, and if I was a betting man, I would have put my coins on him to win the jousts too. His win against Clegane proves him to be a strong contender for the title. All of these and he is yet to see his sixteenth name days."

Lord Tywin sighed and sat back down, "I envy Eddard Stark in a way. His heir is a proven leader of men and his other son is becoming a legend." He shook himself off the thought and turned his gaze towards his daughter, "Mark my words, Cersei, the future of the North is quite secured in the hands of the next generation of Starks. We need to be ready for anything they put up in our way."

"What do you mean, father?"

"Relation with the North. They have already established relationships with the Riverlands through Eddard Stark's marriage with Lord Tully's daughter. The Vale is with them for being a foster son of Lord Arryn along with him being Stark's goodbrother through marriage. The Stormlands through his friendship with the King. Granted the friendship had been chipped a little after the Rebellion, but it is still there. Now us Lannisters and the Westerlands need to establish a pact with the Northerners."

Cersei had started to fume, "How do you propose we do that, father? I will not let any Stark bitch ensnare my Joffrey. I will not allow it!"

"If the situation demands so, you will." Tywin's voice had turned cold and cutting, reducing his daughter to cower in her seat. "I was not talking about Joffrey. He is the Crown Prince. Even if the North becomes prosperous, it will still take them quite a while to become so. No, I intend for the heir to marry Myrcella."

"You want to send my only daughter to that frozen hell?!" Cersei looked incredulously at her father.

"Not for many years, no. She is but a child at present. But I expect you to prepare her for that eventuality. I would have sent an offer for Gerion's bastard for the Stark's son but it is not possible now. His movements are unpredictable right now and I don't like it. I need to think deeply about the boy."

Cersei was glaring at her goblet; her rage was bubbling under the surface of her skin at the injustice her father had just decreed. She was to send her daughter away to those barbarians. Granted that Robb Stark and Jon Snow were not what she had expected, but she was not so sure about the rest of the Stark brood.

"What do you plan to do with my Joffrey?"

"Is it not obvious? The Tyrells have a daughter." Tywin smirked.

Cersei gasped, "Those grasping roses?"

Tywin leaned forward in his seat and placed his elbows on his knees and looked deep into Cersei's eyes, "You need to release that boy from your shadows soon in the future. Remember that he is the Crown Prince, and is expected to marry in a Great house. While I agree with you at this moment that we need to reduce the Stark's influence and thus won't be nurturing the idea of marrying Joffrey to any of the Stark daughters, that situation may change in the future. Aside from the Starks, there are the Martell princess, the Tyrell girl and the Greyjoy girl. I hope you do not dream of marrying your son to one of those reavers? That left either the Tyrells or the Martells, and our position with the Martells are not favourable, which means…"

"The grasping roses." Cersei sneered.

Tywin nodded, "I hope you have observed the alarming absence of the Tyrells at this tourney?" At his daughter's acknowledgement, he continued, "They say that the Queen of Thorns was unwell and thus they couldn't attend. But it has come to my knowledge that at this moment, they are preparing for a short visit with Mace Tyrell's goodfather, Leyton Hightower. Of course, where Mace goes, a tourney is sure to be arranged. Do you think that is a coincidence while it is also a known fact that the Northerners are to leave for the Old Town for their Maester to present his theory at the Citadel? Do not think so little of Olenna Tyrell, daughter. It is my belief that she has it all planned out. While their ambition is to see that their blood inherits the Throne, she is not averse to the idea of weighing all the possibilities. I want to nip their scheming before it takes hold."

"So we look for the Rose of Highgarden then?"

"Indeed."

[CotW]

A man entered a small, undescriptive room and sat down noisily on the only chair present there. He leaned back for a few moments and closed his eyes, letting a tired sigh escaping his lips. After a few moments, he got up and went to the small privy and poured water in a large bowl from a bucket. He took a piece of cloth and wetted it, using the cloth to rub off the dirt and other materials from his arms, hands and face.

After cleansing himself of the muck, he went back to the room and opened the half-broken closet in the corner, retrieving a set of clothes from within. As he started to take garments off of his body he began to ruminate about the events from the last few days, at first he didn't think it was anything special when he followed up with his sent message. Often, there were mistakes made when he tried to recruit a new chick to his little nest, he was always cautious whenever that happened and covered his tracks so that none can trace anything back to him. He went through his usual ways of tracking down his missing missive, and what did he find? The damned child had an encounter with the Northerners, and the bastard entertained the horde with his singings.

Now, while it was true that he was sorely lacking eyes and ears in the far lands of the North, he did have some form of information leaks. They mayhaps were just a trickle, but still better than nothing. He had heard of the Bastard of Winterfell earning himself a place for fosterage at the house of the Karstarks. The Lady of the house had taken quite a liking of the lad, as did the rest of the brood. It was heard that the youngest heir had filled the empty space left in the lad's life while his trueborn brother was sent off to the Mermen for his fosterage. The lad flourished being away from the repression of the Trout – be it arms, strategy, lord's lessons, or even music. But then everything had changed.

When he first heard the rumours of the Trout changing her songs for the boy, he thought his informants were needed to be replaced. Then he heard the most astonishing songs of all – not a stain in the robes of the Quiet Wolf, oh no, but a result of a union between the Wild Wolf and the beautiful Fallen Star. He had cursed himself for not looking more closely when the Quiet Wolf had brought the pup along with him.

Anyhow, he had them followed when he learned that his chick was lost to the wind. He listened in to their songs, dogged their tails. But nary a thought was spent on the lost chick. He would have laid it all to rest, but he couldn't take the risk. This one was proving to be a cunning pup. He had already snared the Lions while the Stag and Falcon both are enamoured with him. No, he had to take preventive measures. One simple nod from him and the lost chick's nest was brought to the ground. He had thought that he had his hands cleared, but what did he find? The other chick was firmly in the grasp of the pup. Oh, how he raged. The ones who were in charge of taking care of the matter were acquainting themselves beneath the waves of the Blackwater Bay.

He teetered himself silly when he heard the pup was to face the monster. But once again, his calculation proved him wrong. The man sighed as he finished putting on his perfumed garbs. He applied a generous amount of scented powder on his face, the image must be projected at all times. As he exited the room, he pondered his next steps, should he send a missive to watch over the Gardening Stewards, or should he send for Speared Sun and pave the way for the future? Decisions, decisions.

[CotW]

Another man entered his private rooms with a scowl on his face. Lord Petyr Baelish of Baelish Keep had excused himself from the lacklustre feast of the night and came back to his secret solar at the back of his brothel. He leaned into his chair and rubbed his eyes. The events of the day had taken their tolls on his mind. He still couldn't believe that the wolf bastard came out as a winner against the Mountain. He snapped at the girl who came into his solar to pour him some wine –

"Send for Mortimer. Tell him I want him here right this instance."

"O'course, m'lord."

Baelish took sips of his wine as he waited for his man to come. It didn't take very long for the said man to knock on his doors.

"Enter."

Mortimer Toynbee, for the lack of better words, was a vile looking man. His skin was pale with a waxy sheen, several warts could be seen on the uncovered parts of his body, long greasy hair, big and rounded eyes and a long stretched smile with yellow, uneven teeth. In short, his entire presence was repulsive. But Baelish had many uses for the man, if only for his ability to unearth every scrap of information that even his whores didn't manage to get from drunk nobles in their lust-addled minds. Baelish was glad that he had found the man in his young days when he was still a ward at Riverrun.

"What do you have?"

"M'lord," Mortimer bowed to him, "As you asked of me, I went to entice the man to fix the joustin', but it appeared we dinnit need to worry 'bout that."

Baelish frowned and leaned forward, "Explain."

"When I gone to this man abou' the joustin', he tol' me that there was already summan who paid him to pit the bastard with the Mountain. I found it funny an' got him good an' drunk, he lets on to me that he was a Lannister."

"So a Lannister man bribed to have the bastard go against the Mountain? How very interesting." Baelish got up from his chair and went over to the small window, looking out at the busy streets of the Capitol, lost in his musings.

Mortimer awkwardly shuffled his feet, "M'lord?"

"Hmm?" Baelish turned away from the window, "Oh, right. Yes, yes, you may go, Mortimer. You have done well."

"M'lord." Mortimer bowed low and left the room.

Baelish turned back towards the window, his mind awhirl with thoughts – Someone else had the same idea as I. This person who is apparently someone from the Lannisters bribed to have the bastard killed. But who could it be? The Imp and the Kingslayer had all but adopted the bastard with them. He is yet to earn the Queen's ire, apart from being born on the wrong side of the bed. Tywin could have planned this in such a short time, however, he doesn't have any reason to do so. Was it really a Lannister, or someone else wants to put the bastard down?

Baelish let out a weary sigh, he poured himself another goblet of wine – What was more, are the rumours that came to my ears. The bastard is Brandon's boy! Of all the fucking Starks, it had to be Brandon Stark. Baelish rubbed a hand on his chest, feeling for the bumps of his scar. He certainly has the luck to bring the Mountain down and coming out alive of that scuffle. None of his men set a foot in any brothel. Does he have such a tight leash or taking additional care to remain in the good graces of the King? Even the old fool Arryn can't see past his precious Ned's 'sons'.

Baelish slammed the goblet down on his desk and called out for the maid who brought the wine, "Did the Lion came for the Lysene whore again?"

The frightened woman kept her eyes down towards the ground, "No, m'lord, he hasn't been here for a month at least."

"Oh?" He raised an eyebrow, "That is…curious. What did he do the last time he visited?"

"The same, m'lord. He came in drunk, asked for her, went to the room together, and then spent half the night saying sorry to her before falling asleep. He woke up the next morning, threw a coin purse at her and left without saying a thing."

"Very well. Leave me now."

The woman bowed and left the room.

If only I knew what he was sorry for and who he was saying sorry to? Is it a Targaryen or some Velaryon? So much information to cause so much chaos. Only if his lips loosen a bit.

*Line Break*

The Pack had decided to skip the feast that night. They had the easy excuse of tending to Jon's wounds. Though Maester Luwin had taken a look at Jon's arm and assured them that a night's rest was all he needed to become fit again, they didn't want to leave their brother's side.

They had just settled down with a cup of wine each when a sound of banging on the doors put a stop to their conversation. The four frowned at each other, wondering who could be their visitor at this time. They didn't waste any time coming to a decision, Torrhen positioned himself near the window, where a bow and a quiver were hidden behind a chair. He was, after all, the best with the bow after Jon. Robb took a stance beside the hearth giving him an unobtrusive view of the entire room, his hands behind his back, lightly grasping the hidden daggers in his belt. Jon, with his left arm in a sling, was leaning back in a settee with his right hand lazily draped over a cushion, underneath of which Winter Rose was hidden. Asher took a look around the room and nodded his head, he adjusted his belt which had Freedom strapped at his waist within easy reach. He approached the doors and asked –

"Who is it?"

A slurred and gruff voice came from the outside, "I want to speak with the Wolf."

Asher frowned and looked over his shoulder towards Jon, who nodded his head. Asher took a deep breath and opened the latch to the door with his left hand, his right hovering near his axe.

He was surprised by the man standing outside of the room. Sandor Clegane, the infamous Hound, brother to Gregor Clegane and sworn sword to Prince Joffrey stood there on unsteady feet. He reeked of the smell of ale. Asher frowned at the man.

"What do you want, Clegane?"

The tall man looked down at Asher with disdain, a sneer formed on his lips, which didn't help his appearance with his burnt face.

"I want to speak with the Wolf."

"Come back in the morning then, when you are sober."

Sandor leaned down to level his eyes with Asher, Asher grimaced at the smell coming from the intoxicated man.

"You didn't hear me well, I said I want to speak with the Wolf!" He growled.

"Asher…" Jon called from inside of the room, Asher looked over his shoulder to see him giving a nod. Asher stepped aside and leaned leisurely against the wall beside the doorway. Clegane entered the room and peered around, his eyes roamed over all the other occupants of the room. Torrhen stood in front of a window leaning over a chair; Robb stood leaning against the mantle over the fireplace with his arms crossed and Jon sat on the settee with an arm in a sling and the other picking lint off a cushion. To the untrained eyes, they would have appeared as young lads without a care of any danger the man who just entered the room could bring upon them. But in reality, each of them was coiled to jump and reflect any attack in a blink of an eye. Clegane snorted once in derision and walked to stand before Jon on his swaying feet.

"You killed my brother!" The man growled at the lad sitting before him.

Jon looked into his eyes unflinchingly, in a calm voice he replied –

"I did."

"He was mine to kill!"

If Jon was surprised by that, he didn't show it on his face. Instead, he just raised an eyebrow.

"Oh?"

Clegane spent the next few minutes looking at Jon without saying anything. Jon could feel the others were becoming restless, but he didn't take his eyes off of the man.

"They say you fight to protect the people." It wasn't a question.

"I try to help where I can."

Clegane gave him a short nod. Jon sat up straight.

"They say you are a loyal dog to the Lannisters." It wasn't a question either.

"Fuck the Lannisters!" Came the reply.

Neither looked away from the other's gaze.

"We will meet again in the future, Wolf."

"Aye, we will."

Clegane left the room without saying another word.

Asher closed the door and leaned against them, relaxing a little now that the danger had left the room.

"What the fuck was that?"

"A wounded animal frustrated that I stole his kill."

*Line Break*

The tunnels beneath the Red Keep were amongst the most mysterious places of entire Westeros. Not because of their existence, no, but the feeling one would get while walking around the said tunnels. It seemed the weight of three hundred years of forgotten legacy stood before you as an almost solid obstacle. During his days as a member of the Kingsguard, Arthur did some security sweeps of the tunnels with his brothers, but they always walked in a chosen pattern, only checking for possible intrusions to the most important places, such as the Throne Room, the Royal chambers, the Hand's Tower. He had heard from Rhaeger that he did try to venture on his own in the tunnels, but once his mother, the Queen came to know about it, she had forbidden him to set foot inside the tunnels ever again. Now, he was following his friend's son through the same tunnels. He wondered what his grandmother would have said to her grandson's shenanigans.

He had protested. He had raged, yelled, even thought about throwing a tantrum much like a toddler. But he couldn't dissuade Jon from his idiocy. He knew that the lad was not completely healthy, the injuries he sustained from his bout with the Mountain still pains him, he was not moving his left arm much, and when he did, it always followed by a painful wince. But the mule-headed boy won't listen to him. He was as stubborn as his parents, much to his consternation.

They had reached the exit hidden by a false section of the outer walls. It would allow them to reach the docks in the cover of darkness. Before opening the secret door, Arthur stopped Jon.

"Jon, I implore you once again to listen to me. Please, think this through."

"I am telling you again, Uncle Eric, we have it under control. You need not worry."

"At least allow me to come with you then."

Jon sighed and turned back to embrace the older man, "I understand your worries, Uncle, believe me, I do. But this is important to me. And I need Wade to do something that only he can do. You are needed back at the barrack to keep an eye on Kurt. You know the danger he is still in. Trust in us, Uncle." He clasped his forearm and gave him an assuring nod.

The five of them pulled up their hoods, only a small portion of their lower faces were visible from the shadows those hoods cast. The dark colours of their garbs would make it impossible for anybody to discern them from the surrounding darkness of the night.

Before going out, Jon again turned towards Arthur, he could see that infernal smirk on his face –

"Besides, it would have been quite hard for you to keep up with us in your old age."

Arthur growled at him, "I will show you old the next time we spar, brat."

But Jon had disappeared into the darkness by then, only a sound of cackling laughter drifted from it, sending a chill down Arthur's spine.

[CotW]

Five shadows ran across the city with such a grace that was impossible to believe for someone if not seen by their own eyes. Nothing seemed to be too hard an obstacle for these shadows – walls, buildings, slanted roofs, they overcame all and continued their way running like gazelles, unhindered and uninterrupted.

They stopped once they had reached their destination. Quiet as cats, they had climbed up on top of the house and stepped carefully on the supports of the thatched roof. One of the shadows carefully removed the straws without making any noise, they leaned in to get a glimpse of the room underneath. They nodded to each other and again carefully and silently climbed down and gathered together at the darkened ally beside the house.

If one was awake and paid close attention to the seemingly invisible individuals, they would have heard the hushed voice of Ser Jon the White Wolf.

"Alright lads, we have eyes on our goal. I hope you all remember your parts."

They all nodded back at him. But Wade Poole had something he needed to interject –

"Are you truly set on the idea of not using any jackass, Wolf? I even have a pineapple with me." He brought out the said fruit from some folds of his clothes.

"Why did you carry that thing with you? On second thought, I don't truly need to know. Just get rid of it and do what I asked you to do."

Wade frowned back at him, "You seem to have a vendetta against having fun, Wolf."

Jon pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration, "Wade, first of all, you have messed up with your preparations. Since we are not about to enter any whorehouse, the pineapple and the jackass will be pointless. Secondly, we are trying to be discreet, so please, for the sake of the Old Gods and New, go and do what I have asked you to do."

Wade tossed the fruit over his shoulder and almost stomped out of the alley grumbling as he went –

"Lad wouldn't know what fun is even if it danced naked in front of him. But I swear to ya, ol' Wade will make you laugh at his japes someday…"

Jon turned to see his friends wearing huge grins on their faces. He frowned and spoke –

"Kindly wipe those smiles off your faces, we have work to do." He muttered along as he marched on, "That man truly scares me sometimes…"

[CotW]

Once again the four were up on the rooftop. This time, they had carefully and silently removed enough straws to make a rather large hole in the roof, large enough for a man to go through. Out of the four of them, Torrhen was the slightest, he had the end of a rope that they had brought along tied around his waist, while Jon and Robb, the strongest duo, gently lowered him inside of the room. It didn't take long for Torrhen to reach the rafters, he got a strong grip on the wooden pole and waved his arm up to signal the others that he had secured himself. Jon and Robb eased their grips on the rope with Asher hovering near them. They looked down to watch as Torrhen got to work.

Torrhen sat on the beam such as a horserider, he carefully took a ball of sorts out of the folds of his clothes. They had prepared this before getting out that night, the ball was made out of dry straw and twigs and wrapped tightly with a piece of cloth. He took out a small vial of the sleeping potion and poured it all over the ball. He looked down to see if the men in the room were aware of his presence, to his relief, they seemed to be as keen in their drinking as they were when they first took a glance of the room. Putting the vial away, Torrhen lowered himself on the beam and laid upon it, he calculated the distance between himself and the gently crackling fire of the hearth. He swung his arm a couple of times before lobbing the ball at the hearth. He waited for a few moments to see if any of the occupants of the room noticed the slight movement, but he released a sigh to see that they were still blissfully unaware. He pulled up the cloth that was wrapped around his neck to cover his mouth and nose and signalled the others. Soon, he felt a tug at his waist and he gently let go of the rafters. Jon and Robb brought him up and out of the hole and onto the roof. All three of them also had their mouths and noses covered.

Without wasting any words, the four quickly put the straws back to cover the roof and laid back down on the roof, looking at the night sky. About half an hour later, they heard the sound of a whistle coming from the ally. Silently, they got up and made their way down from the roof. Wade was waiting for them, he gave them a silent nod and pulled up his own cover up to his face. The five made towards the door of the house in quietened steps. Before going inside, Jon hissed –

"Make sure that the squire isn't among the men."

They all nodded and gently opened the doors without making any sound. It was a sparsely furnished room, on the right-hand side, was placed a single cot upon which was laid the corpse of the late Gregor Clegane. On the opposite side of the main doors, was the entrance towards the inner chamber where the rest of Clegane's men had gathered to hold a vigil for their passed master. But instead of standing beside his body, they had gathered at the inner chamber to have a small feast of their own, making the five's work much easier. Jon signalled the others to secure the inner chamber while he and Robb approached the body of Clegane. Robb untied a leather bag from around his waist and opened it while Jon put the huge head of the giant of a man inside of the bag. They tied the bag and Jon had it secured on his back. With their job done, they approached the inner chamber to see if the others were done with their part.

Asher, Torrhen and Wade had carefully examined every man that was lying unconscious in the room to see if the young squire of Clegane was among them. Satisfied to not find the lad there, they went about with their works. First, they smashed and mulched the remaining of the food and scattered them all over the sleeping men. Then, they upended the casks of ale and doused them with it to make it appear that they were drunk out of their gourds. They met with Jon and Robb at the doors and nodded to convey that each had performed their assigned tasks. They gathered in the main room as Wade went outside once again. Jon put a small bit of balled up clothes at the doorframe and pushed the doors closed. The cloth lodged under the doors making it so that none would be able to open them without applying considerable strength.

This time, Asher brought out a wineskin full of blood, which Wade had pilfered from the Royal kitchens and poured the blood over Clegane's remains. Meanwhile, Wade came back inside with a few emaciated dogs tied at the neck by a length of rope. The dogs had their tails between their legs and whined pitifully as Wade reached over to untie the knot of the rope. All of them quickly and quietly went out of the room leaving the dogs inside. They peered through the slightly ajar doors to see that the dogs sniffed the air and took fearful steps towards the corpse and started to lick the blood off of it. The five gave each other nods and disappeared into the darkness.

*Line Break*

The Wolfpack had just emerged into the courtyard when they were greeted by the sight of Tyrion Lannister who was quickly waddling his way towards the Throne Room.

"My Lord Tyrion, why the hurry?"

Tyrion stopped at the call and turned towards them, "Ah Ser Jon, and My Lords, good day to you all. Come along with me, lads. There is something you need to see."

"Oh?" The four fell into line beside the diminutive lion of the Rock.

"Yes, something happened the previous night, which has put the crease to my lord father's forehead. And pity the fool who has caused that."

They chatted amongst themselves as they entered a hush filled Throne Room. Tyrion nodded at them to bid farewell and went to stand with the other lords from the Westerland. The four made their way towards where the Riverlanders had taken position and stood alongside Edmure Tully.

"Good day, Uncle Edmure."

"Good day, My Lord."

"Ah, good day, nephew, My Lords, Ser Jon."

"What is going on, Uncle?"

"We are as confused, Robb. All we know is something happened last night."

All of the attending nobles began to understand the gravity of the situation when King Robert himself entered the Throne Room and sat on the Iron Throne. The Queen sat on his left in an ornate seat and Lord Arryn had taken his place as the Hand at the right side of the King. Ser Jaime and Ser Mandon stood flanking the Royals. Jaime's eyes roamed all around the hall and stopped for a brief moment when they landed on the Northerners, he winked at Jon but maintained his stony expression. Lord Tywin came a little behind the Royals and stood on a step lower of the Throne.

Lord Arryn's raised voice rang throughout the hall, "Bring in the accused!"

Everybody turned towards the side doors to see the Gold Cloaks bringing in the Mountain's men bound in chains. They were still bleary-eyed and were looking around in confusion.

A page rushed forward and handed a scroll to Lord Arryn. The lord cleared his throat and began to read from the scroll –

"Anthony Morris, also known as the Tickler; Rafford Swyft, also known as Raff the Sweetling; Polliver Kellegher; Dunsen Croes; Gordon Chiswyck. You have been accused by the Crown of gross negligence in your duties towards the house of your liege lord. Your negligence has resulted in the loss of property of the said lord's house. Above all, you have caused the earthly remains of your lord's being devoured by ravenous beasts and causing distress to the family members for the disrespect and negligence you have shown to sate your own greed. How do you plead?"

The five accused were still to retain their full awareness, the one named Polliver looked around himself with beady eyes and very articulately asked –

"Wha?"

Lord Arryn sighed and once again cleared his throat, "It is clear that these five men are still under the influence of their dalliance. We move forward to the accusations that have been brought against them and eyewitness accounts for the said accusations."

Much to the chagrins and horror of the attending nobles, they heard about how the neighbours had woken up to a commotion outside of the house which the Mountain and his men have rented for the duration of the tourney, only to found that a few dogs fighting over a bloody piece of something. The main doors to the house stood ajar and bloody trails left from the house in different directions. Alarmed, the people then alerted the City Watch. They arrived at the place to find numerous dogs were fighting outside as well as inside of the house, over the dead body of the late Gregor Clegane. The body was found to be half-eaten as well as missing several body parts. After the guards chased the dogs away, they had investigated farther into the house to find the accused men passed out from over-indulgence of food and ale.

Sandor Clegane had come into the room following the guards and stood at a darkened corner behind rows of people. Jon hadn't taken his eyes off of the man while listening to the happenings of the court.

It didn't take long for Lord Hand to declare the judgement of the Crown – the men are to pay compensation to their liege lord's house for the damage they have caused. But for their punishment, Lord Arryn had deferred to Lord Tywin Lannister, the Warden to the West.

The old lion had his narrowed and piercing eyes trained on the five men in chains, when he heard Lord Arryn's verdict, he bowed his head just a bit and turned to face fully towards the men.

"Thank you, My Lord Hand. You have wisely counselled on behalf of the Crown and dispensed justice. Now, I appeal to the Crown that these men may be released under my command so that I can have them punished before the men of Westerland. For they are from the Westerland and have done crimes against men of Westerland."

Robb leaned towards Jon and asked in a low voice, "Hví gerþúr hugshannr spyrjumk fyrir at?" (Why do you think he asked for that?)

Jon hissed back at him, still maintaining his gaze on the Hound, who had started to move slowly and quietly in front of the room as King Robert and Lord Arryn discussed over the request of Lord Lannister –

"Jafnvel though mountaininn er dauðr, gamallrinn lion gerir eigi viljtilr látrestinnr ór hans framgangdogsr." (Even though the Mountain is dead, the old lion does not want to lose the rest of his attack dogs.)

Lord Arryn straightened and again spoke aloud, "After considering Lord Lannister's request, the Crown has decided that the accused will be released under the command of the Warden to the West to dole out punishments as he deems fit. Guards, take these men to the Black Cells and keep them under watch till My Lord Lannister arranges for their removal."

The guards once again hauled the chains and led the five men away from the Throne Room. Lord Arryn gave them a few moments to clear out, then he turned towards the gathering –

"If there is nothing else, I would declare this emergency session to an end."

"I have something to say, My Lord." A gruff voice sounded out.

Everybody turned to see Sandor Clegane making his way to the front of the room. The Wolfpack tensed a bit wondering what the Hound had in his mind.

Lord Arryn nodded, "The Crown recognises Sandor Clegane, current lord of Clegane's keep. What issue do you bring before the Crown?"

Clegane gave a curt nod instead of a bow, his eyes drifted towards the side doors for a moment before he looked back, "As you have seen yourselves, those fucking cunts are not responsible enough to keep a hold of their own balls, let alone my late brother's effects."

The viewing audience was struck dumbfounded by the man's crude demeanour. But it had earned him a guffaw from the King, while the Queen and her father narrowed their eyes in incandescent rage.

Lord Arryn too had an annoyed look upon his face, "Do remember your station, Clegane, and watch your tongue."

Here, the King made a comment in a slurred voice, driving any doubts away that he was already deep in his cups, even if it was barely mid-morning, "Ah, let him be, Jon. He is a man after my own heart."

Lord Arryn let out a frustrated sigh and closed his eyes for a moment to collect himself, "Continue, Clegane."

Clegane sneered as a whisper broke out around the room by his behaviour, "As I was saying, my brother's effects will be of no use in the hands of those…men. Keeping that in mind, I want to offer his ride, the warhorse of the finest breed, to the man who defeated him, the White Wolf."

Everybody including Jon was shocked to hear that, none of them had expected that outcome.

Lord Arryn had to raise his voice over the murmurs to be heard, "Ser Jon, will you kindly step forward?"

Jon gave them a bow as he reached the steps to the Throne.

"Do you accept the offer given by Sandor Clegane?"

Jon looked over at the man to see him peering at him with a faked disinterest. He turned his head towards the Hand and nodded, "It was not necessary, My Lord, but aye, I will accept this generous gift."

Lord Arryn nodded, "Very well. If no one has anything else to bring forth, I will now declare this emergency session to an end."

[CotW]

The Wolfpack stood at the courtyard waiting for the stablehand to bring the horse to them. A few passing nobles greeted them on their hurried way towards the tourney ground. Jon was getting restless as he felt the time was running short for his own preparations for the day's jousts. Soon, a young boy led the huge black steed that was the Mountain's ride just the previous day.

As Jon approached to take the reins from the boy, the horse skittered around a bit. It seemed a bit skittish towards Jon. He frowned and looked deep into the horse's coal-black eyes. As he came in contact with the beast's mind, he understood why he seemed to be wary of him. The horse was trained to be a warhorse. He was groomed since his birth to obey commands which had shaped his mind. But when Jon forcefully invaded his mind, he fought back with animal instincts as well as with his command-oriented mind. But Jon forced his own will upon him which made him distrustful of the human. Jon coaxed further to gleam the knowledge that it was not only him who was injured by the forced warging, the horse was affected too. Jon had to draw on from his connections with Gale and Ghost to establish a rudimentary connection with the horse. It was not a warg bond per se, but much like a mutual understanding between two beings.

To the outside world, it appeared before the onlookers that Ser Jon had his forehead pressed against the magnificent beast and gently rubbing his hands on his neck and mane. All were amazed at the gentleness the boy showed towards the animal. They had heard about his direwolf companion, some even seen them together, but what they saw with their own eyes, proved to everybody that the young man had a special connection with animals.

"Magnificent beast!"

Jon broke his mental connection with the horse and looked up to see that Lord Arryn had come to join his friends and stared at the horse with an admiring look on his face.

Jon bowed, "My Lord."

"It appears that Sandor Clegane offered you quite a gift, lad."

"Aye, My Lord. Though we are wondering why he did such a thing." Jon frowned.

Lord Arryn sighed, "Rumour has it that the brothers had quite a fierce enmity between the two of them. To the point that the younger had sworn to end the life of the elder. I think he granted you a boon because you have made his wish come true."

Jon shook his head, "I will never understand how can a brother turns against his own blood."

Lord Arryn looked intently into Jon's eyes, "Vengeance can cause more than that, lad." He shook his head and smiled back at him, "Let us not delve into the darkness that can roost inside of a man's head. How are you feeling today, lad? Your injuries are not troubling you I hope?"

Jon smiled back at the man, "No, My Lord. Maester Luwin has looked to it and said that I only need to put on a salve and have a good night's rest to be at my best."

"Glad to see you are at your finest, my boy. Now, I don't cater much to wagers but I have heard that quite a few men had put a bet on you to win the joust." He took a step closer and spoke in a fake whisper, "I am not to say anything, but even His Grace wagered for you to win. You didn't hear it from me, but I would hate it if you put His Grace in a bad temper with your loss." He winked at him, causing the close-by listeners to chuckle at his jape. He clasped his hand with Jon's before bidding him goodbye, "I will not take much of your time, Ser Jon. I will see you at the ground." Lord Arryn strode away with a cheerful smile.

The four also started to make their way towards the ground, with Jon leading the horse by the rein.

"Do you plan to ride him in today's bouts?" Asher asked.

"Aye, else it would be a waste of his talents." Jon cast a discreet glance around and opened his fist in which Lord Arryn had pressed a small bit of parchment when he clasped hands with him. He read it and crumpled it again. He looked back to his brother and said, "Asher and I need to go and prepare. We will see the both of you after the event is over." He clasped his hands with them and went towards the participant's pavilion along with Asher.

Robb and Torrhen started to climb the steps to the gallery when they stopped at a turn and opened the parchment Jon had given to Robb. It read –

Meet me at the Godswood after the day's functions are over.

*Line Break*

Once again Robb found himself sitting beside the smarmy Petyr Baelish. He very much wanted to plunge his dagger at that man's throat just as Jon did with the Mountain if only to see the smirk wiped off of his face.

"Ah, My Lord Robb, I heard it was quite an interesting morning inside of the Red Keep?"

"Do you want my confirmation or mayhaps you want to have a conversation about it, My Lord?"

Baelish's smile faltered for a moment, "Oh, nothing of that sort, My Lord. I was just wondering why Clegane offered the horse to your brother?"

"Shouldn't you ask Clegane that question, My Lord?"

The smirk was back on his face, "I would, but the man is rather abrasive for my taste."

"So you have a taste for men? I am sorry to disappoint you, My Lord, but my own taste lies with the fairer gender."

That wiped the smirk completely, "Uh…I do not have a taste for men…"

Torrhen faked a bout of cough to cover for the chortle that threatened to burst out of his throat.

Robb looked at Baelish confused, "But didn't you just say that Clegane doesn't suit your taste?"

Baelish's neck slowly started to turn crimson, he bit out his words through his teeth very slowly as if he was trying to make a toddler understand something –

"What I meant by that is I find Clegane very crude for my…uh…to have a civil conversation with."

Robb's eyes were about to get out of his sockets, "And you thought I am the epitome of civility to suit your taste? Again, I am sorry to disappoint you, My Lord, but I truly desire for the company of women." He turned towards Torrhen, "Even if I live for a hundred years, I will never understand the Southorn's courting procedure."

Torrhen had to bite hard on his tongue so that he didn't burst out laughing.

Baelish had apparently lost his interest in the conversation and turned his head towards the ground, "Ah, I see that they are starting."

Robb would swear later that he had heard Baelish muttering "finally".

[CotW]

Like the previous day, the final four participants – Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Yohn Royce, Lord Berric Dondadrrion and Ser Jon Snow, rode their horses once slowly along with the viewer's gallery. Sitting on his new destrier and in his polished armours, Jon looked even more menacing than he did the previous day. He once again bumped his fist against his chest as he rode past the part of the gallery Robb and Torrhen were sitting in, they both were on their feet and returned the gesture once more. The ladies were throwing roses at the horses' path and swooned as the four handsome warriors acknowledged them.

Because there were only three bouts left to decide for the winner of the jousting, singing of bards and other entertainments were arranged to be held first. As it had become the norm, there were a couple of songs about the White Wolf; a few new ones about the brave White Lion; dwarves presented the re-enactment of the fall of the Targaryen dynasty. Asher and Arthur, once again with Jon at his tent, were worried that Jon would lose his comportment about that, but all he did was gave them a smile and a wink. There was even a mummer's troupe who presented a play depicting Ser Jaime's life till date, including a part where his little brother Tyrion, with the help of the famed White Wolf, unearthed the dragon eggs which led to the revelation of the tragic tale of a lone man carrying the burden of a mad tyrant's lunacy, culminating with removing the wildfire and Jaime reclaiming his honour. Arthur had a few choice words to mutter about Tywin Lannister not missing any opportunity to remind the people of the realms of his family's legacy.

Finally, it was time for the jousts to take place, first to the tilt were Ser Barristan and Lord Beric. The riders took four runs of the tilt and two broken lances before Ser Barristan unhorsed the Lord of Blackhaven. Next, Jon was up against the Lord of Runestone.

Arthur had a few last minute's pointers to give –

"Keep a cooler head. Lord Yohn is a very experienced rider, as he is very cunning. Do not lose your head, if you saw any opening, it is probably a trap."

Jon nodded his head as he lowered his visor. Asher handed him his lance and he spurred Midnight, which he had decided to call the steed, onwards to the tilt.

Lord Yohn sat atop his brown charger and bronze plated armour, adorned with the runes of the First Men. His gleaming bronze armours had earned him the nickname Bronze Yohn. As Jon took his place, the lord raised his lance in salutation. Jon returned the gesture by raising his own. At the end of the counting, they both charged towards each other. Jon almost instantly spotted an opening in the lord's posture, but then again, Arthur's warning rang in his ears – 'if you saw any opening, it is probably a trap.' He tried to concentrate on anything else rather than the glaring fault in Lord Royce's posture, not succeeding, he aimed for the shield.

Lord Yohn had not thought about the possibility that a young man such as Jon would forgo the opening he had laid out for him, so he had not had a proper grip on his shield as he should. His eyes went wide when Jon's lance crashed and broke against his shield that he almost lost his sitting. His own had landed a glancing blow against Jon's shield.

On the next run, Lord Royce didn't let out any opening for Jon. He had covered himself with his shield as much as he could and charged out again. But Jon could see that there was a very small gap between the lord's shield and his breastplate. He thought it could be another trap, but from the angle, Lord Royce was holding his shield, Jon realized that he had injured the lord on the previous run. Jon decided to take the gamble and aimed for the opening he found.

Lord Royce was shocked by the impact of Jon's lance on his breastplate, even as his lance landed squarely on Jon's shield, he had lost his balance and crashed on the ground. Jon pulled the reins of Midnight to stop him and jumped off the saddle to help the lord on his feet.

"How did you manage that?" the Lord asked him incredulously.

"Well, your first run was obviously a trap, My Lord. But on the next run, your shield was in an odd angle and left a small opening. I thought that I have hurt your shield hand and took the gamble." Jon said bashfully.

Lord Royce roared in laughter, "You have keen eyes, my boy. I will be rooting for you to win now. But be careful of Barristan. He is a crafty old man."

"Aye, My Lord, I will keep that in mind."

They waved to the cheering crowd and left the ground together.

Arthur was waiting for him in the tent with a beaming smile on his face, whereas Asher appeared to be having a fit.

"The final, Jon! You have reached the final!"

"Aye, Asher, I am aware of that. Please calm down."

"But you have reached the fucking final of the joust!"

Jon sighed, "Uncle Eric, would you do me a favour and knock him out?"

Arthur could only laugh at their banter.

[CotW]

"Did you see that, Jon? Ned's boy has reached the final!"

"Yes, Your Grace, he is quite the rider."

"He is one hell of a rider, Jon! Ned has done right by his sprogs."

[CotW]

"How about a wager, My Lord Baelish?"

"Oh? You think your brother can unhorse Barristan the Bold?"

"We can never know until it is over, don't we, My Lord?"

"Very well, what do you have in mind?"

[CotW]

"You have your toughest opponent facing against you now, Jon. Well, an opponent you are not aiming to kill that is. He is called Barristan the Bold for something indeed. He enlisted himself in a jousting event when he was only ten name days old."

"Do not worry, Uncle Eric, I am not taking this lightly. I actually am quite excited to face Ser Barristan."

The herald announced the final bout of King's tourney, between Ser Barristan the Bold and Ser Jon the White Wolf. Both the riders got a standing ovation from the crowd. They nodded to each other as they went to take their places. Almost immediately after the herald finished the counting, they thundered off.

Ser Barristan's lance landed right in the middle of Jon's shield and broke on impact, Jon's own had only given a glancing blow. He could feel that a new set of bruises were forming on his arm over the previous set he had collected. On the next run, Jon once again managed to land a glancing blow again, but Ser Barristan had aimed once again for his shield and broke another lance. Jon frowned as he went back to his place. It appeared to him that the old knight had planned to make his shield arm numb enough that he would make a mistake as Lord Royce and left an opening for him to exploit. For a moment, he thought about using his warging abilities, but he shook off the idea. He wanted to win against a legendary opponent as Ser Barristan on his skills, not by trickery he used against the loathsome excuse of a human, Gregor Clegane.

On that run, just as the riders were about to meet, Jon pulled the reins of Midnight just the slightest bit as he himself slid down from the saddle a little on the same side. He had once again his lance placed between his thigh and arm for the additional leverage. This sudden change of his posture resulted in Ser Barristan's lance missing him by quite a distance, but his lance landed square on the old knight's breastplate from an upward angle from the side, missing his shield. The lance broke with a resounding crack and Ser Barristan was thrown off of his horse.

The entire crowd was quiet. The stupor was broken when Jon once again jumped down from his saddle to help the old knight get back up. Chants of the White Wolf filled the entire ground.

"Are you alright, Ser?" Jon asked worriedly.

Barristan barked a burst of laughter and said, "Do not worry about me, young man. This is not my first time. I have taken quite a few tumbles in my life, some were even more dangerous and humiliating than this." He clapped on Jon's shoulder, "Go, enjoy your feat. You have earned it, Ser Jon."

As Jon got back up on Midnight's saddle, the herald spoke –

"Your Graces, My Lords and Ladies of Westeros, kindly allow me to present the winner of the King's Jousting, Ser Jon the White Wolf!"

Cheers and applauds rang throughout the gallery as Jon slowly trotted towards the podium that held the crown made by flowers. All of the ladies present there sucked in their breaths, eagerly waiting to see who the knight would declare as his Queen of Love and Beauty. Many of the said ladies sent a furious glare towards the part of the gallery where Lady Madelyne Pryor was sitting beside her brother. They had all witnessed how the red-headed beauty hogged the young knight for the entirety of the opening ceremonial feast.

Asher had run to reach the podium with a new lance. He handed it over to Jon with the biggest smile on his face as well as a raised brow to question his choice. He had also indicated the part of the audience where Lady Pryor was sitting with a jerk of his head. Jon could only shake his head at his friend's antics. He plucked a red rose from the crown before putting it around the tip of his lance.

Jon trotted on midnight towards the Royal box, much to the confusion of all the ladies. He reached the bottom of the box, and announced in a loud voice –

"Your Grace, My Queen Cersei, will you grant me the honour to declare you my Queen of Love and Beauty?"

Amongst thunderous cheers, Jon raised his lance for the Queen to pluck the crown from it, the ones who were seated close to the Royal box were quite surprised to see a dusting of red adorning the Queen's cheeks along with a very pleasing smile. She delicately placed the crown on her head and looked down at the young man sitting on the horse below –

"I accept, my brave knight!"

Jon gave her a gracious bow, but the next thing he did, stopped all the hollering and hushed the crowd. He climbed atop the saddle and stood up straight, producing a single red rose, but this time he extended his arm towards Princess Myrcella –

"Princess Myrcella, you are the very image of your lady mother. May your beauty and charms grow each day as you grow up to become even more beautiful than her. Kindly allow me to declare you my Princess of Love and Beauty."

The little Princess had turned red from head to toes, she accepted the offered rose and stutteringly thanked the knight.

"Hah! Blood always speaks true! Just like his father, eh Jon?" Robert's voice boomed among the cheers.