Who Let the Wolves Out Pt. 4

Pebble, the seat of House Pryor of Vale – A few months ago

Ser Huge Pryor rode as fast as he could on his horse. He had gone out with a couple of his friends to the tavern for a mug of ale or two when a guardsman had found him and told him that his father was awaiting his presence at his solar. Hugh knew that it would be folly to keep his father waiting, thus he ended up pushing his horse to gallop on the road to the keep. He didn't even slow down as he approached the gates to the keep. He jumped down from his horse and shoved the reins to the stable boy who came rushing and strode fast towards his father's solar.

He stopped before the doors and took a deep breath centre himself. He knocked on the doors and waited for the raspy voice to bid him entrance to the room. He opened the doors to find his father sat hunched over his desk. A huge tapestry hung on the wall behind the lord's ornate seat, depicting the sigil of House Pryor – A dark moon eclipsing a radiant sun on the background of dusty pink. His father, Lord Erskine Pryor's pale skin stood in contrast to the pink colour of the tapestry. The lord was reading a scroll with utmost concentration.

Hugh stood before his father with his back straight, "You have called for me, Father?"

Lord Erskine didn't raise his head from the parchment he was reading. His white, tangled mess of hair had obscured his lowered face. Hugh was aware of his father's behaviours, he let out a small sigh and stood there waiting for his father to acknowledge him. He didn't have the memories of his mother, but from what he had gathered from his older siblings, his mother was the beautiful lady of House Pryor. He had heard that their father had loved their mother very much, but since her passing, while giving birth to their youngest sister Madelyne, Lord Erskine Pryor had started to lose his mind. One could even claim that the lord was hanging from the edge of sanity by a single, frayed thread. He had refused to acknowledge his youngest daughter, he had his heir Nathaniel Pryor, and spare – Ser Scott Pryor, he didn't care for any of his other children. It had been their oldest sister, Aurora, who had brought up the then three name days old Hugh and the babe Madelyne. Their older brothers were never very attached to their younger siblings. It had been Aurora who was there for them till her own marriage the year before. Since then, Hugh had tried to be there for his little sister, but he understood that he could never fill the place for the elder sister for Madelyne.

"The fat stag has sent an invite for another tourney." Lord Erskine's raspy voice broke Hugh's rumination. He looked down at his father's face. The lord's dull, green eyes peered at him from underneath his matted hair.

Lord Erskine Pryor was a staunch ally of the Targaryen dynasty. When the Rebellion broke out, he had sent the bare minimum help at his liege lord's order. Citing poor health, he had stayed behind while sending a distant cousin, an expendable one, to lead the small troop. He never acknowledged Robert Baratheon as the ruler of the realms. Much like the Targaryen loyalists, he had sent men to find any sign of Viserys Targaryen.

"The realm's population are starving, but the stag doesn't see anything beyond his decadence." The lord of Pebble continued to mutter, "I would have scoffed at the invitation like all others we have received, if not for very interesting news reaching my ears. Apparently, this tourney is a ruse to lure out the Northerners from their frozen hell. Oh, I remember the whispers. How the Quiet Wolf snarled when the fucking lions slew the dragonborns. How he howled at the stag. Rumour has it that the bond of friendship is not as strong as it once was." He started chuckling.

Hugh frowned as his father continue to monologue. It was indeed clear to him that after their mother's passing, Lord Erskine had truly lost sanity. Hugh himself had never seen the Dragon King, but he had heard the stories about him. How in his last days King Aerys had succumbed to the madness, in his imagination, he always pictured his father instead of the Mad King.

"Yes, a new wolf has now entered the game. Eddard Stark's bastard is becoming quite the warrior. If the songs and stories are true, the bastard – the White Wolf has already commanded an army along with his true born brother." A look of derision flashed on Lord Erskine's face as he continued to stare at his youngest son. "Imagine that, a mere boy who is yet to see his fifteenth name-days, leading an army…and I am cursed with an oaf of a son who is satisfied to beat the straw dummies."

Hugh's ears went red at the insinuation. He had earned his spurs after he had saved a settlement of smallfolk who were attacked by the Mountain Clans. He single-handed drove the raiding party and stood guard while his brothers arrived with the reinforcements. His brother Scott – normally ignorant of his younger siblings, were impressed enough that he had dubbed him a knight of the realms when they returned to the keep for his valour.

"Father, I -"

"Silence!" Lord Pryor slammed his fist on the desk. "You think I don't know what is going on in my keep? Do you think I don't know where you went before I summoned you? You think I don't know how the whore opens her legs to all that catches her eyes?"

There it was again. Hugh bit on his tongue to prevent himself from speaking. The hatred for Madelyne raised its head again. Aurora had trained their younger sister how to run a household with a strict but caring hand, and Madelyne flourished under those lessons. She truly became the Lady Pryor after Aurora's marriage, dealing with every problem of the keep with a radiant smile on her face. But to their father's sick mind, since she countered every problem with apparent ease, she must have been sleeping with the entire household.

"You will go to the Capitol. At least then you can brag that you fought against men instead of straw dummies. And the slut will go with you. I doubt that she will catch the eyes of the heir to the North, but the bastard might like to dip his cock in whores. Don't bother to return, either of you. If the whore comes back – I will send her to the Silent Sisters, or mayhaps sell her to one of the whorehouses of Lys. At least that way I will see some money return to the coffer that has been spent to fed and clothe her. You" The Lord narrowed his eyes, he was panting from the long rant. Spittle flew from his lips "will either join some sellsword company to the east or the Watch, I don't care. You will be executed if you return. Consider yourselves banished from my lands from the day you leave."

Hugh had gone pale. He never had thought about the extent of their father's hatred for the two of them. Being summarily banished? It hadn't even occurred to him in his worst nightmares. What was he to do now?

"Are you still standing there? Get the fuck out of my sight!"

Hugh fled from the rooms. His feet swayed as he tried to walk down the corridor. He needed air. He needed time to think. No, he needed to find his sister.

[CotW]

He somehow made his way to the sept of the keep. He knew that Madelyne would be there to offer her evening prayers to the Seven. Like a drunkard, he reached the doors to the sept on swaying feet.

"Hugh! Brother, are you alright?"

A set of strong but feminine arms steadied him. He looked up to see the beautiful green eyes of his sister, widened with worries. Madelyne helped her brother to sit before the alter, with his back against the stone.

"Madelyne…"

"What is the matter, Hugh?"

Hugh told his sister about his meeting with their father. He told her about the decree their lord father had decided upon. He expected her to scream and rage, but a continuous silence from her startled him. He looked up to see her burning eyes.

"You do not appear to be surprised, sister."

Madelyne sighed and sat against the stone wall beside her brother.

"You are right, Hugh, this doesn't surprise me. For I have known this would happen sooner or later."

"How…"

"Aurora sent me a message not so long ago. It was something she had surmised. It is not only our father who has been caught the madness."

Hugh immediately knew who she was talking about. "Nate?"

Madelyne nodded her head. Their oldest brother had always taken pleasure in the way their father had behaved with them. His subtle encouragements or feeding to his hatred didn't escape their notice either. Hugh sighed and rested his head against the stone.

"I can almost find the logic behind father's madness. Madness it is, but more of a structural kind, derived from the grief of losing our mother. Thus his hatred for you and by association, towards me. What would make Nate behave in such a way?"

Madelyne let out a mirthless laugh, "Come now, Hugh. You are more observant than that. Our brother dear suffers from jealousy, fear and greed. He is jealous of you for your prowess with arms. He is afraid of me by the way the household staff listen to my orders. He is greedy, he craves for the power that you or I could wield in this Godsdamned keep."

Hugh nodded his head. "Is Scott involved in this as well?"

"I think not, no. He is inherently lazy. Do not think that I am denouncing your skills, brother, but I have always thought that Scott only knighted you so that he can shirk off his duties towards you. As long as there are wine and women for him, Scott doesn't care a whit about who is the ruling power of this little stretch of lands."

Hugh let out a shuddering sigh.

"Why go to all this trouble then? They could have married you off and afterwards, could've made me take the Black. Why do this?"

"That is where the madness raises its ugly head, brother. Father wants us to suffer for all the imaginary wrongs we have done to him. My marriage or your taking the Black just so would have been too mundane for his palette."

"Since I am already banished, would it be held against me if I become a kinslayer?"

Madelyne frowned at her brother, "If only you are aiming to be executed or send off to the Wall and leaving me alone to fend for myself. Do not forget who our liege lord is. Honour and honour alone will be praised."

"So what are we to do now?"

"We do as we are commanded. We will visit Kings' Landing. We will establish contact with the Northerners, and then we will see."

"And if this Stark bastard appears that he isn't what he is famed to be?"

"Then we appeal to the Lord of Runestones. I am quite sure that an unjustly displaced knight and his sister will find a place in his court."

Hugh nodded his head. It appeared to him that his sister possessed far more cunning than he. He got up to his feet and helped Madelyne up.

"So it just leaves us to prepare for our departure."

"Yes, brother. And we have to depart as quickly as we can."

Hugh peered down at his sister, he was sure that her devious mind had hatched some plots of her own. Madelyne smirked at him.

"Come on, brother. Do you not think that it was quite unwise for them to give free rein of their coffer to the very person they were trying to get rid of?"

His eyes widened, "Do you mean…?"

The light of the torches glinted on Madelyne's emerald eyes. "Let us see, from very far away from here, how long can the lord of Pebble run his little fiefdom with an empty treasury. You and I will of course depart with nothing more than the clothes on our backs. But we need to pay a visit to our loving eldest sister on our way to the Capitol."

A peal of vindictive laughter burst forth from the depth of the Sept.

*Line Break*

Kings' Landing, present time

"Ser Jon! Ser Jon!"

Jon paid no heed as he continued on his way towards the barracks. The others had already gone there to check on the men. The acolyte who had been running after him and calling him came to a stop beside him panting his lungs out.

"Ser Jon…I have been calling your name…" The man managed to state in between large gulps of air.

Jon blushed fiercely in embarrassment, he was yet to acclimate himself to people calling him by his new title.

"Pardon me, I was quite engrossed in my thoughts. What can I help you with?"

"Grandmaester Pycelle and Maester Luwin send for you, you have a raven awaiting you, Ser."

"Of course, I will see them shortly. I thank you for bringing their message to me." He nodded at the man.

Jon thought about continuing on his way to the barracks but then he remembered that Jojen Reed had told him that he would send him a raven to direct him towards the next destination and persons of interest during his stay at the Capitol. Deciding it was better to read the message, Jon changed his direction towards the Grandmaester's turret.

"Jon!"

He turned around to see his cousin and friends approaching him.

"I thought we are to meet with the men together. Where are you going?"

"I was just informed that I have a raven waiting."

Robb frowned as he came closer, "Who do you think sent the message?"

"Lord Reed. Jojen Reed had said that he will inform me about our next destination."

"Mind if we come along?" Asher asked eagerly.

Jon smirked at them, "I was actually going to ask you to come with me. With all of us there, it will somewhat distract the Grandmaester from delve too much into my affairs."

The four went up the tower and Robb knocked on the doors to the Maester's chambers.

"Enter." An old and whizzy voice came from within.

They trooped inside of the room to find Maester Luwin sitting opposite at the desk of the Grandmaester. The older man looked closely at the four that entered his domain. Jon could feel his eyes lingered on him the longest.

"Ah, My Lord Robb. Please, do come in. Have you met with the Grandmaester?"

Robb gave the Maester a short bow. "Good morning, Maester Luwin. I am afraid to say that I am yet to have the pleasure to meet the Grandmaester."

"Of course, of course. Grandmaester Pycelle, kindly allow me to introduce you to Lord Robb Stark, eldest son and heir of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. His friends, Lord Asher Forrester, son of Lord Gregor Forrester of Ironwrath. Lord Torrhen Karstark, son of Lord Rickard Karstark of Karhold. And Jon Snow – pardon me, Ser Jon Snow, the White Wolf."

The old man looked at Robb with his biddy, watery blue eyes. In a whizzy voice, he spoke –

"It is my honour to meet the future Warden of the North, My Lord Robb, also your friends and future bannermen. Kindly pardon me for not getting up to greet you. As you understand, my old age has robbed me of the agility of a younger man."

Jon almost snorted out loud. He would have fallen for the Grandmaester's spiel if he hadn't met with his Uncle Aemon. That man was nearing his centennial name-days and despite having lost his sight, still quite spry for his age. And here was this pretender, younger than his uncle and pretending to be a derelict of a man.

"Ser Jon, I am to say it is indeed an honour to meet a warrior of your talent. Mastering dual wielding and standing against an experienced warrior like Ser Jaime at such a young age. I must complement Lord Stark's rearing abilities of such fine men."

Jon appeared to be the embodiment of humility. He almost bowed from the waist down and spoke in a low voice –

"I thank you for your kind words, Grandmaester. But it is my instructors back at Winterfell and Karhold who deserve the praise, and of course, Maester Luwin. He was wise and kind enough to encourage me to participate in his experiment which made me quite adept at dual wielding."

"Ah, yes. Luwin was quite inspiring with his study in martial prowess. I am quite sure he will be acclaimed at the Citadel by the Archmaesters. But you should also prepare yourself for a thorough demonstration there."

"Of course, Grandmaester. I will heed your advice. I don't appear to be rude, but I was told that there was a raven for me?"

Pycelle gave him an indulgent smile, "It is quite alright, young man. I can understand that young men such as yourselves want to spend their time looking at the sights of the Capitol during the celebration time, rather than spending it indoors with old men surrounded by dusty tomes. Luwin, if you please?"

Maester Luwin bowed his head and got up to retrieve the message.

"I was quite surprised to receive a message from Greywater Watch. The reclusive Lord Reed doesn't correspond quite so frequently." He looked at Jon askance.

Jon looked over his head with a fond smile as if reminiscing of old times, "Aye, Lord Howland was our mentor during our stay at Bear Island. He became quite fond of us. Why, on our way here we stopped by at his keep and his son also became quite attached to us. I am sure the little Lord Jojen has insisted that he jot down a few lines himself in his father's missive."

Pycelle chuckled at that, "How right you are, Ser Jon. There are indeed two scrolls await you – one from Lord Reed and the other from his son."

By then Maester Luwin had returned with the scrolls. He handed them over to Jon. The four bid them goodbye and was about to leave the Grandmaester's solar when the old man spoke once again –

"Ser Jon, do try to come back another time. I have heard that you are quite the scholar yourself to hold your own against Lord Tyrion. I will be quite interested in your views on various subjects."

"Aye, of course, Grandmaester. With your leave?"

They climbed down the stairs and came to a rather secluded corner of the yard, a little apart from the jostling crowd roaming about. After taking a discreet glance around to make sure that nobody was in the hearing distance, Jon asked his friends in a low voice, "What did you think of the meeting?"

Torrhen rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "It is quite clear that the old man reads every parchment that passes his hands. Also, it is very easy for him to lose a scroll or two and none will be the wiser."

"Precisely, and…?" Jon looked at the other two.

Asher frowned, "His comment about Lord Tyrion clearly indicates that he also has eyes and ears around the keep, of not the entire city. Also, he is another remnant of the Mad King's council…"

Robb stopped him, "Aye, but it is also rumoured that he is affiliated with the old lion of the rock." He looked back at Jon.

Jon nodded, "Aye, all of you are correct. It also proves that Father was right when he said that this place is a viper's nest."

Jon opened the scrolls as the others closed in to read over his shoulders.

My dear Lord Robb, Lord Asher, Lord Torrhen and Jon,

I hope you are all faring well down South. I am sure that you are enjoying the time of your lives by experiencing the King's tourney. Kindly excuse me for this sudden missive, but Jojen has become quite troublesome in his wants to send a message to you, Jon, which is attached in a separate scroll. I will not take much of your time from the festivities.

Do take care of yourselves and each other.

Yours,

Lord Howland Reed

Lord of the Greywater Watch

Jon snorted at the subtlety Lord Reed showed in his message. Any outsider would think that an exasperated father had finally given in to his son's demands. He opened the next scroll –

Jon,

You won't believe how much further I have progressed with the techniques you have shown me. I am yet to reach your level, but I practise daily, and the next time I see you, I am sure you will be amazed. Meera is quite angry with you that she didn't get a chance to cross arms with you, but she and I are practising daily in the hope of one day stand up with the White Wolf.

Jon, you won't believe what I've found on one of my excursions. There was a nest of rats. It was so high that it was almost like a tower. The grey-furred vermin have already burrowed under a lot of houses. Some of them carry a disease that could bring down even the mightiest of the beasts. When I told Father about it, he didn't believe me at first. Then I showed him their nests. I wanted to burn their nests to the ground so the rats won't spread the disease but Father says that if we can keep the diseased ones apart, the rest are quite useful for the soil. It is quite easy to find out the diseased ones, you know. They are strangely attracted to the greeneries. Father showed me how to lure them into a trap and cull them so that they don't cause much trouble.

Father is getting impatient. He warns me that the longer my message is, the better the chance of it being heavy and getting lost from the raven's claws.

Please write back to me.

Lord Jojen Reed.

"Um…" That was all any of them could say.

"What did he wanted to say exactly?" Asher scrunched his brows.

"I haven't got the faintest idea." Jon scratched his head, "I need to think more on this."

A commotion at the gates broke them out of their reverie. As they kept watching, a group of men rode through the gates. At the front of the group, astride on a palomino was the lord of Casterly Rock, Lord Tywin Lannister.

Robb narrowed his eyes at the procession, "Huh, the old lion came quite late if he wanted to attend the tourney. What do you think, Jon?"

"I think he came himself to verify that the news is indeed true that his son had unearthed dragon eggs, and probably chastise him for generously donating them for the King's coffer."

Even if Tyrion didn't talk about his family in so many words, Jon could make an image of what the dwarf had to endure in his own home. Apart from his aunt and Lord Tywin's sister, the Lady Genna, none looked favourably towards the Imp of Casterly Rock. If anybody else ever thought of him as a human being, it was his older brother, Ser Jaime, but that man was always far from home, performing his duties as a member of the White Cloaks.

Jon's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when his eyes fell upon the next person that rode through the gates after the retinue of Lord Tywin. Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides. It felt as if his blood started to boil at the sight of the monster who robbed him of a mother's love.

"Jon!" Robb hissed from his side and shoved his right hand behind his body, hiding it from the view.

Asher had done the same at his other side. "Calm down, brother!" he said.

Torrhen took a step to the side and stood in front of them, trying to further obscure Jon from general view. He didn't even realize that his clenched fists had started to smoke. Jon closed his eyes and started to take deep, calming breaths.

"Thank you, brothers. It is becoming harder and harder to maintain control over the blessings of Lady Minerva the longer we have to stay at this fucking place. I can't wait to get out of this city." Jon sounded very tired.

"So, that is the Mountain that Rides, eh?"

"Aye, and the bastard is thinking about entering the jousting event." Jon hadn't taken his eyes off the said man.

"How can you tell?"

"Do you see the man riding beside him? He is some lord from the Crownlands and is in charge of overseeing the events of the tourney. I am quite sure that Clegane is talking to him about the lists."

Jon turned around and started to go in the opposite direction from the men getting off their horses, he didn't want to further test his control over his emotions. His friends followed along without any words.

In their hurry to get away, they almost didn't see the man who was coming their way.

"Ah, Lord Robb, Ser Jon. I was hoping to meet you today." Lord Jon Arryn smiled at them.

"My Lord Hand." They bowed to the elderly man.

"I hope you pardon an old man of his follies that he couldn't sit down and had a proper conversation with you. The King's tourney always comes with a cartload of parchment works to complete."

Robb smiled at him, "We do understand, My Lord. Father always says that duties must always be performed before anything else. And you taught the man."

Lord Arryn chuckled at that, "Indeed. Good old Ned, it warms my old heart to learn that my foster son still remembers his lessons. Now, I must ask, do you have anything planned for the day?"

Jon put a hand on Robb's back to stop him from speaking, "None, My Lord. I was just telling my brother, Lord Robb here, that I finally have decided to take part in the jousting. We need to find a capable smith who can commission a set of armour in such a short time. Other than that, we have nothing planned for the day."

A thoughtful look took upon the lord's face, "So you will need a finely crafted set of armours then." He nodded to himself. "I may know such a man to whom you can order your armour, lad. Tell you what, meet me at my solar in an hour and I will give you the necessary information. That will grant me enough time to greet Lord Tywin and precious few moments to properly talk with you."

"We cannot impose on your already busy day, My Lord."

"Nonsense, lad. You do realize that as Ned's foster father, you both are quite like my grandsons? Now, I will be remiss in my duties as a doting grandfather if I fail to entertain you with a few embarrassing stories of your father's youth." He smirked at the boys' chuckles. "Now, please excuse me while I go and handle myself an old lion." Lord Arryn nodded at them and walked off towards the Throne Room.

"Jousting, Jon?" Robb asked as soon as Lord Arryn was out of hearing distance.

"Aye." Jon turned to look at Asher and Torrhen, "The two of you go and find the man I pointed out earlier. Make sure that he enlists my name for the jousting event. While Robb and I will meet with Lord Arryn and get the address of the smith. We will meet back at the barracks and visit the smith later. Alright?"

Both of them nodded and took off to search for the man.

"Let us go and put the messages from Lord Reed back in our rooms, and then go see the man about some dirt on father," Jon smirked at Robb.

Robb could only snort at Jon's remark.

[CotW]

The brothers stood before the entrance to the Tower of the Hand and scrutinized each other to see if they were presentable enough to sit down and chat with the second most powerful man in all of Westeros. They nodded to each other in satisfaction and told the guard standing before the gates that Lord Arryn was expecting a visit from them. The guard bowed to them and sent a word to the Hand about his guests. Soon, a household staff of Lord Arryn, probably his steward, came down to escort the brothers to the lord's solar.

The steward announced them to the lord and bade them entrance. Lord Arryn was sitting behind his desk. But unlike the other day when they visited his solar, his desk was not overflowing with parchments, but a few food platters and pitchers of wine and ale awaited the lord's guests. Lord Arryn greeted them with a smile.

"Ah, come in, lads. Please, make yourselves comfortable." He indicated at the chairs before the desk.

The three of them partook in a small meal and talked about things. Lord Arryn entertained the lads by telling them about the misadventures of their father and his best friend, the now King Robert. He had asked the boys about their own fosterage and the events of the Skagosi invasions. Jon couldn't help but notice that as their meeting nearing an end, Lord Arryn was becoming more and more sombre and thoughtful. Suddenly, he nodded his head as if coming to a decision and pull out a draw to search for something, while continuing to talk about various things about the Vale and Eyrie. Lord Arryn pulled out a piece of parchment, a quill and an inkpot and paused his monologue to take a sip of the wine. He also put a finger to his lips, indicating them to not make any sound. He kept talking while writing a few words on the parchment before pushing it towards Jon and Robb. Both of them leaned close to read the parchment, it read –

Kindly excuse the ruse, but in this keep, even the walls have eyes and ears.

The brothers frowned at each other. Jon pulled the parchment towards himself and wrote a word of his own –

Tunnels?

The four of them had gone out discreetly in the darkness of the night to explore the infamous secret tunnels of the Red Keep. They had roamed about the intricate network of tunnels underneath the keep and discovered that the tunnels connect all of the buildings inside of the keep, a hidden panel or a false tapestry were often hid the entrances to the tunnels. They even had come across a chamber where they saw a huge skull of a dragon, a remnant from the decorations of the Targaryen dynasty. It wasn't out of the possibility that a man such as Varys could post one of his 'little birds' behind a wall to eavesdrop in private conversation. The brothers understood that Lord Arryn wanted to tell them something without anybody else being privy to the knowledge. They kept the conversation going while the real one happened on the parchment.

- Yes, I am sure that clever lads like yourselves do not need to be prodded to keep this among yourselves.

- Of course, My Lord.

- I want you to visit the smithy of the Qohoric Tobho Mott. It will serve dual purposes of obtaining your armour, while also make you aware of some facts if you keep your eyes open.

- We will, My Lord. What are we to do after we gain the knowledge?

- I trust your judgement. Ned and your foster fathers have done a fine job in raising both of you. You are brave, honourable and clever young men. You will understand the urgency of all these when you visit the shop. If you are agreeable, then I must ask of you a favour afterwards.

The brothers again looked at each other, steely determination gleamed in their eyes.

- You have our words, My Lord.

Jon Arryn gave them a satisfied smile, he bowed his head in acknowledgement and heartfelt gratitude.

"Ah, it seems we have spent quite a while reminiscing about the old days. You must forgive an old man."

"Not at all, My Lord. We have urged our father to learn about his childhood, but he always sidestepped our requests and instead told us about the misdeeds of our uncles and aunt. Now, we have quite a dirt on him. We simply can't wait to tease him the next we see each other."

Lord Arryn laughed out loud hearing that, "How true, how true. Now, I believe that I have promised you about the address of a capable smith."

Jon nodded, "Aye, My Lord."

"You will want to visit the Street of Steel. There is a shop of a Qohoric smith, named Tobho Mott. He is skilled enough to meet your requirements in such a short time. I am sure you will be quite happy with his works."

"Thank you, My Lord, it is indeed very useful information."

"Think nothing of it, my boy. Now, please excuse me, but I have to return to my duties. A Hand's job is never done." Lord Arryn crumpled the parchment and threw it in the embers of the hearth.

[CotW]

The Wolfpack made their way towards the Street of Steel. Jon had warned his friends about maintaining discretion –

"Fran nú á, ef þú þorfutilr mælumr hvatvetnsecretr, nýtatt gamallinn tunga. Hvile vér gerði eigi wish fyrir þat, vér erum munu draggeð inn í quagmirerinn at er politics." (From now on, if you need to talk about anything secret, use the Old Tongue. While we didn't wish for it, we are being dragged into the quagmire that is politics.)

They had told the others about their discussion with Lord Arryn on the way. Which made both Asher and Torrhen think hard about all the happenings.

"Hvat gerþúr hugsvérr munu vitár smithyrinn?" (What do you think we will find at the smithy?) Torrhen asked.

Jon sighed, "Ek gereigir veit, en ef lorð hönd var at insistent, þá ek em munu þat er eittsvat at munu knock oss eigi á ór okkarr fótr." (I don't know, but if Lord Hand was that insistent, then I am sure it is something that will knock us off of our feet.)

The smiths had their wares displayed in front of their shops, waving pieces of armours and hawking about the properties of their crafts. Many lords and knights had crowded the street, looking through the shops before the commencement of the jousting. Following the directions, they have gotten from Arthur, they soon stood before the shop of the Qohoric smith. The burly man stood up from his stool and put down the piece of armour he had been polishing.

"Greetings, My Lords. What can Tobho do for you?"

"Greetings, master Mott. We were told that you are the man to see if we need quality armour in a short amount of time."

Mott gave them a very wide, toothy smile, "You have come to the right place, My Lords. Come, come. Let Tobho show you his wares."

As they went inside of the shop, Tobho turned towards the forge and hollered, "Gendry? Gendry, where is ya, boy?"

A young voice came from within, "Comin', Master Mott."

As the young man came through the doors, the four immediately became alert. If Renly Baratheon was said to look like his elder brother, the lad in front of them was the exact version of a younger Robert Baratheon, when he was fighting fit. Take away his beard, his flabs and gut, and the greyed hair, Robert and Gendry would exactly be the same. They tried to shake off the shock as the young man approached them.

"Ya called fer me, Master Mott."

"Take measurements, My Lords need their armours ready as quickly as possible."

As Gendry went back inside to get the tools for measurements, Tobho asked, "What do you desire for the decorations on the armour, My Lords?"

"Do you know your sigils, Master Mott?" Robb asked.

"Oh yes, My Lord. Tobho has lords and knights coming to his shop from all over the lands."

"Do you know the Stark sigil then?"

"Yes, grey direwolf on a white field."

Robb indicated for Jon to describe the designs he wanted to be on the armour.

"Do you know who I am, Master Mott?"

Tobho looked sheepish and shifted from foot to foot, "Tobho doesn't recognize you, My Lord."

Asher smirked, "This is Ser Jon, the White Wolf."

Tobho's eyes went wide hearing that, "Yes! Tobho knows of you! You are the White Wolf who battles bears and Ironborns and saves women and children. You fight with the White Lion!"

Jon smiled at the man, "Aye, Master Mott, I am that White Wolf. Now, for the armour…" Tobho nodded his head eagerly. "I want it to be of dark grey, with a white direwolf prominent on the chest. There should be black stripes on the sides. For the cape, again, dark grey with a white direwolf in the middle, with black borders. On the shield, I want it completely black, a white, snarling direwolf in the middle, and blue winter roses surrounding the wolf in a circle. Can you do that?"

Tobho appeared to be very excited, "Yes, yes, Tobho can do all that, Ser."

"Very well. I will be needing the armour before the jousting begins. Now, how much do you want for your work."

Tobho scratched his head, "Too little time for Tobho to work. But Tobho can manage that. Oh yes, Tobho can do it. You pay Tobho fifty Gold Dragons."

Jon's eyebrows went up hearing the price, "That is too steep a price, Master Tobho."

Tobho put his right hand on his heart and spoke solemnly –

"All of Tobho's works are guaranteed, Ser. You will find no better armour than what Tobho will create for you. It will be an art, for Tobho is an artist. And - " Tobho leaned forward and whispered so that only the four could hear him, "Tobho will not make the White Wolf's armour the normal way. Tobho knows how to work with Valyrian steel. Tobho can make the steel sing in his hands. Ser will have the best armour in town" He nodded his head sincerely.

Jon narrowed his eyes and looked intently towards Tobho. The big and burly man started to squirm under Jon's gaze.

Jon hissed at him, "You mean to tell me that since you know how to rework Valyrian steel, you can make your wares the like of that venerated metal, from the lost lands of old Valyria. Do you take me for a fool, Master Mott?"

Tobho looked back at him indignantly, "Tobho does not think you fool, Ser. You White Wolf, you fight for the little people. Tobho is a little people. Tobho will honour the man who fights for the little people." He turned to look outside of his shop at the roaming crowd, many of the lords and knights could be seen out there. "These lords, they come to Tobho's shop and think Tobho is no better than the dirt of their shoes. They look down at Tobho. Only know that Tobho can work with Valyrian steel. Pah, they are the fools. They do not know smiths who can make steel sing. Tobho's work speaks for Tobho."

Once again Tobho looked towards Jon with fierce intensity, "Tobho gives White Wolf Tobho's words. Ser honours Tobho, calls Tobho, Master Mott. Not Tobho, not smith. Tobho's word is Tobho's head. But Tobho is poor, Tobho cannot give Ser complete Valyrian armour, but Tobho has enough scrap from Tobho's old home to make a small weapon. Tobho will give it to Ser. What do Ser want it to be?"

Jon didn't know what to think, it was quite unbelievable what the man before him was telling him. He looked at his friends, they too appeared to be shocked, they could only shrug their shoulders. Jon decided to take a leap of faith.

"Very well, Master Mott. You will get your fifty Gold dragons, and if you are indeed serious about the small weapon, then -" Jon took out Freedom from his belt, "do you think you can make it like this axe?"

Tobho took Freedom in his hand for a closer inspection. After a few moments, he nodded his head like an excited toddler, "Oh yes, Tobho can. This is a beautiful axe. Smith can almost make it sing, but not quite. Tobho will make Ser better axe."

Gendry had reappeared from the depths of the shop with his tools by then. He was standing aside and watching the interaction. When Tobho sent Jon his way for his measurements, the young man bowed to him and spoke in a nervous voice –

"Please don' mind Master Mott, Ser. He ain't quite right in the head. His family was butchered back at his home. He jus' escaped with his life and tools of his smithy. When other lords and knights come to this shop, they get angry by his blabbering. But I can assure you, m'lord, Master Mott's work is the best."

Jon smiled at him, "Fear not, my friend. I didn't mind. Tell me, does he really know how to rework Valyrian steel?"

Gendry's eyes sparkled at the question, "Yes, m'lord, he does. I've been learnin' from him. I can't quite make my stuff like him, but he says I only need the practice to be as good as him."

Jon smiled at that, "Earning praise like that from a man who has spent his entire life around a forge is a very precious thing, Gendry. You must be very good with your crafts. Would you permit me to see anything you've made all by yourself?"

Gendry frowned hearing that, he looked at Jon with calculating eyes, then nodded his head and motioned for him to follow, "If you'll step this way, m'lord."

"I am no lord, my friend. You can call me Jon, or if you are not willing to do that, Ser Jon will suffice." He started to look through the pieces of armours and weapons Gendry showed him that he had made by himself. "Where are you from, Gendry?"

Gendry shuffled on his feet and bowed his head, "I'm from Flea Bottom, Ser. Been born an' grew up here. Me ma used to work in a tavern before she died, never knew me da. They call me a bastard. Gendry Waters is the name."

Jon clapped his hand on the shoulder of the burly youth. He is built like an auroch – he thought to himself.

"I am a bastard too, Gendry. I never knew my mother. We are both alike in that sense. The only difference I see is that the Gods have taken care of my fate, whereas you have been cursed with negligence. But now we both can make something for ourselves with our own two hands. Won't you agree? Here I am, a bastard, but made a knight by a member of the Kingsguard. And you, my friend, an aspiring master smith." Jon's eyes caught on a particular piece of armour, "Oh!" He approached and taken the said piece in his hands for a closer look.

It was a helm, beautifully crafted one. It was shaped like a bull's head, completed with a pair of horns. The detailing of the helm was truly awe-inspiring. Jon understood that Gendry had spent quite a few painstaking hours crafting the helm.

Gendry had gone rigid when he saw Jon picking up the helm, "Pardon me, Ser, but that ain't for sale."

Jon took notice of Gendry's slight stance of hostility and tried to placate him, "Peace, my friend. I do not want to buy this beautiful piece of equipment. It simply won't help the image and the name of the White Wolf, don't you think so?" He smirked at him.

Gendry snorted and shook his head.

"I take it you have made this for yourself?"

Gendry gave him a bashful nod.

"Do you practice with any kind of weapon then?"

"I try to wield maces and war hammers, Figured those'll help with me strength. But I only know how to use a hammer as a blacksmith."

"Do not be ashamed, Gendry, you are trying to learn, that is commendable. If things change, mayhaps you will get your chance of proper training." Jon already could make a gander on what Lord Arryn was talking about when he said he might ask them for a favour. "Now, tell me, do Master Mott has any other helpers beside you?"

Gendry nodded, "Master's got two more to help with his forge. Why d'you ask, Ser?"

"You are going to find out. Come with me." He dragged Gendry back to the front of the shop where his friends were still looking through various weapons and armours and chatting with Tobho Mott.

"Master Mott, I understand that you have another two apprentices besides Gendry here?"

Tobho looked at him puzzled and nodded his head.

"Wonderful, I want you to work on my armour with your two apprentices. But Gendry will be doing something special for me." He turned to look at the young man, "Gendry, my friend, do you think you can make me a beautiful helm like yours? I know the time is rather short, but I am sure you can manage that. After all, you are Master Mott's prized pupil."

Bewildered, Gendry could only stutter.

"Wonderful. I will come back on the morning the tourney commences then. And I will also add another ten Dragons over the price of the armour for the troubles I may have caused you, Master Mott." Jon bowed to the man.

"Uh…what design d'you want the helm ta be, Ser?" Gendry still looked very confused about the entire situation.

Jon gave him a wolfish smile, "Why, a snarling wolf, of course."

[CotW]

They had left the smith's shop a while back and wandering idly about the Street of Steel. Torrhen was the first to broke the silence of the four –

"What the fuck is going on?"

Jon shook his head, "Þat appears at okkarr konungr var mjök busy." (It appears that our King was very busy.)

The others snorted hearing that.

Asher was next to raise a question, "Gerþúr hugslorðr hönd meant fyrir oss til vitladrinnr?" (Do you think Lord Hand meant for us to find the lad?)

Jon scratched his chin in thought, "Aye, ek em quite munu at lorð arryn villjumk oss til vitgendryr." (Aye, I am quite sure that Lord Arryn wanted us to find Gendry.)

"En hví munu hann viljatr?" (But why would he want that?)

Jon stopped at a shop displaying various daggers.

"Hugsumr þat, lads. Konungrrinn hafar bastarð hiding inn kapitolrinn. Hverr veitir hvernig mang ór hans kinder eru um þessi borg. Hvat gerþúr hugsdróttninginnr eðhanar kind munu gertilr þessi threats til hankinderr ef þeir komtilr veit um þau? fran hvat ek óderstand, besides munu bastardr, gendry er robert's eldest kind." (Think about it, lads. The King has a bastard hiding in the Capitol. Who knows how many of his children are about this city. What do you think the Queen or her family would do to these threats to her children if they come to know about them? From what I understand, besides being a bastard, Gendry is Robert's eldest child.)

Robb shook his head, "Nei, ek hafhearðr aptr á hvítr harbour at konungr hafði dóttirr jafnvel before rebellionrinn. Mystoner, ek hugserr hannafnr. Ok, hann hafar sonr á stormlands, hans nafn er edric storm." (No, I have heard back at White Harbour that King had a daughter even before the Rebellion. Mya Stone, I think is her name. Also, he has a son at Stormlands, his name is Edric Storm.)

Suddenly Robb stopped walking and grabbed Jon by the elbow, "Oh!" His eyes were wide as if he had seen an Other in front of him.

Jon frowned at him, "Hvat er matter, inn bróðir?" (What is the matter, brother?)

Robb started to speak very fast, "Hugsumkr réttr kroppeð upp inn minn kollr. Ek hafhearðr rumoursrinn at konungrrinn's kinder, þessi myokr edric, eru spitting images ór maðrrinn. Vér réttr sá gendry aptr á shoprinn, hann lítir samrinn sem ungrr Robert. (A thought just cropped up in my head. I have heard the rumours that the King's children, this Mya and Edric, are spitting images of the man. We just saw Gendry back at the shop, he looks the same as a young Robert.)

"Hvat eru þú trying til segða?" (What are you trying to say?)

Jon was glaring ahead at the road, "Hann er trying til segðatr royalinn fawns Mayeigir munu ór royalinn stag, eptir allr. Hann mayhaps raising dróttningrinn's bastards óknowingly. En vér megeigir munu munu um at." (He is trying to say that the royal fawns may not be of the royal stag, after all. He mayhaps raising the Queen's bastards unknowingly. But we cannot be sure about that.)

Asher surmised what was on all of their minds, "Ek em really starting til hatþessir borg ok fólkinn hverr eru ruling þat." (I am really starting to hate this city and the people who are ruling it.)

"Þú ok ek báð, bróðir." (You and I both, brother.)

This time, it was Torrhen who stopped them from walking. They had come out of the Street of Steel and walking down the road full of food stalls and taverns.

"Jon!" Torrhen indicated with his chin towards the side of the road, at a darkened alcove between a tavern and a stall. Jon frowned as he turned to take a look. He was surprised to see the young boy they had met on their visit to this street, Kurt Wagner, was sitting in the alcove, hugging his knees to his chest. The last time they had seen him, he was wearing clothes of poor quality, but they were at least clean. But now, his clothes were caked in dirt. His face was smeared in dirt and soot. Dried tears had made lines down his cheeks among the dirt. Jon hurried towards the child.

"Kurt, what is the matter, lad?"

The boy looked up at him with a blank stare. Jon had never seen such a look in somebody so young. He got down on his knees on the road and gathered the boy in his arms. He looked up at his friends to see they were as puzzled as he himself was.

Robb nodded his head towards the tavern – do you think we should enquire about him in there?

Jon nodded – Aye, that will be for the best.

The four walked inside of the tavern with Jon carrying Kurt in his arms. He let Robb take the lead as they approached the counter where the probable owner was working. At this time of the day, the tavern was not as busy as it would later.

"Good day."

The owner looked at them and greeted them with a wide smile, "Good day, m'lords. What can I get for ya?"

"Could you tell me what happened to this lad here? We have met him a few days ago, but then he didn't appear as such."

The owner's eyes widened when they came upon Kurt.

"Oh, you have found the wee lad. A sad tale, m'lords, sad, sad tale. His ma used to work in me tavern and his da worked down at the docks."

"Yes, yes, we are already aware of that. What we want to know is what happened to him?" Robb asked impatiently.

"Yes m'lord, I'm tellin' it, innit? Their hovel in the Flea Bottom was crashed, killed all three of 'em, ma, da an' the wee lass. This un here went out for a piss an' saved his neck. He's been lurkin' around me tavern since then."

"What do you mean by their hovel crashed?"

"Well, there ain't no more place there. All of 'em folks come to the city. Some find the jobs, some gets a bowl o' brown at the end o' the day. But they needs a place to sleep at night. So they erect hovels, one top o' another, an' another. E'ery three moons, one or the other hovel crash. If it goes down in the day, well, all the luck ta ya. But if it goes down in the night, ya get crushed."

"What will happen to the lad now?"

"If there be space in the orphanage, he'll get a bowl o' brown at the end o' the day. If it ain't, well, what's one more begging lad on the street of Kings' Landin'."

"You are wrong," Jon finally opened his mouth, "there is a life beyond Kings' Landing for Kurt. I will see to it."

They stormed out of the tavern and hurried on their way towards the Red Keep.

"Gerþúr hugsvarysr er responsible fyrir þessi?" (Do you think Varys is responsible for this?) Asher asked.

"Ek em almost kertain um at." (I am almost certain about that.) Jon growled low in his voice.

Soon, they had reached the Red Keep. One of the guards opened his mouth to stop them by seeing Kurt in Jon's arms, but the one in charge signalled him to let them pass, it was no secret that the Northerners were the favourite of the King. And after his amazing display so far in the tourney, the legend of the White Wolf had reached another height in the city.

Jon knew that Varys would become aware very soon that Jon had brought Kurt along with him. But he is beyond care at that point. He would leave him at the barrack, under the watchful eyes of Arthur and their men. Let Varys try his tricks there, he mentally issued a challenge to the man.

As they burst through the doors to where their men were staying, Arthur rose to his feet in alarm. Seeing the four hurrying inside with a child, he frowned.

"Jon? What is the matter?"

"I will tell you in a while, Uncle Eric." Jon turned towards the men and called, "Wade, I need of you!"

"Coming, Wolf."

A tall man with blond hair and a wide smile on his face came forward. If one looked closely, they would swear that there was a manic glint in his eyes.

Jon put Kurt down on the ground and got on his knees to be at the same level as the lad.

"Wade, this is Kurt. You are to look after him. And when we need you for something, you will leave him in the care of Ser Eric. Only Ser Eric, do you understand?"

"I understand it clearly, Wolf. This lad is my responsibility." Wade thumped his chest with his fist.

"Good." Jon turned to look Kurt in the eyes, "Kurt, this here is my good friend Wade Poole. He is a distant cousin of the steward of Winterfell. Some say that he is a bit mad. But who amongst us is completely sane anyway. Right, lad? He is a good man and he will take care of you. You must always listen to him, can you do that for me, Kurt?"

Kurt nodded his head timidly.

"There is a good lad." Jon smiled and ruffled his dirty hair. His face turned serious as he looked intently into Kurt's eyes, "Ek swear til þú, kurt wagner, sem lady minerverr minn witness, ek munu hafjusticer fyrir þinn kind. Fólkrinn hverr stole þinn kind fran þú, winter munu komfyrirr þau, með fire ok blooð." (I swear to you, Kurt Wagner, as Lady Minerva is my witness, I will have justice for your family. The people who stole your family from you, winter will come for them, with fire and blood.)

Jon nodded his head to Wade to take Kurt away. The man put his hand on the boy's back and stirred him away, talking to him in an excited voice, "Come with me, lad. Let's get you cleaned and into some proper clothes. Are you hungry? I will feed you till you become big and strong like me. And then I will train you how to fight with knives and swords in no time…"

Jon let out an explosive breath and crashed down on his arse. A lone tear trickled down his cheek. Only his friends and Ser Arthur could hear his whispered words –

"Forgive me, Anna."

*Line Break*

Two Lannister guards made their way into the busy tavern. They were in search of a mug of ale and mayhaps a woman to enjoy the night. As they entered the crowded room, they tried to look for an empty table to sit down at.

"Hail, friends from Westerlands. Come, come, share my table." A blond man who was already into his cups hollered at them.

The two men looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. They approached the man's table as the tavern owner bustled in with two chairs for them to sit.

"Join me for a cup o' ale, won't you?" the man slurred.

"You have our thanks, my friend."

"Hah, no need o' that. Tell me, what is the story in your land?"

A serving wench had brought tankards of ale for the guards to the table and glared playfully when one of the men slapped her arse.

"Not much to tell. As I understand, all the stories making the rounds came from this here city. What with the tourney and the Northerners digging up and finding dragon eggs…"

"Say, ain't you a Northerner yourself?"

The blond laughed uproariously, "Ha, got a pair o' good eyes on ya, friend. Good pair o' eyes an' a good head on the shoulders makes a great fuckin' warrior, I always say." He stopped his rambling to take a swig from his tankard. The one he was praising preened at his words.

"Aye, ya got it right, o' course. I was from the North. Never liked all them snow. The moment I could, spat on the snow an' made me way down south. Got me a patch o' land in the Riverlands, a wife with huge teats an' warm bed every night, ya know? Would've frozen me cock off if I stayed back up North. A few years o' hard work an' saved me some coins. When I heard about King's tourney, packed me saddle an' came down here for some fun."

"You have a good head on your shoulders too, friend. I heard that the Northern savages eat their children in the winter, is it true?"

"Dunno, never got me any sprog back there." He beckoned the other two to lean forward, "least that I know of."

The three of them howled with laughter, they had gotten truly drunk by then.

"Oi, I saw the Mountain this mornin'. Is he goin' to take part in the joustin'? I might place some bet on him."

"Saw him, did ya? Yes, Ser Gregor tol' us he's goin' to win the thing. Bet your coins on him, friend, if Ser Jaime ain't takin' part, Ser Gregor is sure winner."

"The White Lion ain't joustin'?"

"That's what I heard…"

[CotW]

The Northerner and one of the Lannister guards walked out of the tavern, swaying heavily on their feet.

"Don' ya worry. Ya are me bess frien'. Let that bastard fuck that wench…that cunt ain't got no teats on her anyway. I'll get ya the best whore ya want…"

As they reached the stable behind the tavern, the Lannister man stumbled and fell face-first on a bale of hay. He vomited all over on the ground and laid there unconscious.

The Northerner peered at him, he poked the man's side with the point of his boot.

"Ya alrigh' down there, friend?"

The man was motionless, only a sound of soft snoring came from him.

The Northerner straightened his posture, all signs of being drunk out of his gourd vanished from him in a moment. He looked around once to make sure they were alone in that almost darkened stable and let out a low whistle from between his teeth.

Four silhouettes detached themselves from the surrounding darkness and approached the duo.

"Quickly, get his clothes off."

"And his small clothes too."

"Why are we robbing the man's small clothes?"

"It is highly unlikely that a whore will dress him back up after they fucked, isn't it?"

"Kick him in the balls, not hard enough to leave a bruise, just with enough force that he will feel the pain when he wakes up. It will make him think that he had a fun night."

"How do you know that? How does he know that?"

"When you have elder brothers such as mine, you tend to get all types of useless knowledge."

"Then we should brush his cock with a horse's brush. That will make it itch right and good. And we should also pour a little ale over his body, making it all sticky…what? Why are you looking at me?"

"I don't even want to know what you get off to when you are on your own."

"I am not touching his cock."

"I will do it, it was my idea anyway. Hand me the brush over there."

"There, it looks all nice and raw, doesn't it?"

"I am not even looking at that…"

"It's alright. He will wake up in pain and will be very happy. Mayhaps I should curve a few lines on his back with this knife."

"No!"

"But I will use just the tip of the knife, it will look like nail marks…"

"I said no, let us just get the fuck out of here."

"You make me wonder about you sometimes."

"And you make us wonder about what kind of women you go to bed with…let's just go."

Five silhouettes disappeared into the darkness of the night.

[CotW]

The man was working diligently hunched over his desk. Many would think that he had nothing special to do. But his works ensure that the crowd was entertained when they gather to see the jousting. He let out a frustrated sigh when he heard someone knocking on his doors.

"Enter."

A cloaked man came inside, making the man behind the desk frown at him.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Who am I isn't very important, what I want is. Tell me, are you the one who is making the lists for the jousting?"

"Yes…" the man behind the desk narrowed his eyes.

"Excellent. Now, is it true that the Bastard of Winterfell entered his name in the list?"

The man nodded his head.

"Another good news then. Tell me, my good man, how do you like to earn twenty Gold Dragons?"

The man almost started to salivate at the sound of that, "I would like that very much."

The cloaked man seemed to be very pleased with his answer.

"Very well then, to earn it, all you need to do is to shuffle your list just a bit, and after one or two rounds each, pit the Northern Bastard against Ser Gregor."

The man behind the desk frowned at that, "I can't do that. The list gets set on who bits whom on the previous round."

The cloaked man's hand disappeared inside of his cloak as he took out a pouch of coins. It was enough for the sitting man to get a glimpse of the golden lion stitched on a red jerkin.

"Are you sure? I can give you ten Dragons right now, and the rest after you have done your deed."

The man behind the desk never took his eyes off of the small pouch of coins, "I-I will do what I can."

The cloaked man dropped the pouch on the desk, the sitting man almost jumped to get his hands on the pouch. But he shrieked as a knife embedded itself just a hairsbreadth away from his hand.

"Of course, you realize that no one should come to know about our arrangement. It will not be very favourable for your health."

"N-no one shall learn anything from me."

The cloaked man nodded his head, "As long as we understand each other…" He ripped the knife off the desk and turned to leave.

"T-the rest of it?"

The cloaked man stopped and looked over his shoulder, "You will get it after when we see that you have done as you are told. Do not worry, we never forget our debts." The man exited the room.

The man behind the desk poured himself a cup full of wine and took a large gulp to calm his fiercely beating heart. He leaned back in his seat and wiped his brow. He reached over and took the pouch in his hand and opened it to see the content inside. His face split into a widest green as he caught the gleam of gold. It was indeed quite easy for him to shuffle the list, nobody would care about who goes against whom as long as they are entertained. He put the gold inside of a draw and pulled the parchment he was working on back towards him.

"Heh, easiest money I have ever made."

*Line Break*

Robb and Torrhen made their way to the gallery. Jon had roped Asher in to act as his squire. After much grumbling and insults back and forth, Asher had agreed to be Jon's squire. Although, it could have been because of Asher's good mood at winning a spontaneous melee in hand-to-hand combat the previous day. Jon had said that since he was getting a new axe, he will put up Freedom as a reward for the one who would win in a competition of 'Karhold' amongst the three of them. Asher proved his mettle with fast movements and even faster reflexes as he landed the other two in the dirt. Jon sat with Prince Tommen and cheered and jeered them on as they fought three on three.

They all had gone out of the keep quite early in the morning to get Jon's armour from Master Mott's smithy. Gendry had done a beautiful job with Jon's helm. He probably had heard about Ghost and made a helm with an uncanny likeness of the white direwolf, even down to his red eyes. Jon discreetly told them that he was glad to wear the colours of his houses without anyone noticing them at all.

The axe Master Mott had made for Jon was indeed a work of art. The same teardrop-shaped blade, metal handle with leather straps wrapped around the grip and riveted into the handle, but instead of castle-forged steel, this one was made of Valyrian steel and surprisingly, had a smoky blue colour. They had only heard of a differently coloured Valyrian steel weapon, and that was the family blade of House Drumm from the Iron Isles, the blade of that sword was red in colour and thus named Red Rain. Jon was enamoured with his new axe the moment he took it up in his hands. He had named it Winter Rose for its colour, Rose for short.

As they neared the gallery, they had spotted Lord Arryn was having a conversation with the slimy bastard, Baelish. Robb and Torrhen exchanged a short glance and a nod between the two of them and pretended to be talking excitedly about the jousting. Robb jostled into the old man and turned to face him with a horrified look on his face.

"Kindly pardon me, My Lord. I didn't watch where I was going and ran into you. Are you hurt?"

Lord Arryn waved off Robb's concern, "It is quite alright, my boy, I am not hurt. I take it you are excited about the jousting?"

"Aye, My Lord. My brother is taking part in it, we do not get the chance to joust much back in the North, but Jon is the best rider of us, we are quite eager to see how well he does in it."

"How interesting. Would you be willing to place a few bets then, My Lord Stark?" Baelish asked with a smirk on his face.

"A little bit, surely. Will you be sitting with us again, My Lord Baelish?"

"Of course, My Lord. I have a few more things to discuss with Lord Hand, then I will be joining the two of you."

"With your leave then, My Lords." Robb and Torrhen bowed to them and went to find their seats.

[CotW]

Jon Arryn felt someone slammed into him and then shoved a bit of parchment in his left hand. He turned to see who would dare to do so and found that it was none other than Robb Stark. He immediately understood what the lad was trying to do. They chatted for a while after assuring him that he was not hurt by their collision. He bade goodbye to Petyr as quickly as he could and took a stroll towards the Royal box. At a discreet corner, he took out the parchment to read –

Water runs true to its colour, same as Stone and Storm. We await the next instruction.

He tore up the parchment into little bits and scattered them on his way up to the box. Clever lads, he thought, I will have to immediately see to the arrangements. He exchanged a few pleasantries with Robert as he took his seat, his mind was busy making plans to save the life of his foster son's illegitimate child.

[CotW]

Jon was at the tent marked for him to prepare. He was standing at a corner being chastised by an irate Arthur Dayne.

"I would need to know why you have decided to enlist yourself in the joust, Jon?"

"I have my reasons, Uncle Eric."

"Would that reason be a certain Mountain?"

Jon averted his eyes.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep, calming breath.

"Jon, none better than you knows the oaths you have taken, the responsibilities you are under. And you are foolish enough to risk everything to quench your thirst for vengeance? What will your Uncle Ned say if he comes to know about this?"

"I also took an oath to my mother's grave, Uncle Eric, I promised her that I will see the end of the men who took my mother and sister from me."

Arthur sighed. He put a hand on his shoulder and squeezed it.

"I can understand your pain, Jon. Believe me, I do. But I can't still agree with the steps you've taken. All I can say to you now is that please be very careful. And know that I won't hesitate to throw away my cover if I see your life being in any danger."

"I can't promise you that I won't receive a bruise or a scratch, but I can assure you that I will be alright out there, Uncle Eric. You don't need to worry."

"Easy for you to say, lad."

Asher had entered the tent a few moments ago and stood aside as the two had their conversation. Now, he cleared his throat and said –

"They are announcing the lists, Jon. You need to get into your armours."

"Aye, Asher, thank you."

Asher and Arthur started to help him put on his armours.

[CotW]

Robb and Torrhen were talking among themselves as Little Finger came and occupied the seat on Robb's other side.

"Well, my dear Lord Stark. I hope you have brought quite a few coins with you because I am feeling very lucky on this day."

"I have brought my coin purse with me, aye, but to tell you the truth, My Lord, I don't know how successful my brother will be down there. Even I don't know about how much time he spent on the tilt."

"Same as you didn't know about his archery prowess, My Lord?

"Oh no, I am perfectly aware of what Jon can do with a bow or a sword in his hands. And if you remember correctly, My Lord, I never claimed otherwise when I placed that bet, I will always back my brother."

"Such loyalty to your brother, My Lord, even when he is a bastard." Baelish smirked at him.

"Some are in just name while some are in nature. My family and I are quite happy that Jon belongs in the first category, My Lord." Robb smirked back at the man.

Baelish frowned at that and opened his mouth to speak, but Robb cut him off –

"Oh, look, I think they are starting."

Indeed, they were. The herald had unfurled a long role of parchment and started to read the names of lords and knights who had entered their names in the event, when their names were called, they rode out on their horses, made a round of the arena, paid respect to the Royal family and then took to stand at the far corner of the arena.

When his name was called, Jon rode out on his white courser. They had gone from one horse breeder to another to find a suitable steed for Jon. Since none of them had a destrier in their stables, Jon had to settle for the white courser. The horse was bedecked with just a normal white cloth, unlike the other lords or knights who had favoured their house colours on their horses. But it was Jon's armour that had garnered a round of excited whispers all around. Jon sat upon his white horse, in a masterfully created set of armours by Tobho Mott, the white direwolf on his chest was prominent against the grey of the entire armour. The gauntlets he wore on his hands were made to look like claws. The billowing cape at his back was from woven silk and the shield he held was coloured dark as night, with a snarling white wolf right in the middle which looked as if it would jump out of the shield at any moment, surrounded by blue winter roses. But the part that attracted attention the most was indeed the helm made by Gendry. The white helm made to look like an almost replica of Ghost's head was sure to make even the hardiest of men skip a heartbeat.

Jon thumped his right fist over his heart when he passed beneath the box where Robb and Torrehn were seated. They both were on their feet and returned the gesture to him. As Jon made his round of the arena, Torrhen nudged Robb's shoulder and indicated at a different part of the gallery. Robb followed his gaze to find the Pryor siblings were on their feet cheering for Jon. Even at the distance, it didn't escape their notice that Madelyne Pryor had a dusting of red on her cheeks.

"It seems that the Lady Pryor is once again on her prowl after a certain White Wolf." Robb whispered to Torrhen.

"Woe to us then, eh Robb?"

"Too true, brother, too true."

Notable names of the jousting event who were proven to be crowd favourite by the cheering they received besides Jon were Lord Yohn Royce, Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Gregor Clegane, Lord Berric Dondarrion, Ser Patrek Mallister, Lord Renly Baratheon and Ser Arys Oakheart. Ser Jaime was the Kingsguard on duty, so he couldn't participate in the event. He stood behind the King. Robb had caught his eyes and the knight nodded back at him with his usual arrogant smirk on his face.

With the King's consent, the jousting began. The first few bouts were between some minor lords and a few hedge knights. After a while, it was Jon's turn to bout, he was pitted against some hedge-knight from Vale. Jon only needed a single run of the tilt to unhorse the knight. Neither Little Finger nor Robb had placed a bet on that one. Soon, every participant had their first bouts out of the way and the next round began. After a couple of bouts, it was once again Jon's turn. This time he was pitted against Lord Renly Baratheon.

"How about our little bet now, My Lord Stark?" Baelish's sugary voice poured into Robb's ears.

"Of course, My Lord, I would like to put five Dragons on my brother."

"Only five, Lord Robb?"

"I had hoped that you remember about my spending nature, My Lord Baelish."

"Ah yes, who can forget about Lord Eddard's lessons." A subtle sneer played on his face, it was too quick to spot for untrained eyes.

Lord Renly, set his horse on prance as he took his place. He waved to the audience which had earned him a few titters and giggles from the observing ladies. In contrast to the man, Jon and his ride appeared to be curved out of stone. The white direwolf helm was gleaming in the sunlight. The painted red eyes appeared to have come alive and sent shivers down to the spine of anybody who looked directly at it.

When the signal was given, both of them spurred their horses and charged at each other. As they neared each other, the tip of Renly's lance glanced over Jon's shield, leaving a scratch mark behind, whereas Jon's lance landed squarely right at the middle of Renly's chest.

Robb was watching it all so intently that he registered everything as if they were moving slowly through molasses. He would learn later from Jon that at that moment he was channelling his warg powers unknowingly which made his brain look at everything in their minute details.

Jon's lance bent against Renly's armour as he moved forward charging on his horse, a crack appeared in the wood as the tension grew from the pressure put to it. Jon didn't loosen his grip on the lance and it exploded into splinters throwing Renly off the saddle. Jon thundered past him as Renly crashed on the ground in his heavy armour, leaving no doubt that the Lord of Storm's End will have multiple bruises to remind him of his encounter with the White Wolf the next morning.

Little Finger grimaced beside Robb.

"I have not expected Lord Renly to be unhorsed in the first run." The man grumbled.

"That is Jon, My Lord, he always does things which are unexpected of him." Came Robb's smug reply.

"Indeed." Baelish narrowed his eyes as he handed a small pouch over to Robb.

By then, Jon had pulled the reins of his horse to make it stop running and jumped off his saddle to check up on Renly. He offered his hand to the downed man and pulled him up on his feet. Renly gave him an exaggerated bow and waved once to the audience before limping off towards the exit. The crowd once again chant the name of Ser Jon, the White Wolf.

As the second round came to end, the herald announced the third and last round of bouts for the day. Almost all of the minor lords and hedge knights were eliminated by then. In the third round, Lord Yohn was pitted against Ser Patrek, Lord Berric went against another Stormlander Knight, Ser Barristan rode against his White Cloak brother Ser Arys and finally, Jon was announced to face against the Mountain, Ser Gregor Clegane.

"What!?" Robb's indignant shout broke through the escalating murmurs of the crowd.

[CotW]

Jon sat on the bench in his tent with his eyes closed while Arthur paced around agitatedly. Asher stood outside of the tent watching the bouts and kept coming inside to announce the winner –

"Lord Yohn Royce unhorsed Ser Patrek Mallister after four runs of the tilt."

"Lord Berric unhorsed the Stormlander knights in two runs and one broken lance."

"Ser Arys rode well but it was his bad luck to go against Ser Barristan. The old knight took five runs and three broken lances to unhorse his brother."

Soon enough, it was Jon's turn to go up against the Mountain. Arthur and Asher made careful inspections of his armours and tightened the straps. Arthur reluctantly handed the helm to Jon.

"Be careful out there, Jon."

Jon nodded his head to him.

Asher was standing beside the horse. Jon clapped on his shoulder as he got up on the saddle, Asher handed him a lance without a word, concern for his brother was evident in his eyes. Jon gave him a single nod and lowered his visor. He gripped the lance tightly in his hand and rode out to the arena.

The Mountain sat on top of his black destrier at the other end of the tilt, bedecked in his black armour, looking as an omen of the Stranger to all. Jon took a deep breath to centre himself. As the signal was given, he spurred his horse and charged towards the oncoming giant of a man.

Both lances landed on the shields and broke at the impact. Jon felt as if the bones of his arm were shattered by the blow. As they rode past each other, Jon growled at the man – "Rapist!"

They returned to their starting points as their squires handed them another set of lances. Jon didn't take off his eyes of the man. He couldn't tell if he had heard his passing comment. Again they charged at each other. This time, Clegane's lance landed at the upper portion of the shield to which Jon tilted his shield a little to make it a glancing but still jarring blow, whereas his own lance once again landed at the centre of Clegane's shield and again broke one impact.

As they thundered past each other, once again Jon growled at the man – "Child killer!"

This time, Jon was sure that Clegane had heard his remark. As they returned to their places, he could see that the man had unnecessarily tightened his grip on his horse's reins making the beast move in distress. As soon as Asher handed him another lance, the signal was given and off the went once again.

Jon's lance landed squarely on Clegane's shoulder and broke at the impact, though it seemed that the knight didn't even feel the blow. Clegane's lance once again landed at the centre of Jon's shield and also broke at the impact. Jon felt his left arm going numb, he was almost thrown off from his horse but somehow he managed to cling on to his saddle even as his left foot had come loose from the stirrup and he was sitting lop sided on his horse. The crowd was watching the bout in silence and with bated breaths. Quite a few ladies had uttered a cry of despair when they saw Jon almost toppled off of his horse.

Gritting his teeth for the pain in his left arm, Jon still growled at the man as they passed each other – "False knight!"

As he returned to his place, he saw that Asher had gone pale as a bone. "Jon…" He tried to speak in a choked voice.

"I am alright, brother," Jon snapped at him, "just give me the fucking lance!"

He adjusted his sitting on the saddle as Asher handed him another lance. He forced through the pain in his left arm and tried to move it, he was happy to see that he could still move his arm and hand even as they sent jolts of pain through his entire body from the smallest of movements. Jon knew that he couldn't continue as he was in his current state. He had to put his everything in the next run or he had to forget about his revenge and had to face some dire consequences as the result of his actions.

Once again they charged at each other as the signal was given. Jon had gripped the lance tightly in his hand, he had braced it against his thigh for extra support. He took a deep breath to clear his mind from every other thought and looked ahead at the charging beast, not the man astride it. The horse's mind resisted as Jon attacked it with his full force. It fought hard but came up short against the full assault of the mental intrusion of a gifted warg. Jon had taken control of the beast and made it veer off course just a little bit, not enough to raise any suspicion but just a bit that Clegane's lance would miss him even if his gambit didn't bear any result.

Clegane was alarmed at the sudden disobedience of his horse, he raised his head just a little in astonishment of the wild occurrence – it was enough for Jon to put the rest of his misbegotten plan to test. Time had started to run slow as Jon raised the tip of his lance, aiming at the small sliver of the skin that appeared to his keen eyes, the smallest opening between the man's helm and his gorget. He watched on as the blunted but still thin enough tip of his lance impacted against the man's throat and pierced the skin of the underside of his chin and went up a little towards his brain. The man had let go of the reins of his horse and reacted to the pain, he jerked backwards and was thrown off of his horse. Blood spurted in an arc as the huge man slammed down on the ground.

A shrill scream of some lady had pierced the silence of the crowd at the sight of blood. Jon, by then, had stopped his horse and jumped off the saddle. He clenched his teeth in pain as he unstrapped his shield and removed the gauntlet from his right arm, he needed his bracer to be free from its confinement for what he was about to do.

"Maester! We need a Maester here!" he skidded to a stop on his knees beside the fallen man and put his right hand on the gaping wound of Clegane's throat.

Jon looked down to the man's eyes to see he was looking up at him with wide eyes. Blood was pouring out of his throat and mouth, his massive hands and legs jerked from the death throes. In a low voice, Jon spoke to him –

"Remember Elia Martell! You raped her, you smashed her head to kill her! Did you think of yourself to be safe from your deeds, Gregor Clegane? I, Aemon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaeger and Princess Lyanna Targaryen, stepson of Princess Elia of Houses Targaryen and Martell, sentence you to die!"

*Snikt*

The hidden blade from Jon's bracer went through the previous wound and made it even deeper, none could save his life now.

To the onlookers, it appeared that Jon was trying to ease the mind of the wounded man. When he raised his head to look around, he saw a Maester coming towards them in hurried steps. From the opposite sides, Clegane's squire and Asher were running towards them at full pelt.

Jon snarled at the Maester, he had to maintain his pretence, "Hurry the fuck up! The man is dying here!" He yelled out.

The Maester broke into a run and crashed down near Clegane's head. Jon removed his hand from the wound and stood back up to let the Maester do his job, knowing very well that nothing could be done now.

Jon marvelled at the resilience of the giant man. Even with such a lethal wound, he kept clinging to his life. The Maester tried everything to staunch the blood flow but appeared incapable of doing that. After a few minutes of fruitless effort, he turned towards the Royal box and shook his head, indicating that nothing could save the man's life. But Jon needed to be sure, he asked the man –

"Is there nothing else you could do, Maester?"

"No Ser, the wound is too severe and nothing seems to stop the blood. I am afraid he won't live."

"But Ser is in horrible pain." Chimed Clegane's squire.

The Maester shook his head sadly, "I am sorry, lad, but he is sure to die."

"Then let us grant him the mercy of death, it is better than suffering the pain he is in." Jon cut in, he turned towards Asher and extended his hand, "Your blade please, Asher."

Asher unsheathed his sword without a word and handed it to Jon.

Jon turned towards Clegane's squire and asked –

"Can you please remove his gorget? It is impossible to turn over a man of his girth and remove the straps of his armours."

The lad had tears flowing down his cheeks and nodded his head, he bent down to remove Clegane's gorget.

Jon raised the sword and closed his eyes, he started to chant –

"Fyrir þinn sins til fólk, ek, sonr ór barðinn konungsson ok knitinn ór laughinginn tré, sentence þú til dey. Mayþinnr soul never vitpeacer. Ek kurse þú. (For your sins to people, I, son of the bard prince and the knight of the laughing tree, sentence you to die. May your soul never find peace. I curse you.)

"Ek kurse þú." Asher chimed after him.

Jon opened his eyes and swung the blade down, removing Clegane's head from his body. He handed the sword back to Asher and cradled his left arm in his right and started to walk towards the Royal box. Asher and the Maester following him closely, Clegane's squire remained behind as men rushed in to remove the Mountain's corpse.

Jon went down on his knees in front of the Royal box. A hush had fallen overall around the gallery. Jon spoke clearly with his head bowed –

"My King, I have just taken a life in front of you. Now I present myself to you for your judgement."

Queen Cersei tried to speak but the King stopped her.

"Not now, woman!" Robert growled, he turned towards the Maester, "Maester?"

"Your Grace, as we all saw the incident, Ser Jon tried his best to help Ser Gregor. But the wound was lethal. There was nothing I could do to help the poor man. Ser Jon on granted him the mercy of death rather than prolonging his life of tremendous pain as Ser Gregor clung to it. Ser Jon even prayed for his soul before he granted him peace, Your Graces." The Maester bowed and took a step back.

Robert turned towards Jon, "Get up, Lad. You haven't done anything wrong. As everyone saw, it was an accident, you only tried to save his life and later, granted him the peace of death. You have performed your duties as a knight. What say you, Ser Jaime?"

Jaime nodded his head, "You are right, Your Grace, Ser Jon had done admirably."

Jon got up to his feet and looked up to the faces present at the Royal box. Robert had a saddened smile on his face, probably thinking about the toll the death of Clegane was going to take on his friend's son. Queen Cersei had a calculating look on his face. Prince Joffrey had a very disturbing eager look on him as he kept looking at the men removing Clegane's body. Prince Tommen and Princess Myrcella had fearful but awed looks on their little faces. Lord Arryn gave Jon an encouraging smile, but Tywin Lannister appeared as if all of it was an everyday event.

Jon bowed his head once again, "Your Graces."

He stepped to the side and stood before the Lord Lannister, "My Lord Lannister, I offer you my condolences for the loss of your leal man."

Tywin's eyes narrowed just a fraction, he took a moment but spoke in a measured tone –

"As Ser Jaime said, you have done your duties as a knight admirably and honourably, Ser Jon. You are indeed a credit to your father's name."

Robert spoke up once again, "Go take care of your arm, lad. You need to be fighting fit before tomorrow's bouts."

Jon bowed to them all, "With your leave then, Your Graces. My Lords."

Jon walked towards his tent supported by Asher. His arm was still throbbing in pain. Arthur was waiting for them at the tent. The moment Jon stepped inside, he collapsed. Arthur hurried to catch him before he fell to the ground. A small trickle of blood flowed from his nostrils.

"Jon! What happened?" Asher asked worriedly.

"A blade without a hilt, Asher." Jon replied weakly.

Asher stood there with a grim look on his face as Arthur carried Jon to sit on the bench. He understood the price his brother paid to get his revenge.