19

Summary:

Mance speaks with Val, and Jaime and Tyrion have some odd interactions with the Starks.

Notes:

Sorry for the wait, I had trouble getting into the heads of these characters, and just feeling like everyone was true to character in the way they think and speak, a bit of writer's block as well. I still don't feel like I did that great but I'd rather get something up than play with it too much because then I'd try too hard for perfection. Mance's part is probably the worst part but it is also the shortest and probably the one people care about the least.

Also Cersei's part was split into a small roughly 4,000 word chapter which should be posted a few days after this or within the week. I felt it might be better to have it separate.

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

Mance:

Catching Val alone was easier said than done. She was rarely alone, an oddity for the normally independent woman.

When the raven had flown into his tent, he'd nearly tried to kill it on the bird's similarity to crows but then it had spoken his name. Slowly the bird had croaked its message; Val was captured but safe and in talks with the Starks and the Lord Commander of the crows. Dalla had been worried and when they got news of the southern king's journey to Winterfell, Mance had made up his mind.

A purse of unminted silver had bought him a mount and a bed in the town outside the castle. Joining the King's procession had been the easiest part, sing a few bawdy songs and knights welcome you along.

From the back of the hall Mance had been able to assess the Starks and their king, even Mance felt himself more kingly than the fat drunk. He'd seen the way the man forced his lips on the woman and how she'd gone for a blade before Eddard Stark put an end to it. Had it been north of the Wall the girl could have put that blade into the king's skull with little consequence, but here they weren't given such freedoms and were expected to spread their legs for those in power.

He'd meant to speak to Val then, in the chaos of the feast but she had left with the Stark children and the woman the southern king assaulted. Like the others he'd observed Val, everyday she wore southern clothes, finer than all but the Starks and the royals. She was scarcely alone if not with Lord Stark's bastard than with her so-called siblings, the blonde false sister either shared or stole Dalla's name, they even looked alike.

It was when he heard the rumor of Val being the bastard's lover he began questioning everything. He had doubled his efforts to catch her alone, it seemed he finally had his chance after five days. She entered the Godswood and he slipped through the gates after her.

"You've gotten cozy down here with the kneelers." His words didn't startle her.

She turned from her seat on a small boulder beneath the weirwood. "It isn't all too bad here. I suppose that is why we steal from them."

Mance raised a brow, "And did you steal the bastard or he you? You're one of the last people I'd expect to bed a Stark."

A slight smile appeared on her face and she gave a light laugh. "A little bit of both. I've been waiting for you to reveal yourself. You missed my other attempts at drawing you out."

"You haven't told the Starks?"

"Didn't need to, they already knew you'd be here." Val's lack of dread, told him that either she had betrayed him and the free folk or she believed the Starks would let him go.

The hairs rising on the back of his neck, Mance looked around to ensure this wasn't a trap. "How'd they know that?"

"A certain raven told them." Val looked down at the steamy black pool.

The answer made him want to kick himself at his mistake but then he recalled the raven flew away after delivering its message. How would it have known, he hadn't made the decision till much later. "It told me you were in talks with the Starks."

Nodding Val seemed a bit apologetic. "Yes. My party and I were about to set up camp when we spotted a campfire in the distance. Thinking they were crows we moved to attack and just use their camp. Then the mist came and we retreated but when the cloud was gone the fire was still bright. I had us investigate, I wanted to know how they dealt with the White Walker. Things went poorly, Benjen Stark's party happened upon them shortly after mine and ruined the talks. My party was killed, Stark's was killed, the other four lived and one took an arrow for me, and here we are."

"And what of your dealings with the Starks?"

She sighed, "I'm trying to get our people past the Wall. They want guarantees that we'll behave but I can't give them such. But I have gotten some helpful information out of the talks."

The free folk won't kneel and that is a demand the Starks won't bend on. Mance knew talk would get them nowhere, by either Joramund's horn or by climbing the damn Wall and taking its castles, he'd bring his people to this side of the ice.

As if she could see his thoughts she spoke, "You mustn't bring down the Wall, you do so and there is no hope of surviving. The dead will slip past us and by the time our people reach as far as this castle they will be waiting for us having already won. We'd find no summer, only more death and a stronger enemy."

Mance gritted his teeth. "You sound like Dalla."

"My sister is wise, I'd listen to her before you doom us all." Val eyed him fiercely.

He growled at her, "And what would you have me do? Hop in bed with a kneeler, as you have?" 

 "Yes, hop in bed with a kneeler, the best one you can find, and make something new, something half of both parties and with the best of both. Make a deal with them." Val was naive to think the southerners would be so accepting as to change.

"I will not, I can not kneel. You know our people as much as I do, they respect me and if I kneel then I've lost them. There is no southern lord or king that they would follow, especially not a Stark." His words made Val's shoulder's slump.

Contemplating their position, Val looked at the weirwood face and exhaled a heavy breath. "Give me time. Don't blow any horn, and don't attack the Wall. Survive and make sure Dalla survives."

They didn't have much time to spare. "It'll take time to breach the Wall one way or another, you have until then. Best hurry. Am I free to leave?" Mance turned towards the path.

"You are. Give Dalla my love. If you give her a babe and I have not returned, send word. I want her to give birth here, less chance of her dying." Val's eyes held some unspoken fear but he'd not argue it, that would be Dalla's choice.

"And you? Are you free to leave?" If she was a captive then the Starks had her on a loose leash. He would aid her in escape if she needed it but he knew the answer already.

She confirmed it with a nod, "I am." He could feel her eyes as he began walking away but then she called his name, "Mance." She waited for him to turn and face her before continuing. "Dragonglass. Dragonglass can kill them, thralls and commanders alike. The Starks are trying to acquire more."

"For our sake I hope they do."

Jaime:

The sight of Robert Baratheon forcing his lips upon the Stark girl gave him a slight morbid satisfaction. Eddard Stark's dear friend Robert, abusing his power in Stark's own home with Stark's own blood. Cynically he wondered what line Robert would have to cross which would cause Eddard to abandon his pledge of allegiance and loyalty and take up his blade against his king; he'd done it once before. 

Another part of him, the boy in him, remembered manning Rhaella's door whilst her husband claimed his rights. Night's at Robert's door and a different queen's cries. The womens' bruises flashed in his mind. A husband's rights, a king's rights, but what was a woman's right? Knights swear their vows to protect women, children and the innocent, but their lords and kings come above them though they are absent from any knightly pledge.

His sword sang a tempting song at his side, it hungered for king's blood, just like the blade before it. A dream of a life without Robert, a life with Cersei. Fingers twitching, he curled them into fist. Not now, not by his hand. No matter how many women his action might save or how many bruises Cersei may be spared, the realm wouldn't see his actions as any more honorable or heroic than the last time.

Stark's sons tried to speak sense into the king as they pulled at the Baratheon's limbs, it was a naive belief to think kings listen when mad or lost in their wine, only blood works. The bastard had been the first up and far more enraged than the Tully spawn, with the meat knife in hand Jaime had thought for a moment Arthur's nephew would become the next kingslayer but the blade was impaled in the wood table instead of flesh.

Jaime watched the Boros Blount and Meryn Trant draw their blades at Eddard's threatening chastment of Robert. The bloody idiots would get them all killed if they so much as cut one of Stark's sons. He was charged with protecting Cersei for the moment, Jaime was willing to sacrifice his undeserving 'brothers' and Robert to die on the hill of their own making. The honorable fool would let Cersei and he go unharmed, he knew that much about Stark.

Seated in front of him, Cersei's voice held anger, fear and a little excitement. "Bring me my children, before the oaf gets them killed." The three children sat eyes wide at the scene before them.

By the time Jaime had reached them the exchange had died and Robert was defeated. The woman was ushered out by the Starks and Tyrells, Eddard's bastard stopped at the exit to fix Robert with a look which froze Jaime for a moment in a nearly forgotten familiarity.

The younger children were all too happy to leave. Joffrey though looked hesitant to leave and his green eyes sparkled with excitement over what he had just seen, though his face held a frown, not for the girl but for Robert. The boy's nature reminded him greatly of Aerys at times, Jaime supposed that would be why he cared little for the boy beyond just avoiding acting like his son's real father.

Myrcella and Tommen were easier to love, everyone who'd met them would think so, they had good in their hearts, like he had when he was their age.

"Is she going to be alright?" softly asked Myrcella.

It wasn't as if the woman was going to die but Jaime put her fears to rest, "Yes, I doubt she was truly hurt."

Tommen just had to ask the hard question, "Why'd father do that?"

"You'd have to ask the king that." Jaime would rather not deal with that inquiry.

Biting her lip nervously, Myrcella spoke even quieter than the last time, "What if we don't want to speak with him?" She was scared of Robert, at least the girl didn't know the man would have their heads if he knew the truth. It wouldn't be the first time Robert walked over the corpses of children.

"Ser Jaime." Stark caught him in the halls. His fat oaf of a friend was still asleep as it neared noon so the man was saved from Robert's unpleasant company.

"Lord Eddard." He wasn't in the mood for Eddard Stark's judgement. "A shame about last night. I thought you and Robert were closer than that."

The man remained straight faced, the coldness in Eddard's eyes returned at Jaime's comment. "I sought you because I believe I owe you an apology and to ask a question of you."

Jaime nearly snorted. "What care should I give of an apology from a Stark?" Admittedly he was rather intrigued. "But humor me, I could use a laugh, they are so rare up here."

Leveling him with a stare, Eddard's brow twitched. "I was wrong to condemn you, at least without evidence or question. You killed Aerys and sat atop his throne with his blood still staining your blade. I drew my conclusions, I didn't prove them. So I ask you now: why did you kill your king?"

A dark laugh bubbled out his throat. "It must be nice being the honorable Eddard Stark, it is a bit late to ask why. If you must know Aerys ordered me to take my father's head, just as he asked of Jon Arryn's with your own and our new king. I listened as well as your beloved Lord Arryn. What are his house's words again?"

Eddard continued to gaze judgingly at Jaime but answered, "As high as honor." Bringing Jon Arryn into the conversation bothered the man, Jaime could only smirk at the chilling face.

"And what an honor it is to disobey one's king's command."

That comment caused the Stark to scowl. "Your father was attacking the capital, it was war."

He only smiled at that, "And you were about to be, it was a matter of minutes. The Targaryen abducted one of both our families, and both our houses fought to get them back."

"Which Lannister did Aerys abduct?"

"My mother according to some rumors but I had myself in mind." At Eddard's disbelief Jaime couldn't help chuckling. "Surely you aren't so dull to understand it. I was as much a hostage as the Greyjoy boy."

For a moment Eddard was silent. "You joined the Kingsguard of your own free will."

"I did and I'm sure I had as much a choice as your sister." He knew Rhaegar enough to have an understanding of the prince's character and raping was not a part of that man. When the prince returned to the keep he didn't act like the monster they painted him as even when he claimed he was to Aerys. The princess and the children that Jaime failed didn't act as if he was either. Rhaegar's cruelty and anger was directed at his father if glimpses of it were ever visible.

The Stark lord didn't respond but Jaime could see the tension in the man's jaw. He was enjoying this, dismantling every one of Stark's arguments and hitting him where it hurt. It was cathartic to prove Eddard wrong. "Did you know Aerys got aroused by the sight of a man aflame and their screams? After he burned his former Hand, Aerys visited his wife those nights. At his door we'd hear her screams powerless to do anything but follow our vows as our honor demanded. He did the same the night your father burned." Jaime spat out the word 'honor' with venom. 

What was Eddard Stark without honor? Even he slipped once. If one used Eddard's definition the only man with a stainless honor would be Arthur Dayne. Yet it is Stark known for his honor instead of the man he killed, surely dishonorably, and who's sister whom he killed with his dishonors. Yes, Stark wasn't the pearly beacon of honor he so projected.

"What of the Hand?" Stark questioned suddenly after a moment of quiet fuming.

Jaime was confused for a moment then his heart stopped for a moment once realization kicked in. "Which Hand? Aerys had so many and they never did last very long, my father being the exception of course."

"Rossart." 

The name confirmed Jaime's fear. He was tiring of Eddard's presence, there is only so much one can stand of Starks and his days will soon be full of them for the immediate future. "Ah, the pyromancer. Like the king I stabbed him in the back. He had tried to run but he wasn't very fast."

This time Stark did not delay when he asked: "Why?"

Jaime turned, he had enough of this conversation, he had no responsibility to explain himself to Stark, it was for only his own pleasure he entertained Stark this far but he spoke anyway. "Aerys set him to destroy the city in green flames." He left Eddard to comprehend that in his dense frozen skull. Watching the man's reaction might have been worth it had it been anyone but frozen faced Eddard Stark. A cruel smirk was on his face at the thought of his murder of Stark's perception of the event.

It was only once Jaime was settled back in his chambers when he felt the state of his body, his jaw was sore and his teeth ached, and his cheeks burning from the dark grins he gave Eddard. His breathing became quick as he was left with his own thoughts, with no Stark to attack ruthlessly as to distract himself from the injustice he felt over the content of their conversation. The old fantasy future he had thought so much of once the kingslayer title stuck to him like sap. The stress of that day so long ago flooded him, the weight that had deprived him of his order and distracted him, the great guilt of his failure. His broken promise, the one he wanted to keep, not the vow he broke for the damn city. He had promised the prince, promised the princess, he'd protect them and he did once and was hated for it, but that wasn't enough, he should have been there and died with them if need be, would have saved himself a lot of trouble.

Something strange was going on in Winterfell, not a dangerous strange but things were odd. The number of people who just happened to be here at the same time seemed weird to him but if the Starks were planning something why do it now when they had the greatest chance of getting caught? Tyrells, wildlings, lost cousins, all turning up just before the king's arrival just stood out as queer.

The cousins stood out the most, they were undoubtedly Starks, at least those who claimed the blood rather than just the name were. Winterfell was full of talented fighters and the Wildpack made up many of them. Even some of the women, the younger Dornish girl, could hit a bullseye over twenty meters away with throwing knives. Just minutes ago Jaime had been surprised by the Stark looking member of the group in the yard.

They were surprisingly close in skill but Jaime couldn't quite get a good judge on the man's skill. Sometimes it had felt as if Nell had straight thrown the spar but other where Jaime had bested him fairly. Then there was the incident, the man claimed he didn't mean to cut Jaime's cheek but the shallow depth and control the man had over his blade said differently, it was barely deep enough to bleed. That had been their last spar ending the day with a draw.

Jaime had barely left the yard seeking to return to his chambers to clean the blood and bath when he heard the call of his name.

Turning he saw one of the Wildpack chasing after him, it was the younger male of the Stark-Tully stock. Near black wavy brown hair, a long face and the Tully blue eyes made his lineage obvious. He was Joffrey's age, perhaps a little younger and a fair bit shorter. In his hand was a cloth. "For your cut, my brother wanted to express his apologies. That side was dipped in wine so it may sting but it should help avoid infection."

Jaime looked at the red tinted half of grey cloth, the concern of the little cut was amusing to him. "This scratch won't kill me."

"Smaller scratches have killed even greater men than you." The boy's admiration was odd to see on the face of Eddard's own blood, combined with Jaime's conversation with Eddard the previous day made it seem more than coincidental.

Wiping the cloth across the cut Jaime gave no acknowledgement to the sting, flipping to the dry half he dabbed it dry. "What's your name?"

"Brynnard Wildpack."

The name made him think of two others, "After Eddard and the Blackfish?"

Shrugging, the boy made a face, "Dunno, I believe after Cregard, Lord Jonnel Stark's nephew, or it could have been Lord Ellard. I think Brandon also inspired it a bit, every generation has to have a Brandon, it is a tad ridiculous. I like to think I'm named after Brynden Rivers though."

That caused Jaime to raise a brow, most people don't exactly look up to the former Hand of the king and great bastard but Jaime could say this boy had a bad sense of role models if he idolized a kingslayer. "Bloodraven? Really?" Jaime handed back the cloth.

Nervous over being questioned, Brynnard passed the cloth to his other hand and bit his thumb lightly. There was an odd second of silence before the boy's eyes turned completely white and he went limp.

Jaime just barely caught him before the dark haired head hit the stone floor hard. His mind raced as it tried to understand what just happened. Had the boy just fainted from his nerves? Another thought came that set him on guard, poison. The cloth? The thumb that he had bitten had a slight red tint, Brynnard's two front teeth did too.

Before Jaime could call for a guard or even carry the boy to the maester, Brynnard's voice spoke. It was different though; deeper, slower, and his speech was completely different. The surprising sight of the still blank white eyes made him miss the initial words. "... To protect a sin, a boy shall be made to never walk but fly, sentenced to die for what was seen but will see all. From a tower he fell, from a cave he flew. The things one does for love."

He took a cautionary step back from the boy as more nonsense was spewed but he listened carefully anyway.

"A fire green with envy, burns away at holy whites, clear crystals bleed into emerald eyes. Another tower, another boy, a different fate, a different ground. The valonqar dies at his own hands."

Aerys' wildfire plot, his white cloak, Aegon? Had Eddard already started spreading the truth? If not, how did this boy know? Valonqar?

"A father's goat shall naw at your pride and a hand full of flesh and bone will be turned to gold. Right becomes left and left right.

"A slayer of all sins you become but honor recognized too late."

That one must surely be of his slaying of Aerys and Stark only now asking.

"You shall wrap your own hands around a love, a maiden who loves and is loved. Together you shall carry half of a whole. A flaming blade of ice shall protect her in the darkest of nights. Three babes shall be born but shall never know their kepa."

Cersei? Jaime backed further away. He knew… A flaming blade? The implication of Joff, Cella, and Tommen, nearly sent Jaime running but the boy continued.

"An oath shall be kept, passed on to another. An old haunting oath kept unknowingly. The dishonorable shall be honorable while being dishonored by someone close, a lion of fool's gold encased in crystals, three black kettles and a Myrish lens."

What? Jaime didn't understand that one but he was pacing away around the corner to catch his breath. His heart was thundering in his chest.

A shuffling of clothing around the corner sounded. "Ser Jaime?" Brynnard's voice was back to normal but Jaime couldn't speak to the boy right now.

No longer did he suspect something was strange about Winterfell or the Stark cousins, he knew it. 

The last line stuck with him strangely, the whole thing did but that final line in particular… He would be dishonored by someone close, he only had three people he considered close: Cersei, Tyrion and their father...

Over the days following the incident, Jaime observed Brynnard closely. The boy acted like any boy his age though, if not a bit of a loner, rarely did Jaime find him with his family or anyone. Archery with the Greyjoy ward, some sparring and meals were the extent of his interactions with people. The boy visited the library but never stayed long, mostly he stayed in the family's quarters or the godswood, where the boy was heading now. 

Jaime's few interactions with the boy were as if Brynnard had not said those haunting words. Hurt and confusion were present in their second conversation over Jaime's sudden disappearance but Jaime's excuse of looking for the maester or a guard got the boy fawning over him again. 

Slipping through the gates after looking around for eyes, Jaime followed the main path through the trees. He stopped a fair distance away from the crimson leafed tree. Like everywhere he went since the damn prophecy or whatever it was, it felt as if he was being watched.

At the face of the tree Brynnard used a finger to catch one of the tree's bleeding tears. Backing away the boy sat and suckled on the sap covered finger. Three crows glided silently to his side.

Nothing happened for many minutes but eventually the boy stood and commanded the birds to leave before departing himself.

Left even more confused than before Jaime moved before the strange tree. He wondered what Lord Stark would think of him should he be caught. The face was strangely unnerving in contrast to the peaceful air. Curious over Brynnard's earlier actions, Jaime swiped up a little bead of sap. Was this some part of Northern prayer?

The sap looked like jellied blood. A sudden realization hit him, had the red on Brynnard's tooth that day been the sap rather than the wine or Jaime's blood? Was that what caused the fit? With the need to know what the boy might know, Jaime brought the sap to his mouth and swallowed the sticky substance. It was bitter at first but left the sweetest aftertaste.

For moments there were no foreign sensations, then it happened. One moment he was in the godswood, the next he was back at Casterly Rock jumping off one of the cliffs above the sea as he had as a boy. The water seemed to rise to meet him halfway.

Then he was crossing swords with the Smiling Knight before he fell to his knees looking at white enameled boots and listening to Ser Arthur knight him. He was given little more than a second to look at his mentor's face, a sight long forgotten.

He heard Rhaegar Targaryen command him the last order he ever gave Jaime, the task Jaime failed to complete. Unlike Jaime's recollection of the event, Rhaegar's face was painted with evident disappointment. Behind the prince, Elia and her children had the same expression even the infant Aegon.

Next, he was back to being a child as his mother caught him and Cersei exploring each others bodies. A blink of the eye and she was on Tyrion's birthing bed and eyeing him with disapproval and betrayal.

After that Jaime was back in the godswood, belly down in the dirt, fallen leaves and sticks. He was less than a foot away from the pool of black water. For whatever reason he crawled to the edge to look at his own reflection if not to splash himself awake.

It wasn't him that Jaime saw looking back at him in the water though, at least the present version of himself. A Jaime was mirrored but he looked older, tired, lines under his eyes, his hair duller, cut short and greying, he had a beard, but strangely he looked happier. Moving a hand to touch his face brought another hand within his sight but it wasn't flesh or even gloved, the fingers didn't move with his own.

'...and a hand full of flesh and bone will be turned to gold.' Brynnard's mystical words came to mind.

Sharply inhaling in shock, Jaime slapped the water and scuttled back away from the pool before fleeing the cursed grove.

Tyrion: 

The nasty business that had been the welcome feast made spending his days in Winterfell's library or in between the legs of a whore that much more appealing. Any good moods there had been came to cease as soon as Robert forced his lips upon the girl. A sordid affair that was. Not one soul was left with a pinch of jolliness following Eddard's reprimanding of his king.

Led by a servant to the tower, he spotted a long staircase spiral around the tower like a snake constricting its prey in a vice grip. The sight made his legs ache just from the thought. His curiosity made him wonder what was up there, but judging by the lack of railings and the maticulations capping the tower to make it look like a conical topped mushroom he concluded it was just another guard's nest. 

Thankfully the entrance to the actual library was only a dozen stair climb, which while uncomfortable was nothing new for Tyrion. The library itself was large and probably matched Casterly Rock's in size, putting it tied for the third largest in the realm. Tyrion had his suspicions that this had a more exotic collection however, he hoped they proved correct.

Like most libraries the building seemed to attract few people and the place appeared devoid of life. He liked to think of them as the forests of ghosts, for the trees that gave their wood for the shelves and paper and the dead who's words remain only in their inky forms.

Tyrion moved towards the center where stacks of old decaying books were piled high adjacent to a lit lantern. Intrigued, he raised a hand to pick up the nearest book.

A loud shriek sounded before he so much as touched it. The terrifying cry nearly made him piss himself as he fell onto his bum. From his even lower angle Tyrion noticed the source, on a bar between two shelves two yellow eyes watched him in the dim light.

"Please don't touch those," a voice said blankly to his left. On top of a ladder in a row perpendicular to Tyrion's original sightline was Lord Stark's silver haired cousin. She didn't so much as turn her head as she continued reading from her book.

Coming back to his feet in a wobble, he looked back to those predatory golden eyes above him. "What beast is guarding these books?" As if it could understand him the eyes narrowed.

"No beast, an owl." She silently closed the book and gently slid it back into its sorted home. An owl, guarding books, how strange. Winterfell and the Starks seemed to have a fondness for wild animals. No dogs or cats but direwolves, shadowcats, and now owls.

He had intended to get a look at Eddard's children's direwolves the previous night but they all had left with the woman Robert assailed. Based on Myrcella and Tommen's words this morning, the wolves seemed better behaved than domesticated hounds which only increased his desire to see one up close.

"May I ask what is so special about these books to be guarded by such a creature."

She was on the ground now and made her way back to the perishing tomes. There was no denying that she was beautiful but she had a frosty air to her, the almost black dress only made her seem even less approachable. "They are half rotten and chewed by mice, that is what makes them special. I'm sorting them and copying them if they are in poor condition, which are all of them, or if we don't have them. It took weeks just to have them cleaned properly."

Despite the state, he could tell they had in fact been freed of dust, dirt and other grimy things. He debated the worth of cleaning them and the books value themselves and doubted it had been worth the salvaging. "I don't envy the task. So these do not belong to Winterfell, if you are finding duplicates?"

"This is half of what remains of Castle Black's library or what survived of it. We've copied the other half already but we could only make out a few pages for some." The woman's brows creased at her nearly empty jar of ink. Looking to the owl, "Ink!" Somehow understanding the command the bird flew out an open window on the second floor.

There was one book that caught his attention, it was clearly old and its leather worn and cracking but it seemed in far greater state than any of the rest, it also wasn't piled with the rest. Unconsciously he reached for it.

But the girl was quicker and as soon as she had a grip on it she brought it to her chest in a protective embrace. "I said don't touch." She fixed him with an icy glare.

"My pardons, books do so intrigue me and it didn't appear to be in the sorry state of the others." Tyrion held his hands up innocently. He truly meant no harm but there were clearly some books of special value here, that she or the Starks didn't want him to read or know about. He suspected it had to do with the Citadel, maester's and their enclave being a southern concept that he could believe the Northmen were wary of. 

Her expression lessened into a passive face though it retained a slightly annoyed expression, perhaps that was natural. "If you wish for something new follow me." She glanced at the cat hopping onto the table and lying next to her precious books. The woman trusted a cat more than him. "Do you read High Valyrian or are you limited to the Common Tongue?"

The question surprised him, he didn't expect the North to have anything Valyrian in more abundance than the south, the Targaryen's only went north of the Neck once to his knowledge. "Valyrian will do nicely."

Stopping before a shelf of scrolls, she scanned for the one she was looking for. Finding it she picked it up gently with one of her elegant hands before holding it out for him. "Engines of War by Ayrmidon."

"In its entirety?" It was extremely hard to find in its entirety, in the entirety of Westeros perhaps only the Citadel had a full copy.

"House Stark has a legacy longer than yours." She stared him down with those sharp grey eyes.

Not if the Reach had anything to say, their legacies would begin with the same man: Garth Greenhand. He looked past her to the cat and the recently returned owl on the table. "You trust me with this."

"No." He recoiled at her answer before she continued, "But I have a copy. You may read anything on the shelves. I'd stay away from my books though unless you want scratches on that face of yours. And I want whatever you take back, I'm not copying anything more than I have to." Having said her due she left him to return to her seat and with her new jar of ink continued copying.

As he passed her to peruse another row for books of interest, he noticed the title of another healthy book on her table: Inventory. He wondered what interest Valyrian steel blades would be to a bookish girl, much less blades owned by other noble houses. And what was inside the book she was so very protective of?

Something strange was happening with Jaime. Tyrion wasn't the only one to notice, Cersei had ranted and raved the past mornings blaming anyone and everyone over Jaime's missing presence. He'd given his brother a few days to come to Tyrion or fix whatever it was on his own but as of yet Jaime had not done so.

His days went by fast enough, he had new interesting things to read, Wintertown's whores were fine enough company, the North and the Starks were also rather interesting. Those hot springs were a godsend, they soothed his stiff legs nicely, even Cersei was half in love with them. 

Tyrion also finally got to see one of the direwolves up close, the albino one, Ghost. He was told it was the second best behaved, the current largest and never made a sound which he found all to be true. The wolf's master and he had a pleasant conversation over the unpleasant, and Jon had even let Tyrion pet his white wolf. They'd discussed the boy's previous plans to join the Watch and shared a smile over Tyrion's own desire to piss off the height of the Wall.

So far the trip had been of mixed reception but mostly positive beyond the obvious mishaps. His siblings and Joffrey were the only ones who didn't seem any bit happy, though Tommen and Myrcella were constantly smiling and talking about what they did over the day. 

Jaime was the oddity, Tyrion couldn't understand it, he knew his brother wasn't the biggest supporter of the Starks but this didn't feel connected. 

It was late when the knock sounded at his door. Tyrion called to the visitor and set down a tome on the White Walkers that he'd somehow convinced Sara to let him handle much less take outside the library, but it was the decaying original. It contained the first time he'd ever heard of Valyrian steel being called Dragonsteel.

In stepped Jaime looking like he'd hadn't slept a wink since their arrival. "Tyrion."

Kicking his leg under his blanket and furs to imply to Jaime to sit at the foot end of the bed but his brother pulled out the chair from the desk, not even caring for the grating screech it made along the floor that nearly gave Tyrion a headache. Sighing, Tyrion looked his brother in the eyes. "You look as if haunted by a ghost and I don't mean the cute furry white wolf wandering around the keep."

"There is something not right about Stark's cousins."

Tyrion felt that too, "I agree, something doesn't sit well about them but they seem normal enough. A few of them bend the norm a bit, like the woman beating the Hound. Stark telling Robert of his bastard's parentage before the boy or his wife was also curious."

The mention of the day's big event caused Jaime's eyes to widen, had Jaime managed to not hear of the fight? Shaking his head, Jaime's focus returned. "Do you know what valakar or kipa means?"

Valonqar and kepa, his mind internally corrected, that is if it was High Valyrian Jaime was referring to, then again he wasn't very experienced with the verbal aspect of the language. "If they are the High Valyrian words, then valonqar means little brother and kepa means father."

His answer somehow made Jaime go even more pale and quickly rise from his chair. 

"I had hoped you planned on telling me what has put your boots on the wrong foot all week." Whether his brother wanted to admit it or not Jaime needed help with whatever this is, was that not why he came to Tyrion in the first place?

Jaime frowned and took a glance at his boots, sure enough they were on the correct foot and Jaime just fell for a figure of speech. "Thank you Brother, but not today," with that said, Tyrion's brother slipped out his door.

Sighing, Tyrion was at least happy to be more involved than Cersei. But just what was bothering Jaime so much so that he'd tell neither of his siblings?

Notes:

So just to be clear Brynnard's prophecy was completely made up by him based on the history he had available in his future, it is not a literal prophecy though he does uses the Weirwood net. It is basically completely irrelevant at this point because the changes already made but Jaime doesn't know that.

Mance's section felt really bad to me so maybe one day I'll rewrite that section once I have a better understanding of his character, voice and mind. As always I'll mention if I do rewrite it so those that wish to reread the section can.

Another thing: In my mind Jonnel (the one who cut Jaime's cheek) is about as skilled as Jaime perhaps a little worse based on having less experience and being younger. Jaime also isn't as used to the cold and mud as Jonnel which led to the draw, Jaime was sizing him up too. In a serious fight Jaime would likely win just marginally if they were both using the same quality blades.

Also the crack-ish fic I asked about last chapter will be posted as a separate post in a series with this after Sansa's chapter which will conclude Robert's stay at Winterfell.

Next chapter will be Cersei's perspective on everything so far at Winterfell and a little more. It'll probably be a short chapter and be up within the week.

Upcoming Chapter POV Order:

Cersei I

Sansa I

Elia II

Rhaenys I