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Chapter Text

“Mais que diable suis-je venu faire dans cette galère ? ”

A part of me was tempted to speak aloud this thought as I tend to generally express my thoughts on my own, but such move would have made me noticed and the last thing I currently need was to attract unwanted attention, especially as my clothes, even covered as best as I can with clothes I have found in the first weeks of my stay made some people raising their eyebrows. A part of me regret I didn’t reincarnate in someone of the place while the main part is grateful of still being me as I doubt my own mind and soul would have exactly remain the same if it a reincarnation, not to mention the conflicting debate about the nature vs nurture dilemma in such situations.

I sighed, wondering again how I found myself displaced from home into a world that once used to be tales. I still wondered about it. A part of me wondered if it wasn’t a very active dream, another of my thought fantasies when I took a rest or slept as I had imagined so many times as scenarios for years for fun. But the details and the fact I discovered places I didn’t read or watched denied these possibilities and made me thinking of a dubious trick or prank from the Old Gods, the Seven, the Red God, the Storm God, the Drowned God, the Harpy, the Three-Eyed Raven, the Three-Eyed Crow, the Great Other, God, the Fate or of the whole universe. I couldn’t help but thinking it was the case as I was kind of the least choice of finding myself in such universe, both for the cultural clash and for the fact my personality and values would make look like a greenlander, a summer boy or a honorable fool. Unless it was their nasty way of tempting me to the worst kind of deeds.

A part of me however thanked not to be in a universe of the likes of Berserkers for the worst at a whole or finding myself on Skull Island, especially the version depicted by Peter Jackson as even my knowledge of this place as depicted in the movie wouldn’t have protected me from the nasty creatures there that wouldn’t hesitate to transform me in their midday meal.

I shook my head to these dark and conflicting thoughts. They still plagued since I had found myself in this whole new world, even though I didn’t think it offered me a fantastic point of view, except the fact to experience what I had read and watched. But regardless of these thoughts and questions, I didn’t and wouldn’t let them plague me or myself being crushed by the place. While the start had been a bit complicated, especially because the extent of my knowledge of customs in the Seven Kingdoms was restricted by what I had read and watched from "A Song of Ice and Fire", "Game of Thrones" and any fanfiction and crossovers, not to mention some Wiki infos, I had managed to stay as low as possible and to fit for the short while I was among the people in the Riverlands.

But now, I was among this crowd of courtiers and servants, both from lord Darry, king Robert Baratheon, queen Cersei Lannister and lord Eddard Stark while the king was tackling the matter of the incident between Arya and Joffrey that occurred on the Ruby Ford. A part of me wondered why I took the risk to witness it, but curiosity and a certain desire some would call a child’s dream brought me here. While some of the courtiers and servants looked at me strangely or with some condescending, they were focused on this kangaroo trial. I also witnessed and first thought just to remain in the shadows, knowing well that intervening could bring unexpected consequences and challenges.

But the moment I saw Eddard Stark in the hall, everything that was depicted in the book and the first season seemed to unfold in one common reality. Experiencing the reality of what were before words and pictures destabilized me, but also frustrated me as I knew how it would end. The more I hear, the more I was tempted to intervene as I was feeling being like the kingsguard prisoner of their stringent oaths when the Mad King raped his wife or executed Rickard and Brandon Stark.

How could I let things unfold while I could try to do the right thing? My cautious self was warning me not to do it for my sake and to avoid creating unknowns, but my selfless self was cringing and burning to intervene to defend Arya. My rational self reminds me that I regarded Arya with biais as she was among my favorite characters, but also acknowledged the unfairness and the dubious situation, having overanalyzed it in the time.

As I heard and saw Renly Baratheon leaving while guffawing on the name of Joffrey’s sword, my resolve was almost asserted, but my cautious self was still fighting this desire as I knew that once I crossed this line, I would likely become the new public enemy of Cersei and of her son, just because of my situation which would be regarded as insulting by the over-proud and shortsighted lioness.

However, when Sansa presented her "testimony", resulting in Arya attacking her, it was for me too much. Even if Arya didn't get punished, Lady would be executed for something she didn't do and I thought my skills could be of use for at least derail in a better way the plans of Joffrey and of his mother. While dangerous, I did not care. No child and no animal should suffer the whims of dangerous and pathetic people because they found themselves in a position to abuse power. I on the contrary, am a thirty years-old man with no ties, no loyalties and could therefore offer myself for the Greater Good. My Christian heart would appeal to this idea, even if my very cautious side still protested against my decision.

While Sansa was staring blankly at Arya, having not heard her father’s concerned question, I took a breath and said in a strong voice among the crowd, "If I may, your grace and my lord Hand, I think we can guess the truth from what prince Joffrey and Arya Stark told."

As I spoke up in the crowded hall, all eyes turned towards me. The assembled figures of power and influence looked upon the unfamiliar face of a dark-haired man with slightly tanned skin. Their gazes shifted, assessing my appearance—a peculiar mix of 21st-century clothes and Westerosi smallfolk attire. I stood there, clad in jeans, a simple shirt, and a weathered pullover, representing a juxtaposition of two worlds.

Eddard Stark's eyes narrowed as he took in my peculiar outfit, clearly discerning the stark contrast between my attire and that of the noble court. He seemed intrigued, recognizing the uniqueness of my appearance. Arya Stark, standing nearby, glanced at me with a mix of curiosity and suspicion, her fiery spirit fueled by her anger towards her sister. Sansa, on the other hand, regarded me with uncertainty, her gaze reflecting a mix of curiosity and a tinge of fear, unsure of the potential impact my words could have on her own circumstances.

Joffrey Baratheon, eager to assert himself, sneered disdainfully as his eyes fell upon me. His privileged upbringing and disdain for those outside the noble circle were evident in his haughty demeanor. Cersei Lannister, never one to shy away from expressing her arrogance, examined me with a skeptical gaze, her eyes conveying both suspicion and a touch of annoyance. She had been thwarted in her attempts to seek retribution against Arya, and my presence was an unwelcome disruption to her plans.

King Robert Baratheon, sitting upon lord Darry’s seat, displayed a mix of curiosity and disinterest. Known for his bluntness and preference for drink, he leaned forward, intrigued by my intervention.

I took a moment to compose myself, aware of the tension in the air and the significance of my words. With confidence and respect, I prepared to address their concerns, offering an impartial perspective on the matter at hand.

Cersei Lannister, displaying her usual arrogance, was the first to break the silence.

"And who, may I ask, are you? You have no place interrupting the Crown."

Robert cut off Cersei: "Hold your tongue, woman. Let him speak."

While mainly sober, his voice carried a slight slur, evidence of his recent indulgence.

I took a moment to compose myself before responding to Cersei's question, addressing both the king and the queen.

"Your Grace, My Lord Hand, I apologize for my interruption. I am Marc, a traveler from a distant land. I have no allegiance to any house or kingdom, which allows me to offer an impartial perspective on this matter."

My answer intrigued Robert as he leaned forward, before asking me with curiosity and skepticism, "Impartial, you say? How can you find the truth amidst these conflicting accounts?"

I took a breath, a bit nervous but determined, even though my cautious side is crying to me to give up. Looking straight at the king, I said, "Your Grace, allow me to make an observation before tackling the truth directly.”

Robert raised an eyebrow before nodding. While still looking at him, I sent a glance in the direction of the Starks.

“Your grace, Lady Sansa's testimony, while important, cannot be considered impartial. As Joffrey's betrothed and Arya's sister, her loyalty and concerns for both parties may cloud her judgment. If she supports Joffrey's version, she risks condemning her own sister. Conversely, if she supports Arya's side, her betrothal may be jeopardized. Sansa's evasive answer was an attempt to navigate between these conflicting loyalties."

Eddard Stark showed surprise at my insight while sending a glance to his daughter, “You make an astute observation. One that I hadn't considered."

Sansa, her demeanor conflicted, looked at me with a mix of curiosity and uncertainty, uncertain how to interpret my words and the potential impact on her own circumstances. A part of her felt insulted by the fact I dismissed her word and yet a part of her was relieved by the fact I didn’t judge her and seemed to understand her quandary. No matter how unbearable her sister was, she couldn’t let her to be punished, but she couldn’t tell the truth as it would anger her prince and she would lose the chance to become queen.

Arya, her eyes shining with a glimmer of hope, seemed cautiously optimistic about my involvement as my words and my demeanor abated her anger and distress.

Robert, now very intrigued by my perspective, leaned forward, "Continue, Marc. Tell us how you propose to uncover the truth," he said with a slight slur.

Cersei’s skepticism betrayed her as she interjected: "Why should we trust the words of a stranger? What makes you think you can discern the truth in this matter?"

Joffrey, taking the opportunity to challenge me and to belittle as he was looking down my strange appearance, added with a sneer, "Yes, how can you possibly say which version is true?"

As the question hung in the air, the hall remained silent, awaiting my response. Ser Raymun Darry, or as I liked to call him, lord Darry, was looking at me with attention, seemingly intrigued.

While trying not to be overwhelmed by the gazes on me, I merely looked at Joffrey as if he was of little importance before saying to the king and the crowd: “The truth can be guessed through observing and analyzing details. In comparing the tales of your son and of your lord hand’s daughter, one who pays attention to their details, their similarities, their discrepancies and their meaning can decipher many things.”

Taking on a posture reminiscent of Hercule Poirot, I began my analysis, addressing the assembled characters.

"If we carefully examine the two tales that have been told, we can discern important details. Joffrey claims that Arya and her friend attacked him with clubs and set her direwolf on him. Arya's version, on the other hand, states that Joffrey injured her friend Mycah with his sword, leading her to defend him with a stick. In the ensuing altercation, Joffrey struck at her with his sword, Nymeria intervened and bit Joffrey's wrist, and finally, Arya threw the sword into the river."

I continued, pointing out the contradictions and implications within each account.

"If Joffrey's tale were true, we would expect to see evidence of bruising from Arya and her friend's clubs. Additionally, if a direwolf were to attack someone, the injuries would likely be severe, as the animal would not restrain its strikes. However, we have seen no evidence of such injuries on Joffrey, otherwise he would have been uglier than his sworn shield.”

My words made Cersei gritting her teeth at the perceived slight to her son while Joffrey angrily sneered at me.

Ignoring the queen and the prince’s reactions, I added, “Furthermore, Joffrey's inability to defend himself with a steel sword against Arya and Mycah's sticks suggests either an ambush or his own arrogance and foolishness."

Eddard's expression showed a mix of contemplation and concern as he listened to my deductions.

I looked at the crowd and saw how curious and invested they were. Lord Darry kept a guarded face, but his eyes seemed to shine in amusement, probably cheering to the fact I was destroying the prince’s claims like a knight whacking on his opponent with a hammer and thus taking a peg down on the Crown since he despised Robert and his allies because of his Targaryen’s sympathies.

I then said while making a gesture of the hand, “Now consider the nature of the alleged attack. Only a moron, a dangerous man, a mad one, a desperate one, or one with a vendetta against the Lannisters or King Robert would dare to harm the prince without provocation while knowing the dire consequences. However, Arya has no such motivations. If she truly wanted to harm Joffrey, she would not have allowed him to live, as his survival could mean denouncing her and inviting royal wrath upon her."

Sansa's eyes flickered with a mix of relief and anxiety as she listened to my words, understanding the implications they carried. A part of her was however outraged by how I was belittling her prince, even if I was defending her sister. A part of her was blaming Arya, thinking that if she hadn’t intervened, they wouldn’t be in this strange situation.

Unaware of her thoughts and demeanor, I pursued my explanation, “Furthermore, we must consider Nymeria's involvement. Direwolves are pack animals known to fiercely protect their own. If Nymeria saw Arya in danger, she would instinctively react to defend her. The fact that Nymeria harmed Joffrey in a restrained manner aligns more with Arya's account of Joffrey's bullying behavior and his near strike with the sword."

Arya, with a hopeful yet guarded expression, nodded slightly in agreement with my words, happy and amazed by how I was defending her and destroying Joffrey’s lies.

I turned my eyes back to the king, expressing a solemn glance as I said, “In conclusion, Arya's tale implies that she struck the prince with a stick and that Nymeria defended her, resulting in Joffrey's injury. While her actions cannot be condoned, we must also acknowledge that Joffrey's actions, almost killing the daughter of a Lord Warden and the Hand of the King, carry grave implications. Such acts echo the tragedies endured by House Stark at the hands of the previous dynasty."

A heavy and uncomfortable silence settled in the hall as my words reminded many of the fate of Lord Stark’s kins. As the room fell silent, all eyes turned towards Eddard, waiting for his reaction and response. Arya noticed the change in atmosphere and was curious of it while thinking how her father refused to speak of grandfather Rickard, of uncle Brandon and aunt Lyanna. The young Stark also remembered how frightened she felt when Joffrey tempted to cut her down.

Eddard Stark’s expression betrayed a canvas of contemplation and concern as my words had touched upon sensitive matters, stirring memories and traumas from the time of Robert's Rebellion. He felt the weight of the implications I had presented, highlighting the potential gravity of Joffrey's actions. The parallel I drew between Joffrey's actions and the past horrors struck a chord, making his face contorted in anger and concern, a reaction worsened by his wariness and exhaustion of the previous days. A part of him was horrified to the idea he could have lost his dear daughter and he was tempted to break off the betrothal of Sansa. His mind reminded him that it was a very difficult thing to do with a king without slighting him. While Robert was his friend, the changes in him nourished in the northerner lord disappointment and disdain.

Robert's face hardened with a mix of anger and concern, his memories of the past resurfacing. A part of him was furiously appalled by how I seemingly suggested his son was like the Targaryen and yet deep inside, he knew his son was a little shit that only followed his whims and his mother. He sent a dangerous glance at his son, as if warning him of what would occur to him if my words were true.

Joffrey nervously squirmed under his father’s gaze while Cersei’s eyes narrowed to my comparison, inwardly cursing me for making the Starks the victims and her son the reincarnation of the Mad King as she didn’t miss the subtle jab I made to her son.

While I felt the change in atmosphere, I tried not to let it affect me in any manner. Taking a breath, I ended my explanations, "Additionally, it is worth noting that Joffrey's distorted tale may stem from wounded pride, preventing him from admitting his own humiliation and wrongdoing."

As the weight of my conclusion settled in the room, a brief moment of contemplative silence enveloped the assembled figures. Eddard Stark's gaze fixated on me, his mind undoubtedly flooded with memories and considerations. The implications I had drawn regarding Joffrey's distorted tale and his wounded pride lingered in the air, stirring thoughts of the prince's character and motives and making questioning once more if he shouldn’t call off Sansa’s betrothal.

Sansa, caught in a web of conflicting emotions, struggled to reconcile the image of the perfect queen and prince she had once held dear with my words. Denial was strong within her as she couldn’t accept the idea her prince was flawed and the fact that a strange commoner was making these claims turned her insides in. A part of her bitterly thought that it was no wonder that Arya was defended by a commoner of all people. Her naivety and dreams still clung to her, a shield against the harsh realities of the world and the true nature of the incident between her betrothed and her sister. However, my words had planted a seed of doubt in her mind, tugging at the corners of her perception.

Arya, ever perceptive and fiercely protective of her own truth, contemplated my conclusion with a guarded yet hopeful expression. My interpretation of Joffrey's motives resonated with her, aligning with what she had seen and experienced of his cruel behavior. She held onto the glimmer of hope that my words might help shed light and proved she told the truth. A part of her was worried of the risks I was taking, but she couldn’t help to be proud that a stranger, a commoner was defending her, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface. Outside of father and Jon, no many would have done that.

Meanwhile, the room buzzed with unspoken thoughts and uncertain glances. Each person present considered the veracity of my analysis and the implications it carried for the fragile balance of power and loyalty within the realm. Whispers of doubt mingled with fragments of hope as the gravity of the situation sank in. Among the crowd, lord Darry was observing the scene with attention, his mind reveling in how I was tearing apart the Golden Prince and the lion’s pride.

It was in this charged atmosphere that Cersei, her frustration and defensiveness palpable, interjected, having heard enough of me.

"This is preposterous! How can we trust the words of a stranger? There is no evidence to support these claims!"

Joffrey, his face twisted in anger, added his own retort, determined to shut me out and to put me in my place.

"Who is this commoner to question my word? I demand satisfaction!"

The room fell silent, awaiting my response to the challenge and the skepticism and how I would handle the prince and the queen’s reactions.

As I addressed Cersei, my eyes cold and my smile filled with a hint of malice, her confidence wavered momentarily.

"On the contrary, Your Grace, there is a simple albeit controversial way to prove the truth of the matter.

I then turned my attention to Robert, presenting a solution that would avoid public humiliation.

“I propose that impartial men from your household, such as Ser Barristan, from your Lord Hand's household, such as Jory Cassel, and the maester serving Lord Darry, examine your son's body in a separate room. They can carefully inspect every scar, wound, and bruise he should have according to his own tale."

I paused for a moment, allowing the weight of my words to settle in.

"This examination must be conducted swiftly to prevent any manipulation or deceit. We must remain vigilant, as there are those who would go to great lengths to preserve their version of events. However, this private examination would allow us to ascertain the truth between your son's version and Arya's account, without subjecting him to public humiliation. I am no monster, nor do I wish to see him reduced to the status of a slave awaiting sale or a whore displayed for new clients."

The room filled with a mix of contemplation and tension as the people around me pondered my proposition, while some were outraged by the audacity or the way I presented it.

Eddard, displaying a mix of concern because of the proposition and cautious hope as it might definitely solve the matter, spoke up.

"It is a risky approach, but it may provide the clarity we seek. We must ensure the integrity of the examination, but it would spare Joffrey from further embarrassment."

Sansa, her face a blend of anxiety and anticipation, looked toward her father, silently pleading for a resolution that would bring justice and protect her sister, even though the idea that her prince would be under scrutiny put her ill at ease. She looked at me, wondering why I would put the prince in such a position.

Arya, her eyes fixed on me, seemed both anxious and grateful for the possibility of vindication while a part of her was gleeful to the idea I had presented, amused but also disgusted by the perspective of Joffrey being forced to disrobe himself to show his body and the lack of wounds.

Robert, his expression contemplative, thought upon the idea before addressing the room.

"It is an unconventional proposal, but one that may yield the truth.”

His eyes stopped on Eddard Stark, “You are right, Ned. It may provide the clarity we need to solve this matter.”

The king addressed once again the room, “We shall proceed with the examination, ensuring the presence of trustworthy individuals. The integrity of the process must be maintained."

Cersei, her dissatisfaction evident at the audacity of my idea, protested.

"This is outrageous! You would subject my son to such scrutiny? It is an insult!"

Joffrey, his face a mixture of anger and fear, attempted to regain control.

"I won't stand for this! I am the prince, and I won't be treated like a common criminal!"

Robert's voice boomed through the hall, silencing the protests.

"Enough! This decision is mine to make, and I have made it. We will conduct the examination to uncover the truth, and no more words shall be wasted on this matter."

The king called out lord Darry, “Ser Darry! Bring your maester here.”

While keeping straight his face, lord Darry bowed to the king before turning to a servant and tasking him to bring his maester. As the servant moved by, Robert looked his friend, “Ned, is your man dutiful to observe the examination?”

Eddard nodded with a determined and firm expression while sending a look at Jory, “He is Robert. As this stranger said, he would observe dutifully and honorably the examination if you command him to do so.”

Robert nodded a bit absentmindedly before turning his eyes on Jory, “You’ll accompany ser Barristan and the maester once he is there.”

Jory bowed to the king, “I’ll do what you command, your grace.”

Robert goofed a lackluster laugh and waved away his hand.

In the awaiting time, the tension in the room remained palpable, as the fate of Joffrey's reputation and Arya's innocence hung in the balance. I sensed Joffrey and Cersei burning eyes on me and I can imagine their thoughts, something of the likes of “How dare he forcing my son to be displayed like a whore! I should demand his tongue.”

While I tried to sound nonchalant and solemn, a part of me felt dread and worry as I was aware that my intervention likely earned the queen and the prince’s enmity. Inwardly, I said, “Alea Jacta est.”

Finally, the maester arrived. I moved backwards to allow him to present himself to the king.

“You summoned me your grace?”

Robert nodded in a gruff, “I want you to examine my son in a room. Ser Barristan and ser Jory will accompany you.”

The maester looked a bit flummoxed by the command and sensed the threatening look of the queen while Joffrey was looking at the man with a sneer. After a short silence, the maester bowed, “I’ll do by your command, your grace.”

Robert grunted before turning to his son, “Joffrey, go with them.”

Joffrey seemed ready to protest, but stepped back under the narrowed and threatening eyes of his father. The prince was then led in another room by ser Barristan Selmy, ser Jory Cassel, and the maester.

The awaiting time was tense and uncertain as everyone was wondering the result of the examination. Many looked at me, wondering if my claims will be proved true or false. Arya fidgeted impatiently, both hopeful and apprehensive and stealing glances at me, hoping that my proposition would prove her true.

As Joffrey, accompanied by Ser Barristan Selmy, Ser Jory Cassel and the maester finally returned from the examination room, the atmosphere in the hall grew tense. Joffrey's face was red with a mixture of anger, humiliation, and festering resentment, his eyes narrowing in burning anger on me. A part of me felt the heat of his rage, but I stood my ground, aware that all was a show to display power, authority and determination. My cautious self regretted that I jumped forward danger and political fields as I disliked it in spite of my love to understand the world. While the prince returned on his seat, the crowd shifted uneasily, awaiting the results.

The maester stepped forward, addressing King Robert and the gathered audience.

"Your Grace, lords, ladies, and esteemed guests, the examination has been completed. I can attest that the findings align more closely with Lady Arya's account of the incident. No wounds consistent with Prince Joffrey's version were observed, with the exception of the scar on his sword wrist, which corresponds to Lady Arya's tale."

The room erupted in murmurs, gasps, and exchanged glances. The revelation seemed to carry significant weight, challenging Joffrey's credibility and implicating him in a web of lies. Lord Darry kept his expression guarded, but his eyes shone in delight and satisfaction in seeing the stag and lion prince taking a peg down thanks to a daring and interesting stranger.

Robert, his face a mixture of surprise and disappointment, turned his gaze towards me.

His voice was heavy and slurred as he said, "You... you were right. Your perspective has shed light on this matter. I must admit, I didn't expect this turn of events."

Eddard, a mix of relief and concern etched on his face as he heard the news, spoke up.

"It seems the truth has come to light. My daughter has been vindicated. I thank you for your intervention, stranger. You have aided us in seeking justice."

Sansa, caught in a whirlwind of emotions, looked between her sister, Joffrey, and me. Her expression betrayed a mixture of relief, conflicted loyalty, and confusion. While relieved to see that her sister won’t be punished by the crown, she was torn apart as her prince was humiliated and branded as a liar. She couldn’t fathom the thought. She looked in my direction, wondering why I was doing this.

Arya, unable to contain her fiery temperament, approached me with a wide grin.

"You did it! Thank you! I knew I wasn't lying. You're not like the others."

Jaime, standing near Cersei, clenched his jaw and exchanged a tense glance with his sister. His loyalty seemed torn, and he remained silent, observing the unfolding events even if a part of him was amused and entertained by my intervention and the way I played with words.

The crowd buzzed with whispers and murmurs, some expressing surprise, while others offered praise for uncovering the truth.

Cersei, her face a mask of displeasure and disappointment, turned her gaze toward me.

"You have proven yourself an unexpected thorn in our side, stranger. Be careful, for you meddle in affairs that don't concern you."

Joffrey, unable to contain his exploding rage any longer, directed his fury towards me.

"You! This is your doing, you insolent fool! How dare you interfere and tarnish my honor? I'll make you pay for this!", he shouted while pointing a accusatory finger in my direction.

Robert, his voice thundering through the hall, stepped forward to address his enraged son.

"Enough, Joffrey! The truth has been revealed, and your anger won't change that. You will learn from this, as we all must. Justice has prevailed, and we shall not allow our pride to cloud our judgment any longer."

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of the revelations and the consequences they carried hanging in the air, leaving everyone to contemplate the consequences of my intervention.

While wincing a bit to Robert’s booming voice as it had been sudden, I ignored Cersei and Joffrey to turned towards Arya, a smile forming on my face.

"I am glad to have been helpful", I answered her sincerely.

Arya's eyes gleamed with gratitude, and Eddard Stark nodded appreciatively as he approached me.

"Indeed, your assistance has been invaluable. We owe you a great debt."

Turning my gaze to Lord Stark, I nodded, silently acknowledging his gratitude and the significance of the moment.

Finally, I shifted my attention to the king, feeling a mix of wariness due to his booming reaction and respect for his position. I bowed before him, maintaining a respectful tone.

"Your grace, I hope my help and advice have been fruitful in helping you solve this matter. I apologize if it has caused any trouble for you, as few people would love to see their children involved in such wrongdoings, let alone have them corrected in public."

Robert regarded me, his expression a blend of weariness and gratitude and a bit surprised and impressed by my words.
"You've done what needed to be done, and I appreciate that. It's a heavy burden, but justice cannot be ignored. Your intervention has shown me the importance of confronting the truth, no matter how difficult."

Cersei's gaze remained fixed on me, her eyes cold and calculating. Joffrey, subdued by his father's reaction, glared at me with simmering anger.

The crowd continued to react to my interactions with the king, expressing a mix of curiosity, awe, and speculation. Whispers and murmurs filled the air, as onlookers tried to make sense of the unfolding events and the stranger who had turned the tide of the proceedings. My stance, my appearance, my way of speaking, everything aroused curiosity, interest, awe and concern.

Feeling that the matter of the incident between Joffrey and Arya had been resolved, and needing a moment to collect himself, Robert decided to leave, announcing his departure.

"I need a drink after all this. I leave the rest of the proceedings to you, Eddard."

Hearing that, Cersei sneered, her discontent evident upon hearing Robert's decision to leave and seek solace in drinking and whoring.

"Of course, run to your vices, Robert. Leave the mess behind. Our son has been humiliated, and that direwolf that attacked him still roams freely. Justice is far from served."

Robert shut her out, his patience worn thin by the revelation of Joffrey's lies and his attempt to harm Arya.

"You've had your say, Cersei. You wanted the girl punished and a stranger corrected our son. I won't tolerate lies and deception, especially when our own son is at fault. Joffrey is lucky that the beast didn't savage him, as it surely would have if his tale held any truth."

Cersei's face contorted with anger, and Joffrey's expression mirrored her disappointment and frustration. They exchanged a quick, resentful look before Robert stormed out of the hall.

I watched Robert's departure, noting Cersei and Joffrey's lingering glare directed at me. Raising an eyebrow in response to their reactions, I remained calm and composed.

Their expressions hardened as they locked eyes with me, their resentment and fury palpable. I felt their burning fury and increasing bitterness and resentment against me. With one final disdainful and cold glance, Cersei and Joffrey turned and followed in the wake of the departing king, storming out of the hall. Ser Jaime followed them, but stopped a short moment to send me a complex look, full of his arrogance and yet of something akin of a conflicted mind and curiosity. He finally leaft the hall and a part of me wondered if he won’t join Cersei to discuss me or to help her finding some relief. A part of felt strong disgust, but the other felt sorry for the Lannister kingsguard.

The crowd, engrossed in the spectacle, had yet to notice the subtle exchange between Cersei, Joffrey, and me. Their attention remained focused on the departing figures and the lingering tension in the room.

As the scrutiny of the onlookers followed my every move, I decided I made my due and that I needed to take my leave. I made my way towards the exit of the hall. As I moved, I felt that their reactions and expressions varied, some showing gratitude, others curiosity, and a few even suspicion. The room remained abuzz with whispered conversations, dissecting the events that had just unfolded, and contemplating the stranger who had become an unexpected catalyst in the realm's affairs.

AN:

1. This text results from the use of ChatGPT to help me to build the draft of the tale, especially for the canonical characters as I am uncertain to truly depict them in a faithful manner. And on this draft, I rewrote some parts, included other details and part to shape the text and to give more details depth, notably concerning the reactions of the MC and of the others, not to mention to be even closer to what I may have imagined on my sole own. Consider the use of the AI like a tool/artificial director interpreting the request of a producer/scriptwriter.

2. The POV would be of the SI isoted in Westeros, mainly because of his way of thinking and because I generally prefer to develop the characters in their interactions and personalities, not to mention their actions and decisions as they are the fuel of stories. However, it is also a bit omniscient (a result from my requests to ChatGPT), so do not be surprised of seeing depictions of characters's thoughts the MC is not supposed to know (or at least, not being able to guess).

3. Concerning the regularity of publication, I am still thinking between a week or a fortnight. There are already three other parts as ready for publications, but because I am someone who likes to plan further and to be well prepared, not to mention to be able to adapt, rectify and shape the texts before publication.

4. I'll try (both in my requests and in my own additions) to be as close as I can to the canonical characters (at the least for the starting point, because I know alternate events tend to affect characters in a different manner).

5. Do not be surprised of the MC's personality and behavior. Mainly inspired from myself, it is also the fantasized version of some of his qualities (not to mention the qualities people who loves to insert themselves tend to have), even though it won't be a Gary Stu (or at least, I try not to fall in this trope with all the issues they imply), mainly because beyond his skills and knowledges, he is a everyday people with no magical powers and aware of his limitations. And when in incoming parts, there are situations I feel can allow it, some of the flaws will be shown.

6. However, I am someone who considers that in the world, there is always a counterpart/alter ego/consequence... to another. In short, in every quality, there is ground for potential flaw as there is ground for potential quality in a flaw. The skills of the MC may be qualities, but they can also be flaws because of the context. I'll try to explore it (especially as while it is an inspiration from me, I tend to be as merciful to my characters in the stories I imagined as would be GRRM, even though I tend to have an approach of a less brutal and cynical approach on the matter).

7. Consider this fanfic as a semi-alternate-canonical universe as while the setting is canonical (though a mix of both the series and books), the interpretations by ChatGPT and my own interpreations on certain matters might affect it (even though I'll attempt to be as close of the context as I can, making my own additions for everything ChatGPT can't do, notably concerning reflecting flaws, weaknesses and depiction of violence (mainly from canonical characters, as the MC is not only a 21st century man, but also one that deeply dislikes violence, even though he is aware there are situation it can't be avoided).

8. I hope all these notes are not too much. I am someone who try to be as clear as crystal in how I speak and think of matters as any phrase, any word can be interpreted through a certain lens and context.

9. Good reading !

Chapter Text

I made my way towards the exit of the hall, still feeling the weight of the crowd's scrutiny. However, it lessened as I left the place and was moving towards the courtyard, preparing myself to truly leave, even though I was uncertain where to go. My cautious self was blaming me, harassing me for acting like the young boy I was while imagining myself as the hero of stories I made. But as I was about to join the courtyard, I heard footsteps behind me. A part of me wondered who it could be, and another prepared for the worst, my defensive and cautious mind imagining any possibility.

"Marc! Wait!"

Arya’s voice calling me out caused me to stop in my tracks. As I turned around, I saw arriving in a rush. A part of me was delighted to interact further me with her, but I was also intrigued by her sudden presence. I also saw Jory Cassel arriving afterwards, probably chasing after Arya.

"Yes, Arya? Why are you following me? Shouldn't you be with your father?" I asked her with curiosity, kindness, and concern. Jory reached us, slightly out of breath, and looked at me with a mix of surprise and gratitude.

"Marc, isn’t it?”

As I nodded, the captain of lord Stark’s guards said, “I apologize for Arya. She rushed after you when you left the hall lord Stark asked me to find her."
He added with a respectful voice, "I must say, it took courage to stand up to the prince and the queen like you did."

I nodded, acknowledging Jory's words while keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings.

“You do not have to apologize, ser. You do your duty and after what happened, I can understand why your lord wouldn’t allow his daughter on her own.”

Jory nodded, appreciating my understanding. Seeing Arya and him here reminded myself that some hours ago, he found Arya and helped her to chase away Nymeria for her sake. A part of me couldn’t help but think of Georges Lucas’s words, “It’s like poetry, it rhymes” for the current situation: the two of them together not in the woods but nearby the courtyard of Darry Castle and instead of chasing away a direwolf, one chasing someone while the other rushing after to keep an eye on her.

Before Jory might say to Arya to come back, I turn my eyes back to her and asked, “Why were you following me?”

Arya's eyes sparkled with determination as she spoke, grateful I was curious and determined to listen to her. While cautious and wary, Jory observed us.

"I couldn’t let you leave without knowing if you’re safe," she said, her voice filled with gratitude and an unwavering sense of justice while her eyes sparkled. "You defended me when others wouldn't, and you risked your own safety for me."

Her words resonated with me, reminding me of the true essence of honor and loyalty. Interacting with her and Jory filled me with a mixture of delight and reassurance. I considered Arya's words, recognizing the genuine concern in her young voice. Uncertainty clouded my mind, aware of the dangers that awaited me in this treacherous world.

I looked at Arya, then turned to Jory, sensing his eager and curious eyes. I inwardly felt touched by their expressions and by Arya’s concern for me. A part of me reminded me that she was making friends with people of the small folk with ease and as I could be considered as one in spite of my foreign roots, I could understand her curiosity especially with the help I gave her through my intervention.

"Arya, I thank you both for your concern," I began, my voice filled with gratitude and sincerity. "And to tell you the truth… I do not know where to go, except that I must leave before the queen or her son find a way to strike back at me. And while I am glad for your concern, aligning yourselves with me, a foreign commoner, might not be wise or well-received."

Jory's expression shifted, first displaying concern and understanding as he recalled the events in the hall, and then through a flicker of determination mingling with admiration and trust. Arya's expression shifted, first in concern and understanding as she remembered what she just experienced back in the hall and then through a flicker of determination mingling with a touch of admiration and something else that I couldn't quite decipher.

"I don’t care," she finally declared, her voice resolute. "You're different from the others. I can see it. And Father, he'll understand. He always protects those who deserve it. You deserve it, Marc. You defended me and stood up for what's right. You can stay with us. The North remembers."

Jory seemed a bit stunned by the little girl's declaration, and looked at me, first slightly hesitant before his gaze turned steady and filled with the weight of responsibility. "Arya speaks true, Marc. You've shown honor and bravery. Lord Stark will make the right decision."

Arya's unwavering faith in her father's sense of justice and her own ability to perceive character touched me deeply. It was a testament to her own resilience and intelligence, traits that would shape her destiny. I was also amused and touched by the fact she would use the famous Northerner phrase to make her point clear.

I was more surprised in Jory’s words as I would expect him to be more wary of me as I was a stranger in this place. A little side of me thought upon it and considered that he might regard me with respect and trust with how I intervened, the fact I took a risk in facing the royal or the fact I named him as a trustworthy person to handle something like attending the examination of the body of the prince. Regardless of the reason, I was also touched by such trust, even if another part of me was thinking on the fact that if it was a fiction, I would be regarded as nearly a Gary Stu without magical powers but with meta knowledge.

As I contemplated her words, the image of Arya, a fierce and independent spirit, battling her own battles in the face of adversity, appeared in my mind from the memories of the TV series and of any depictions I read on her. It was a character I had come to admire from the pages of the books and the screen of the television series and interacting with her in the flesh before all the events that shaped her was peculiar and very overwhelming. I also thought of Jory’s fate and shivered a bit as I thought that he would die in the clash against Jaime Lannister’s men at the entrance of Chataya’s brothel. Chasing away this infamous thought, I reflected upon Arya’s proposal.

While Jory seemed to support it in spite of his possible vigilance, a part of me still hesitated to answer, knowing the intricate dynamics of the "Game of Thrones" and the dangers that came with aligning oneself too closely with any noble house, especially the Starks. But Arya's offer, laced with trust and hope, tugged at my heart. And a part of me saw the advantage of the proposition, especially as it came from Arya and not me and the fact that Jory could vouch for me and seemed to be supportive of Arya’s idea.

As cynical as it sounded, I was aware that no matter my deed this evening, Lord Stark might be wary of accepting my request for protection if it came from me so soon after having intervened in the hall. I tried to ignore this pragmatic thought as I felt tainted by the idea I somehow manipulated Arya, even though it wasn’t my intent. But I couldn’t reject her offer, mainly because I knew that it would be against who I was. Turning my back after a good deed while I might be of help would be akin of a coward and more importantly of someone that couldn’t face his responsibilities. My cautious part is torn apart inside, screaming that it would be folly to further pursue a move that any self-insert would do for rightful or easy motives while acknowledging that my survival will be greater with someone with influence and authority like Eddard Stark, not to mention that his family would one of the very rares I would easily trust as they were depicted as nice people in the context of Westeros.

And as a bonus compared to some others Houses that could be nice enough, they wouldn't immediately regard my skills, tools and knowledge as something to gain for their own purposes. And I share a lot of values with the current Starks, making it more easier to make a decision. If it had been the Lannisters who made the proposition, I would choose the path of a poor lonesome traveller far away from his home rather than being a pawn for their shortsighted cruel and pride-blinded agendas.

After a moment of consideration, I made up my mind, guided by both the desire to aid Arya's family in facing the impending storms and my fondness for her character. Not to mention, Jory's presence and his support played a significant role in my decision as I knew he would vouch for what had been said here. I knew that despite the cultural clash and gap, I would easily fit among them.

I looked at Arya with resolute eyes and a smile. "Alright, Arya. I accept your offer. I will stay and ask for your father's protection."

Arya's face lit up with a radiant smile, relief evident in her eyes. "Thank you! I knew you would. Come, let's go back to the hall. Father needs to know."

I looked at Jory who just nodded, probably more concerned to Arya’s safety at this moment.

We turned back to make our way to the hall once again, with Arya leading the way by my side while Jory is watching our backs. As we moved towards the hall, a faint sound caught my attention from outside—a horse approaching. My heart skipped a beat, and my thoughts immediately turned to Sandor Clegane and the possibility of him returning with Mycah's body. Inwardly, I offered a silent gratitude that Jory and Arya hadn't stopped me in the courtyard, as they would have witnessed the grim scene. Arya, driven by her fierce loyalty, would likely have rushed forward in anger, seeking to avenge her friend. And such situation would have possibly resulted in tragedy, not to mention that would have cancelled all the good deeds I had just achieved. And considering Westeros’s tendency for bad luck at the wrong time, I felt glad it didn’t occur or that I wouldn't see the cut down and crushed body of the boy as I disliked such thing. My analytical part was saying to me that I couldn't escape long witnessing such gruesome things, no matter how deep my dislike of violence ran in me. I wasn't however like Show Renly who was depicted as someone that would faint to the view of blood.

Pushing aside these dark thoughts, I focused on the present. Arya, Jory, and I continued our path. As we entered the room, we noticed that many courtiers and servants had already left. Some passed before us, casting curious glances and whispering among themselves. I caught glimpses of different reactions, ranging from awe and puzzlement to raised eyebrows. The unconventional situation of a commoner standing beside a highborn girl seemed to stir intrigue and speculation. I couldn't help but find it amusing, although my cautious side also worried about the breach of protocol, particularly considering Arya's fiery and non-conventional spirit. The whispers and glances from the onlookers also served as a reminder of the challenges that lay ahead. But with Arya's determination and support and a sense of purpose filling my heart, I felt ready to face whatever awaited me.

Arya searched for her father among the crowd and finally spotted him in discussion with Ser Barristan. Curiosity stirred within me, eager to know the subject of their conversation. However, I resisted the temptation to eavesdrop, reminding myself of the importance of maintaining proper etiquette and avoiding any behavior that could undermine the trust I sought to build with Lord Stark, despite my good deeds for his daughter.

As Arya and I approached, Ser Barristan and Lord Stark interrupted their discussion, their surprise evident as they noticed my return. Lord Stark's gaze then shifted to Arya, a mix of gratitude and curiosity evident in his questioning look. He wondered what his daughter had done, particularly considering her sudden rush after me.

"Arya, what have you done?" Lord Stark's voice carried a gentle yet firm tone, betraying both his relief at finding her safe and his curiosity about her actions.

Arya's eyes met her father's, reflecting a mixture of determination and uncertainty. She took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts before speaking. "I wanted to be sure Marc would be alright."

Lord Stark's concern and understanding flickered across his face as he glanced at me, grateful and curious. "I appreciate your concern for this man. But why has he returned?"

"Father, I suggested to Marc that he ask for your help. He has nowhere else to go, and he helped me in a time of need. We owe him our gratitude," Arya answered, her voice filled with genuine concern and determination.

Eddard contemplated his daughter's words, recognizing her compassion and her desire to repay the debt of gratitude. At that moment, Jory Cassel approached, having caught up with Arya.

"My Lord, I apologize for Arya's hasty departure. I was chasing after her as she rushed after Marc," Jory explained, his voice filled with concern for Arya's safety.

Lord Stark's gaze shifted to Jory, his eyes displaying a mixture of gratitude and authority. "Thank you, Jory."

Lord Stark's gaze returned to me, his curiosity deepening. "Tell me, Marc, why did you return? What do you seek?"

I met Lord Stark's gaze with sincerity and respect. "Lord Stark, as your daughter said, she suggested to seek your protection as I have nowhere else to go. I aided Arya because it was the right thing to do, and now I find myself in need of assistance."

Lord Stark turned to Jory, seeking confirmation of Arya's words and my intentions. Jory nodded, his voice steady as he spoke. "Lord Stark, I can confirm Arya's words. Marc sought your protection through her advice. And after what we have saw tonight, I think his actions speak well of his character."

Lord Stark nodded in agreement before his gaze shifted between Jory and me, weighing our words and assessing the situation. After a moment of contemplation, he sighed and nodded. "Very well. Marc, you shall have my protection, but remember that it comes with responsibilities and expectations."

I bowed respectfully, grateful for Lord Stark's acceptance. "Thank you, Lord Stark. I understand the weight of your expectations, and I am prepared to fulfill them to the best of my abilities."

As our conversation unfolded, Ser Barristan sensed the personal nature of our discussion and took his leave, saluting Lord Stark, his daughter and ser Jory. "If you don't mind, my Lord, I shall take my leave."

Lord Stark nodded in acknowledgment. "Of course, Ser Barristan."

Before departing, Ser Barristan paused for a moment to commend me for my words and actions during the examination. "Well done, stranger. Your words carried weight, and justice was served. May you continue to be a beacon of truth."

I bowed once again, expressing my gratitude. "Thank you, Ser Barristan. I shall strive to uphold truth and justice."

After Ser Barristan's departure, I turned to Arya with a grateful smile. "Thank you, Arya, for your suggestion and kindness. I am honored to have your support."

Arya's face lit up with a mixture of gratitude and excitement, her admiration for justice and bravery shining through. "I'm glad I could help, Marc. We'll stick together, and I promise to watch your back, just like you watched mine."

Eddard observed our interaction with a fatherly gaze, his admiration for his daughter evident. "Arya has a good heart, and I trust her judgment," he said, his voice carrying a hint of pride that changed his classical solemn face.

His eyes however told me of a warning, probably warning me of not breaking Arya's trust she gave to me. I silently nodded, even though I knew that I would deeply dislike breaking such a trust even by accident, not only because of my fondness for her character back when her world was just a fictional tale, but because it was the way I was.

Eddard sent a glance around him before continuing, "We shall ensure your safety and provide you with a place to stay within our guest rooms. We will continue this conversation there, away from prying ears."

I nodded in understanding, acknowledging the need for discretion in our discussions. "Of course, my lord. Lead the way, and I shall follow."

Jory, standing nearby, listened attentively to Lord Stark's words. As we prepared to move, Jory approached me with a nod of acknowledgment. "I will ensure the safety of Lady Arya and accompany you both to the guest rooms, my Lord."

Lord Stark acknowledged Jory's commitment with a nod of approval. "Thank you, Jory. Your presence will provide an extra layer of protection."

As we walked together through the corridors of Darry Castle, Jory positioned himself behind us, keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings. I appreciated his presence, knowing that he was an experienced and loyal member of Lord Stark's household. I also readied myself as I knew the incoming discussion with lord Stark could be very important to truly earn his trust and to determine what would be my path from now. A part of me felt thankful by the lucky coincidences and Arya's fiery spirit to allow it to happen, but I knew that I wouldn't rely on chance, otherwise I could call myself Targaryen for relying too much on something that could be deprived from me at any time.

AN.:

1_ The first step of the setting up of my MC's path after his bold entrance. Or like a certain fictional character would say: "The game is on!"

2_ Like the previous chapter a mix resulted from the draft generated by ChatGPT (and any additional request to make it the more developed and complex possible in regards of its restraints) to make it easy to developp the canonical characters' reactions and dialogues and my own additions and rewrite to give the text a more narrative, consistent and personal feeling, not to mention that I wrote when immediately came in mind on a certain subject and the draft helped me to easily blend in in regard of the characters' reactions.

3_ Contrary to the previous chapter, I allowed space among the different parts of the chapter to allow the text to breath and for make it easier and more comfortable to read.

4 _ The pretext that truly created the path of the rest of the fanfiction (at least the first chapters) rely on how I consider and understand Arya's character, especially as she has not been "tainted" by the traumatic events that she would experience in the future.

5_ As mentionned in the previous chapter, my MC is inspired by me (my fictional self) and thus, most of his words and actions are things I might have done (even though I take into account that between imagining something and experiencing it, there is a huge difference and gap as the emotional and physical impacts are not truly present when we imagine a situation in the comfort of our homes).

6_ Initially, it was only Arya that followed me in my initial request. However, as perfectionist as I was and very attentive to context, I knew it wouldn't do, even with Arya's personality. I added Jory because a) he was present during Arya's "trial", b) he was the one who found her in the woods and c) it solves certain possible issues that would have needed to be tackled in the next chapters (especially with the "bomb" that would be depicted in the next chapter) and d) with what just happened, it would have been very irresponsible from Eddard Stark to allow his young daughter on her own.

7_ For those who are wondering what lord Stark and ser Barristan were discussing, well they were discussing of what just happened and on who I was, since they weren't expecting me to come back as I left the hall as soon as the royal family took their leave.

8_ It may be not obvious, but beyond the meta references to Westeros from my MC, there are other references and easter eggs to other stories I love (of any genre and any land and time). Those eager eggs are written by me and not part of the initial draft (unless it was part of the initial request).

9_ Good Reading !

Chapter Text

Eddard, Arya, Jory and I joined the guest rooms that lord Darry assigned to the Starks. While Arya was sent to bed to allow her to rest after her four days in the woods, in spite of her desire to attend the discussion, her father and I joined the room where he was resting, while Jory was tasked to prevent our discussion to be overheard.

As Eddard and I settled within the room, there was a brief moment of silence, allowing us to gather our thoughts before diving into the discussion that lay ahead. It was during this moment that I noticed the weariness in Eddard Stark's eyes, a reminder of the four long days he had spent searching for Arya and then dealing with the trial against her until my intervention. Concerned for his well-being, I couldn't help but ask, "My lord, are you alright? You seem to have been through a great deal."

Eddard took a deep breath before responding, his voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion, "Thank you for your concern, Marc. These past days have been trying, but the safety and well-being of my daughter were of utmost importance. I will endure."

I nodded in understanding, acknowledging his determination and resilience. Eddard, however, seemed to have a deeper reason for bringing me here. While he acknowledged my intervention on behalf of his daughter and understood my desire for protection from the Lannisters, he needed more information. He looked at me with solemn eyes as he spoke up.

"Before we make any decisions about to ensure you protection, I need to know more about you. Your actions in the hall are commendable, and Arya wouldn't have asked you to seek my help if she didn't trust you. But I know nothing of your background or your motivations."

I listened attentively, ready to answer any questions he may have.

"What do you want to know, my lord? I am an open book", I asked.

Eddard's gaze lingered for a moment before he finally spoke, his voice firm and measured.

"Tell me, where do you hail from? What land and people do you call home?"

I took a deep breath, thinking upon my answer. A part of me was earning to tell the truth, but I knew it would shape Eddard’s perception of me, no matter how grateful he felt to my intervention. But I knew I couldn’t completely avoid his question as it would mean I hid something from him and the idea to hid something from the man put me ill at ease as it gave me the impression to be like Cersei, Varys or Baelish. I couldn’t lower myself to their level, not for something that would allow Eddard to know what kind of man I was. The idea to lie to him as would many self-inserts like the one from “The Prophet from Maine” was something foreign to me. Not that I couldn’t say half-truth or say white lies or little lies, but I wasn’t pretentious to believe I could play something I couldn’t grasp enough because of the limits of my knowledge, not to mention as good as playing I might be, doing such tricks to lord Stark was something I didn’t want, especially not for Arya’s sake. I finally decide to reveal a bit without going in details and saw how Eddard would consider my answer.

“I came from a place far away, beyond any known lands. I arrived there two or three weeks ago like a shipwreck survivor with no clues where I was. I was lucky to encounter peasants that informed me I was near Darry Castle, even if my appearance puzzled them and they even consider me as a merchant or a lord. I didn’t dismiss the first but dismiss the second. They accepted to host me for some days and I helped them. They gave me some clothes to allow me to fit more in the Riverlands. When they heard the king was coming again to Darry Castle, I decided to join the place. As I was a helping hand that didn’t ask for reward, one of the servant allowed me to join the castle as I offered my help to relieve them in the handling of the royal household. And this evening, I found myself among the crowd that witnessed this kangaroo trial against your daughter. And you know the rest.”

Eddard's brow furrowed as he considered my explanation, his demeanor shifting from skepticism to a cautious contemplation. "Your words seem plausible, especially with the lack of respect in the decorum when you spoke of the prince. However, I cannot simply dismiss the possibility that there is more to your story than meets the eye. Your arrival and knowledge raise questions that demand answers.”

I looked at him with curiosity and apprehension, “My knowledge?”

The northerner lord looked straight at me with serious and vigilant eyes.

“You claimed to be a foreigner with no ties with the Seven Kingdoms. And yet, you seemed to possess knowledge and information that should be beyond your reach if it was the case. You knew Ser Barristan Selmy could be trusted, you recognized Jory Cassel, and you even knew the name of the boy who accompanied Arya on the Ruby Ford, as well as her direwolf.”

A part of me inwardly applauded Lord Stark for his attention, but another dreaded, wondering if Cersei or another among the people seeing the “trial” noticed the same thing. Unaware of my thoughts, lord Stark asked me with seriousness and curiosity, “How is it that you have this knowledge?"

I tensed a bit, aware of the delicate situation I was in, especially as I sensed a glimpse of threat in the lord’s voice. I hesitated a bit to his question, a part of me once again tempted to dodge his question or to give him an easy answer that would use the truth in a shroud of lies. But I didn’t want that, no matter how dangerous and foolishness my choice would be. I couldn’t play games as we were not in Winterfell and even if it was the case, I wouldn’t want that. I decided to face my responsibilities while preparing myself to prove my words to the northerner lord. I took a deep breath, knowing that my revelation could potentially shatter his perception of reality.

"Lord Stark, please bear with me as what I am about to tell you might be difficult to comprehend. But I swear on my honor, my life, and before the gods that what I am about to tell is the truth, only but the truth. The reason why I didn't tell exactly where I come is because it is a place that doesn't exist here. It is a place beyond the reality of your world which is called Earth. I do not know how or why I found myself in Westeros.

"And concerning my knowledge, it came from stories of my world that depict Westeros and Essos, notably current events and potential ones that may unfold in the next three to five years," I added after a breath.

I watched Eddard's expression shift, a mixture of curiosity, intrigue, doubt, and disbelief crossing his face. It was clear that he struggled to accept my claims about coming from another world and possessing knowledge of events yet to occur. Something I couldn't blame him for, as it would be as ludicrous if not even more so than what the deserter, Gared or Will, told him about the White Walkers before he executed him. He was also conflicted, wondering what my game or intent was, especially as I had helped his daughter beforehand or the fact I swore my words to be the truth on my honor and life. He seemed torn between dismissing my claims as the delusions of a troubled mind or delving deeper to uncover the truth behind my words, as he couldn't imagine a madman helping his daughter. His voice held a cautious edge as he questioned my motives and intentions and to consider if I was sincere or deceitful and mad.

"You expect me to believe that you come from some unknown land that doesn’t exist here or to possess knowledge of events yet to occur?" he questioned, his voice laced with uncertainty and caution. "How can I trust such claims? What do you hope to gain from all this? Your words bear weight, but it is difficult for me to reconcile them with the reality I know."

His skepticism was evident, his sense of duty and responsibility conflicting with the fantastical nature of my revelations. I could see his mind racing, considering the implications and potential consequences of believing me. It was clear that he was considering the implications of my revelation, not only for himself but for his family and the realm, should they were revealed true. I understood his skepticism, and I knew that it would take more than mere words to earn his trust. I resisted to gulp or to fidget under his blank and grave expression, knowing that I will need all my skills in words, in knowledge and in handling people to prove what were currently considered as mad claims. I raised my hands in an appeasing manner, urging Eddard to hear me out.

"Please, my lord," I implored, my voice steady yet earnest. "Hear me out. While my words alone may not be enough to convince you, I assure you that I have ways to prove these fantastic and unbelievable claims. And if what I have said doesn't sway your judgment, then I am prepared to take my leave and seek refuge in the Night's Watch, both to ensure my own safety against the wrath of the queen and the prince and to make amends for any potential misleading I may have done to you and your family."

Eddard's mind churned with conflicting thoughts as he considered my plea. While he recognized the sincerity and weight behind my offer to prove my claims or seek refuge in the Night's Watch, he couldn't justify sending someone who had defended his daughter to the Wall without clear evidence of wrongdoing. His sense of justice, coupled with his paternal instincts, compelled him to protect me from such a fate.

After a moment of silence, he finally spoke, his voice reflecting a mixture of caution and determination. "Very well, Marc. I appreciate your willingness to prove the truth of your claims, but I cannot allow you to take the black if you failed to do so. I respect your willingness to face your responsibilities, but you have committed no crimes, and my daughter would not accept that I send the man who defended her to the Wall, especially as she convinced you to ask for my help. And you seem to be like a green boy who had never handled the colds of winter. You wouldn't survive there."

He paused briefly, his gaze fixed on me. "Instead, I urge you to demonstrate the substantiation of your extraordinary knowledge. Show me the evidence you claim to possess. If what you say holds true, it will not only alleviate any doubts I may have but also provide an opportunity for us to understand the nature of your situation and potentially find a way to ensure your safety."

I nodded, understanding his perspective and appreciating his protective nature. With a momentary pause to gather my thoughts, I prepared to demonstrate the extent of my knowledge. I reached beneath the smallfolk clothes I had been wearing, removing them to reveal my 21st-century attire underneath. The sight of the unfamiliar garments elicited a mix of surprise and curiosity from Eddard.

"Do you think an Essossi or any person from the known world would bear such clothes?" I remarked, sensing his curiosity. "I was wearing them back in my world when I..." I hesitated for a moment, realizing the implications of what I was about to say. "... When I was rewatching the first season of Game of Thrones."

Eddard's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as he took in the revelation. The significance of my attire and the mention of Game of Thrones sparked a flicker of recognition within him, even though he wondered what I mean by rewatching the Game of Thrones. The pieces of the puzzle started to align, and he began to comprehend the fantastical nature of my claims.

"You speak of another world, and these clothes... they do not belong to Westeros," he stated, his voice tinged with a mixture of astonishment and intrigue.

I nodded, confirming his observation. "That is correct, my lord. I come from a world different from your own, a place called Earth. It is a world that exists beyond the boundaries of Westeros and Essos, a world where stories on your world like Game of Thrones are known and watched."

Eddard's mind raced, grappling with the enormity of the situation. The realization that I might truly come from another realm, that my knowledge extended beyond the known lands, started to take hold. The skepticism that once clouded his thoughts gave way to a more open-minded consideration of my claims.

Eddard's mind grappled with the implications of my revelation and the proofs I had presented. While the sight of my unfamiliar attire and the mention of Game of Thrones sparked a flicker of intrigue, he remained cautious and reserved in his response.

"Marc, your claims and the proofs you've presented are indeed extraordinary," Eddard began, his voice measured and thoughtful. "The revelation of your attire from a different land and the mention of this...Game of Thrones...certainly provide some intriguing evidence. However, you must be aware that it may not be enough as your extraordinary claims require extraordinary proof."

I nodded in understanding, "I know. That's why I will give you three others clues. One tied to me and my world and the two others to my knowledge."

Eddard’s eyes grew more curious and intrigued on me, wondering how I’d manage to prove my claims.

I take a breath before saying, "Quand arrive la neige et que surviennent les vents de l'hiver, le loup solitaire meurt, mais la meute survit."

Eddard's brow furrowed in confusion, clearly taken aback by the foreign words. "What is this? I have never heard such a language before," he admitted, his curiosity piqued.

I smiled gently, aiming to provide clarification and intrigue. "It is French, my mother tongue. And what I just said is the translation of a phrase you would say to your children: 'When snow falls and the winds of winter come, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.'"

Eddard's eyes widened with surprise and recognition. The familiarity of the phrase resonated with him, triggering memories and associations. It was a phrase he himself had spoken to his children, a deeply meaningful sentiment within his family. He felt a start of acknowledging my claims, even though he was still struggling a bit because of his pratical mind and caution.

“Anything else?” he asked with caution and intrigue.

Thinking a bit on how to prove my knowledge and truly earning his trust, I then decided to reveal something that only someone with intimate knowledge of Eddard's past could possibly know, even if I was a bit wary as I kind of felt like a stalker or a voyeur once I revealed these two facts.

"Let me tell you two things, my lord, that you have experienced and that I couldn't have known in detail unless it was true."

Eddard leaned forward, his gaze unwavering, a mix of curiosity and cautious anticipation filling his eyes. He silently urged me to continue.

I took a breath before beginning, confident in my revelations and yet aware of the potential impact they would have on the northerner lord.

"Several weeks ago, before you learned of the death of the previous Hand, Lord Jon Arryn, and the arrival of your friend the king, you executed a deserter from the Night's Watch who told you he had seen the White Walkers. The execution was witnessed by your sons Robb, Bran, Jon Snow, but also Theon Greyjoy, Jory and Rodrik Cassel. It was Bran’s first execution. After the execution, you spoke with Bran, explaining why you had to carry out the sentence yourself with the fact that the man who passes the judgment must use the sword. Later, you stumbled upon the corpse of a female direwolf killed by a stag's antler and discovered her cubs. Theon was about to kill them, but Jon convinced you to spare them, saying that the direwolves represented your House, with one for each of your children. You relented and accepted, and as you were leaving, Jon found the runt of the litter. The direwolves were named Grey Wind, Ghost, Lady, Nymeria, and Shaggydog, while Bran's direwolf remains unnamed."

As I spoke, Eddard's face underwent a remarkable transformation. Shock, disbelief, and a surge of raw emotion swept across his features. It was evident that he had not expected me to recount a recent event in such vivid detail, especially considering I hadn't been present, and the fact that I knew the names of many of his children and their direwolves. However, I pressed on, revealing one more piece of information that would leave no doubt about the authenticity of my knowledge, even though I tried to be careful in how I phrased it, unsure of the fact our discussion would completely go unnoticed.

"I also know the final words your late sister, Lyanna Stark, whispered to you in the Tower of Joy. 'Promise me, Ned.' You promised her to watch over her newborn son. A son who is now riding to Castle Black on the Wall to join the Night's Watch."

Eddard's face went ashen, his eyes widening with a mixture of astonishment, profound sadness and deep fear. The weight of my words, revealing such a closely guarded secret, bore down on him. His mind raced, grappling with the implications of my knowledge and the breach of trust it suggested.

For a fleeting moment, Eddard's gaze drifted away, lost in the depths of his memories. His thoughts were filled with Lyanna's face, the promise he had made to her, and the countless years he had spent protecting Jon, knowing the truth but veiling it from the world. The conflicting emotions of love, duty, and the burden of this secret swirled within him, threatening to consume him. For a short moment, I almost thought that he would unleash on me to protect this secret, but I chased away this thought because while Eddard could strongly react when it concerned his family, he was not like Robert Baratheon. But I awaited his reaction, aware that my answers completely affected the northerner lord on how he might perceive the world and on a personal level.

Eddard's voice quivered, betraying the turmoil within. "How... How could you know this? How could you possess such intimate knowledge that only a handful of people hold? Are you toying with me? Is this some cruel jest?"

I looked at Eddard with sympathy, fully comprehending the weight of the information I had just revealed to Eddard. His cautious and wary demeanor was to be expected, considering the unbelievable nature of my claims. I felt a pang of guilt for causing such turmoil. Taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I nodded earnestly and responded to his questions.

"I apologize for putting you in such state, Lord Stark. I can understand your disbelief. If the situation were reversed, I would likely react in the same way. But please know that if I were an imposter or someone trying to abuse your trust, I would have chosen a more believable story. I would have claimed to possess greensight or of being a red priest like Thoros of Myr. However, that wouldn’t have been me and since you have noticed the details that came from my knowledge, I’d rather be sincere and honest with you, especially for the sake of your daughter and for the sake of the request I’ve made to ask your protection."

Eddard's expression shifted, displaying a mix of confusion and curiosity as he contemplated my words. It was evident that he was attempting to reconcile the information I presented with his own understanding of the world. He also seemed to grasp the meaning of my words and the intent behind them. Sensing his curiosity and his desire to understand my motives, I continued speaking in calm and measured tone while feeling a strong apprehension.

"To be honest, Lord Stark, I didn't expect to reveal this truth to you or anyone. The knowledge I possess is both restricted and fragmented. It is limited to the perspectives of key individuals in your world, such as Tyrion Lannister, Daenerys Targaryen, and yourself. Furthermore, it is important for you not to take my word for face value, as it could influence your decisions and the actions of those around you. I am aware of the dangers of attracting attention and the risks involved in altering the course of events."

Eddard listened intently, his eyes fixed on me as I spoke. He seemed to absorb my words, contemplating their implications and the potential consequences they carried. After a brief silence, he finally responded, his voice cautious yet tinged with curiosity.

"Then, why did you choose to reveal this information to me? And why should I trust you?"

I answered him in an assertive yet impassioned voice, expressing my motivations and reasoning. "There are three reasons, Lord Stark. First, as I said, you noticed the details and I couldn’t dismiss your findings without destroying any good will I might have created with you. Second, when I witnessed the confrontation between Arya and the prince before the king, it played out exactly as I had read and watched in the stories. I couldn't stand idly by and let injustice occur when I had the ability to make a difference, no matter how small it will be. I relied on my analytical mind and understanding of how Joffrey and your daughter presented their sides of the story to intervene. And I did so knowing the risks involved, aware that I had more to lose than to gain."

Eddard's expression softened slightly, his brows furrowing as he pondered my words. It was evident that my acknowledgment of his astute observations had caught his attention, stirring a glimmer of curiosity within him. His guarded demeanor began to crack, replaced by a growing willingness to consider the possibility of my claims being genuine. My second reason fortified his demeanor as he was processing the implications of my intervention, understanding the potential impact it could have had on the events that followed.

I continued, addressing his second question. "As for why you should trust me, Lord Stark, I want to assure you that I am not an imposter or a schemer. I am someone who values sincerity and strives to do the right thing. While I possess this peculiar knowledge, it is not the sole skill I have and I do not neglect my skills or the responsibilities that come with them. I am not here to take advantage of the situation, but rather to offer assistance where I can. I am deeply invested in the well-being of your family as they hold a special place in the stories I know. I want to help you through my strengths—my heart, my values, and my analytical mind. Revealing this truth to you is part of my commitment to honesty and transparency, despite the risks it entails."

Pausing for a moment, I concluded, "However, I understand if you find it difficult to trust me after such revelations. I apologize for putting you in this position, but I wanted to be open and show you the extent of my skills, despite the peculiarity of my situation."

Eddard's reaction was a mix of contemplation and emotion. He took a moment to let my words sink in, carefully considering them. It was clear that he was grappling with a multitude of thoughts and feelings.

Finally, he responded with a measured tone, "These are extraordinary claims, and I must admit that it is difficult for me to fully comprehend and accept them. However, I am not one to dismiss possibilities outright, especially when presented with such detailed knowledge. I appreciate your honesty and willingness to explain your motives. For now, I will reserve judgment and continue to observe. But know this, if I find any reason to doubt your intentions or the authenticity of your information, I will not hesitate to act."

"I understand, Lord Stark. Your vigilance is commendable, and I respect your decision. I only ask that you keep an open mind and consider the information I've shared as we navigate the challenges that lie ahead. If you have any further questions or concerns, please do not hesitate to voice them. I am here to assist in any way I can, as long as it aligns with the values and goals you hold dear."

The weight of the conversation hung heavily in the air, as silence enveloped the room. Eddard Stark's gaze remained fixed upon me, his eyes searching for answers amidst the tumult of thoughts swirling within him. I could sense the weight of his exhaustion, the weariness etched upon his face after days of searching for his missing daughter. My own mind raced, trying to comprehend the enormity of the situation and the risks involved in revealing such knowledge.

Minutes stretched into eternity as the silence persisted, punctuated only by the distant crackle of the hearth's dying embers. Each passing moment allowed the gravity of the revelations to sink deeper, binding our fates together in a tapestry of uncertainty and intrigue. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if waiting for the next words to break the stillness.

I watched Eddard's face closely, observing the play of emotions that flickered across his features. His brow furrowed with deep contemplation, lines etched on his forehead betraying the weight of responsibility he carried as Lord of Winterfell. I could see the conflict within him, torn between skepticism and the undeniable evidence that had been presented.

As the silence stretched on, I respected the need for reflection. It was a crucial moment, one that demanded patience and understanding. We both needed time to process the implications of my claims, to reconcile the extraordinary with the familiar, and to determine the best course of action.

The minutes turned into an hour, the silence unbroken save for the faint sounds of distant footsteps echoing through the corridors of Darry Castle. I resisted the urge to break the stillness, recognizing the importance of allowing Eddard the space he needed. The weight of the world bore down upon him, and I understood the magnitude of the decision he was about to make.

Finally, as the silence began to give way to a subtle shift in energy, Eddard's eyes met mine once more. In his gaze, I detected a glimmer of determination, a resolve taking root amidst the lingering doubt. The silence had served its purpose, allowing the seeds of trust and understanding to germinate in the fertile soil of contemplation.

Breaking the silence, Eddard spoke with a measured yet resolute tone, his voice carrying the weight of responsibility. "Your words and actions have shown a depth of knowledge and insight that I cannot ignore. Though I still struggle to comprehend the full extent of your claims, I cannot dismiss the evidence before me. I will consider your request for protection, and I shall take steps to ensure your safety."

A sigh of relief escaped my lips, knowing that the first hurdle had been cleared. The silence had played its part, allowing Eddard to process the revelations and arrive at a decision that would shape the path ahead. Though uncertainty still lingered, a glimmer of hope emerged amidst the shadows, born from the understanding that our destinies were now intertwined.

As the silence dissipated, the room seemed to come alive once more, infused with a renewed sense of purpose. The discussion would continue, with plans being laid and alliances formed, as we navigated the treacherous waters of Westeros together. The ensuing silence had served as a crucible, forging a bond that would be tested in the fires of truth and consequence.

I take a breath before saying, "What is your decision concerning my situation, now that you know a bit more about me, my peculiar knowledge and my motives?"

Eddard took a moment to consider my question, his expression reflecting the weight of the decision before him. It was evident that he was carefully weighing the implications of my situation and the options available. After a brief silence, he finally spoke.

"Your situation is a delicate one, and the knowledge you possess is both intriguing and unsettling. While I am cautious about accepting everything you claim, I cannot ignore the detailed insights you have shared. Your motives seem genuine, especially as you have helped my daughter without asking for a reward, and I appreciate your transparency. Considering the potential dangers you face from the Lannisters, I believe Winterfell could provide you with the safety you seek."

I nodded in understanding as Eddard mentioned Winterfell. It was the logical choice, considering its remote location and the protection it offered from the Lannisters. A part of me shivered as I dislike extreme climates either too cold or too hot, but I couldn’t reject such proposition for comfort.

"That's what I thought as well, Lord Stark," I responded, my voice grateful. "Winterfell's distance from King's Landing and its formidable defenses make it an ideal haven. Your protection and that of your household would provide me with a sanctuary, shielding me from the retribution of the Lannisters. I am grateful for your willingness to consider this option."

Eddard listened attentively, his gaze fixed upon me. I could see that he was interested in hearing my reasoning for the alternatives. Taking a breath, I continued, even though my cautious-self was immediately screaming against the idea I was about to present, considering it as more suicidal as my intervention this evening.

"However, I would like to share another perspective that crossed my mind. It revolves around the events in King's Landing and the challenges you will face there. As the stories unfold, the decisions you make and the situation in the capital hold significant weight and have far-reaching consequences. My knowledge of these events could be of great help to you, allowing you to navigate the complexities of the Red Keep more effectively and avoid some of the mistakes your future self made."

Eddard's brow furrowed slightly, indicating his consideration of this proposition. I pressed on, explaining further.

"In addition, my presence in King's Landing would allow me to serve as a companion to your household, sharing stories and songs from my homeland. I could provide solace and entertainment during these trying times. However, I am aware that being in such close proximity to Cersei and Joffrey would increase the risk to my safety, given their vengeful nature. Their resentment toward me for intervening this evening would undoubtedly remain."

Pausing for a moment, I concluded, "Ultimately, the choice is yours, Lord Stark. Whether it is Winterfell or accompanying you to King's Landing, I will respect and abide by your decision. My primary concern is finding safety and assisting you and your family in any way I can."

Eddard's gaze lingered on me as he absorbed my words, his mind seemingly working through the possibilities. The weight of the decision was not lost on him, especially considering the limited time available to make a choice. I awaited his response, ready to accept whatever path he deemed best for my safety and the greater good, even though a tiny part was hoping to be able to help him and to give him a chance of survival. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke, his voice carrying a mix of concern and determination.

"With what you presented, I can imagine the value of your knowledge and the potential assistance you could provide in navigating the challenges that lie ahead in King's Landing. Your offer to be a companion and a source of solace for my family is also appreciated. However, I cannot ignore the risks involved in bringing you to the heart of the capital, where the Lannisters hold significant power and where your safety would be compromised."

He paused briefly, his gaze meeting mine before continuing, "Moreover, you asked for my protection and your safety is of utmost importance. Winterfell offers the best chance for protection from the Lannisters. Your presence there, while it may require some adjustments to ensure your safety, would not only shield you but also provide an opportunity for you to share your knowledge with my son Robb, who may greatly benefit from your insights."

I nodded, acknowledging the validity of his concerns and the importance of my safety. Eddard's decision aligned with my initial expectations, yet I couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment and of disarray. Nonetheless, I remained committed to respecting his judgment and accepting the path he deemed best.

"I understand your reasoning, Lord Stark," I replied, my voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "You prioritize my safety, and Winterfell truly seems like the most secure option. I will abide by your decision and make the necessary adjustments to ensure a smooth integration within your household."

Eddard's expression softened as he regarded me, his voice carrying a touch of gratitude, "I appreciate your understanding and willingness to accept this choice. Your safety and the well-being of my family are of paramount importance. We will take all necessary measures to protect you once you arrive at Winterfell."

Before finalizing the decision, Eddard posed one final question, his voice filled with curiosity, "May I ask why you would be ready to sacrifice your own safety and put the needs of others before your own?"

I met his gaze, a mixture of determination and selflessness in my eyes, as I replied, "My safety would have been a priority before the moment I revealed my knowledge to you. However, I have no ties in this place and I am someone with few expectations. I know your role in this realm and the significance of your actions, especially in the weeks to come. While I would prefer to live and thrive, I understand that my death, as regrettable as it would be, would not have the same impact as would yours. The preservation of your life and the well-being of your family carry far-reaching consequences for the realm."

Eddard absorbed my response, his expression a mix of gratitude and a touch of sadness. He recognized the depth of my sacrifice and the weight of my words. After a moment of reflection, he finally spoke, his voice firm and resolute.

"Your selflessness is commendable, and I am grateful for your willingness to put the greater good above your own safety. Nevertheless, I can’t in good conscience put your life in danger when you came to ask for protection. We will make the necessary arrangements for your journey to Winterfell, ensuring that you are protected and able to share your knowledge with my son. I trust that your presence will be a valuable asset to our cause."

I nodded, understanding his decision. While a part of me was torn apart as I felt I would allow Lord Stark to face his fate, I was glad he considered my well-being before the gains he would have with my presence. However, I couldn’t in good conscience leaving him to Winterfell while he will join King’s Landing. I couldn’t imagine leaving in complete dark while whatever information and knowledge I could give him might save his life and prevent his daughters’ fates.

“I will do my best to help your son, my lord. But please allow me to give as much as I can to help you to prepare yourself for King’s Landing and to give to your daughters and you the best chances to face the events to come. In that way, while I’ll be in Winterfell in helping your son and those who advised him, you’ll some tools that could help you and your daughters.” I said with determination and apprehension.

AN.:

1_ The big potential controversy from this chapter in regards of how Eddard might have reacted in such a situation. I tried to make a compromise between his pratical and cautious mind and the fact my MC defended Arya in the hall of Darry Castle and in the same time develop how the MC would try to handle the matter in regards of both who he is and how he would use his knowledge and skills.

2_ I know that many of the lone SI that didn't reincarnate in one of the canonical characters tend to pretend to be prophets, to come from one of the unknown places of Planetos to hide the unbelievable fact of their origins. And initially, my MC didn't intend to tell this unbelievable or to out lie, just to withold informations that would be regarded as unbelievable or madman's tales.

3_ Originally, in the initial draft that was created by ChatGPT, Eddard directly commented on the fact I told names that I wouldn't have known if I was truly without ties without the Seven Kingdoms. But I found it was so abrupt that it needed a soft introduction in the discussion that could allow this comment from the northerner lord and to develop the initial intent of the MC on his origins and knowledge.

4_ While it has been made in the same manner as the two previous chapters, the core of my character's answers and thoughts are mainly what I have thought on the matter if I was in such a situation. Just for thoughts, if it has been the Lannisters, they wouldn't have this luxury because a) they would dismiss such claims or b) they would imprison me or c) they would be tempted to exploit it to further their agendas if they believe it. And since I don't share their values and have a certain opinion of their methods in GOT and ASOIAF (that would be explored in later chapters, no spoilers, except those who have read my comments on other works), I would have said nothing or claimed to have heard hearsays.

5_ The clothes' proof has been added in an additional chat. It wasn't part of the first draft but I thought that in the matters of proving unbelievable claims, 21st century clothes would be a good argument.

6_ I decided to use two clues, one obvious and the other "uncertain" (you can guess which one is "uncertain") as proofs of knowledge of some facts on Westeros that no many people would know. I was tempted to add a third, but I consider it would have been too much in the tale of this chapter.

7_ As I took inspiration of myself for the MC, I increase a bit some of his features (for example, the need to be well understood and though "long" explanations or the very cautious hand on how to handle certain matters).

8_ You may have a guess of how the MC intends to use his knowledge with the advantages and flaws that come along. Something that will be explored first in the next chapter that will be an immediate sequel to this one.

9_ Have (hopefully) a good reading !

Chapter Text

Lord Stark regarded me with a measured gaze, thinking upon my words. As he answered me, his voice tinged with a blend of caution and curiosity.

"If I were to trust in your knowledge and the advice you offer, Marc, I must know that you will use this information wisely and cautiously. It holds the power to influence great events and shape the fate of those around us. Can I rely on you to wield this knowledge responsibly?"

I met his gaze with solemnity, understanding the weight of his request.

"Lord Stark, I give you my word that I will exercise utmost caution in utilizing this peculiar knowledge that I possess. My intention is to share the extent of this knowledge with you, and perhaps with your son Robb once I reach Winterfell. I aim to provide counsel and insights based on my home knowledge, supplemented by whatever information I can gather from the libraries of Winterfell. I swear to keep the truth behind my origins and knowledge confidential, sharing it only with you and your trusted family."

Eddard Stark fell silent, his eyes shifting as he weighed my words against the circumstances we found ourselves in. The enormity of the situation and the potential consequences of my revelations played out in his mind. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke with a determined tone. "Very well, Marc. I shall trust in your word and the wisdom you claim to possess. Your counsel, confined to our family, may prove invaluable as we navigate the challenges that lie ahead."

With that, Lord Stark signaled his willingness to accept my offer and acknowledged the potential benefits that could come from my unusual insights. He recognized the value of my knowledge, even as he remained cautious and mindful of the responsibilities that came with it.

"My first advice is that you send back Lady to Winterfell," I stated firmly, my gaze fixed on Eddard. "Lady's presence in King's Landing puts her at risk. Sending her back to Winterfell would ensure her safety and preserve the bond between Sansa and her direwolf."

Eddard's expression hardened at the mention of Lady and was curious and concerned. As I noticed his expression, I asked him, “Would you like to know what would have happened this evening if I wasn’t there?”

The northerner hesitated, pondering his answer while he was weighing the pros and cons of hearing something that didn’t happened in the end. He finally nodded, his expression being guarded and wary.

I took a breath before answering, "If I hadn’t been in the hall this evening, Arya wouldn't have been punished for the incident on the Ruby Ford. Your friend, Robert, would have regarded it as a children's quarrel, only asking you to correct her as he would have corrected Joffrey. However, Cersei wouldn't have relented. She would have demanded at least the direwolf to be punished. But since Arya sent Nymeria away, Cersei would have asked for Lady's life instead."

Eddard's features tightened at the mention of Cersei's relentless pursuit of punishment. Knowing the reputation of the Lannisters, he had an inkling of the lengths she would go to get what she wanted.

"Both Arya and Sansa would have been distressed," I continued, my voice steady. "And you would have tried to plea with your friend, but he wouldn't have cared. He would have said you could replace Lady with a dog."

I paused, allowing the weight of my words to sink in. Eddard remained silent, his eyes fixed on me, waiting for the rest of the story. I could however sense his distress and perhaps the internal conflict on how I depicted Robert, between the desire to deny the possibility while also aware of how his friend had become since the last time they saw each other.

"To avoid Lady being butchered by one of the Lannister's men, likely Illyn Payne, you would have made the heart-wrenching decision to kill Lady yourself. It would have been an act of mercy, sparing her from a cruel fate. You would have asked Jory to send her body back to Winterfell, ensuring that she received a proper burial."

Eddard's expression turned pained, his grief for Lady evident and feeling the weight of the decision he could have made tonight in other circumstances.

"As a result," I continued, "it would have worsened the rift between your daughters. Sansa would have been deeply distressed by the death of her direwolf, blaming Arya for the incident on the Ruby Ford. She would have also, perhaps unfairly, blamed you both for Lady's death and perceived favoritism towards Arya. With her mother absent, Sansa would have fallen easily under the influence of the queen, who would have played the role of a surrogate mother."

Eddard's features contorted with a mixture of anguish and realization. He could see the chain of events that would have unfolded, the tragedy that would have befallen his family.

"And because of her distress and vulnerability, she would have been more susceptible to the queen's manipulations, which would have played a part in what happened to you in King's Landing," I concluded softly.

Eddard took a deep breath, absorbing the full extent of my intervention and the potential consequences that had been averted. He understood that the Lannisters would stop at nothing to secure their power, even resorting to underhanded tactics.

After a moment of silence, Eddard spoke, his voice filled with determination. "Lady shall be sent back to Winterfell. I will ensure her safety and that of my daughters. Your advice is appreciated, and I trust your judgment in these matters."

"I hope so, Lord Stark," I said softly and uncertainly, acknowledging the weight of the situation. "I'm trying to give you a chance, but I am aware that I am still a stranger to you, no matter my words, intents, and deeds tonight. And in one evening, I can't give you all the skills you'll need to face King's Landing and the incoming events."

Eddard nodded, understanding the limitations of our interaction and the gravity of the decisions he must make.

"Well, since we have decided on where I'll go, I guess I'll accompany Lady to Winterfell then," I commented, acknowledging the plan we had already agreed upon.

Eddard again nodded to my comment, acknowledging our previous agreement to send me to Winterfell for my safety.

He then spoke, his voice filled with curiosity, concern and wariness. "Do you have any other advice, given your knowledge of future events?"

I thought upon his question. I knew I would give him other advice. But there was so much to tell in such restricted time and I knew I couldn't deliver it in blind rush. I quickly pondered on how to tackle it, reminding myself how I thought upon it during the time I was living with the peasants or working in the castle. A part of me felt hurt and torn apart, but I knew there wasn't much possibility to tackle it in the current circumstances.

I finally nodded in response but decided to clarify further. "Yes, my lord. However, before going into specifics, I'd like to warn you. What I’m about to tell you is a synthesis of information I feel are necessary for you. There are information I’d love to tell you, but because they are dangerous and more importantly because I don’t want you to just rely on my word, I won’t reveal you them. These informations are to this world and incoming events what your promise to your late sister is to your family. I hope you won’t resent these choices.”

Eddard listened attentively to my words, his expression a mix of curiosity and understanding. The mention of a comparison to his promise to his late sister caught his attention, emphasizing the weight and significance of the information I withheld. He seemed to struggle a bit to consider the possibility for me to withhold information from him, but finally acknowledged my point.

"I understand," he replied, his voice measured. "Just as I hold my promise to Lyanna close to my heart, I recognize the importance of certain information being preserved and protected. And as you said, we don’t have much time before you depart to Winterfell."

I nodded, relieved while feeling a bit guilty. "Thank you, my lord. I know it is no easy decision to take or to accept.”

I then take a breath to chase away the guilt inside me before going on my advice.

“The first thing you need to know is that you are going into a place you have no true knowledge or network. The current situation in King's Landing is fragile, with political intrigues and power struggles at play. As Hand of the King, you'll need to navigate these treacherous waters carefully. Keep a watchful eye on those around you, as not everyone has the best interests of your family or the realm at heart."

I took a moment to gather my thoughts before continuing. "While it is a redundant advice, be mindful of the influence that the Lannisters hold over King Robert. Queen Cersei is cunning and ambitious, and she will use any means to advance her family's position. Her cousin Lancel is for example the king’s squire. More than ever before, you have to trust in your instincts and the advice of those you know to be loyal."

Eddard listened intently to my words, his expression growing increasingly serious as he absorbed the gravity of the situation he would soon find himself in. His eyes narrowed, and he furrowed his brow, clearly deep in thought. I could see the weight of the responsibility settling upon his shoulders, his mind racing with the implications of the information I had shared.

While he absorbed my words, I proceeded to delve deeper into the risks he faced, particularly concerning his isolationist position and lack of knowledge about King's Landing.

"Not only you do need to be cautious of those within the city, but your own situation is highly risky," I warned. "Your isolationist stance has left you blind to the evolving circumstances in King's Landing. This makes you vulnerable to exploitation, as your adversaries can predict your moves and exploit your weaknesses. Your household serves as a reflection of your position and the limited resources and information you possess. As the Hand of the King, the second most powerful position in the Seven Kingdoms, you have the ability to influence the political balance at court. However, with a household of less than a hundred men, your strength appears weak compared to the Lannisters, who boast between two and four hundred men in the Red Keep. This precarious situation puts you, your daughters, and your household at risk, as events in the future will demonstrate."

As I mentioned the risks of his isolationist position and the vulnerability it presented, Eddard's gaze hardened. He understood the dangers of being ignorant to the evolving circumstances in King's Landing and the potential for his adversaries to exploit his predictable moves. I could sense his frustration at the limitations he faced with his small household and the realization that he needed to strengthen his position if he wanted to protect his family and navigate the treacherous political landscape.

I continued, highlighting the dangers lurking within King's Landing and the lack of trust that should be placed in anyone.

"While the Lannisters pose a significant threat due to their presence and your suspicions regarding Jon Arryn's death, it is crucial to understand that trust is a rare commodity in King's Landing," I cautioned. "Everyone has their own agendas and plans, especially the queen, the Master of Whisperers, Varys, and the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish. They have their vast networks of spies, carefully observing the actions of all. The queen can also rely on Grand Maester Pycelle who is a Lannister loyalist within the Red Keep for decades. As the Hand of the King, your every move will be closely watched. In the stories, your future-self investigates Jon Arryn's death, unwittingly attracting the attention of the major players in King's Landing. This places you, your daughters, and your household in grave danger. When your future self uncovers the truth, your subsequent decisions on the matter propel the key players to act, leading to the death of your friend under the guise of a hunting accident, your arrest, the massacre of your household, Sansa becoming a hostage, Arya fleeing King's Landing, and Jeyne Poole being sent to a brothel."

As I highlighted the lack of trust and the presence of hidden agendas within King's Landing, Eddard's jaw tightened a mixture of concern and determination evident in his eyes. The mention of his future self's investigation into Jon Arryn's death seemed to strike a chord, as he contemplated the dangerous path that lay ahead and the consequences it seemed to have provoked for his loved ones. The fate of his daughters and the mention of Jeyne Poole being sent to a brothel elicited a mix of anger, fear, horror and protectiveness in his expression. It was clear that the well-being of his family weighed heavily on his mind.

A part of me wondered if he would ask me about Jon Arryn’s actions before his death, but with what I told him, I doubted it would be his main priority, especially since I knew people tended to focus on the start and the end of any speech and text. I knew I wouldn’t dodge the question if he asked, but I couldn’t exactly be straightforward as it would deeply affect his demeanor and actions and not necessarily for the best as it would attract unwanted attention and knowing how Cersei tended to react, it could result in the imprisonment of Eddard, his two daughters or even Catelyn if she found herself in the crossfire. I shivered at the thought and felt even more conflicting on the issue of how delivering enough relevant information that would help the Northerner lord without putting him on a path that would more likely end in his canonical fate or worse.

After a moment of silence, Eddard finally looked at me with a mix of concern and desperation. "Is there no one I can trust there?" he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

"Unfortunately, no," I replied solemnly. "As I said, Varys and Petyr Baelish pursue their own agendas and they would exploit your sense of duty and of honor to further their plans. Pycelle is loyal first to the Lannisters and will report to the queen every of your moves and actions, especially if they present an issue to her power and influence.”

I took a breath, “The only one that could have been your strongest ally, Stannis, has gone to Dragonstone and won't come back. He is wary of the Lannisters, but is also bitter towards his brother and you. The first because of his decision to make you his Hand and the second because he resents the fact you are better regarded by Robert than his own brothers, even if Stannis respects your sense of duty. But his absence means you are solely on your own in King's Landing, especially concerning the matter of Jon Arryn's death, as he was the one that could have told you what your former foster father did before his death. You may attempt to exchange with him, but you will need discretion and caution because of those that will spy on you."

As I delivered the harsh reality of Eddard's situation in King's Landing, his expression turned even more grave. The weight of isolation and lack of trustworthy allies settled heavily on his shoulders. He seemed troubled by the revelation that even those who were once close to him harbored resentment and could be potential adversaries.

"So, I am truly alone in this," Eddard murmured, his voice tinged with sadness and frustration. "No one to turn to, no one to confide in. The very people who should be supporting the realm and the king are driven by their own ambitions and loyalties. And his own brother away from the court where he could have been helpful."

His sense of duty and honor clashed with the reality of the treacherous court, leaving him feeling adrift in a sea of deception. The knowledge that Stannis, a potential ally, had distanced himself due to personal grievances added another layer of complexity to his predicament. Even the fact I told him he could still exchange with him didn’t appease him on the matter.

"What about Renly?" he inquired, seeking any potential allies in the treacherous city.

I scoffed at the thought. "Renly is flamboyant and ambitious, but not very competent," I explained. "He may have earned the appreciation of the people of King's Landing and may have close ties with the Tyrells because of his very intimate friendship with Loras Tyrell. But he would believe that means the whole realm would love him. As Master of Laws, he didn't do much to address corruption and violence in the city. People like the queen, Varys, or Petyr Baelish exploit this corruption for their own purposes. While he is the closest to be regarded as an ally in the current situation, he also pursues his own agenda or rather, he pursues the agenda of his friend Loras Tyrell."

Eddard's hope for a potential ally in Renly seemed to diminish as he listened to my assessment of the young lord's abilities and loyalties. The realization that even Renly, who could have been seen as an ally, was driven by personal ambitions and influenced by his friendship with Loras Tyrell, left him disheartened.

"So even Renly, who is family, is not to be wholly trusted," Eddard said with a hint of disappointment. "His actions are driven by his own desires and loyalty to his friend, rather than the well-being of the realm and of Robert."

I nodded sadly while he was grasping the full extent of the treachery that surrounded him in King's Landing. The web of deceit and personal agendas entangled not only the Lannisters and the small council but also potential allies like Renly.

"I must be cautious in my dealings with him," Eddard stated, his voice firm with determination. "While he may be the closest to an ally I have in the city, I cannot let my guard down or fully trust his intentions."

The weight of isolation and distrust seemed to press upon Eddard, but his sense of duty and responsibility to the realm remained unwavering.

"I will continue to rely on my own judgment and instincts," he affirmed. "No matter how challenging it may be, I will navigate this maze of deceit and uncover the truth behind Jon Arryn's death, for the sake of justice and the safety of my family."

Eddard's resolve shone through despite the difficult circumstances he faced. The absence of trustworthy allies did not deter him; instead, it strengthened his determination to do what was right, even if it meant standing alone against the political intrigues of King's Landing.

"Thank you for your honesty," Eddard said, acknowledging the stark reality of the situation. "Though the truth is disheartening, I appreciate your guidance in this treacherous game."

I nodded with a sad look, “I want to give you a chance to avoid to make the mistake your story self makes in the incoming future.”

I took a very deep breath, “I am sorry I can’t deliver you everything I would like, but I want you to focus on priorities I believe to be crucial in the next weeks and months. Thread very carefully in how you will handle your position and the investigations on Jon Arryn’s death. And more importantly, always put your daughters, Jeyne Poole and your household before your duty. You forsook your honor to protect your nephew. Do not hesitate to do the same for your daughters. I have a personal opinion on the matter of Arya and Sansa in regards of the restraints I have in sharing my knowledge, but it can wait.” I then continued, “I have however a huge advice regarding the safety of your daughters, of Jeyne Poole and of your household to give you.”

Eddard's brow furrowed as he heard my voice. He looked at me with concern and understanding, remembering well how limited the time was to allow me to give him advices through my knowledge to prepare him to navigate this treacherous path and the scarcity of trustworthy allies in the capital. He nodded with concern and determination on my advice to put the well-being of his daughters at the main priority, more keenly aware of the dangers that will surround his family once in King’s Landing. He looked at me with attention when I mentioned my personal opinion and relegated it in a part of his mind, determined to hear what advice I would give him to prevent the fates that may await his daughters and Jeyne Poole.

“Go on”, he said gravely.

In response to his invitation to share the advice, I took a moment to gather my thoughts, recognizing the weight of my words. A part of me felt guilt as I was given the impression to manipulate the northerner lord and I strongly disliked it. And yet, because of the urgency and the uncertainty of having time to truly convey knowledge that would be truly useful for him, I had to synthesize and to make choices that would be the most efficient, as painful and despicable they were to my mindset. I began to understand why Dumbledore began to work that way in the Harry Potter books and movies, even though I deeply hoped I would never fall in the same path as him, even if it could be a fool’s hope.

With a serious expression, I finally said, "The first thing I would advise you, Lord Stark, is to prepare yourself for the worst. Once you find yourself within the walls of the Red Keep, rely on your guards and trusted servants to plan for any potential escape should your position there became unstable and things go awry. Your utmost priority must always be the safety of your daughters and of Jeyne Poole.”

Eddard's eyes widened slightly at the mention of relying on his guards and trusted servants for an escape plan. The thought of having an exit strategy in place seemed to give him a sense of relief amidst the impending perils, even though it also made him uncomfortable. He nodded, acknowledging the importance of prioritizing the safety of his daughters and Jeyne Poole, especially as he was rehearsing my words concerning their potential fates.

I looked at him with straight and grave eyes, “Never allow Sansa to be alone as she will be vulnerable to manipulations and lies due to her innocence and lack of experience. People like the queen or Petyr Baelish would prey on her inexperience to use her for their own agendas and believe me, you wouldn't want to know what their future selves would do with her."

I exhaled a bit before adding, "I regret to say this, but Septa Mordane cannot be relied upon as a reliable chaperone for her, not due to a lack of loyalty, but rather due to her negligence. Her negligence is what allowed prince Joffrey to have Sansa accompanying him the day the incident between Arya and him occurred. And her negligence would be one of the reasons why Sansa may be susceptible to the influence of the queen or of some other people in King's Landing. In fact, if I were you, I would task someone to be her sworn shield in King's Landing.”

As I spoke, Eddard's countenance shifted, his face darkening with worry and his protective instincts surging forth. He tightened his fists, a blend of determination and frustration flickering in his eyes. The idea that his innocent girl would suffer in the future and that the queen and Petyr Baelish would play part in it made him ill at ease and very concerned. My remarks about Septa Mordane's negligence struck a chord with him and worsened his wariness, especially as he learnt another information on the events of the incident between Arya and the prince.

"Septa Mordane..." he muttered, a tinge of disappointment evident in his voice. "I should have been more vigilant, more involved in overseeing Sansa's safety."

The weight of regret settled on Eddard as he came to grasp the potential consequences of leaving Sansa unprotected. Though he was a bit wary of the bluntness of my advice, he appreciated it and understood the gravity of the situation and the need for a reliable chaperone for his daughter in King's Landing. He thought to ask Jory to task one of the most reliable guards once he had time to speak with his captain.

Sensing his regret, I nevertheless pushed on, “It is also crucial for you to rebuild the bond with Sansa. She has felt a sense of neglect since she has this impression you favor Arya because she reminds you of Lyanna.”

As I mentioned this fact, Eddard's face softened, a hint of sadness crossing his eyes. He sighed, acknowledging the strain that has developed between them. A part of him felt very wary as my words reminded him that I knew things that should be very personal to people. But in this situation, it was as if he was given a perspective he wasn’t fully aware of as Sansa was always closer to her mother.

"I... I never meant to make her feel neglected," he admitted, his voice tinged with regret. "She's my daughter, and I failed her in that regard."

As Eddard expresses his regrets about his relationship with Sansa, I look at him with genuine sympathy. His words resonate with me, and I understand the depth of his feelings.

"You're right, Lord Stark," I replied softly, choosing my words carefully. "It's not that you intended to neglect Sansa, but rather the differences in how you express yourself and the attention you've given to Arya that might have created that impression. Children can perceive things differently, especially when they long for a similar connection. As Arya kind of felt that Sansa is your wife’s favorite, Sansa felt that you favor her sister, especially in regards of her personal interests and mischiefs."

Eddard's expression reflects a mix of understanding and contemplation. He absorbed my words, processing the insight I offered. There was a hint of guilt in his eyes, realizing the unintended consequences of his actions, but also a feeling of being impressed by my insight and still disturbed and wary by the fact it came from a peculiar knowledge on their lives.

"It's not too late to bridge that gap," I assured him gently, offering a glimmer of hope. "By showing Sansa the same love and attention, by finding common ground and interests, you can rebuild that bond. It will require effort and understanding, but I believe it is within your reach. For example, if you decide to buy her gifts, consider jewelry or a necklace, as it aligns more with her current interests and may make her feel valued and attended to."

A mix of determination and gratitude crossed Eddard's features. The mention of gifts made his expression lighten and fortifying his gratitude. A slight smile tugs at the corners of his lips, appreciating the thoughtfulness behind the advice. He took a deep breath, his resolve strengthening as he understood the importance of addressing this issue and making amends with Sansa.

"I will make things right," he stated firmly, his voice filled with determination. "I will show Sansa that she is cherished and loved, just as her sister is. I won't let her feel neglected anymore. And I won't let her become a pawn in anyone’s game.”

I nodded with approving eyes to his words and allowing myself to take a break in my advices. A part of me was moved by his determination and hoped that would be enough for his time in King’s Landing, especially to allow Sansa to see that her father would be for her, no matter the circumstances, and not when the situation would turn tragic and disastrous. Even if as a character I didn’t have the same appreciation of Sansa as of Arya, I felt sympathy to the plight she would face and didn’t want to see her innocence disappearing in such a manner. Ideally, I’d rather see her becoming like me, a pragmatic dreamer, someone who would be aware of the complexity of the world while still keeping dreams within oneself.

I looked at lord Stark, “Would you like to hear the rest of my advice?”

The lord looked back at me with determination and nodded. I sensed in his eyes the determination not to fail to his family as he might have felt to fail to his sister.

I continued, "When the time comes for you to evacuate your daughters, inform them that they will be traveling to Riverrun to see their grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully. Explain that he has fallen ill, and unfortunately, his condition is grave, which is the case by the way.”

Eddard listened attentively as I provided him with further advice on the evacuation of his daughters. His brow furrowed with a mix of concern and determination, showing his readiness to prioritize their safety above all else. While wary because of the potential lie it would create his shoulders sagged in relief and yet tension as he heard that his goodfather’s health issues were true. He wondered if he wouldn’t need to inform Catelyn to contact her father to know how well he was since she hadn’t written to Hoster Tully for a while.

Unaware of the northerner lord’s thoughts, I explained further the reasoning, “In presenting this reason, it will prevent Sansa from protesting to leave King’s Landing as it would be tied to her family. Otherwise, she may believe that you are trying to separate her from Joffrey and in this case, she might relay the information to the queen, even more if she is under Cersei’s influence and in this case, it would give the queen an advantage in undermining you or even striking at you.”

When I suggested explaining to Sansa that they would be traveling to Riverrun to see her ailing grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully, Eddard's expression softened with a hint of sadness. As much he disliked misleading and lies, he understood the necessity of providing a believable reason for the journey, one that Sansa wouldn't question, especially with how emphasis I put on the danger of her being influenced by the queen. He was troubled by the fact I claimed the queen wouldn’t hesitate to strike against him, even though he was also ready for the possibility. Only the possibility of putting his daughters in harm’s way tempered his inner thoughts on the matter.

"You're right," he agreed, his voice tinged with gravity. "It's essential to prevent Sansa from protesting or suspecting any ulterior motives. She must believe that her grandfather's condition is the primary reason for the journey."

I nodded with approval and understanding to his words. Taking a breath, I then continued, “Additionally, it is crucial to have multiple escape plans to avoid predictability by your enemies. Send a message to Lord Manderly and request to him to send both a reliable person and a ship. The ship can serve as a diversion for the departure or escape of your daughters and of Jeyne, leading your enemies to believe that you are evacuating via that means.”

Eddard's face took on a more thoughtful expression as I emphasized the importance of multiple escape plans. He recognized the need to outsmart their enemies and not be predictable in their actions.

"Lord Manderly," he repeated, his voice filled with a sense of trust and familiarity. "Yes, he is someone I can rely on. I will send a message to him, requesting assistance and a ship."

“It is a wise move, lord Stark”, I confirmed. “At least, you’ll be in contact with one of your bannermen and someone that can help you with the matters in the South.”

He nodded, understanding well my meaning in regards of the discussion we were having. I gathered my thoughts, preparing to conclude on this big advice on preparing himself to the worst.

“Lastly, when you’re making preparations for your evacuation, do not personally oversee them. Allowing others to know your movements would make you an easy target. And I advise you to apply the same approach to your investigations on Jon Arryn’s death.”

I looked at him with a straight eye, “Consider court intrigues and politics as an invisible war where every player are like commander and their servants and spies their soldiers. Watch out in any capacity the strategies and agendas of everyone around you and conceal your own intents. Otherwise, you will be led on their chosen battlefield in which they could fulfill their plans or destroy you should you be considered as a hurdle or a threat to their goals. And that what happened to to your future self in the stories.”

As I cautioned Eddard against personally overseeing the preparations for the evacuation, a touch of reluctance flickers in his eyes. His innate sense of responsibility and honor clashed with the necessity of remaining hidden from his enemies.

"But I should be there, ensuring everything is done correctly," he began to argue, before pausing and realizing the validity of my point as he was processing everything I told him in regards of the situation in King’s Landing and the reminder I gave him on the potential future that awaited him.

He finally relented with a resigned sigh, "You're right. Being too involved would make me vulnerable. I need to trust others to carry out the tasks", he sighed while saying it.

His gaze met mine, a steely determination settling in his eyes. "I will consider the strategies and agendas of each person, just as if it were a battle," he declared, his voice resolute. "In this war of court intrigues, I will be cautious and keep my true intentions concealed."

I nodded, acknowledging his determination and offering my support. "Remember, Lord Stark, that you possess the wits and wisdom necessary to navigate these treacherous waters. Trust your instincts and the knowledge you've gained thus far."

Eddard's expression reflects a mix of gratitude and resolve. "Thank you for your guidance, Marc," he says sincerely. "I will do everything in my power to protect my family and uphold my honor."

Silence settled for a little while, allowing the northerner to process what we had discussed and I to take a breath. A part of me wondered if I shouldn’t have been more concise in my words, a bit wary my explanations would still overwhelm Eddard, especially with his current physical state. A part of me blamed me of forgetting he had searching Arya for four days and then witnessing this farce of trial tonight. However, before I could allow myself to let my conflicting thoughts to grow or to see if Lord Stark was done in the discussion, the man looked at me with curious and straight eyes.

"You mentioned earlier that you have a personal opinion on the matter of my daughters. Pray tell, what is your opinion?"

His tone was measured, but his concern for his daughters was palpable and I sensed something akin to a glimmer of seeing if I could give him more to help him facing the incoming challenges. A part of me didn’t expect him to raise this detail and I wondered how to response. I hesitated as my answer would concern a sensitive subject to him and while he seemed ready to listen my advices, I couldn’t allow myself to be blinded by the belief he completely trusted me or was swayed by how I behaved.

I took a deep breath, carefully considering how to respond. It was crucial to be honest with him while also being mindful of the delicate nature of the topic.

"Lord Stark, what I am about to tell you is more a personal opinion that results from my understanding of the current situation and of the future depicted in the stories," I began, my tone measured and respectful. "In other circumstances, I would advise you to send your daughters back to Winterfell, especially Sansa. Joffrey is far worse than what you witnessed tonight. A prince who is willing to harm or kill a child of the Hand is capable of even greater harm. My comparison to the Targaryens was not made lightly."

I observed Eddard closely, gauging his reaction. When I mentioned the possibility of sending Sansa back to Winterfell, his eyes narrowed slightly, his brows furrowing in thought. His worries were great as he thought back on what I told in my intervention on Joffrey’s actions and consider how worse the prince truly was and shivered in imagining the prince with what he remembered from what he had heard on the Mad King or how he was responsible for the death of his father and of his eldest brother. The desire to break the betrothal came back to his mind. But he reminded himself he couldn’t come back on his word to Robert without good reasons and claims wouldn’t do that.

"Sending Sansa back to Winterfell... It would protect her, shield her from the darker aspects of this city," he mused, his voice tinged with conflict. "But she must learn, she must see the truth for herself. I fear shielding her entirely may not prepare her adequately for the challenges she will face as a noblewoman."

I nodded, “And I wouldn’t advice you that. It is because you preserved them from the darkness of the world that both your daughters greatly suffer from their trials in the stories that depict them in my world, because they were unprepared.”

My words struck a chord in Eddard Stark’s mind and a sense of regret and wariness could be felt in his eyes.

I took a moment before adding, “Besides, given the current timing and the limited time we have, sending her back now would create political issues with your friend and raise further suspicions against you. She needs to understand the darkness without experiencing it the way she would in the stories. That is partly why I advised you to never allow her to be alone in the Red Keep and to strengthen your bond with her. A lady must have some awareness of the lord's matters to fulfill her duties, and being aware of the harsh realities of the world is necessary, especially in a place like King's Landing. It is not a pit of vipers. It is a hostile jungle where every creature is ready to strike."

Eddard nodded gravely, his eyes somber and full of concern and worries. I could imagine what he was feeling. I disliked the current solution because it wasn’t a good one, but as I wasn’t Sansa’s father and was aware that I couldn’t dismiss the political factor, I couldn’t send her back to Winterfell, not to mention the fact that I would hurt her feelings without seemingly good reasons.

My cautious and empathetic sides were urging me to reveal to Eddard the truth of Joffrey’s parentage to explain why I thought sending back Sansa to Winterfell would be wise. But I held up. I wasn’t sure it would be the good moment, not to mention that I couldn’t imagine how he would react to this fact.

I reasoned with myself that even if he believed me, it would be just my word with no factual proofs, only clues. And as a fanfiction depicting HBO “Roma” Octavian reincarnated in Joffrey had made me aware when I had read it, the book on the lineages and Robert’s bastards wouldn’t be absolute proofs, even though it would raise suspicions on the parentage of Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella. Only a thorough analysis of the physical features of the Baratheon and of the Lannisters, reading not only on the Baratheon line, but also for every marriage between a Lannister woman and other lords sharing different hair color and if modern technology existed, mainly DNA analysis like in “The Rise of the Red Anchor”, then any doubt on the legitimacy and the truth of these claims would disappear. And I couldn’t even consider Cersei’s words to Eddard in both books and series as a complete truth, especially with her fucking Lancel more or less during the same period. Only Eddard guessed that Jaime was her children’s sire because she confirmed he was her lover, but once again, it was circumstantial proofs that would need to be fortified. My only reassurance is that between what happened in the hall and some of my advices, Eddard would watch out more vigilantly Joffrey, even if I couldn’t dismiss the fact he would be fooled by the fake contrition the prince could do if his mother advised him to do so.

I sensed Eddard’s look on me, wondering what I was thinking upon. I took a breath to chase away the complicated thoughts that plagued my mind before giving my true advice.

"However, if I were in your position, I would consider sending Arya back to Winterfell."

Eddard's eyes flickered with a mix of curiosity, concern, and weariness as he digested my words while considering the suggestion in regards of what had been discussed.

"Sending Arya back to Winterfell," he repeated quietly, his voice tinged with a hint of curiosity and concern. "After all that has happened, you believe it is best for her to return home?"

I could sense the conflict within him, torn between his desire to protect his family and his duty to navigate the treacherous path of King's Landing even in regards of my advices and information. The perspective of separating his children didn’t sit well with him. With a sigh, he ran a hand through his hair, the weariness etched on his face. His eyes met mine once again, seeking guidance and understanding.

"I brought her with me with the hope that this experience would mold her into a true lady, one who can navigate the complexities of court and secure a prosperous future. But after witnessing the events of the past days, and now your counsel, I find myself questioning my decisions."

He paused, his gaze drifting towards the window, lost in thought. The weight of responsibility weighed heavily on his shoulders. He turned back to me, his expression a mixture of determination and vulnerability.

"Tell me, why do you believe she should return to Winterfell? Is it for her safety, or do you see something in her future that I have yet to comprehend?" His words held a hint of hope, a longing for answers that could guide his actions.

I took a deep breath, realizing the significance of my words.

“My lord, I do believe it is necessary both for her safety and because of what I know of her future.”

I took a deep breath, weighing how to present the issue in away that

“If she still accompanies you to King’s Landing, you’ll need to watch over her because of her adventurous side and it will be difficult because you’ll be busy by your duties and your personal mission while your household is too small to easily handle the size of the Red Keep, especially with the numbers of the people obeying to the Lannisters. As long as your friend is alive, her safety can be ensured to a certain extent. But should your friend die, something that is likely with his health or the queen’s greed, how much can you guarantee her safety with people of the likes of Cersei or her son if you considered what happened tonight?”

Eddard contemplated my words for a moment. His gaze turned inward, contemplating the risks and potential consequences. His voice held a mixture of determination and worry as he responded, "You speak truth, and it weighs heavily on my heart. The safety of my family is paramount to me, and I cannot ignore the dangers that surround them. If my friend were to meet an untimely demise, the risks to my daughter's well-being would undoubtedly increase."

He paused, his gaze focused intently on me. "Is there anything else in… your knowledge that makes you so certain that it would be unwise for her to still accompany me to King’s Landing?"

I looked at the lord with solemn eyes, uncertain to answer him without giving him strong reactions to the potential fate of his daughter. But as he raised the question and since I had mentioned the fact, I knew I couldn’t avoid it without making myself akin to a liar or someone playing with his emotions, which was already true to my dismay.

Taking a moment to collect my thoughts, I met Eddard's gaze with a somber expression. I could sense his anticipation, mixed with a tinge of apprehension, as he awaited my response.

"In the stories I had read," I began, my voice filled with a mixture of caution and certainty, "after the incident that occurred between Arya and the prince, your future self makes a significant decision. You hire a Braavosi swordsman named Syrio Forel to train Arya in the art of water dancing, veering away from your initial intent to mold her into a traditional lady as it was your initial intent when you brought her with Sansa and you."

I could see a flicker of surprise and concern in Eddard's eyes as my words hit home, and the weight of the implications settled upon him. The realization that his future-self had made such a choice, and the consequences it had on Arya's life, were likely overwhelming for him.

"The decision to provide Arya with this training ultimately saved her life," I continued my voice steady but filled with empathy. "Syrio Forel sacrifices himself to allow her escape, and the skills she acquires during her training contribute to her survival in the face of great danger. However, it also sets her on a path of hardship, shaping her into a strong and resilient individual. She harbors a desire for revenge against those who have harmed your family and was determined to kill all of them, reciting every night a list of the people she intended to kill. That leads her to eventually join the Faceless Men when she believes she has lost everyone in her family."

I watched as Eddard absorbed my words, his face contorting with a mix of emotions. The weight of the revelation weighed heavily on him, no doubt conflicting with his desires to protect his daughter from the harsh realities of the world. A part of me was also imagining how his thoughts dwelled on his fallen kins to consider how grim his daughter’s path was as depicted through my words. And while I already mentioned it or the fact that Sansa became an hostage, a part of me thought with shame that it was fortunate I didn’t tell him the trials of Sansa as I knew he would immediately want to break the betrothal and to send her back to Winterfell even with what had just been discussed and that would raise many issues, not to mention even more unwanted attention. My cautious and my sympathetic selves were conflicted and in turmoil, calling me on my cowardice to let Sansa risking to face the same trials even with the advices I was giving to her father.

While my inner self was struggling a bit, silence hung in the air as Eddard processed the information, his gaze shifting away momentarily before returning to meet mine. His voice, when he spoke, was filled with a blend of resignation and determination.

"So, you believe that by sending Arya back to Winterfell, we can potentially alter the course of her destiny, prevent the hardships she may face, and shield her from the path of revenge?" he questioned, his words laced with a yearning for reassurance.

I nodded, acknowledging the gravity of his question. "My lord, the future is not set in stone, and while I cannot guarantee the outcome, I believe that by returning Arya to the safety of Winterfell, we can provide her with a chance for a different journey—one that may not be devoid of challenges, but could steer her away from the darker path she might otherwise tread."I take a breath, “This is the official fate she faces in the stories, but I can’t say it will occur exactly the same, especially with how my intervention may affect events. And I dread to think of what could happen to her if she were to become a hostage with the kind of person the queen and her son are. If you think that Tywin Lannister is a monster and ser Jaime an oathbreaker, Cersei and her son are a level higher on those matters. Besides, the queen's proximity and influence on her twin makes him the worse of man, a dark shell of what he could be.”

Eddard absorbed my words, the weight of the decision settling upon his shoulders. He understood the significance of the choice before him, torn between his duty and his love for Arya. I could sense the struggle within him as he grappled with the implications of my advice. His weariness deepened as he absorbed my words about Cersei Lannister and her son, Joffrey. I suspected he couldn’t imagine worse than how he regarded the Lannister for what they did to King’s Landing, Elia Martell and her children. And while he didn’t regard the Kingslayer in much respect and trust, imagining he could be worst because of his sister the queen was something he was struggling to consider, even if he was considering it as a possibility.

In his exhausted and wary state, his mind was in turmoil, grappling with the weight of the knowledge I had imparted to him and the potential consequences it could have for his family. He would feel the burden of responsibility even more acutely, torn between the desire to protect his children and the need to navigate the dangerous political landscape of King's Landing. He weighed the possibilities and the pros and cons of sending back Arya, though his mind was growing more determined to ensure her safety.

After a moment of contemplation, he finally spoke. "Given the risks and the potential dangers she may face in King's Landing, it is best to send Arya back to Winterfell for her safety."

I nodded gravely, acknowledging the difficulty of his decision while inwardly relieved and glad.

"This a wise decision, lord Stark.”

I added, “It will also give you some advantages for the challenges you will have to face in King’s Landing. Besides, sending Arya back to Winterfell will not only provide her with greater safety, but it will also allow you to focus more on Sansa's well-being and safety, and to utilize the limited resources of your household to investigate in King’s Landing and to prepare for the worst without worrying yourself on the whereabouts of your adventurous and fiery daughter."

I continued while looking straight in his eyes, "Her departure might also help to assuage Sansa’s distress and resentment, while allowing to give them some space to truly reconsider their sibling bond.”

Eddard nodded thoughtful but also troubled and torn apart. He considered the advantages his decision would offer him, especially in regards of my advices. But he was also thinking on the fact he would separate his daughters. A part of me imagined he was thinking on his family words of the lone wolf and the pack and possibly reflecting upon his own past when he was away from his siblings when fostering in the Vale. A part of me felt guilty, especially as another side of me was still thinking that with my knowledge, I could easily prevent many tragedies. But it wasn’t a game or a fun story, but my new reality. And regardless of the universe and its rules, reality is like a chain of moving and versatile elements whose position affect the other parts. And as much I wanted to mitigate fallout and collateral damages, I was no god, only a human with his skills, his strengths and weaknesses.

I decided to assuage some of his doubts and trouble, “If you are concerned about questions from the king or the court should you decide to send back Arya, you can explain that what transpired with the prince made you realize that she is not yet ready for life in the South and that you punish her for her deeds. You can also mention that you are sending Lady back to Winterfell, stating that direwolves are not suited for the South as a cover."

Eddard thought upon the advice. He understood the intent while a bit wary of playing court intrigue, he knew that my solution could provide him a cover that would work should there be raised questions and eyebrows on his daughter’s departure. He nodded to me as the urgency of the situation and his exhaustion brought him to quickly consider the advice.

Glad and relieved to his acceptance, I then said, “If it can help, I’ll tell Sansa I advised you to send back Lady. It would be better that she blamed me for persuading you for the decision, rather than blaming you for that. It would make easier for you to rekindle the bond with her and demonstrate your love and support for her as she would need your guidance and reassurance. You may not know how exactly ladies have to behave, but as a father, you can give her experience and wisdom to help her grow.”

A part of me was stunned by my declaration cursing me for being utterly foolish for making bold and great claims as I tended to make when I was emotionally involved. Unaware of my inner little turmoil, Eddard Stark's gaze softened as he listened to my words, a glimmer of gratitude shining in his eyes. A part of him was surprised and stunned by my words, but he recognized the sincerity behind my intentions and the potential impact it could have on his relationship with Sansa. The thought of being able to demonstrate his love and support without the weight of blame was a relief to him.

"You have shown me great kindness and provided invaluable guidance," he acknowledged, his voice tinged with appreciation. "Your willingness to take the blame for advising me to send Lady back to Winterfell speaks volumes of your character and your commitment to protecting my family even when you don’t have to."

He paused, his thoughts drifting to Sansa and to my advices to ensure her safety and to rekindle his bond with her. His appreciation to my words and proposals was evident in his expression at this moment.

I nodded a part of me happy that my words were able to reach the northerner lord while my cautious side was screaming at me for my lack of self-respect and my lack of common sense.

His eyes furrowed once more as he was thinking about something else.

"And what of Jeyne Poole?" he inquired, his concern extending beyond his own blood. "She is a friend and companion to Sansa, yet she is not of our blood. And you told the awful fate that may await her. What would you advise in her case?"

I pondered for a moment, understanding the significance of Jeyne's role and the bond she had formed with Sansa. I chose my words carefully, aware of the impact my advice could have.

"Jeyne Poole is indeed a friend to Sansa and it is true she is not from your family or a highborn like your daughters. But as much as I hate this possibility, she must remain in the household accompanying you. As Sansa's friend, she will prevent isolation for your daughter, especially with Lady's departure. And as your steward's daughter, she needs to learn the darkness of the world and to become someone that could face the incoming challenges. When you are preparing your escape plans from King's Landing, include her with your daughter in the main group to leave. No child should suffer from the cruelty of people of power."

Eddard listened intently to my response, his concern for Jeyne Poole evident in his eyes. He understood the importance of Jeyne's presence for Sansa's emotional well-being and the need for her to have a companion in the unfamiliar and treacherous environment of King's Landing. He also recognized the risks that Jeyne would face by remaining in the capital.

A conflicted expression crossed Eddard's face as he contemplated the difficult decision ahead. He was torn between his desire to protect Jeyne from the cruelty of the powerful and the understanding that exposing her to the harsh realities of the world might be a necessary part of her growth.

After a moment of contemplation, Eddard's gaze met mine. "I understand your reasoning," he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of concern and determination. "Jeyne will still accompany with us in King's Landing, as you have advised. We will do our best to shield her from harm while preparing her for the challenges she may face."

His response reflected the weight of his responsibilities as a protector and leader, as he made the difficult decision to expose Jeyne to the dangers of the capital in order to support Sansa and ensure her emotional well-being. Eddard's sense of duty and his commitment to his children and those entrusted to his care guided his actions, even in the face of uncertainty and potential harm.

"Thank you, Marc," he added, his voice filled with gratitude and a sense of resolve. "Your insights and advice have given me much to consider. I will strive to protect my family and those close to them, even as we navigate the treacherous waters of King's Landing.”

I held his gaze and replied, "I am glad that my words can give you perspective and tools to handle the situation. And yet, I can’t help but apologizing for creating such a conundrum for you. If it were solely based on my empathy and good intentions, I would have advised you to mainly focus on your family and would deliver you everything I know. However, the knowledge and insights I possess compel me, and by extension, you, to make these difficult choices. I cannot in good conscience allow events to unfold without offering you the best advice I can provide, especially in the current context. But I can’t play gods in interfering too much in the current events and situations without creating the conditions for much worse situations that I couldn’t forgive myself to have created."

I let out a sigh and my eyes turned thoughtful and a bit contrite, “There is so much I want to tell you, but that would create more issues that it would solve if I didn’t thread carefully and some of the informations would attract more unwanted attention on you or me and that could threaten the advices I gave you, especially for the discretion you need to have in King’s Landing.”

Eddard's expression softened and he nodded in understanding and gratitude with a tinge of sadness. He recognized the weight and complexity of the situation, understanding that my knowledge and insights presented both a gift and a burden. As I expressed my concerns and the limitations I faced in sharing certain information, he nodded in acknowledgement.

"There is no need for you to apologize," he said gently, his voice filled with empathy. "You find yourself in a unique position, burdened with the knowledge of what may come to pass. I may not grasp how it is possible, but I can see how it is a heavy weight to bear, and I appreciate your sincerity in offering the best advice you can and the honesty to recognize the delicate nature of such power.”

A.N.:

1_ Here we are ! The supersaurus of this introduction of the story. And perhaps the longest for the time being.

2_ Even more than the previous ones, this chapter is a mix of the work on ChatGPT and my own addition and rewrites to deepen the context and the reaction of the different characters.

3_ It is the most difficult chapter to imagine because I was considering many possibilities. But many were problematics in the context of the situation and not necessarily the best approaches to tackle some issues without creating the seeds for worst outcomes compared to the canon.

4_ In the end, with the way I am (and thus, the way the SI is), the reasons why the MC didn't reveal everything (notably on the very burning issues) are because a) he didn't want to lead Eddard to rush on decisions and actions that could backfire on him, b) the fact that infodumping won't be efficient (especially with Eddard Stark's current physical state), c) the urgency and uncertainty that brings the necessity to prioritize information and how to use knowledge, d) with the advice given in this chapter, potential changes will occur while hopefully delaying unwanted attention because of Eddard suddenly changing his demeanor or making sudden decisions without obvious reasons, e) the SI tries to remind Eddard to always put his family's well-being as the main priority, not matter his duty to Robert or his desire to find out what happened to Jon Arryn and f) giving him a potential chance to delay or escape his fate.

5_ Knowledge is a double-edged sword like any tool, skills and strengths. In certain circumstances and certain ways, it can help us thrive and to achieve great things. But in others, it will lead to danger and disasters.

6_ However, that doesn't mean some complementary advice won't be given to Eddard before the MC's departure to Winterfell. Some other advice would be mentionned in a future chapter (by the way, eleven other chapters are already written so far).

7_ To conclude on the matter of knowledge/truth/information, while it will be mentionned in the future, I think it is a relevant think to tell you what is my philosophical opinion on truth vs lie. The phrase "Only Truth hurts" is something I kind of disagree with. While it is certain that truth is not always pleasant or pretty to hear, the reason why it can hurt is partly because of how it is revealed. Withholding information or lying to someone can be as harmful or even more than telling the truth, not matter how concerned we may be with the well-being, the comfort and the safety of someone, because it is like a river you are trying to stop with a dam, it is like a boomerang you sent away with the fool's hope it will disappear. It is preferable to tell the truth, but the manner, the context and the aimed person (when it is not yourself) are to take into account to define the potential delivery of truth. It is not easy feat to achieve as we are defined by our emotions and experiences and truth can be a complicated matter because of the complexity, the perspective or the fact it can go beyond the possible frame of perspective we have on the matter. But to tell someone a/the truth, you need to have an idea of how she might react to handle how to reveal it, especially in complicated matters (when the professional duty or the necessity don't enter into consideration). Truth only hurts because something affects how we will perceive it from our perspective and the way we consider the world around us. Some won't accept it because of fear, of pride, of comfort, of denial. Truth is neither pretty or nice, nor it is ugly or nasty. It is factual and neutral and only our personal mindset and experiences would make us see it in a certain way. You can disagree with this philosophical approach and you will be in your right. After all, no one is the sole guardian of the Truth, he can only see a (distorted) fragment of it.

8_ Finally, you can consider the MC's conflicting choices as one example of his limitations and one potential flaw of his personality.

9_ Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

Hearing his words full of understanding and empathy, I looked at him with relief and thankfulness. “I… I thank you, my lord.

Eddard's eyes were still softened as he spoke with a determined yet appreciative tone, "No, it is I who thank you, Marc. Your words brought insights I would need and you gave me your unwavering support while you have no reason to do so, even as a reward to my protection. I will consider all of your advice carefully and take the necessary steps to protect my family to the best of my abilities."

As I listened to his words, a sense of gratitude welled up within me. Gratefulness for the trust he had placed in me, a stranger from another world, and for the opportunity to make a difference in the lives of the Stark family. It was also relief, as even though he listened to me, there was no guarantee he would have considered them.

With a mix of determination and concern, I responded, "I know you'll do it, especially now that you have a glimpse of what awaits you in King's Landing."

My gaze met Eddard's, and I couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret that I wasn't able to provide him with more tangible support. "I just wish I'd had more time to deliver you something that would have been more helpful for the incoming weeks and moons," I sighed. "The only thing I can do beyond telling you these key information is to deliver you a written report of my advises, but I am not used to quills or parchment, meaning I'd need either you or your steward to write these notes."

Eddard considered my words for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. I will have my steward assist you in writing down your advices in the morning. I feel having them written would help me."

I nodded in agreement, grateful for his willingness to document the knowledge I could provide. "Thank you, Lord Stark. Having a written record will ensure that the information is preserved and can be referenced whenever needed. It is my hope that it will aid you in protecting your family and facing the challenges of King’s Landing."

Eddard's expression was serious, but a hint of gratitude shone in his eyes. "Your dedication to our cause is remarkable. You have shown selflessness and a genuine concern for the well-being of my family. I cannot express my gratitude enough."

"I am honored to be of assistance," I replied, my voice filled with sincerity. "I may be a stranger to Westeros, but your family's safety is paramount, and I will do everything in my power to help ensure it."

As our conversation drew to a close, we both understood the weight of the decisions that lay ahead. Eddard would protect his family with the knowledge I had provided, and I would continue to offer guidance and support as best I could. Together, we would face the challenges of Westeros, armed with knowledge and determination.

I then said, “I think the hour is late and I know you are wary and exhausted by the days you spent looking for Arya. You need to process what you have just learnt and if I were you, to reconsider everything I said. I don’t mean it to belittle my word or to make you renegade your promise on sending me to Winterfell, but you’ll make better decision once you consider with attention and reflection everything you’ve heard:”

Eddard listened intently to my words, his brow furrowed in deep thought. After a moment, he spoke with a mix of gratitude and consideration. "You're right. The hour is late, and I have much to ponder. Your advice has given me much to consider, and I will take the time to reflect on it all."

I nodded, acknowledging his need for time and reflection. As I prepare to take my leave, I share my final advice with Eddard, with a slight revision from my initial statement:

"Before I depart, I would like to give you two last pieces of advice.”

The northerner lord furrowed his eyebrows but nodded.

“My first one is the following one: if it is possible, consider contacting Syrio Forel and see if he can come to Winterfell to give Arya Water Dancing lessons. It would not only benefit Arya but also offer a unique perspective from a former sword of Braavos for your sons. If, however, it is not feasible to bring him to Winterfell for training, another option could be to seek his help in protecting Sansa. Despite not being a knight, his past as the First Sword of Braavos makes him a remarkable fighter. In the stories, his heroic sacrifice allows Arya to escape, as he single-handedly takes on four guards and Meryn Trant, a member of the Kingsguard, armed only with a wooden sword," I told him.

Eddard pondered both possibilities, taking his time to consider their implications. He stroked his beard thoughtfully and then finally spoke up, "The idea of Syrio Forel training Arya in Water Dancing is indeed intriguing, especially considering the future you depicted in those stories. Arya could greatly benefit from such training, and it would provide a unique learning experience for my sons as well."

He then continued, "On the other hand, the notion of seeking Syrio's help in protecting Sansa is equally compelling. If he could hold off multiple opponents with just a wooden sword, he would undoubtedly be a formidable defender for Sansa."

Eddard's expression shows the weight of his decision. After a moment of contemplation, he looked at me with a resolute gaze. "I will explore both options. If Syrio is willing and able to come to Winterfell, I will eagerly welcome him as a teacher for Arya. If not, I will seek his aid in ensuring Sansa's protection. Either way, I am grateful for this advice, and I will do what I can to make it a reality."

I nodded, glad that the northerner lord seemed to consider the idea. "I am aware it may not be guaranteed he accept, but it is worth the effort. Sometimes, in trying, great things can be achieved."

Eddard nodded, seeming more determined now. I however couldn’t help but notice that his eyes also seemed concern and wary. Sensing that he had something on his mind, I gently asked, "Is something troubling you, my lord?"

Eddard hesitated for a moment before responding, "It's just... Arya training in fight of any sort, it's not something that sits entirely well with me. She reminds me so much of my sister Lyanna, and I fear for her safety. But she has the wolf's blood and it will be very difficult to forbide her to do what she wants."

I nodded, acknowledging his feelings and the weight of his past memories. "I understand your concerns, Lord Stark. The world I come from is quite different from yours, and in my world, allowing children to explore their interests and talents is considered to be a healthy approach to their development. However, I also understand that your world has its own customs and traditions, some of them old of thousands of years."

Eddard looked at me, still uncertain but willing to listen. I continued, "While Arya may remind you of Lyanna, she is also her own person with her own strengths and desires. Water Dancing could be a means for her to build her skills, confidence, and independence. Moreover, it may not be a bad thing to have her learn self-defense, considering the dangerous times we live in."

"Robb will watch over her once she is back in Winterfell, but you are right that it won't be a bad see for her to be able to defend herself," Eddard admitted as he was thinking of the way the incident between his daughter and the prince had been depicted by her and how I pointed out the implications.

"I completely understand, my lord," I reassured him. "If you decide to go ahead with this, I promise to do my best to help Arya thrive while respecting the boundaries and rules of your world. I have no desire to disrupt the balance here, but rather, I hope to offer a unique perspective that may benefit your family."

I then added, “However, you must be aware she won’t be a lady, not in the traditional meaning of the word here. I won’t prevent her from thriving in her path, even though I will help her to find her balance. Otherwise, the result would be either her being even more rebellious and making a move like your late sister or being a broken and soulless thing. Do you really want to snuff out the life of your daughter for the sake of tradition?”

Eddard's expression grew serious as he processed my words, thinking back to Lyanna and considering the other alternative. He took a moment to respond, considering the implications of my counsel. "You speak truth, and it is a difficult one to confront," he said somberly. "I have seen the fire and determination in Arya, and I know she is not like other girls her age. Your insights are valuable, and I do not wish to suppress her spirit or her potential."

He sighed heavily, his concern as a father evident. "But the path of martial training is fraught with danger, and I fear for her safety and her future. The world can be cruel to those who defy conventions, and as much as I want her to find her own way, I cannot help but worry about the consequences, especially in finding her place."

"I understand your concerns, Lord Stark," I responded, empathy in my voice. "Arya's journey will not be without its challenges, but by allowing her to explore her interests, you may also be giving her the tools to navigate those challenges. Water Dancing could empower her, and I know that Syrio Forel is a capable and honorable teacher."

Eddard nodded, acknowledging the validity of my point. "You have given me much to ponder, and I am grateful for your candid advice. It is a lot to take in, but I believe I needed this perspective from an outsider like yourself."

"As always, my lord, the final decision rests with you," I said with a respectful nod. "I am here to offer guidance, and I will do my utmost to assist you and your family in any way I can."

I felt glad that he accepted my insights concerning Arya, though a bit of me was wondering if I wasn’t a bit hypocritical in saying I wouldn’t disrupt the balance since my actions would create ripples in the status quo in Westeros. And I knew that while I would try to balance with Westerosi social frame, I wouldn’t restrict Arya, especially since being a cultivated man and a foreigner from an unknown place could arouse the young girl’s curiosity, not to mention the fact I didn’t treat her like a lady during the whole evening, which would make me in her eyes someone worthy to know beyond my intervention to defend her. A part of me dreamt to be some kind of mentor for her, but I knew it would greatly depend on many things, including how the bond between her and me would thrive and how the rest of her family would perceive me and accept me, especially her mother. While the timeline gave me an advantage to prevent Catelyn to try to get in the way to stop a foreign lowborn to influence her daughter, I knew that sooner or later, I would have to prove my worth to her. I inwardly sighed because while I was not severe on Catelyn Stark regardless of her deeds or of her relation to Jon, I knew her upbringing and her concern for her children could make her someone that would try to prevent me to bring whatever influence I would have in her family. I tried to chase away those thoughts as it was only speculations that were to prove and I knew that incoming events could force her to make compromises, though I was glad I was not Walder Frey with his Mob methods or Petyr Baelish and his ersatz of Palpatine moves even though my own position made me close to him to some extent in manner of social standing.

Unaware of my thoughts, Eddard asked me, “And the other advice?”

I took a deep breath to answer him, though I was glad of his question as it allowed me to chase away my current feelings.

“During your journey to King’s Landing and in your tenure of hand of the king, ask to people around you and to the servants in the Red Keep about Joffrey to have a better idea of who he is beyond his appearance. I know you want the best for your children and even if what you will hear is either rumor or half-truth and lie, it will at least give you an idea on how the prince is perceived in the Red Keep.”

Eddard's expression grew grave as he considered my second piece of advice. The mention of Joffrey and the disturbing image I presented clearly struck a chord within him, especially with everything that had been said. He nodded slowly, his eyes narrowing with a mix of concern and determination.

"Thank you for your cautionary words," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of worry. "I will heed your advice and seek more information about Joffrey. It is essential that I have a better understanding of his character and the potential dangers he may pose, especially considering his betrothal to Sansa."

Eddard's words revealed his deep sense of responsibility as a father and protector. He understood the potential risks involved in his daughter's betrothal and recognized the need to gather more information to ensure her safety. The northerner thought again about the fact he might reflect upon breaking the betrothal should he find out awful things on Joffrey in regards of what he had seen this evening and how I presented the young man.

I nodded gravely, hoping it would help him in King’s Landing while apprehending I did too much. I then shifted the conversation slightly. "On another note, Lord Stark, as I am not officially part of your household yet and Winterfell is not our current location, may I inquire where I will be accommodated for the night?"

Eddard considered my question for a moment, then replied, "I will have my steward, Vayon Poole, assist you in settling in."

I nodded, appreciating his arrangements. "Thank you, Lord Stark. I appreciate your hospitality and the assurance of safety. I will await Vayon Poole's guidance."

Eddard concluded our conversation, his voice filled with gratitude. "Rest well, Marc. We will speak again in the morning. Your insights and presence are truly valued. Just do not walk away too much."

With a nod of acknowledgement, I replied, "I won't. Thank you, Lord Stark. May you have a restful evening."

And with that, I left the room and saluted Jory Cassel. As I moved in the corridor to await Vayon Poole, I felt exhausted by the whole discussion, even though I was no stranger for speaking a lot, for both my good and detriment. A part of me still wondered if it was relevant and smart of making such moves with all the restraints and challenges that lord Stark will have, not to mention the fact he might still dismiss my words. I reject such self-distrust as I couldn’t allow it to plague me in such a place.

***

Alone in the room after my departure, Eddard called for Jory.

"Yes, my lord?", the knight asked.

"Summon Vayon Poole, Jory," Ned requested.

“Yes, my lord”, the captain nodded before leaving the room to fulfill his task. Eddard knew that Vayon, his trusted steward, would assist in finding a suitable room for Marc for the night. As he waited for Vayon's arrival, Eddard found himself deep in thought.

The events of the evening had left the northerner lord astonished and questioning his own judgments and beliefs. Hearing Marc claiming to be from another world called Earth and possessing knowledge of his world through stories was unbelievable. If it wasn’t for the foreigner's bold intervention to defend Arya, the fact that he asked for Eddard's protection after Arya had advised him to do so, or his bold use of an oath, Eddard would have dismissed the claims as those of a mad man trying to carve his path in his service. Eddard decided to humour Marc, wondering how he would prove his claims, even though he was impressed by the fact that Marc was ready to take the Black in case of failure. Such a bold pledge intrigued him as either a very mad man or someone who believed what he said would take such a risk. And yet, the clothes, the unknown tongue, and more crucially, the specific details Marc had revealed about his promise to Lyanna and the circumstances surrounding the discovery of the direwolf pups, had left Eddard unable to dismiss the claims outright.

While Marc spoke a lot and shared similarities with the people in the South, Eddard also noted his self-doubts and uncertainties, the fear of fooling or wronging him, and the desire to do right. All these elements pushed him to grant some trust in Marc, even though he was cautious and wary. The idea that his world was depicted in stories from another place and that future events were depicted in those tales was particularly disturbing and mind-blowing. A part of him was still in denial of such a possibility, while the other part was wondering what it implied and if everything he believed to be true was false or an illusion. He tried to chase away such disturbing thoughts and focused on what had been discussed to ponder on them.

As Eddard reflected on Marc's character and values, he recognized that he seemed to be a man of honour and duty. Marc's words and actions had resonated with him, particularly his emphasis on honesty and sincerity. Eddard had noticed the ease with which Marc had connected with Arya after his intervention, and he sensed a genuine concern for his family's well-being through Marc's concern and depictions, but also his daring propositions of risking Eddard's safety. A part of the Hand wondered how much he could trust Marc, and yet he couldn’t decipher deceit in his eyes, much more some kind of candour like he could see in Sansa, except in a tempered demeanour and mixed with a reasoning that would make the man a formidable advisor or lord in other circumstances. His wariness was fortified with how Marc depicted Joffrey and Cersei. A part of him was tempted to send Sansa back to Winterfell along with her sister. But he relented on this thought, aware that his friend wouldn’t understand his change of mind, even less if it was revealed it was Marc who defended Arya and publicly denounced the prince as a liar and dangerous. And as he had promised to ensure Marc's protection, he couldn’t allow that.

A part of him was wary of how Marc handled the information and suspected he knew more than he let out from his conflicting and hesitant demeanour in some instances. He wanted to ask more, but tiredness and the events of the night made him stop on this desire as the need to grasp everything he had learnt tonight was stronger. He also understood a bit why Marc couldn’t tell him everything. Marc's words in comparing his situation to Eddard's situation concerning Jon’s true parentage were maybe a bit bold, but he could imagine, in spite of his reservations, the disastrous impacts of releasing information without thinking upon it. Others he would have accused of being craven, turncoats, or deceitful, but he could not be so certain with Marc, notably because he acknowledged the fact that urgency and circumstances make the delivery of all the relevant information complicated. He, however, hoped that Marc would give such knowledge to help his son and perhaps to him if they found a way to exchange on it without attracting unwanted attention.

The Lord of Winterfell understood the gravity of the situation and the importance of making informed decisions. Marc's knowledge of the political landscape in King's Landing and his willingness to offer guidance had sparked a glimmer of hope within Eddard. He realized that Marc could potentially become a valuable advisor for his family, despite being a stranger from another world. However, Eddard also acknowledged the need for caution and further evaluation of Marc's abilities and motives, even though it would be his son that would be the first judge of these abilities.

His thoughts turned to the messages that needed to be sent to Winterfell. Robb, his eldest son and the current Lord of Winterfell in his absence, needed to be informed of Arya's return and Marc's arrival. Eddard wanted to ensure that Robb understood the significance of Marc's presence and the role he had played in defending Arya. It was essential to maintain open lines of communication within his family, especially during these uncertain times. He was also thinking of Marc's last advice, considering the advantages, but also wary of allowing Arya to pursue further in her love for fight, even with Marc's reassurances. He let out a sigh, the weight of the last days being heavy on his shoulders.

He considered the possibilities that lay ahead. He had been thrust into a world of political intrigue and danger, and he needed all the allies and information he could gather. Marc's presence provided an unexpected opportunity, and Eddard was determined to make the most of it, especially as they were to part paths soon. Marc's advice resonated inside him, even though the perspective of separating Arya from him and sending her back to Winterfell was a bitter perspective.

He heard knocks at the door and the voice of Jory Cassel, “Vayon is there, my lord.” “Let him in,” the northerner lord said.

Soon after, Vayon Poole entered the room, his expression respectful and attentive.

"You called for me, my lord?" he inquired. Eddard nodded.

"Indeed, Vayon. I need you to help our guest, Marc, to provide him with a guest chamber among the rooms that Lord Darry assigned to us for the night. He has offered his assistance, and it is only proper that we extend our hospitality."

Vayon bowed his head in acknowledgment.

"As you wish, my lord. I will find him and make the necessary arrangements."

Eddard appreciated Vayon's efficiency and dedication.

"Thank you, Vayon. And once you have settled Marc, I need you to send messages to Winterfell. Inform Robb of Arya's return and the arrival of our guest. Stress the importance of his role in protecting Arya and the insights Marc may provide. We must remain united and vigilant."

Vayon nodded, understanding the significance of the task.

"I will handle it personally, my lord. Winterfell shall be informed promptly."

Eddard expressed his gratitude with a nod.

"Very well, Vayon. Carry out your duties diligently, and ensure our guest is comfortable."

With that, Vayon Poole left to fulfill his assignments, and Eddard settled back into his thoughts. The challenges before him were immense, but with the newfound knowledge and potential ally in Marc, he felt a glimmer of hope for the future of his family and the North.

A.N.:

1. The conclusion of the introductory arc with this long discussion between Eddard Stark and the MC. Like the previous chapters, a mix of ChatGPT (main text and additions), of rewrite and personal additions (with the new help of repetition checking logicials).
2. The advice on Syrio was present in the first draft, but had known two rewrite to develop all posssibilities. The advice of convincing the man of going North was in the very first draft, but thanks notably to a discussion, I found that having Syrio as a potential protector for Sansa would work, especially in regards of pratical choices. In short, the MC expresses both the "fan" advice and the "pragmatic" one.
3. The "last advice" is something that came to my mind, partly because I am something who tends wanting to share as much as I can. And in the context of the MC, the first is tied to his advice on sending back Arya to Winterfell, creating a continuity.
4. The advice on enquiring on Joffrey may be risky, but it was something that left me pondering about the potentiality, especially with the complex situation in the Red Keep. While there is no doubt that there are part of the servants that are tied to the Lannisters or to Varys and Petyr Baelish, others are likely people of the Crownlands whose loyalty is more blurred. And I also thought that lies reveal as much as the truth, just not in the same manner. And with the potential rumours of how the prince was "humiliated" by a commoner that escaped his wrath, you can imagine there would be people that would take delight in such rumours... Finally, as I didn't mention anything on his parentage or his mother's secret, my advice can be perceived as a way for Eddard to determine if the prince is really worthy of Sansa. While the incident with Arya is a red flag, it is not necessarily enough because contrary to the people of the Red Keep, the Starks are not aware of his tendencies, just the fact he is petty and arrogant (except for Sansa who might be in denial and Eddard was kind of the excuse "the prince is young").
5. As you have noticed, there is in a certain manner the first interlude in this fanfiction. I wanted to develop it because believed that after such a discussion, a man like Eddard Stark would find himself pondering what had been discussed, trying to make sense of all of it and to understand the whole extent of what he had learnt and how he perceived his interlocutor. I tried to depict with the help of ChatGPT and my own additions the whole complexity of his emotions on the matter.
6. Initially, the "interlude" was : Eddard's thoughts_Eddard asking Jory Cassel to summon Vayon_ Eddard speaking to Vayon. But I changed the narrative order because I I considered it didn't make sense for Eddard to wait before asking the presence of his steward as finding me a room for the night in Darry Castle would be a bit of a priority. Because I know thoughts took "less" time than actions in a timeframe, I put them as the second part of the "interlude".
7. A part of me is still a bit uncertain of how I developped this "interlude" because while I believe that the steward would be the best choice for finding a room for the MC, the way I developped it in the first place had some imperfections that I made modify afterwards in regards of your comments and suggestions on the matter.
8. A teaser: the next chapter is settling for the night and a "dreamy" visit...
9. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

As I was walking and watching the place around me in the corridor, I stopped by the door by which Eddard Stark, Arya and I arrived as I didn’t want to get lost in Darry Castle and to allow the queen or her son to take the opportunity to strike at me. I saw Jory Cassel moving with Vayon Poole and knew that soon, I would find a room where to rest. I stood near the door, not wanting to disturb the sleeps of those neaby. As two Stark guards were passing, I saluted them. They answered back, one of some looking at me with recognition, probably from what happened in the hall.

As I stood by the door, contemplating my next move, I noticed Vayon Poole approaching. His eyes held a glimmer of recognition, likely due to witnessing my intervention in the hall. Vayon's expression was a mix of curiosity and admiration, and I could tell he had formed an opinion of me based on that incident.

"Good evening, Marc," Vayon greeted me respectfully. "Lord Stark has entrusted me with the task of finding you a room for the night. Please, follow me."

I nodded, signaling my willingness to accompany him. We then walked through the corridors of Darry Castle in the part where lord Stark’s household seemed to have taken residence, and as we did, Vayon spoke with me shared some insights into Arya's perception of me during their journey to her assigned room.

“You know, your actions in the hall were quite impressive. You defended Lady Arya valiantly."

I nodded in acknowledgement, a small smile playing on my lips. "Thank you, Vayon. I did what was right. No child should suffer the cruelty of others."

The steward's eyes softened, and he seemed to appreciate my sentiment. "I can't argue with that, especially since I have a daughter of my own to worry about."

Understanding the weight of his words, I nodded sympathetically, even though a part of me shuddered as I thought upon what could happen to his daughter. Rejecting the dark and awful imagery of my mind, I answered with sympathy.

"Indeed, the safety and well-being of our loved ones are always of utmost importance."

Vayon's respect for me seemed to grow as he listened to my response.

"My lord trusts you enough to allow you to join Winterfell," he then remarked, his voice tinged with respect. "He was already grateful with your intervention, but whatever you have discussed with him seem to make him see worth in you."

I appreciated his acknowledgment and the trust that Eddard had placed in me. I knew that joining Winterfell would provide an opportunity to further assist and protect the Stark family, as well as deepened my own understanding of their world to know it better beyond the superficial knowledge from the books, shows and fandom.

"I am honored by Lord Stark's trust," I replied, gratitude evident in my tone. "I am committed to doing whatever I can to ensure the safety and well-being of his family and those close to them."

Vayon's admiration seemed to grow as he listened to my words. "Your presence and skills will undoubtedly be invaluable for his son in the days to come," he said, his voice filled with conviction.

I nodded in agreement with him, even though I was hoping he would be right.

Finally, we arrived at a suitable guest room. Vayon opened the door and gestured for me to enter. "Here is a room where you can rest for the night. It is not much, but I hope it meets your needs."

I stepped inside and surveyed the room, grateful for the opportunity to finally settle down after the events of the evening. I turned to the steward and expressed my gratitude. "Thank you for your assistance and for guiding me here. I appreciate your help."

Vayon offered a slight bow, his voice filled with sincerity. "You're most welcome. Rest well."

With that, Vayon bid me goodnight, and I closed the door behind him. As I prepared myself for the night, I couldn't help but reflect on the whirlwind of events that had transpired. The truth I had revealed, the decisions Eddard had made, and the trust that had been placed in me—all of it weighed heavily on my mind. Yet, amidst the uncertainties, I found solace in knowing that I had played a part, however small, in safeguarding the Stark family and the realm they held dear. My cautious part was still conflicted, both glad that I had found shelter and trusting people and yet still flummoxed by my bold intervention and the fact I put my life in danger in a place where life expectancy, even for highborn, could be as short as a fly’s wing.

Trying to chase away these thoughts and doubts, I finally went to sleep. But as I drifted into sleep, my mind was plagued by an unsettling dream.

As I stood in the frozen graveyard, surrounded by skulls and bones, the piercing caws of ravens echoed in the eerie silence. It was then that a three-eyed raven materialized before me, his gaze penetrating my very soul.

"Trepasser. Trepasser," the raven cawed, the weight of his words hanging heavy in the bleak landscape.

With confusion and fear swirling in my mind, memories of childhood fears of death resurfaced. I deepply disliked the situation and felt vulnerable and my cautious self disliked this context, no matter how surreal and dreamy or nightmarish it was. I mustered the courage to address the enigmatic figure before me.

"Bloodraven," I spoke softly yet firmly, acknowledging the ancient being's other name.

Bloodraven's form shifted, taking on the appearance of Brynden Rivers from the history of Westeros. His pale skin and centuries-old eyes, one of them red, spoke of the magic and mystery entwined within him.

"You know my name," he replied, curious yet cautious about my knowledge.

Meeting his intense gaze, I stood my ground. "By your greensight, you may have guessed who I am and how I know your identity. And I also know your true name, Brynden Rivers," I asserted with unwavering resolve.

He watched me intently, as if assessing my worth, before finally cawing again.

"I have observed your presence in the recent days," he accused, his voice tinged with caution. "You are a disruption to the song, an interloper who shouldn't be here."

Acknowledging the truth in his words, I nodded, my jaw clenched. "Yes, I have made some interferences—intervening in Arya's trial, preventing Lady's death, and challenging Joffrey's reputation. But I didn't ask to be here, and I didn't expect to become a part of this deadly Game of Thrones," I retorted, my frustration growing.

Curiosity getting the better of me, I asked, "Do you, as an agent of the Old Gods, know how I ended up in Westeros?" My voice held a tinge of sarcasm, as if I doubted whether he actually knew anything useful.

Bloodraven's gaze intensified. "Your arrival from another realm is a unique occurrence, and it has drawn the Old Gods' attention."

While his answer was more a riddle than a clear one, I considered that the Old Gods and him considered my hypothesis of an "Last Action Hero" style arrival likely. That didn't solve the question of how it was possible, as I knew magic as an energy and power wasn't a thing of my world.

My thoughts were interrupted when Bloodraven spoke again, his words dripping with disapproval, "And your arrival was observed with wariness. Your presence there is not only unnatural, but your actions and intents threaten the balance of this world. You would doom everyone with your recklessness."

Hearing the accusation behind his words snapped me out of my generally well-tempered demeanor. I looked at the greenseer with narrowed and angry eyes, my patience wearing thin. Even though a part of me could understand his stance, I couldn't stand being accused of wrongdoings while my own position was complicated and difficult to fit with their rules and so-called games.

"But the suffering and injustice in this 'song' are undeniable," I argued, my personal disagreements with the methods of the Old Gods seeping into my words. "While a believer, I do not believe in fate, only in the patterns that repeat, and I can't stand idly by while millions suffer due to the greed of a few."

Bloodraven listened, his ancient wisdom absorbing my words, but I sensed a touch of condescension in his demeanor. "You see only a fragment of the grand design," he said patronizingly. "The Old Gods work in mysterious ways, and the outcome may yet surprise you. While I understand your desire to change the course of events, we must tread carefully, for unintended consequences can unravel the fabric of time."

My anger flared at his condescending tone, and I held his gaze firmly, unyielding in my convictions. "I may not fully understand the intricacies of this world, but I refuse to believe that we are mere pawns, bound by an unchangeable fate," I argued fiercely. "I've seen the patterns in history, the echoes of the past in the present. The mistakes of those who came before us should be lessons, not prophecies or chorus. They are only chorus because people either failed to learn from the past or forgot it. If we are to make any difference, we must question, challenge, and seek a better path."

Bloodraven's expression softened slightly, as if contemplating my words, but I could sense his resistance to my way of thinking. "You speak with conviction, but such a perspective can be both a blessing and a curse," he remarked, a hint of annoyance creeping into his voice. "To see patterns and trends can provide insight, but it can also blind one to the unexpected and the true complexities of existence."

"I do not claim to have all the answers," I admitted through gritted teeth, my anger barely contained. "But I can't stand idly by while people suffer. If I can find a way to make a positive impact, even in the smallest of ways, I will."

My eyes darkened again as I couldn't help but let my anger get the better of me, "If I don't, I am no much better than the Kingsguard when they stood while Aerys raped his sister-wife."

I spat again, my frustration and anger boiling over, "Perhaps you should taste how it feels to live something you believe to be tales before finding it to be real to understand my position."

As I spoke those words, the dream abruptly shifted to a horrifying scene from Game of Thrones. We both found ourselves amidst the tragic event where Shireen Baratheon was being burned by Melisandre on her own father's consent. My heart clenched violently when I became aware of the setting, as the scene was my most emotional-wrenching and painful scene in the whole series, beating every gruesome death and rape depicted in the show. The eerie atmosphere of the cold, snowy military camp surrounded me, and I felt a shiver down my spine. Shireen's desperate cries for her parents echoed in my ears, and the sight of her being tied up and then burned was unbearable.

My emotional reaction to witnessing this scene was overwhelming, far more intense than when I watched the scene as her death was off-screen. Shireen was a character I had grown fond of throughout the series, and to see her facing such a horrifying fate was heart-wrenching. My anger from earlier had dissipated, replaced by a deep sadness and helplessness that threatened to consume me. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes, my usual composure shattered by the emotional turmoil.

Every fiber of my being wanted to rush forward and try to save Shireen, to free her from her bindings, and prevent this cruel and senseless act. But the dream, like a memory in a pensive, prevented me from interacting with the people around me. I was forced to bear witness to the tragedy unfolding before my eyes, unable to intervene.

The air felt thick and suffocating and the weight of this moment was tenfold what I would feel for such situations. The cries and the stench of burning flesh mixed with the snow and chilled me to the core. Shireen's pain and fear were palpable, and I felt as if I was there with her, experiencing her agony and desperation.

The sight of the soldiers, including her own parents, standing by and watching her suffer was gut-wrenching. I clenched my fists, feeling an overwhelming urge to break free from this dream, to escape the awful nightmare that had overtaken me. But I was powerless, trapped in the scene, unable to change its course. Looking at Melisandre, I felt the biggest rush of anger and hatred I ever felt. Until now, the notion of enemy was nearly a foreign notion to me because of my demeanor and values. But experiencing the scene as if it would become reality made me feel in a manner similar to Arya when faced to awful injustice. If it wasn’t for the fact it wasn’t real, I would have jumped at the Red woman, strangling her, tearing apart her necklace and making a spinosaur move on her neck. A part of me was disgusted with myself, but the burst of anger combined with the whole emotional turmoil I was experiencing in this instance was like the tornadoes wrecking havoc Los Angeles in "The Day After Tomorrow”.

Beside me, Bloodraven seemed to share my distress, though he remained composed. The weight of the scene weighed heavily on him, though he remained composed. He had seen countless events and horrors throughout history, but this was different—it was my mind, my thoughts, creating this nightmare for us to witness, even if it was from my peculiar knowledge I had on his world and its future. He looked at me with a mix of understanding and concern, seeing the turmoil within me. Seeing glimpses of my emotions and thoughts, he guessed what plagued my mind as we were accidentally witnessing the event. He had a sense of the responsibility that weighed on my shoulders. To be an observer of fictional or past tragedies was one thing, but to confront the possibility of those fictional and future tragedies becoming real was an entirely different matter. It was a dilemma that he could not easily dismiss. Shireen's kinship to him added an extra layer of complexity to the situation, even though he knew her fate was a possibility in the Song.

As the flames consumed Shireen, my heart sank, and I fell to my knees. The pain, guilt, and sorrow I felt were almost unbearable. I felt like an accomplice to this heinous act, even though it was just a fictional scene. The fact that it mirrored a potential future in Westeros only intensified my despair. While I was grieving both this tragedy, I struggled in pain to leave this nightmare. A part of me felt tainted and monstrous. How could I let my temper took the best of me? Even worse as I let my emotions striking out against the greatest greenseer and warg of times, at least before Bran.

As I thought violently to leave this awful situation, Bloodraven and I managed to find ourselves back in the graveyard. Both of us were disturbed, even though I took the brunt of the experience. A part of me was darkly amused by the irony of the situation for wishing for him to taste how I felt to truly live situations I had seen or read and to choose one of the worse. A part of me wondered how it had been possible, even if the inkling of magic was enough to make me suspect such possibility. While I knew I was without magic, I couldn’t dismiss the fact I could have been affected by it in one way or another, especially in the presence of Bloodraven.

I let out my cries and tears as we were back in the creepy graveyard. I was feeling sick, relieved, disgusted and shattered. I finally looked at Bloodraven, speaking to him, my voice quivered with a sense of guilt and self-loathing.

"Now you understand how deeply I can be affected by the fictional tragedies I've watched and read. Shireen's death is the most wrenching moment for me, and to experience it as if it were real is beyond words. That was how I felt when I witnessed the ordeal between Arya and Joffrey in Darry Castle, even though it was less disgusting, awful and monstrous. But it is very awful to literally live scenes that were before only fiction, but also disturbing, because that made me look like a creepy and sick man who took delight to watch people's lives in their whole complexity and vulnerability."

I wiped away the tears, trying to collect myself.

"How can I live with myself if I take the passive and apathetic path? I’m sorry, but I can't do what you or the Old Gods ask of me.”

Bloodraven's expression softened, and he seemed to grasp the weight of my burden. He understood my conundrum and my inner turmoil and why it drove me to change the course of events and alleviate suffering.

"I see your turmoil, and I understand your desire to make a difference," Bloodraven replied, his voice calm. "But remember, even with the best intentions, meddling with the threads of fate can have unforeseen consequences. It's a delicate balance, trying to alter the course of history without causing irreparable harm."

I took a deep breath, my anger being brutally abated and overwhelmed by my sense of guilt and remorse even though determination was still there. “I know. That’s why I want to convey changes through advices and analytical approaches. Advices can be taken or not, but they can allow soft changes like a breeze. I do not know how much you witnessed with your greensight and how much you see of what I would do in the incoming future, but I didn’t reveal everything to Eddard Stark because it would have been inefficient and catastrophic, not to mention the mental and emotional breakdown he would have or the fact such an approach would make things worse. I just try to convey my skills and knowledge in a way that can allow changes without making it too obvious or attracting the wrong attention too quickly.”

Bloodraven didn’t respond, but watched me with his eerie eyes as if he was looking deep in my soul. I felt shiver in my inner self but couldn’t let myself to let out again my emotions.

I took a breath, “That's why I was angered by how you speak to me. Not only you arrived in my mind and dreams while seemingly using my fears with this graveyard full of skulls, but your words, no matter the truth in them, make me feel I was deliberately wreaking havoc on the song without a care for the world and the people. For any other person, that may be the case, and I know hell is paved with good intentions. But evil also triumphs when good men do nothing. I know that my actions have consequences and that I am restricted by their impact and the restraints of my knowledge. But I can’t allow myself to be this passive spectator. That could work back in my world when your reality was just a story created by someone as what was happening was a distant thing with no grip on reality. Not anymore.”

I held up a croaked voice, “I ask forgiveness for accusing you of things you can’t do because of the restrictions you have. I know of the taboos that exist among greenseers and wargs. But please, do not ask me to do something I am not certain to hold. You are like an observer on a mountain peak, watching everything in the valley, and I am more like someone that used to fly over the valley but is now forced to be within it. The whole picture may escape me, but I can’t dismiss my emotions or the emotions of the people that are now around me. Otherwise, I am like the monsters of your world or those of mine for whom one death is a tragedy, but a million a mere statistic.”

As I poured out my emotions and convictions to Bloodraven, the haunting scene from Game of Thrones lingered, casting a chilling atmosphere over our conversation. The eerie graveyard setting mirrored my fear of failure and the dangers he had warned me about.

As he listened, Bloodraven's demeanor softened further, showing that he truly understood the depth of my feelings and the internal battle I was facing. Despite our differences in approach as a greensight observer, he saw the sincerity in my desire to bring about positive change.

"I can sense the urgency in you to take action and make a difference," he responded thoughtfully. "You're not alone in grappling with the complexities of this world. Your emotions and empathy are both strengths and vulnerabilities. They reveal your genuine concern for the consequences of your choices. When I came to your dreams, it wasn't to condemn you, but to offer caution."

He explained, "The path you choose is yours to bear, and it won't be an easy one. I have glimpsed various potential outcomes resulting from your decisions, each shrouded in uncertainty."

At that moment, the scene seemed to shift, emphasizing the divergent paths that lay before me, each with its own set of consequences.

"But even in uncertainty, there is hope," Bloodraven continued. "Your approach of bringing about change through advice and subtlety is wise. Small actions can create significant transformations over time. You have the potential to influence events without causing chaos or drawing unnecessary attention."

His words resonated deeply within me, and I nodded in acknowledgment. I could sense his understanding and wisdom, realizing that he wasn't trying to hold me back entirely but to guide me in using my knowledge responsibly.

"As for my initial approach, I apologize for my harsh words," Bloodraven's voice carried remorse. "I wanted you to grasp the gravity of your actions, but perhaps I underestimated the impact it would have on you. I never intended to distress you, only to make you aware of the consequences."

Amidst the complex emotions that still gripped me, I sensed Bloodraven's sincerity and understood that his approach had its own purpose. He sought to make me aware of the intricate nature of the world and the potential consequences of my actions.

"I accept your apology," I replied, my voice steadier now. "And I also apologize for involving you in this... possible future scenario."

Bloodraven nodded solemnly in response to my acceptance, acknowledging the weight I carried and the courage it took to strive for change in a harsh world.

"I comprehend the gravity of your burden, and I respect the determination you possess to navigate this world's cruelty," his tone now carried a note of respect.

I sighed, “I know what is at stake and that any of my moves can create a storm more devastating than the one you are observing to prepare those you feel would play their part. It is your position and role. I won't lie I am uncertain and a bit wary of you or of your endgame, but I do not regard you as an enemy. To tell the truth, I do not regard anyone as an enemy because it is not me. If we can find some middle ground, maybe we will be able to work in complementary. You have the foresight and the experience of this world. I have an outsider perspective and consider that the ideal man is both an idealist and a pragmatist. I know you to be pragmatic and I know myself to be still a dreamer even though my own knowledge made me more attune to the diversity of shades of reality."

Bloodraven pondered my words, considering the potential synergy in our collaboration. He recognized my sincerity and the value of blending our strengths and viewpoints.

"You're right," Bloodraven acknowledged, his voice both measured and encouraging. "Our distinct strengths can work in harmony, shaping the course of events if we find common ground."

With his understanding and willingness to consider my perspective, I felt a sense of relief. I then took a breath, “You can be certain of this: no matter how violent the incoming storm, no matter how I fare in this ocean of violence, lies, and intrigues, I will do my duty to pursue what is right, not what is easy. And I’ll do it, not because of the will of gods but because it is the right thing to do. I do not seek power because it is feeble and treacherous. I do not seek glory because everything that once shined disappears in the darkness. All I want to make a difference with my abilities. I am no servant with a submissive demeanour who has no autonomy and no ability to adapt himself to the unexpected. I am no warrior with brute strength. I am only me, a stranger who found himself in a position where he can't do nothing and can't do everything. And I will do it to the best of my abilities and virtues. And while I will act on my gut and feelings, I place myself in the hands of God, whatever the form he would take."

As the tension in the dream eased, the atmosphere of the eerie graveyard seemed to respond, becoming less oppressive and chilling.

"You have a true and noble heart," Bloodraven's voice resonated with understanding. "Your words and actions reveal your compassion and the desire to do what's right, even if you don't fully comprehend the grand design."

He appeared to contemplate the impact of our conversation and my emotional state. The realization that his presence could affect me on such a personal level made him more cautious. Despite this, his words brought comfort, and I nodded in appreciation.

"Thank you for recognizing that," I replied, my voice still weary but more composed. "While I lack your foresight and centuries of experience, I will remain steadfast in my convictions. I understand the risks and consequences, and I'll be mindful of the outcomes my actions may trigger."

Bloodraven's red eye gleamed with a hint of approval, acknowledging my determination and resolve. "The path of change is challenging, and doubt may arise," he warned. "But cling to your principles and be aware of the ripples you create. Your journey is unique, and surprises may lie ahead."

As our conversation neared its conclusion, a sense of mutual understanding and trust enveloped us. Bloodraven recognized the potential within me to effect change and met me on more equal footing. Yet, despite the relief, I couldn't shake the guilt and regret over the unusual circumstances that initiated this extraordinary exchange.

"I will do my best," I affirmed. "I can't promise perfection, but I'll strive to make a positive impact in this world, one step at a time."

With a final nod, Bloodraven spoke with a hint of a reassuring smile, "Then we shall navigate this intricate tapestry together. Trust your instincts, and remember, even in the darkest of times, there is always hope."

And just like that, the Three-Eyed Raven faded away, leaving me to awaken from my troubled dream, my mind still filled with lingering thoughts and unanswered questions.

I took a moment trying to appease my mind and to settle in. But my cautious side was crying inside me, calling me back on my intervention and my incoming interferences. Fighting back the habit to speak aloud my conflicting thoughts, I tried to appease myself, but the emotional drain of the quarrel with Bloodraven was still affecting me. Finding back sleep was a very hard challenge as my mind was struggling against my own turmoil and the words of the Three-Eyed Raven. Would my interventions, even though solely advises and knowledge, truly wrecked out the events to the point the Long Night would become the Endless Night? Would I truly condemn millions of people, of living things and the soul of this world to the worst kind of darkness?

And while some middle ground seemed to have be found between the greenseer and me, uncertainty still plagued me and I was feeling guilt as if it was crushing me. The vivid scene of Shireen’s death brought back as a reality in the vicinity of my mind was the most awful and painful experience I had experienced in my life. Shame and remorse were striking in my soul and made me feel as more despicable than the likes of Joffrey and of Ramsay. Even if my rational and analytical side was reasoning within me on the fact it wasn’t the case, I deeply regretted expressing such wish to Bloodraven as it was like a curse wish. A part of me wondered if it wasn’t a bad prank of the deities of this world to bring whatever humility they believed I needed to have.

Another part was wondering if I had been dreaming all of it and that Bloodraven wasn’t really there, but was only a reflection of my fears and cautious-self expressing themselves through the mythical figure of the Three-eyed crow, raven or whatever he was truly. In spite of myself, I considered that I had no inkling of his intents or if he would visit me in such a way. The man was a mystery, but like any other, just in an enhanced way. I chased away those questions and thoughts as they gave no answer and no matter the truth, I would have to take this dream as a reminder of the hazards that were awaiting me and praying that my advices and decisions wouldn’t go too awry or bringing much more pain because of a lack of foresight or relying too much on the ability to listen of the people I would encounter and advise. A nostalgic part of me suddenly felt like Elsa when she heard the voice calling her out into the unknown. Except this voice I might have heard was warning me and trying to make me comply to a certain rhythm like a conductor that would remind a sole musician to follow the rhythm of the orchestra. I knew I couldn’t easily trust him but I could not dismiss him or considering him as an enemy, mainly because what was the worth of an enemy except exhausting your time to focus on someone or something you wanted to destroy as a dubious love you you wanted to conquer? Maybe he saw me as an enemy and a hurdle even with the truce that ended the dream, maybe he was not and maybe he didn’t care for me. But all that didn’t matter. I knew I had crossed the Rubisco and needed to move forward until the moment death decided to make her courtship to me.

My reasoning, my compassion and my cautiousness struggled to find an answer and bickered to each other like dragons in the sky. Unable to appease myself, I decide to go praying. Finding appeasement in the peaceful void of prayer and my faith in God could be a useful thing, even more in such a place. In the core of my soul, I inwardly pray for appeasement and reassurance to face the incoming struggles. I didn’t ask anything else as while a believer, I learnt to consider God like a presence and not the Almighty, omnipotent and omniscient figure. The divine representations people were considered to me as windows of what we saw or expected to see of the mystery of deity, no matter what its true form was. Even the Seven, the Old Gods, the Lord of Light or the Drowned God, no matter their physical presence for some, were just representations of something that went beyond human’s understanding, no matter how limited and narrow-minded my understanding of Westeros might be.

The little prayer helped me to chase away the trouble the awful dream had brought, even though the questions he raised were still lingering. I went back to sleep, hoping not to be disturbed again by anything, either in dreams or in reality.

AN.:

1. Here is a peculiar chapter as while it is a discussion scene, it is also (hopefully) an eerie scene. I wanted to conclude the first day arc of this fanfic with something that settles the stakes as established from the previous chapters and the motives of the MC. And Bloodraven was an interesting perspective and character to tackle.
2. This chapter has been a mix of ChatGPT different chats (first drafts and additions and rewrite) and of personal additions plus corrections.
3. I had this scene in mind as I was thinking of how greenseers would notice present and possible future ripples, notably in regards of the Song.
4. This chapter had been rewritten many times to have something that could be satisfactory to me. I wanted something of a mixed tone, showing a) disagreement in methods from at least one character, b) the character's flaws/vulnerability/reasons, c) a reminder of the surnatural of Westeros and beyond and how the MC's presence might be perceived, d) the idea of dream scenes is something I found interesting to explore and e) a mixed scene in the way the MC interacting with another character, even though the end seems promising. The first versions were more confrontational from the MC which made him antipathic and ironically OOC (as inspired from myself, I know what are my flaws, but I also know how I would react in an emotional state). But the thing is, no matter how Bloodraven is (canonically or in the context of this fanfic), the MC has a mindset that disliked conflicts though that doesn't mean he would accept to receive blows of any sort (no matter if in matter of crictics, good points are raised) without defending himself.
5. The GOT scene reviewing is an idea I had during one of the rewrite process with the help of ChatGPT, as the first versions was making my fictional self kind of antipathic and provocating, which was ironically a bit OOC. As I had recently watched the fifth season of GOT, this gave me the inspiration for the pivot scene of the chapter, the one that gave an idea of the motives of the MC (a little teased in the very first ones), but also one that might allow a "truce" between him and his interlocutor. And as for many, this GOT scene is a wrenching one for me, even though I do not have issue concerning how it has been settled in the context of the show. I would say it is the worst scene in emotional regards I had watched (but not the worst in quality terms. In fact in acting and editing, it manages to display the horror in a way that enhances it). I also included it because I do not have memory of my dreams and used to imagine in my head stories of my own when I went to sleep. So, that the MC's mind plays a dirty trick to him during dream state in the context of Westeros was something I consider interesting and plausible.
6. The huge paragraph in which the MC questioned his own dream is my own addition, partly because as since Bloodraven is a mysterious character, even more for someone like me, I didn't want to rely too much on ChatGPT's "generous" interpretations of the character and to create potential inconsistencies. Besides, with the matter of dreams, when well thought, one can use the self-doubt as a tool in the character's demeanor and development.
7. I have no idea if I would bring back in the future (at least in dream lands) Bloodraven, but if I did, I would like complementary information that would help me to define how the interactions would go as the one case that would justify his return in interactions with the MC would concern a certain winged-wolf (though a certain crannog boy will have a role in incoming chapters)...
8. Teaser: the next chapter is the true first interlude and concerns a certain Valonqar's nemesis ruminating events of the evening...
9. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

As the heavy doors to the room closed behind us, I could feel the weight of the events that had just transpired in the hall still hanging over us. My heart raced, and a mix of fury, humiliation, and bitterness churned within me. The audacity of that commoner, that stranger, to interfere in our affairs and manipulate the situation in favour of Arya Stark was unforgivable. I clung to my composure, my exterior calm masking the tempest raging within. I was so close to see that wretched little beast being put in her place and punished for what she did to my son and yet that uncouth lowborn managed to turn the tables against us.

Joffrey, my dear son, stood beside me, his face a storm of anger and wounded pride. His green eyes, so like his father's, glinted with a dangerous fire. He was seething, his youthful arrogance and entitlement crushed by the turn of events. He had always been susceptible to flattery and sycophantic admiration, and now his ego had been shattered, his version of events torn apart by the words of that meddling stranger and his body exposed to people like a whore before clients.

"Bloody hell!" Joffrey spat out, his voice a venomous hiss. "Did you see that, Mother? Did you see how that... that commoner dared to challenge me, to humiliate me in front of everyone?"

I placed a hand on his arm, my touch meant to soothe his turmoil, but my grip tightened involuntarily, my nails digging into his flesh. "Joffrey, calm yourself. We are the guests of ser Darry, and your behaviour must be controlled."

He shot me a withering glare, tearing his arm away from my touch. "Controlled? Like that was controlled, Mother? The whole hall was watching, and that... that stranger made me look like a fool!"

I clenched my jaw, my own anger bubbling just beneath the surface. How dare that stranger question the words of my son, the prince and future king? How dare he cast doubt upon our version of events? I could feel my blood boiling, but I had to maintain my composure. We were guests in Lord Darry's castle, and I couldn't afford to further escalate the situation, not when my oaf of husband was furious against Joffrey and me. If only Jaime had found that little brat before her father’s men. That would have avoided this whole disaster tonight.

"Joffrey, listen to me," I hissed, my voice a low whisper. "This is not the time or the place. We will deal with this later, in private."

His eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a bitter sneer. "Oh, don't worry, Mother. I fully intend to address this matter, and that stranger will regret ever crossing me."

My heart pounded in my chest, a mixture of pride and concern warring within me. Joffrey's determination to assert himself was both admirable and maddening. I wanted to protect him, to shield him from any harm, but he was his father's son, headstrong and obstinate. I knew I had to tread carefully, to guide him without smothering his spirit.

"Joffrey, you must be patient," I urged, my tone softening. "We will find a way to rectify this situation, but for now, we must wait and bide our time."

His gaze shifted to the window, his features twisted in a mix of frustration and resentment. "Father... Father just let that stranger have his way. He listened to him, Mother, and he believed him over me."

I sighed inwardly, my heart aching for my son's wounded pride. I knew how much Joffrey idolized Robert, how desperately he sought his approval. To have that endorsement seemingly withheld was a blow he couldn't easily bear.

"Your father... he can be impulsive," I admitted, choosing my words carefully. "But he also values justice, Joffrey. We will find a way to prove the truth of the matter, and then everyone will see that you were in the right."

My son's eyes flickered back to me, a mix of doubt and hope warring within them. He wanted to believe me, to trust that I could mend this situation and restore his honour. I could see the conflict in his expression, the desire to lash out and the need for guidance.

"But Mother, that stranger... he spoke so confidently, so convincingly," he said, his voice tinged with frustration. "He made Father doubt me. How am I supposed to compete with that?"

I took a step closer to him, my voice a soothing murmur. "Joffrey, you are your father's son. You have his strength, his determination. You will not let this lowborn’s words define you. We will find a way to prove the truth, to show that your version of events is the correct one."

His gaze locked with mine, and for a moment, I saw a glimmer of the frightened child that still lingered beneath the facade of the prince. He was a complex mixture of arrogance and vulnerability, and my heart ached for him.

"We will make them see, Mother," he whispered, a determined fire igniting in his eyes. "No one challenges us and gets away with it."

I nodded, my lips curling into a small, reassuring smile. "That's right, my sweet boy. We will ensure that justice is served, and that stranger will regret ever crossing us."

His stormy gaze held mine for a lingering moment, his determination fuelled by my words. His clenched fists slowly relaxed, and I could see the turmoil in his eyes begin to settle, replaced by a glimmer of newfound resolve.

"Mother, you're right," he said, his voice steadier now, though the fire still burned within him. "I won't let that stranger's words define me. I'll show them all who I am and what I'm capable of."

I nodded approvingly, masking my relief. My son's malleability was a double-edged sword; his eagerness to prove himself could be moulded to my advantage, but his impulsiveness could also lead to disastrous consequences.

As he opened his mouth to further voice his commitment, a sharp knock at the door interrupted our conversation. Joffrey's gaze shifted towards the source of the sound, his brow furrowing in irritation.

"Enter," I commanded, my voice projecting authority. The door swung open, revealing the imposing figure of Sandor Clegane, the Hound. His scarred face was as unreadable as ever, his eyes fixed on my son.

"What is it, dog?" Joffrey demanded, his tone a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

The Hound's gravelly voice filled the room, "Your Grace, I've found the butcher's boy as you requested. He tried to run, but I caught him and... dealt with the situation."

Joffrey's eyes widened, a sinister smile curling his lips. "You caught him, did you?"

The Hound nodded, seemingly unperturbed by my son's reaction. "Aye, he tried to escape. But I ran him down, just like you wanted."

Joffrey's grin widened, his satisfaction evident. "Good. That'll teach him."

He then looked at his sworn shield with a cruel glint in the eyes.

"Send the butcher boy's head to the wolf bitch. Let her know what happens when someone crosses the crown."

I couldn't deny the vindictive satisfaction that surged within me, but I also recognized the potential repercussions. Robert was already infuriated with Joffrey, and this act of cruelty could tip the scales further.

"Joffrey, perhaps that's not the wisest course of action," I advised, my tone measured. "Remember, your father's anger is a force to be reckoned with. We must be cautious not to push him further."

My son's face twisted in frustration, his anger momentarily redirected towards me. "So, you're against me too, Mother? You won't let me do anything!"

I took a step closer to him, my gaze steady. "I am on your side, Joffrey. But we must be strategic. The Targaryens lost their hold on power by making rash decisions. We cannot afford the same fate."

The Hound's gravelly voice cut through the tension. "The wolf girl won't forget this. Sending her the boy's head is as good as declaring open war."

Joffrey's expression darkened as he absorbed the Hound's words. The reality of the situation began to settle in, his desire for revenge warring with the potential consequences.

I placed a hand on my son's arm, my touch gentle yet firm. "Listen to the Hound, Joffrey. He speaks from experience. We must be calculating in our actions. Revenge can wait for the opportune moment."

Joffrey's gaze shifted between us, his internal struggle evident. I could see the conflict within him, torn between his desire for immediate gratification and the need to play the long game.

Finally, he nodded, albeit reluctantly. "Fine. For now, we'll wait."

I squeezed his arm reassuringly. "Good. Patience will serve us well."

As the Hound turned to leave, Joffrey's voice called after him, a hint of malice in his words. "Tell the Stark girl that her friend is waiting for her in the afterlife."

The Hound's gruff chuckle echoed through the room as he departed, leaving us alone once more. My son's gaze remained fixed on the door, his determination now simmering beneath the surface.

"Mother," he said, his tone colder than before. "We will find a way to make them all pay, one by one."

I met his gaze, my own resolve unwavering. "Yes, my sweet boy. We will ensure they pay, but we will do it on our terms."

Joffrey's eyes gleamed with a mixture of determination and vindication. It was clear that the idea of vengeance had taken root in his mind, and he was relishing the prospect of exerting his power over those who dared challenge him.

In the silence that followed, I couldn't help but let my thoughts drift back to the stranger who had dared to interfere in our affairs. Who was he, this commoner with no noble ties, who had managed to commandeer the narrative and provoke doubt? It was vexing, to say the least, that someone from the lower rungs of society could wield such influence over the Crown Prince.

"We'll handle him, Mother," Joffrey declared, as if he had read my thoughts. "He won't escape our grasp."

I gave him a faint smile, masking my concern. "Indeed, Joffrey. He may have crossed us once, but we will ensure that he does not escape the consequences of his actions."

His brow furrowed, a touch of regret in his voice. "I should have had the Hound take care of him when we had the chance."

I placed a reassuring hand on his arm, my touch gentle. "It's never too late, my dear. We have many resources at our disposal, and we will deal with this commoner in due time."

Joffrey's gaze met mine, seeking reassurance in my eyes. "You're right, Mother. I won't let him undermine me any further."

I nodded, my heart swelling with a mix of pride and maternal protection. "That's the spirit, Joffrey. Remember, you are the future king. No one should dare stand against you."

He straightened his posture, his resolve evident. "I won't forget, Mother. I'll make them all pay for doubting me."

I squeezed his arm affectionately. "I have no doubt that you will, my sweet boy. Just remember, patience is a weapon as well. We will choose the right moment to strike."

My son's lips curled into a determined smile, his youthful arrogance now aligned with a more calculated ambition. "You're right, Mother. Revenge will be sweeter when it's executed perfectly."

As he spoke, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of admiration and concern. Joffrey's transformation from an impulsive young prince into a calculated force to be reckoned with was both impressive and unsettling. My role was to guide him, to ensure that his ascent to power was smooth and unchallenged, even if it meant tempering his more reckless tendencies.

"We'll be a force to be reckoned with, Joffrey," I said, my tone firm. "No one will dare underestimate us again."

He nodded, a fire burning in his eyes. "No, they won't."

A new knock suddenly echoed through the room. I turned towards the door, my curiosity piqued. With a slight nod to Joffrey, I moved to answer the door, the heavy fabric of my gown whispering against the floor as I walked.

As the door swung open, revealing a figure that I recognized as my cousin Lancel. He stepped forward, his movements precise and his posture respectful.

"Your Grace, my prince," he greeted with a bow, addressing both Joffrey and me.

Joffrey's gaze shifted to Lancel, his expression a mix of acknowledgment and impatience. "Lancel."

I studied Lancel for a moment, noting the seriousness in his demeanour. "What brings you here, Lancel? Shouldn't you be attending to my husband?"

Lancel cleared his throat, his tone respectful but tinged with a touch of urgency. "Your Grace, I must report something of interest. I was in the hall earlier, and I observed... the stranger."

Joffrey's brows furrowed, and I felt a prickle of unease. "What did you see, Lancel?"

Lancel hesitated for a moment, as if carefully choosing his words. "I saw the stranger speaking with Lord Stark and his young daughter. They discussed something, and then they departed for the Stark quarters in the castle."

Surprise flickered across Joffrey's face, and I exchanged a quick glance with him. "Are you certain?" I asked, a note of skepticism in my tone.

Lancel nodded firmly. "Yes, my lady. I was quite close, and I overheard some of their conversation."

Joffrey's jaw tightened, and I could practically hear the wheels turning in his mind. "So, he's still here. I thought he had left the castle."

My own thoughts raced as I considered the implications of this information. If the stranger had indeed joined the Starks, it could potentially complicate matters further. The Starks were not to be underestimated, especially with Ned being the Hand of my oaf of husband and the events of this evening. The idea of them harbouring this commoner added a new layer of intrigue.

"Did you hear anything specific?" I inquired, my tone calculated.

Lancel nodded again. "I heard the stranger thanking the young Stark girl for a suggestion, and Lord Stark assuring him of safety."

My lips curled into a thoughtful smile. "Thank you, Lancel. Your information is valuable."

Lancel's chest puffed out slightly, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "Of course, Your Grace. I am at your service."

As Lancel turned to leave, I couldn't resist one final question. "Lancel, where is the king?"

Lancel's expression shifted, his confidence momentarily faltering. "He's... busy, Your Grace. And Tyrek is with him."

I nodded, dismissing Lancel with a wave of my hand. "Very well. Thank you again."

He bowed once more and departed, the door closing behind him. Turning back to Joffrey, I could see the gears turning in his mind, his thoughts undoubtedly echoing my own.

"It seems our stranger has aligned himself with the Starks," I mused aloud, my voice tinged with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

Joffrey's eyes gleamed with a renewed determination. "Then we must ensure that he regrets that decision."

I placed a hand on Joffrey's arm, my touch gentle but firm. "Patience, my sweet boy. We must gather more information before we act. It's possible he might be sent back to Winterfell eventually."

Joffrey's expression darkened, his impatience apparent. "And what if he becomes a permanent fixture in the North? What if he's out of our grasp?"

I offered him a reassuring smile, my tone soothing. "The day you sit upon the Iron Throne, my love, you will have the power to reclaim him, no matter where he hides."

Joffrey's lips curled into a semblance of a smile, though I could still sense his frustration. "Yes, Mother. The day I become king, no one will escape my reach."

I nodded, satisfied with his response. His ambition was a force to be reckoned with, and it was my duty to ensure that it was harnessed for the greater good of our family. But the darkness that had settled over him, fueled by humiliation and a desire for revenge, was something I needed to tread carefully around.

"Joffrey, my dear, remember that you have the power to shape your future," I said, my tone soft but commanding. "And until that day comes, we must work meticulously, gathering information, and ensuring that when the time is right, we strike decisively."

He met my gaze, a mixture of determination and defiance in his eyes. "I won't forget, Mother. I'll make him regret ever humiliating me, ever disrespecting me."

As I listened to his words, I couldn't help but feel a mixture of pride and concern. Joffrey was a complex puzzle, and I was the one guiding him through the labyrinth of power and ambition. But his hatred for the stranger and his fervent desire for revenge were consuming him, and I needed to ensure that he channeled those emotions effectively.

"Joffrey, my love," I began, my voice gentle yet commanding. "Remember, power is not just about force and anger. It's about control and manipulation. We will ensure that this stranger regrets his actions, not only through force but through the careful dismantling of his influence."

Joffrey's eyes bore into mine, his resolve unwavering. "I understand, Mother. He won't see it coming."

I nodded approvingly, my fingers gently brushing against his cheek. "That's my boy. We will show him what happens when he underestimates the true power behind the throne."

As I watched Joffrey, his determination burning bright, I couldn't help but marvel at the transformation he was undergoing. My guidance, my careful manipulation of his ambitions and desires, was moulding him into a force that would leave a lasting imprint on the realm. He was becoming a ruler who would command both respect and fear, just as a true leader should. His fiery spirit and the ambition that ran through his veins were the perfect tools to shape the future of House Lannister.

And as for the stranger who had dared to challenge us, to undermine Joffrey's authority and humiliate him in front of the court, he would soon realize the consequences of his boldness. His audacity would come back to haunt him, and he would comprehend that challenging the lion's den was a grave mistake. The Lannister always paid their debts.

A.N.:
1. Here we are! The very first true interlude in this fanfiction and on two of our favourite unlikable characters in Westeros. I chose the first POV both to keep a certain narrative style and because when I tested it with ChatGPT, I found it very amusing as an approach.
2. Originally, this chapter was Cersei reflecting upon the events of the first chapter before discussing with Jaime. However, after a discussion, I found it more interesting and amusing to develop it through the interactions between Cersei and her son in a scene that could take some inspirations from the GOT scene in the first season. Besides, the first version had the inconvenience of having a first part mainly on thoughts and while I love psychological depictions, I am also aware that interactions kind of enhance how the characters are in their demeanour, psychology and reactions when it is well done. And I would bet some would love to see our most unlikable king in this whole universe complaining and whining about what happened. And finally, it avoided Cersei to be completely villainous and caricatured (as least I hope).
3. It is a chapter (both initial and definitive version) I loved to imagine with the tools I had because of the characters. The reason why I love both reading the two first books of ASOAIF (borrowed to a public library three years ago, but didn't have the chance to read the three following ones) and watching GOT (currently about to watch the sixth season) is the fact that the characters look like real people with complex emotions and motives. While I do not condone the actions of the Lannisters and of Joffrey (that I considered as shortsighted and blinded by wounded pride and dogmatic vision of the world), I can understand to a certain extent the reasoning behind many of their actions and their psychology is kind of fascinating in spite of the sometimes simplistic and manicheic approach they could offer.
4. To help me to have something close to how the characters were, in addition of my classical requests, additions and rewrite, I included in the requests to ChatGPT the Wiki of Ice and Fire depictions of Joffrey and Cersei personalities as in the books. It is very heplful and I think I would use this method as much as possible for other characters, both for interludes and classical chapters, not to mention the physical depictions of some of them, even if the characters would have a mix of book and show features, either physical or psychological ones.
5. The inclusion of Lancel was partly because of "consistency" and one take of showing that this Westeros is not only a mix of books and show depictions, but also with some little specificities. My stance on Lancel is that while it is not something that is indicated in the books and show, I considered that both Tyrek and Lancel were Robert's squires before the events of GOT, meaning Lancel could have accompanied Robert to Winterfell but went unnoticed by the Starks, partly because of Robert's behavior with the Lannisters. So, his presence in Darry Castle is a possibility I included in this chapter. And because of his ties to Cersei, I thought he could play the "informant" part.
6. Same reasoning with Tyrek Lannister as he was Robert's second squire in A Song Of Ice And Fire. This also allows to show the fact that the MC doesn't know everything or forgets some details of the stories, especially as he mainly watched GOT.
7. I try to include in a reasonable way many references to the canon events that haven't been affected in the matter of the Ruby Ford incident and how it affects the thoughts and demeanours of the characters. Some details and rewrite were made to try to be close to what I remember of the characters and to how they seem to be depicted.
8. Concerning the use of the interludes, I will try to have a balance and to use them for 1) showing some impacts of the ripples without spoiling too much, 2) exploring certain characters' perspective in the growing new timeline and 3) giving some time landmarks in regards of the timeline and 4) it is much more fun to see the classical characters of ASOIAF and of GOT, even thought the main plotline concerns how the MC will evolve and how his personality, his demeanour, skills and knowledges influence others and the events. In fact, having their perspective give more scale to the story as it shows how the ripples affect them or how they consider the MC. Currently, two other certain interludes are ready and a third written, though perhaps to rewrite. And for a little detail, initially, I even thought to imagine a Raymun Darry's pov of the scene of my fictional self intervention in the hall. I finally gave up the idea to avoid duplicate, but include some of the ideas within the first chapter with the mentions of Raymun Darry's reactions. Do not hesitate to comment on the matter of the interludes or to give a list of characters you would like to see their perspective.
9. The incoming chapter is a morning discussion settling last advices, including some hot informations to Ned...
10. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

The rest of the night was untroubled, but my mind was still filled with lingering thoughts and questioning my purpose and intents while pondering what would be the next moves.

I finally woke up, a bit shaken by the visit of the Three-eyed Raven. As I left the bed and pondered again on the dream, I look by the window and notice morning is there. I wonder how long I had slept, even though I doubt lord Stark would have let me to sleep too long as I was able to be part of his household. My cautious part was reproaching me of rushing into the unknown and danger with my intervention in the hall and more importantly my daring revelation of my knowledge of “Game of Thrones” to someone of this world, even if Eddard Stark was among the most trustworthy.

I heard a knock at the door. I moved to it and opened it, revealing a Stark guard.

“Yes?” I asked.

The guard looked at me with curiosity and respect, leading me to wonder if he witnessed the intervention of yesterday.

“Lord Stark requests your presence”, he said.

I nodded and left the room, following the guard.

As we join Eddard Stark's assigned room, I found myself face to face with the lord of Winterfell. Vayon Poole, the trusted steward of House Stark, stood by Eddard's side, attentive and ready to assist. The guard had withdrawn, leaving just the three of us. I bowed respectfully.

"Lord Stark, Vayon.”

They greeted me in return.

“You ask me, my lord," I said, keeping my tone deferential.

Eddard looked at me intently, and I could sense a mix of caution and curiosity in his eyes. "I have made a decision," he began, glancing briefly at Vayon, "regarding your departure to Winterfell with Arya, Lady, and your escort."

Vayon nodded, understanding the importance of the matter. His presence indicated that Eddard had already informed him of our previous discussion and I knew that he was aware I’d join Winterfell in our discussion the previous night.

I nodded, eager to hear his plans. It was crucial to know when Arya and I would leave Darry Castle, especially considering the urgency of avoiding delays. Robert could depart at any time, and Eddard and his household would follow him to King's Landing the moment he left.

"When do you plan for us to leave, my lord?" I inquired.

Eddard glanced at Vayon once again, then turned back to me. "As soon as possible," he replied. "I believe it would be wise for you to depart swiftly. You cannot risk lingering here. I do not want you or Arya to be in the vicinity of the Lannisters. And knowing Robert, he would soon leave to join King’s Landing as quickly."

I agreed with his decision, understanding the urgency, especially with the issue of Cersei or Joffrey attempting something.

Vayon stepped forward, a quill and parchment in his hand. "If the departure is soon," he said, addressing me, "it means you don't have much time to write the message summarizing the discussion from yesterday and any other advice you wish to provide to lord Stark. If it is possible, it needs to be done now or after breaking our fast."

I looked at Vayon, grateful for his assistance while touched by the way he addressed me. "Thank you, Vayon. And thank you, lord Stark"

Lord Stark nodded silently, “You advised me to ask Vayon to write down the advices you gave me yesterday. And I think it should be done now.”

I nodded in approval, saluting the northerner lord’s decision. With the combined support of Eddard Stark and Vayon Poole, I felt confident in my role in this unfamiliar world. The weight of responsibility rested on my shoulders, but with their trust, I was determined to fulfill my purpose and help shape a better future for the Stark and hopefully for Westeros.

"The safety of Sansa Stark and Jeyne Poole is vital," I began. "Never let Sansa be alone in the Red Keep. Always ensure she is accompanied by someone else, preferably a person you trust. Stay informed of the people she encounters, for knowledge is power, especially in court intrigues."

Eddard nodded as Vayon transcribed my words, his expression serious and focused. I could sense some internal conflict within him as he grappled with the idea of spying on his own daughter, but I knew the danger that lurked within the Red Keep and the importance of safeguarding Sansa.

"Regard the court intrigues as a battlefield of its own," I continued, "with each person playing the role of commanders with their strategies and agendas. Trust no one in the Red Keep or King's Landing, even those who claim to be trustworthy. Always cross-check any information you find or receive."

As I spoke, Vayon diligently wrote down my words, capturing the essence of my advice. Eddard absorbed the information, his eyes focused and attentive.

"Prepare with your most trusted men for any plan of departure and escape from King's Landing," I advised. "Contact Lord Manderly discreetly, requesting assistance and a ship, but do not use it as your escape route. Be cautious in your investigations, and consider all the consequences before using any truths you may uncover. And if the need arises, do not risk your life or your family's fate to save your friend if it is beyond your abilities."

Eddard's eyes locked with me as I said this point, his expression solemn. The idea of potentially leaving Robert behind, even in the face of danger, conflicted with his sense of loyalty and duty. But I could see the resolve in his eyes, as he recognized the importance of prioritizing the safety of his family.

"I understand," he said. "Sometimes sacrifices must be made to save those we can."

I nodded, empathizing with his struggle. The choices Eddard faced were undoubtedly difficult, but the welfare of his family had to be the primary concern. With Vayon's help, we concluded the message, rolling up the parchment and sealing it with wax.

“Keep it close to you. Never let it seen by anyone in King’s Landing”, I advised him.

Lord Stark nodded to me, understanding well the meaning of my words. With the message sealed and ready, Eddard looked at me expectantly, waiting to hear the additional points I wanted to share. I hesitated for a moment, mindful of the time for breakfast, but I knew the importance of conveying crucial informations that could save him.

"Well, you will remember what we discussed yesterday," I began, "These advice on the parchment are like reminders. However, there are still four things I want to tell you." I took a breath, preparing to reveal the critical information.

"The first is that I hope we can exchange messages in the future as best as we can," I said, emphasizing my commitment to helping him and his family. "Even if my priority will be to help your son, I want to continue supporting you as well."

Eddard nodded, appreciating my dedication and willingness to be of assistance. He then asked with curiosity, "What are the other matters you wish to share?"

A part of me was tempted to speak of Cersei's plan to take care of Robert to settle Joffrey on the Iron Throne. However, a part of me stopped on this matter. While I was aware Cersei and Joffrey weren't good people, revealing it would play in Baelish's plans but also giving grounds on Eddard's suspicions on the Lannisters' part in Jon Arryn's death, meaning the other informations I intented to tell would go contradictory or ignored. And I was aware that while he was a very decent man in the whole Westerosi nobility, Eddard was also biaised due to his upbringing. "Woman's weapon" came to my mind as I remembered how he reacted to the possibility of poison. While I didn't condone what Cersei did and would do, her upbringing and the Westerosi social frame contributed to made her as much as she held the potential for being the dangerous woman she was. My logical part was screaming to tell it for his friend's sake, but revealing this peculiar information would wreak havoc the ground my previous advice and information created. Even if I couldn't deny the possibility Eddard would let himself blind by his bias, I couldn't allow myself to fuel them, not when the time for delivering advice and knowledge was limited. I dismissed the idea and thought of the three more crucial informations he needed to hear. I forced myself to focus and not to disperse myself when any of the information I would deliver would influence the northerner lord. A part of me hated the situation as it was looking too Dumbledore-like tactics.

I also thought of Vayon. How much did he know of what I had told to Eddard? A certain information that came to my mind was tied to the future and the last thing I needed was to create confusion and to face a comprehensively sceptic or wary steward. And no matter how trustworthy northerners could be to a larger extent than other people in Westeros, I could not take too much risk.

“Before I go on on those informations, my lord, I would like to know how much Vayon knows of… my skills. There is one information that would sound at best dubious and I wouldn’t want to create confusion of any sort.”, I finally said with a cautious voice while looking at both Eddard and Vayon.

Eddard looked at Vayon, exchanging a brief glance before turning back to me. "Vayon knows that you possess certain knowledge that is beyond our understanding, and he's aware that you come from a place different from ours. However, the specifics of your abilities and the extent of your knowledge are not something he is fully aware of as it is yours to say."

Vayon nodded in confirmation. "Indeed, my lord. Lord Stark explained to me that you possess unique knowledge, and I am aware that there are things you know that I do not fully understand. But I trust in Lord Stark's judgment, and I understand the importance of the situation we find ourselves in. And the advice you just said, while troubling, seem relevant and wise."

I appreciated Vayon's straightforward response and respected his trust in Eddard's judgment. "Thank you for your understanding, Vayon," I said, acknowledging his willingness to accept the unusual circumstances.

Turning my attention back to Eddard, I continued with the more critical informations. I took a deep breath, aware of the importance and of the potential consequences of such information.

"My lord, the second matter I want to tackle with you is tied to both something that has happened some days ago and to another that will happen in the incoming future.”

Eddard's furrowed brow conveyed his deep contemplation, while Vayon's gaze remained fixed on me, a mix of intrigue and confusion as it marked the first time I had disclosed such foresight claims before him.

"In some weeks, around the time of your arrival in King's Landing," I began, "your wife will also be arriving in the city. There had been an attempt on your son Bran's life, and the assassin used a Valyrian steel dagger for the deed. Fortunately, your son is alright and the man is dead now, but your wife is coming to warn you of the situation and to show you the dagger."

Eddard's eyes widened in a blend of shock and concern, the gravity of my words sinking in. The revelation of an attack on his son's life, coupled with the involvement of a Valyrian steel dagger and the incoming of his wife, weighed heavily on his heart. He listened intently as I provided further details, elucidating the unfolding situation.

"She is with Rodrik Cassel, but since her physical features are well-known, she will be noticed by Varys and Petyr Baelish," I cautioned. "Officially, they will hide her in one of Petyr Baelish's brothels for her safety. Unofficially, it will be an opportunity for them to choose a scapegoat for the one who commanded the murder attempt."

Dark clouds gathered over Eddard's countenance, a mingling of anger and apprehension. He apprehended the peril his wife, Catelyn, would encounter within the city's confines, and the unsettling reality of her interactions with Varys and Petyr Baelish within such a setting as a brothel. While he grasped the necessity for discretion and her clandestine arrival in King's Landing, he abhorred the thought of her being manipulated regarding the identity of their son's assailant. His gaze bore a somber intensity as he met my eyes, a glint of danger underscoring his intent.

“Do you know who truly wanted my son dead?”, his voice carried a steel edge, a reflection of his protective nature.

I sighed and took a deep breath, aware that I wouldn't be able to give a straight answer in this peculiar matter.

“Maybe. Unfortunately, it is one of these situations where my knowledge is muddled. It is either Joffrey because he had heard your friend his father saying that it would be a mercy to end your son’s life because of his broken body and comatose state. But it could also be Petyr Baelish because it would help his own plans. I however personally believed the first to be the likeliest, because the catspaw had a sack full of gold and I doubt that Baelish was able to send so quickly a sum to pay the catspaw either by raven or by rider sent such a sum to someone by raven or even by rider, unless he has greensight to foresee the event of your son's fall.”, I concluded while shivering in imagining the disasters with Baelish having abilities like Euron Greyjoy.

Eddard's visage hardened, his fists clenched in a silent display of his inner turmoil. The glint in his eyes, a mixture of danger and resolve, spoke volumes of his awareness of the situation's gravity and the weight of his roles both as a father and as the North's Warden. Temptations to reconsider Sansa's betrothal surfaced anew, yet he restrained them, reminding himself that my words, however accurate, could not stand as irrefutable evidence. Blinded faith was not the path he sought, even in the face of such dire revelations and my words of caution on believing my word were echoing in his mind.

"I see," he replied, his voice taut, straining to contain a burgeoning anger. "Joffrey's involvement would hardly come as a shock, given the events that unfolded in the hall yesterday."

He paused, a pregnant silence hanging between his words, as he grappled with the weight of Robert's unsettling statement about ending Bran's life as an act of mercy. His friend's words added another layer of complexity to the maelstrom of emotions swirling within him.

"Robert's words," Eddard's voice quivered with a mixture of ire, sorrow, and exasperation. "He is my trusted comrade, yet comprehending how he could entertain such a notion is beyond me. A mercy? Bran is my blood, my son, and I shall not abandon him in his hour of need."

The revelation surrounding Petyr Baelish's potential involvement in the assassination attempt only stoked the fires of Eddard's intensifying suspicion towards the man. My revelations from before, the ones that revealed Baelish's dubious nature, had already planted the seeds of mistrust within Eddard's mind, and now they had grown into a garden of uncertainty. While I had expressed my doubt in his part, Eddard pledged himself to discover the truth and to find out the real culprit, no matter if it was the prince or Baelish.

Vayon Poole's countenance mirrored Eddard's perturbation, his agreement silently given through a nod. "My lord," he interjected, his tone cautious and advising, "our path in King's Landing must tread with utmost care. With these newfound truths, the shadows seem to harbor peril at every turn. It is imperative that we remain watchful guardians, shielding your kin from those who would sow harm."

I nodded while looking gravely and apprehending a bit what the Northerner lord would do, even with my advice. A part of me regretted to having told such information, but I couldn’t let him in the dark and let him being accidentally manipulated because he didn’t have information that might save his life if he knew how to handle them.

I spoke with a cautionary voice, “I can just imagine what you are feeling, lord Stark. But please, do not let your emotions guide your actions. Even without me, you have the ability to find who sent the killer to your son but you need to be the direwolf hunting in the dark and unknown woods that King’s Landing court intrigues are. There will be a time for justice. Do… Do not make the same mistakes like your brother Brandon did.”

My cautionary words hung in the air, a whisper carrying both concern and guidance, addressing Eddard Stark's tumultuous emotions. Eddard's gaze seemed to shift inward for a moment, his eyes reflecting the storm of thoughts raging within him. The echoes of my words reverberated through his mind, resonating with his experiences, his family's history, and the fragile peace he sought to protect. His glance darkened a bit and a part of me was wary of him violently reacting to the mention of his dead brother.

Eddard's thoughts journeyed back to his brother Brandon, whose impulsive actions had ultimately led to tragedy. Brandon's fate was a raw, sensitive topic – a wound that had never fully healed. The memory of his brother's mistakes, tied to the underlying fear of repeating them, stirred a complex blend of emotions within Eddard.

Amid this internal struggle, his features remained a mask of guarded determination. He respected my counsel, recognizing the weight of my words, yet the battle between his emotions and his sense of duty played out in his furrowed brow and the subtle clenching of his jaw.

"Marc," his voice was a low rumble, his tone reflecting both gratitude and tension, "your insights are invaluable, and your caution is well-received. You speak truth; I must not let my emotions cloud my mind. The direwolf's vigilance, tempered by the lessons of history, shall guide me through these treacherous waters."

His words held a promise – a vow to temper his actions with the wisdom of experience, both his own and that of those who had come before him. The resonance of his brother's fate lingered like a cautionary shadow, a reminder that the past could wield a powerful influence over the present.

Vayon Poole's demeanour remained respectfully attentive, his gaze shifting between Eddard and myself. My words had clearly resonated with him, and his approving nod indicated his alignment with my counsel. His loyalty to Eddard was evident in the unwavering support he offered, and he seemed reassured by Eddard's composed response.

As the moment lingered, the weight of responsibility settled more heavily on Eddard's shoulders. He knew that the choices he made would not only shape his family's fate but could also reverberate across the realm. With a final, contemplative glance, Eddard's gaze met mine once again, acknowledging the complexity of the journey ahead.

I sighed in relieved but then took a breath before saying, “Promise me not to mention what I have just revealed to you on the matter of the catspaw and of your wife riding to King’s Landing to anyone, not even to her. Not only that would attract attention, but people like Varys or Petyr Baelish can find ways to escape when they are not completely cornered and disarmed of their traditional weapons. They won’t hesitate to take care of you if they feel you are a threat and once they find out how you knew the information, I will be on their blacklist. And I do not want to influence the interactions you will have with your wife as she would wonder how you already know she will come to King’s Landing or the fact there was a murder attempt on Bran.”

As I made my request, a mixture of emotions flickered across Eddard's face. He understood the necessity of keeping this information hidden to protect me and to ensure that his wife's safety wouldn't be compromised. But at the same time, he grappled with the thought of withholding such vital information from Catelyn, his beloved wife.

Eddard's gaze turned distant for a moment, as if he were weighing the potential consequences of revealing or not revealing the truth to Catelyn. His thoughts seemed conflicted, torn between his duty to protect me, his newfound advisor, and his duty as a husband to be open and honest with his wife.

The burden of responsibility was heavy upon him, and I could see the weight of it in the furrowed lines on his forehead. He had always strived to be a man of honour, and this situation put him in a difficult position where he had to make a choice between my safety to me and honesty with Catelyn. He then thought on the fact that the safety of Sansa and of his household could be threatened if the players of King’s Landing suspected something amiss in his actions. He understood the need for secrecy, even though he disliked it. But the memory of his promise to Lyanna was strong enough to remind him that he had already did it, even though my request was also tied to the safety of his household, of his family. His expression finally softened, and a determined look replaced the internal struggle he had just experienced. He seemed to have reached a decision.

"I understand the importance of keeping this information concealed," Eddard said, his voice measured and resolute. "I promise you, Marc, that I will not breathe a word of what you've revealed to anyone, including Catelyn."

I looked at him with sadness, “Thank you. I know I put you in a complicated situation, but the context is not ideal for complete openness. You need to convince the people in King’s Landing that you are the honourable lord and yet unaware of the true political balances of the capital and doing things in a predictable manner that allow them to plan their next moves. And the secrecy on my role and my knowledge to your wife would last as long as she is not with your family, away from prying ears, in order to allow her to understand my situation and my purpose.”

Eddard's gaze met mine with a mixture of understanding and sadness, as if he sensed the weight of my own burdens. His demeanour remained steadfast, a reflection of his commitment to uphold his principles even in the face of the complex circumstances I had woven around him.

"There is no need for apologies," his words carried a tone of reassurance tinged with empathy. "I do not like it, but I recognize the necessity for this discretion, for the intricacies of this perilous game demand it. You're right; King's Landing is a den of vipers, and maneuvering within its labyrinthine politics requires a delicate balance. If the people of King’s Landing believe me to be predictable, let them believe that if it allows me to find the truth, to do my duty and to survive this place."

As he spoke, his voice resonated with a sense of both resignation and determination. It was clear that he comprehended the gravity of the situation and the reasons behind the veils that we must maintain.

His expression softened as he continued, a reflection of the protective instincts that guided his actions. "As for Catelyn, you speak true wisdom. She is fiercely loyal to her kin and would be wary of any stranger who appears to hold sway over me, especially in matters that concern our family's well-being."

Eddard's mind seemed to be working through the intricacies, his thoughts both strategic and compassionate. "I understand the need to wait until she returns to Winterfell, until she is shielded by the walls of our home, to reveal your role, especially since you will be there. Only then can she truly comprehend the depth of your purpose and intentions."

He paused for a moment, his cold, judgmental eyes, as some would perceive them, carrying a warmth of trust as he met my gaze again. "Though the path ahead is treacherous, I will navigate it with the same sense of honour that has guided me thus far. You have my word that your identity and your involvement shall remain hidden until the time is right."

The way he spoke reassured me that he valued my counsel and respected my reasoning. It was a testament to the bond that had formed between us in such a short time.

"I appreciate your understanding, my lord," I replied, grateful for his trust. "I will do my best to guide you through this treacherous path and to safeguard your family's well-being."

Vayon Poole, who had been listening attentively to our conversation, spoke up, his voice filled with concern. "My lord, I believe it would be prudent for you to also have a contingency plan in case your wife's safety is compromised. We cannot predict every eventuality, and it would be wise to be prepared for any potential threats that may arise."

Eddard nodded in agreement. "You are right, Vayon. I will make sure to have plans in place to ensure Catelyn's safety, even if our secrets are revealed. Her well-being is of utmost importance to me."

I nodded in approval, “That is a good and wise idea. With how the events may change because of my presence and choices, your wife’s path once she left King’s Landing after meeting you won’t be exactly the same.”

I then added, “By the way, just to conclude on this matter, I know who Petyr Baelish and Varys intended to make a scapegoat for the attempted murder, but I won’t reveal it to avoid to influence too much the way you will react once it will be revealed to you. Your sincerity will be both your weakness and your strength in King’s Landing. However, I can tell you that once I’ll be in Winterfell, I will be hopefully in time to delay or to prevent an incoming disaster because the scapegoat would go through Winterfell before going south.”

Eddard listened attentively to my words, taking in the information I provided. The mention of a potential scapegoat for the attempted murder piqued his interest, but he respected my decision not to reveal the identity just yet. While he disliked it, he knew that surprises and sudden revelations could be powerful tools in the political game, and he trusted my judgment in this matter.

"I understand, Marc," Eddard said, his tone serious. "I will trust in your guidance, and when the time is right, I will face the truth and act accordingly. As you said, my sincerity will be both my weakness and my strength in King's Landing."

He then asked, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "What is the last thing you wanted to speak to me?"

I hesitated for a moment, considering it might unweave my efforts to advise caution and discretion to Eddard. But I knew that if I was to give Eddard Stark any chance of survival, he needed the information, both to avoid him to make the mistakes his future-self did without the exact information. But I disliked it because it was a half-truth I was giving him and there was no guarantee it would be enough. But like the issue of revealing Cersei's agenda, it wasn't worth to reveal if it was to propel Eddard to his death.

I reminded myself that Cersei’s secret was solely tied to her relation with Jaime and that the only proofs that her children were not fathered by Robert were coincidental at best and I couldn’t forget the possibility of exception, especially in regards of Robert’s grandmother, Rhaelle Targaryen. A clever man or woman could claim that Robert's three children inherited from their grandmother's side to explain why their hair wasn't their father's colour. And no matter how the author justified by claiming genetics didn't work the same way in Westeros as on Earth, it wasn't an information within the universe story and the possiblity of the reality of Westeros being distinct on some levels to what GRRM envisionned wasn't to dismiss, even if I couldn't regard such hypothesis for granted.

But no matter if Cersei's secret was true or not or that I had not love for Joffrey, condemning his siblings for the stigma of incestuous bastards was the last thing I wanted, especially if the truth wasn’t guaranteed. Who I was to put their heads on the gallows for something they didn’t do if they truly were Robert’s children? I couldn’t make the mistake of Eddard or even Stannis when it concerned such a complex, uncertain and grave information, especially when the physical proof could be used as a fallacy to deny inheritance in other circumstances: by the logic that guided Jon Arryn, Eddard Stark and Stannis Baratheon, a northerner lord could claim that Robb wasn’t legitimate because of his hair colour and that Sansa was a by-product of an incestuous and adulterous relation between her mother and her uncle. And even if it was the truth, my word wouldn’t be enough and would ironically bring Eddard Stark to do the investigations in King’s Landing, playing in the hands of Littlefinger and of the other players, while creating the conditions for a civil war. The only condition in which such issue could be settled would be through a Great Council, but I knew such solution would have its own issues as Tywin would never accept his legacy to be questioned in such a way. Inwardly, I prayed God for giving me peace of mind and to forgive me should my move proved to be an incoming disaster.

Relegating these thoughts, I took a deep breath, “I know you believe the Lannisters behind Jon Arryn's death," I spoke, addressing the conclusions Eddard had drawn based on Lysa Arryn's message. "I know how you suspected their part, but you only have one claim and no other evidence, only words in a paper. While Lysa Arryn is your wife's sister, when was the last time your wife spoke with her? How much do you truly know her?”

Eddard's initial curiosity transformed into a complex interplay of surprise and realization as my words took root within his mind. The conviction he had held, fostered by the communication from his wife's sister, seemed to waver in the face of my reasoning. My line of thought urged him to reevaluate the assumptions he had made based solely on Lysa's message. The weight of my potential insights into the political machinations carried a resonance that seemed to give his convictions pause, even though it was a conflicting thought because of my warning on Cersei’s intents.

My words prompted him to contemplate the relationship his wife had with her sister, the true extent of his knowledge of Lysa's character, and the reliability of the information she had shared. He had been relying on her words, convinced of their veracity, but the seeds of doubt I planted began to sprout. A part of him was however questioning, wondering why I would shed such doubt, especially when I asked his protection to preserve myself from the Lannisters.

"Are you suggesting that the Lannisters may not be responsible for Jon Arryn's death?" Eddard's question hung in the air, a cautious seeking of confirmation from me and testing my reasoning.

I nodded gravely in response to Eddard's inquiry, my demeanor a reflection of the solemnity of our discussion.

“I do, my lord. While the Lannister are responsible for many crimes because of wounded pride and short-sightedness when it concerns fulfilling their ambitions, Jon Arryn's demise is not their doing.”

I straightened my glance and raised a warning finger, “Moreover, it's well-known how you hold a deep-rooted aversion to their house due to their past deeds as it is a known fact they are so predictable in cruelty and violence. It would be very easy to pin blame on them for something they could have done and then to warn you, making you a pawn in another's hands."

Eddard's thoughts appeared to be in turmoil as he weighed the truth of my words against his convictions. His internal struggle was apparent, his brows furrowed in contemplation. My revelation clashed with his preconceived notions, pushing against the enmity he had harboured towards the Lannisters ever since the sacking of King's Landing. The idea that someone might manipulate his loathing and the Lannisters' notoriety for their own gains unsettled him deeply, especially when he considered the treacherous political landscape awaiting him in King's Landing. A part of him wondered why I was telling this, but he decided to understand where I would go with my claims and knowledge.

"You present a valid argument," he finally conceded, his voice a mixture of acknowledgment and vulnerability.

His eyes, cold and judgmental by reputation, now bore a wary but expectant expression as he regarded me. His question hung between us like a suspended sword, and I understood the gravity of the moment. He sought answers that could unravel the mysteries he was confronting, and in his gaze, I sensed a newfound willingness to consider perspectives beyond his own.

Vayon's gaze flickered between us, his curiosity piqued by the revelations that had unfolded in our conversation. The disturbing nature of the information was clear, and it seemed that the intricacies of the unfolding intrigue had captured his attention.

Eddard's gaze bore a mixture of wariness and anticipation, his eyes locked onto mine as he voiced his question with a blend of hope and trepidation. "If it is not the Lannisters, who is truly behind Jon Arryn's death?"

Vayon's gaze shifted between us, his intrigue and curiosity apparent. The revelations of our ongoing discussion had undeniably surpassed the threshold of the expected, leaving him both captivated and unnerved by the unfolding complexity.

Drawing a steadying breath, I met Eddard's expectant eyes with a demeanor that reflected both gravity and resolve. "Well, my lord," I began, my voice even and unwavering. "Before his death, your foster father was handling matters that impacts the realm with the support of Stannis Baratheon. Due to this collaboration, he confided in his wife his intention to send their son to Dragonstone under the wardship of Stannis Baratheon."

I continued, my voice measured as I illuminated the complexities of the situation. "Lysa, however, couldn't bear the thought of being separated from her only living child, having endured the agony of multiple lost pregnancies. Her attachment to Robin was profound, evidenced by her continued breastfeeding despite his age."

Eddard and Vayon looked at me a bit disturbed, probably imagining the scene. I suspected Eddard wondering how sane his goodsister was for handling in such a way her son, the heir and now lord of the Vale.

A sense of calculated manipulation hung in the air as I delved deeper into the deception. "It was Petyr Baelish who seized upon Lysa's vulnerability, exploiting her love for her son and her affection for him. He insidiously planted the idea that her husband's demise would free her from the prospect of sending Robin away. This, in turn, would allow him to solidify his own ambitions."

I paused, the weight of my words echoing in the space between us. "Baelish's orchestration extended further," I continued, each word a revelation of the dark tapestry woven by his schemes. "He prompted Lysa to write the coded message to your wife, Catelyn, knowing that the intricate cipher would lend an air of authenticity. He wagered on your loyalty to your former foster father, your friendship with the king, and your disdain for the Lannisters. These elements were skillfully woven into the message, compelling you to accept the position of Hand and, ultimately, to investigate Jon Arryn's death as orchestrated by his manipulative tune."

Eddard's countenance, that was already shaking, finally contorted, a fusion of anger, disbelief, and shock settling upon his features. The revelation that his wife's own sister could have played a part in Jon Arryn's demise was a bitter pill to swallow. The gravity of Petyr Baelish's malevolent orchestrations weighed heavily upon him.

"Lysa," Eddard murmured, his voice carrying a mixture of sorrow and regret. "My wife's own sister..."

Vayon Poole's expression mirrored Eddard's shock, a testament to the profundity of the revelation. He spoke with a measured tone, encapsulating the collective sentiment in the room. "It's a distressing revelation indeed, my lord."

In this moment, the room seemed to hold its breath, encapsulating the shockwaves generated by the revelation of Petyr Baelish's sinister role in the grand tapestry of events. The air was heavy with the weight of betrayal and manipulation, leaving the three of us to grapple with the tangled threads of truth and deceit.

Eddard's response was a deep inhalation, a measure of the weightiness of the revelation he had just absorbed. "So, Baelish employed Lysa's vulnerabilities to orchestrate this heinous act," he murmured, his words heavy with the gravity of realization. "He aimed to sow discord between my House and the Lannisters while advancing his own clandestine ambitions."

With each piece fitting into the puzzle, the contours of Baelish's insidious plot became clearer. My initial nod affirmed Eddard's understanding, a silent confirmation of the truth that had come to light.

"Precisely, my lord," I affirmed somberly. "Petyr Baelish is a master at navigating the intricate dance of power. He thrives in the shadows, using every tool at his disposal to achieve his ends. Approach him in King's Landing with the utmost caution, for his cunning knows no bounds."

Eddard's visage shifted, his features sculpted by determination as he responded with an unwavering resolve. "Rest assured, Marc. I will not underestimate Baelish's cunning and treachery," he proclaimed firmly. "I shall remain vigilant, striving to unravel the tapestry of his deceptions. My duty to my family and the realm compels me."

I acknowledged his commitment with a nod, but then offered a cautionary reminder, my tone weighted with concern. "But do proceed with care. Petyr Baelish is akin to a serpent, slithering through the shadows and exploiting every weakness he finds. He can easily elude threats if he anticipates them. Even with your knowledge now on his deeds and his agenda, my word alone won't suffice. Gathering concrete evidence against your goodsister and Baelish's role in your foster father's death will prove exceedingly challenging. He possesses spies and an acute sense of perception. Should he perceive you as a threat to his designs, he won't hesitate to align with the queen to orchestrate your downfall, something he would do in future."

Eddard's expression retained its seriousness, his thoughts evidently absorbed by the implications of my words. Meanwhile, Vayon Poole appeared intrigued and perturbed by the concept of potential futures, his gaze shifting between us as he attempted to decipher the intricate layers of our conversation. A part of me was wondering if he wasn't thinking me to be some sort of sorcerer for the best or a charlatan for the worse.

"I am well aware of the risks involved in confronting Baelish," Eddard declared, his voice unyielding. "From your descriptions, it's evident that he's a puppeteer of manipulation, and I shall not underestimate him. Every step I take will be marked by vigilance and caution."

I nodded, acknowledging the depth of his commitment. "Indeed, vigilance is your best ally in such matters. Just as Petyr Baelish is a master of deception, so is Varys, weaving intricate webs of intrigue."

I took a breath before continuing, “Concerning Lysa, you can’t make her leave the Eyrie and informing her in one way or another on her part in her husband’s death would make her inform Baelish that something is amiss.."

Eddard nodded, understanding the difficulty of confronting Lysa directly while deeply disliking the intricacy of the situation.

"You’re right. I cannot risk confronting Lysa directly, not without solid evidence," Eddard replied, his voice tinged with frustration. "If she were to deny any involvement and I failed to prove her guilt, it could lead to further complications, and I dare not create tensions with the Vale."

Vayon Poole contributed his insight, suggesting an alternative course of action. "My lord, perhaps seeking counsel from the Valemen lords could provide a way forward. You know them and the ties you have built with them could lead to valuable insights into Lysa's actions and behavior."

Eddard's contemplative nod acknowledged the merit of the idea. "Indeed, involving the Valemen lords is a prudent step. They may also have their suspicions regarding Baelish's involvement, considering his position and influence. I shall draft discreet letters to them, seeking their guidance without fully divulging our suspicions."

I chimed in, offering my agreement to the proposed plan, glad to see that they were able to find solutions I didn't think of. "It sounds like a wise strategy, my lord. Tapping into the knowledge of the Valemen lords and enlisting their cooperation could prove instrumental in unraveling the truth surrounding Jon Arryn's death."

Eddard's expression shifted into one of determination as he accepted the direction to take. "Very well, I will set this plan into motion immediately. Vayon, prepare the necessary correspondence and ensure they are dispatched through reliable channels. We shall proceed with caution, allowing each piece of information to guide our steps through this intricate puzzle."

Hearing those words made me proud as they found a solution to one of the issues without my own inputs. My cautious self was however still wary as I knew that those first steps wouldn’t be enough and that anything could go awry in one way or another. I suddenly remembered something that could be helpful to Eddard Stark if it was well done.

I looked at the northerner lord, "There is a potential lead within King's Landing itself, in the form of Jon Arryn's squire, a knight now by the name of Hugh. However, time is of the essence. Baelish will likely move to eliminate him as a witness and to further his designs of stoking tensions between your House and the Lannisters."

Eddard's nod indicated his grasp of the situation, his eyes focused on the information I presented.

"Furthermore," I continued, "Hugh's newfound status as a knight has fueled his pride, making him resistant to speaking to anyone other than yourself. Even then, his loyalty might be swayed if Baelish has gained influence over him. Should you manage to communicate with him, exercise extreme caution in handling the information. Remember, the queen, Baelish, and Varys will have their eyes on you and your moves through their web of spies."

Eddard's expression remained serious, his eyes reflecting his acknowledgment of the complexity of the situation. The potential lead was both a ray of hope and a potential trap, and he recognized the need for careful maneuvering.

"Thank you for this information," Eddard replied, his gratitude apparent. "I will proceed cautiously, keeping these considerations in mind. My goal is to uncover the truth behind Jon Arryn's death while safeguarding my family and my own position from the dangers lurking in King's Landing."

Vayon Poole nodded in agreement, his loyalty unwavering. "You have my full support, my lord. We shall navigate this treacherous landscape together, one step at a time."

Eddard nodded gratefully to his loyal steward. "Thank you, Vayon. Your loyalty is invaluable to me, and I know I can trust you with my family's safety."

I observed the northerner lord and his steward interacting, a part of me glad that at least, Eddard would first rely on his advisors and friends to make decisions. My knowledgeable and cautious sides reminded me that it wouldn’t be enough as they would face the dangerous and uncertain intrigues of King’s Landing, but there was a start for everything and only lord Stark and his household and those that would join him in King’s Landing could make the call from my information and advices. Eddard turned his eyes on me, “Is that all?”

I pondered his words for a short while, thinking on something he needed to know. I immediately thought of Varys. If I informed the northerner lord of the mockingbird’s plot, it was fair and necessary for him to know about the spider’s plans.

I spoke in a steady and wary voice, “No. There is the matter of Varys.”

Eddard’s brow furrowed in cautiousness and wariness, “The Spider? What can you tell more of him?”

“The man will claim he is working for the good of the realm, but in reality, he is pursuing his own agenda, putting his own champion on the Iron Throne through the means of a future civil war as a means to bring his champion as the peace Harbinger with the fallacious excuse that peace was always present in Westeros under the Targaryens' rule on the Iron Throne.", I explained.

Eddard's expression hardened, realizing the extent of Varys's manipulations and the danger posed by his schemes. The depth of the eunuch's manipulation and the peril his plans posed were no longer obscure. He knew he had to be wary of both Baelish and Varys, who were playing a deadly game of thrones, using any means to achieve their objectives. He already disliked the eunuch and hearing my words fortified his views on the man.

I concluded my warning, emphasizing the complexity of the situation they faced. "As much as I dislike to tell you this, especially after the revelations I’ve just made, do not try to topple too quickly Baelish. While he is your main enemy, neutering him would mean open gates to Varys and his plans, which mean a civil war to carve the path for the return of Dragons, whatever they are black or red. And if the eunuch thinks you will prevent it from occurring, he won't hesitate to kill you, no matter how friendly and helpful he would have been with you in the past."

Eddard nodded solemnly, fully aware of the dangerous game he was about to play in King's Landing. He knew that the balance of power was delicate, and one wrong move could lead to disastrous consequences for both his family and the realm.

A part of me wondered if it was a good idea. However, no matter how helpful the Targaryens might be in the future in the fight against the White Walkers, I had very strong reservations about their abilities to rule, especially since Daenerys, Young Griff and Jon were completely unaware of Aegon's dream if such secret was real in this reality And I couldn't trust people like Varys or Doran who intended to use them as their pawns for their own agendas, one trying to settle his own vision of the Seven Kingdoms with the excuse of the Greater Good, the other playing Tywin 2.0 for daughter's foolish betrothal and Kingmaker at the same time. The legitimacy they might have earned through the Conquest was now in shreds because of their lack of foresight in building their legitimacy, relying too much on their dragons. Fools all of them. Relying too much on one strength to build its power is the quickest way to either being dependent to the point it crippled you or made you easy to topple or allow other to gather against you, putting you in a permanent state of paranoia and weakness. Dragons might be dangerous and powerful creatures, but relying too much on them as inviting trouble to its door.

"Thank you for your counsel, Marc," Eddard said, his voice tinged with determination. "I will be cautious in my actions and seek counsel from those I trust before making any decisions. The future you speak of is troubling, but I will do my best to prevent it from becoming a reality."

Vayon Poole nodded in agreement, "As Lord Eddard said, we are grateful for your counsel. We understand the importance of being well-informed, even if the knowledge comes from sources beyond our comprehension."

Eddard then asked, “That was all you wanted to tell us?”

I thought upon it, considering revealing the potential secret of the dagger he would soon see and have. But I hesitated. Even if he believed me, he remained a practical man who wouldn’t regard prophecies with much regards, especially if he found out that was why Rhaegar did his deeds and stunts. And I wasn’t certain how much of “House of the Dragons” would be reliable in this reality, not to mention the fact I only heard of it and saw extracts on Youtube. Even more than my knowledge of the current and incoming events, the knowledge of the potential truth on the Dance of Dragons was something I needed to thread with cautious.

I finally answered, "All that may help you for the incoming future, my lord."

A part of me prayed that what I have given to him would be enough and that what I didn't inform him wouldn't come back to haunt me later in one way or another. Otherwise, I could wish to take the black for misleading and creating a worse situation. I chased away such strong thought as it was my very sensitive side that was expressing itself with no relevant reason.

Eddard nodded before saying, "All right, then. Let us join the others and share a meal together."

As we made our way to the main hall, I couldn't help but feel a mix of responsibility and trepidation. I had revealed information about potential future events, and now it was up to Eddard and his household to decide how to proceed. I could only hope that my advice would prove beneficial and help them navigate the dangerous waters of King's Landing. As we were moving in the corridors of Darry Castle, I also felt a mix of trepidation and concern, knowing that I would soon be formally introduced to the household, even though Arya and Vayon Poole had already interacted with me.

"I would like to know,” I asked, "would you prefer to introduce me, or would you like me to do it?"

Eddard thought for a moment before responding, "I believe it would be best if I introduce you, given the circumstances. It will lend a sense of authority and legitimacy to your presence."

I nodded understandingly, realizing the significance of this moment and aware that I was now part of his household. It marked the transition from being an outsider to becoming a recognized member of Eddard Stark's household. With a deep breath, I steeled myself for what lay ahead as we continued our discussion while preparing to break our fast in Darry Castle.

A.N.:
1. Back to the MC in this eighth chapter ! A chapter where he gave new and last advices given in a context of uncertainty for the time of departure towards Winterfell. This chapter is the result of different rewrite, both from ChatGPT's help through my requests and of my own.
2. Initially, there was only Eddard Stark that was writing the advices. However, I found that a bit dubious and problematic that a highborn lord would write himself these kind of advice, even someone from the North, not to mention the fact that I introduced the idea of Vayon Poole writing down the advices afterwards. Moreover, I found it more interesting that Eddard has someone he knows who would be aware of the peculiar nature of the advice and knowledge to help him to make his own decisions without relying too much on the advice the SI would give him, not to mention the fact he can offer some ideas and perspectives (the Vale lord contact is one example). For the same reason, adding last revelations in the chapter was a later inclusion and rewrite because no matter his wariness on backlash due to the way his deeds would bring, the SI can't let Ned go into complete dark as his main enemies are not obvious in their strategies and moves.
3. Of course, that raised the issue of how to tackle the revelations in the second part of the chapter and I include in one of the last rewrite the passage where the MC asked about Vayon's knowledge extent on the pecularities he has. As he didn't ask any promise to Eddard to hide his knowledge before the revelation on the murder attempt on Bran and the fact he would be away in Winterfell, I consider it possible that Ned would have to say what has been discussed in the previous discussion with his steward, not to mention that Vayon would write down the advice, meaning he would find them a bit puzzling and dubious coming from a complete foreigner claiming to have no ties with the Seven Kingdoms. That doesn't mean he would completely trust them, but he would understand how and why.
4. You may have noticed the addition of a new advice among those written down that wasn't mentioned in the fourth or fifth chapter. This advice is an hidden reference to what Ned did in canon when he found out the "truth" on Cersei's children and when his friend was dying. Perhaps one of the most conflicting advices due to Eddard's sense of duty and his friendship to Robert, but that was something I thouht would be interesting to explore.
5. You surely have noticed a little reference tied to the HOTD in the end of the chapter. Initially, the SI tells a little bit more, but I decided against it for many reasons and to add other layers on the SI's personality and reasonings. I didn't see the first season, but saw some scene extracts on Youtube, not to mention the analysis videos on some of the matters, while add more complexity to the knowledge of the MC. Are the events of HOTD relevant in this reality of Westeros or not ? Even more than Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire, the fragmentary knowledge is a huge flaw and weakness for the SI who is even more wary to dispell informations he had known on the matter due to deep uncertainty.
6. Concerning the revelations, it was a bit complicated matter I thought upon before choosing this final approach. Among the issues that Eddard would have to handle in priority to survive King's Landing, the fact that two members of the Small council play a far dangerous game than they seemed to play due to their status was for me far more important than the issue of Cersei's children or Cersei's agenda. Moreover, due to their position and their past deeds, the Lannisters are IMO one of the most predictable actors in the Game of Thrones, the only unpredictibality is tied on to what extent they may go into violence and cruelty. Conversely, people in the shadows like Varys or Littlefinger are more difficult to predict and while their dangerosity may be suspected, it is generally not easy to decipher it. And finally, there is the fact that Eddard's distrust of the Lannisters can be a dangerous bias to use against him, which kind of happened in the canon. Revealing those secrets would play full time in his biais and in Baelish's plans while threatening the strength of the other advices (at least from the MC's perspective), not to mention the hazard to attract more unwanted attention. And there are other reasons as mentionned in the chapter that are reflections of my own. The SI assumes that Ned Stark's distrust of the Lannister is strong enough not to be fooled by them, especially after how the events in Darry Castle Hall prevailed.
7. Of course, revealing such information present their own challenges due to the emotional dimension, especially regarding Bran and Jon Arryn. That's why reminding the advice of thinking like a commander and highlighting the advice of not revealing anything that would indicate he is aware of more than he is supposed to know are vital. I am aware of the cliche opinion of Ned the honorable fool, but this is not that came to my mind when I had read the first book and watched the show. All I see is a man of principle sure, but a man who is not jumping straight into easy traps and when he did, it is because of a lack of information, of awareness of the situation and of biais (not to mention specifics circumstances like the wound after the fight against Jaime). The reference to his brother, while risky, is like a reminder of what happened whe you jumped straifght forward due to emotions. Same reason why he asks Ned not to reveal anything to Catelyn or to show he knows more than he should. It is a game of cat and mouse Ned has to play, at least from the SI's perspective.
8. Would it be enough ? Of course not. On the one hand, while Ned will be more prepared to face King's Landing, he has also to play a game of fooling those who would seek harm to his family and him. On the other hand, he has to check himself the knowledge and information, both due to his own personality but also because the MC warns him about the limits and flaws of his own knowledge and the hazards of overreliance, not to mention his own biais especially concerning the fact his goodsister might be a murderer. And there are of course the ripples and the butterfly effect that can detract everything, especially well-planned projects. And while the SI tries to make small steps to make changes, he is aware and wary of the fact it might fall into chaos.
9. I admit this was the harder chapter to imagine because of the thin balance of plausibility in the context of this fanfiction but also because I had to handle a certain context and timing. One way to see it is the extent of the dilemmas and inner conflicts of the SI on how to deliver key information in a context he considers as relevant. If he reveals some crucial information, he might contribute to spark the conflicts much earlier or in much murkier ways. That won't excuse the potential flaws I didn't notice, but that would give a certain idea of possibilities that the SI's choices can bring.
10. Next time, a breakfast introduction to the household and a sibling quarrel...
11. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

As Eddard, Vayon and I entered the main hall, many members of the Stark household were gathered together, having begun their fast. Arya and Sansa were facing each other in a tense silence, while Jeyne Poole was seated nearby the redhaired Stark girl. Septa Mordane was observing them while Jory Cassel and another guard were watching the hall, probably asked by Eddard to monitor his daughters and avoid incidents. As we approached the table, they all turned their attention towards us. They stood up as they saw their lord or father, their eyes filled with curiosity and recognition.

Arya's face lit up with excitement as she saw me. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and she couldn't contain her enthusiasm.

"Marc!" she exclaimed, unable to hide her delight at seeing me again. Watching her reacting with such infectious enthusiasm made me smile in return, not only because of my fondness for her due to her character, but also because I always felt more sensitive and tender to the youngest people.

Sansa's reaction was more complex. She looked at me with a mixture of surprise, curiosity, and a hint of lingering resentment. I could see the conflict in her eyes, torn between her loyalty to her family and her betrothed. I suspected she was relieved her sister was alright but angry because my intervention took a peg down on Joffrey. I knew it would take time for her to fully process the events that had transpired and adjust to my presence, but even that was a fool’s hope as I would depart to Winterfell while she would still descend to King’s Landing, in the lion’s den. A part of me regretted that I wouldn’t be able to build trust with her and to help her as much as I could to widen her world perspective without completely losing her innocence, but I couldn't help that fact.

Jeyne's expression mirrored Sansa's, a mixture of surprise and curiosity. She had heard about the events of the previous evening through Sansa, and now she observed me with a mixture of fascination and uncertainty, probably wondering what I was doing there. She observed me and then her father, wondering what business I had with the steward and lord Stark.

Jory Cassel, with his ever-watchful eyes, regarded me with a mix of respect, curiosity and readiness. With what he witnessed the previous night and the interactions he had with me when Arya spoke to me and then with Lord Stark, I could sense that he saw me as someone who had earned his trust. He knew why I was there and was ready for his lord’s announcement.

Septa Mordane's watchful gaze fell upon me. Her eyes bore into mine, studying me with a mix of curiosity and cautious reserve. She had heard of the events that unfolded yesterday and of my intervention. It was no doubt that she was wondering about my true nature and intentions, especially in regards of lady Sansa and Arya. Her thoughts were in disarray as while she saluted my intervention to allow truth to prevail, I was also a foreigner commoner that disrupted the carefully constructed order of things, putting in her a sense of unease. Her thoughts were a whirlwind of questions. I bet she wondered about me, my intentions, my situation and the role I might play within the household. I also wondered if she was wondering if I followed the faith of the Seven or if I was a heretic that would attempt to taint her students’ souls and virtues. While wathing the show and the memories of the books gave me a certain picture of her, I was uncertain how to regard her, especially with the fact I would soon depart to Winterfell while she would still descend to King’s Landing.

Eddard stepped forward, introducing me to the members of his household. "Allow me to introduce Marc Thomassey," he said, his voice carrying a note of authority. "Some of you may have seen him yesterday or even spoken with him. He has asked for protection and offered his assistance and insights to protect our family and navigate the challenges ahead."

As Eddard introduced me to the members of his household, I observed their reactions closely, trying to gauge their thoughts and emotions. Vayon Poole and Jory Cassel silently nodded while septa Mordane was gauging me with even more attention and some wariness.

When hearing this news. Arya's enthusiasm increased as her inner hopes of not only seeing me again, but to know me could be fulfilled. She asked her father with a voice full of hope, "Will he join us?"

Eddard responded, "Not exactly, Arya. Marc will be returning to Winterfell."

Arya's face fell slightly, a mix of disappointment and understanding crossing her features. She had been hoped to see me accompanying her father and their household to King's Landing, but now it seemed that she would have a different journey ahead. But she understood a bit, knowing that I wouldn’t be safe from the queen and her son. She was just disappointed she wouldn’t have more time to speak to me.

Seeing her reaction almost made me reveal to her that she would accompany me, but I retained myself. Not only I would overstep Eddard Stark’s authority as lord and father, but that would also mean I couldn’t keep my word. And while I loved speaking to others, I had learnt, even more since I found myself in this place, that handling information and discussion were very important, especially to build relations and ties.

Sansa, on the other hand, regarded me with a mixture of surprise and curiosity, her eyes flickering with a hint of relief. While uncertain of the decision of including me in the household or that I would join Winterfell, she felt relief to the news that I wouldn’t accompany her father and their household to King’s Landing, as she worried my presence would prevent her to speak to Joffrey. I could see the conflict and the complex emotions in her eyes and I prevent myself to sigh in sadness and frustration as it would be dismissive and scornful of me towards her since she was younger than me and could understand her perspective even if I didn’t condone it in regards of the knowledge of the situation. A part of me regretted not to have informed lord Stark about Joffrey’s nature, but with the time restriction and the fact that his trust was important to keep and that he couldn’t remember everything, I needed to prioritize. My heart couldn’t help but regret this powerless feeling.

Having noticed the slight disappointment in Arya’s eyes and knowing the decisions we discussed yesterday, Eddard added in his voice calm yet firm. "However, he will not be alone. He will be accompanied by Arya and an escort that would protect both of them."

Arya's face lit up once again, a mix of delight, relief and curiosity shining in her eyes. The prospect of returning to Winterfell and to avoid the complete journey to King’s Landing filled her with joy, even though the perspective of being separated from her father or the fact she wouldn’t see the dragon skulls in the Red Keep tempered her excitement. Only the fact that she would be accompanying me only heightened her excitement, as she had already shown a keen interest in getting to know me better.

Sansa's reaction was more composed, a blend of relief and a flicker of concern. While she wondered why her father would send away her sister and was concerned as she would accompany me, the selfish part of her was relieved as it would mean that her sister wouldn’t ruin anything anymore.

Septa Mordane regarded Eddard with a watchful eye, her expression hinting at a mix of surprise and concern. She had assumed that Arya would continue to accompany her father to become a true lady in the capital. The change in plans rose questions in her mind, as she sought to understand the reasoning behind the decision. She glanced at me, wondering what part I had in this change of plans for Arya, especially as her time in the capital would be beneficial to understand the necessity to be a true lady. The fact she was tasked with her education also contributed to arouse her concern.

She rose a question, "My lord, why would Arya be sent back to Winterfell?"

Eddard turned his attention to her. "Given the recent incidents and to avoid further tensions," he began, "It is Arya's punishment for her involvement with Joffrey. It is obvious she is not ready for the South and need some discipline. "

I watched how everyone reacted to the official reason. Sansa's reaction was one of relief and surprise. I could imagine that it was the first time she saw her father publicly punished Arya for her misdeeds, especially one that affected her betrothed. Sansa was also still feeling a tinge of concern because of my presence and wondered how much of a punishment it would be.

Arya, on the other hand, didn't seem too affected by the fact it was being framed as a punishment. Her excitement overcame any reaction of disappointment or of contrition to the fact her actions resulted to her punishment. A part of me wondered if she knew that it wasn’t truly a chastisement for her. I immediately inwardly criticized myself, not for thinking that, but for giving me the impression that because she was a child, she couldn’t have insight, even though it could be biased by her young age and lack of experience.

Jeyne seemed to nod to her lord’s words, even though I suspected it was because she was appreciating the fact Arya was punished for something that “ruined” her best friend’s moments. Her father regarded Eddard's explanation with a thoughtful expression. He understood the reasoning behind the decision, acknowledging the importance of Arya's well-being and the need for her to be with her siblings. Jory Cassel nodded in silent agreement with Eddard's decision as he probably guessed that it was made with Arya's best interests in mind.

Septa Mordane maintained a composed and observant demeanor as she listened attentively to Eddard's words, her thoughts filled with a mixture of reservation and duty. While she acknowledged the need for discipline, there was a part of her that questioned the need to send back Arya to Winterfell as it would prevent her to truly understand why she needed to behave like a lady.

Eddard then shifted his gaze towards Sansa.

"Sansa," he began, his voice filled with a mix of compassion and firmness, "Lady will also be sent back to Winterfell."

Sansa's delicate features underwent a swift transformation, a mixture of entitlement and frustration giving way to surprise and a hint of concern. Her large, deep blue eyes widened as she struggled to comprehend why her cherished direwolf was being subjected to this decision. She opened her mouth, as if to voice her question, but Eddard continued, offering his reasons for the decision.

"It's a precautionary measure," he explained, his voice steady and reassuring. "Lady's presence in the capital might inadvertently escalate tensions and potentially put her in harm's way. The South isn't familiar with direwolves, and if Lady were to behave like the Stark she accompanies..."

Sansa's face tightened, a whirlwind of emotions visible in her youthful features. She wanted to know why her beloved direwolf was being sent away. Her voice trembled slightly as she voiced her inquiry, a touch of petulance seeping into her words.

"But why, Father? Lady hasn't done anything wrong. She's gentle and well-mannered."

Eddard met Sansa's gaze, his eyes filled with understanding. "I understand your attachment to Lady, Sansa," he replied, his voice gentle. "But it is not about her behavior. With the recent incident involving Joffrey and Arya, there may be those who would seek to blame Lady, innocent as she may be."

Seeing that Sansa seemed conflicted and torn apart by her father’s answer, I knew I had to intervene to avoid any potential tension and further complicated relation between Eddard and his daughter. Besides, I had promised to Eddard I would take the blow if it was necessary as it was first my advice even if he took the decision. I took a breath before interjecting.

"My lady," I said, my voice calm yet determined, "Your father is right. But to tell the truth, I advised your father to make this decision for the sake of Lady's safety. The incident with prince Joffrey has created tensions, and there are people who may hold her responsible for what happened to your betrothed, regardless of her innocence or gentleness. And some that wouldn't hesitate to do it in backstabbing manner."

A heavy silence followed my words. Eddard furrowed his brows, probably thinking of the Lannisters while Arya seemed wary and concerned, possibly imagining the queen asking such thing. But I focused on Sansa. Her eyes narrowed as she turned her glance on me. I could feel her anger and disdain, but also a tinge of concern, probably worried that there would be people that would kill her direwolf because of what happened on the Ruby Ford. However, this concern was on the top of her thoughts and emotions as she unleashed her frustration on me with a tinge of adolescent haughtiness.

"Who do you think you are?" she retorted, her words dripping with resentment. "A foreigner and a commoner that is meddling in affairs that don't concern you. You questioned and humiliated my betrothed and the queen and now you dared advise sending away Lady as if you possess any authority to do so! You hold no place in determining what's best for my direwolf or my family! You are no lord or knight."

Her words cut deeper than I anticipated, and the frustration in her voice was palpable. It was clear that my advice had been the final straw for her concerning me. Even though I was prepared to take the blow of her anger and blame, I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pain and even anger. I retained myself to express my frustration and anger towards her self-enticed behavior, aware that I would play at her level and even worse as she was a child, not to mention that I was not her father. And striking at children, by words or physical strength, was something I would never want to do, even less with Sansa as my mind reminded me what could await her in the future. My rational self reminded me that I also looked for it, not matter the reasoning behind revealing my part in the advise. I stood firm, maintaining my composure, as her strong reaction washed over me. It was clear that Sansa's emotions were running high, fueled by a combination of her idealized vision of the queen and prince, the humiliation she felt from my intervention, and the complicated dynamics between her and Arya.

A tense silence followed her words as everyone was taken aback by her reaction. That was broken as Arya swiftly intervened, defending me against her sister's harsh words.

"Sansa, stop it!" she exclaimed, not holding back. "Marc is just trying to help us! He didn't humiliate anyone; he defended the truth!"

Sansa's eyes turned to her sister, her anger now directed at Arya. "You always ruin everything!" she spat, her tone laced with disdain. "It's because of you that Lady has to go back to Winterfell!"

Arya's face twisted with anger and frustration. "I ruined everything? You're the one who betrayed your own family by siding with Joffrey and his lies! Lady's going back because of your precious betrothed!"

Sansa's cheeks flushed with indignation. But before the exchange could spiral further, Eddard stepped forward, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "Enough!" His command left no room for further argument. "We are a family, and we must show respect to one another. These quarrels will not lead us to resolution."

Eddard took a step closer to them, bridging the gap between the sisters. He first looked at Sansa, "Sansa, you shouldn't speak in such way to Marc. He is now a member of the household.

Sansa bowed her head in shame, probably feeling unladylike her demeanour. Eddard then turned his glance on Arya.

"Arya," he spoke with authority and yet gently, "I appreciate your loyalty and your willingness to stand up for the people you trust. But do not speak so harshly to your sister."

Arya's shoulders slumped slightly, a sign that she was starting to relent. She glanced at Sansa, her expression softening just a touch. "I... I'm sorry, Sansa," she muttered, her voice still holding onto a hint of stubbornness.

Sansa turned her head back toward Arya. "I'm sorry too, Arya," she murmured, her voice tinged with regret and bitterness.

She then turned to me, regal and her expression more guarded though traces of her resentment were concealed in her eyes. "My apologies", she said.

I acquiesced to her, accepting her apology, even if I knew she wasn't ready to fully forget and move on. The tension in the hall however eased. While i felt relief in how the quarrel was solved, I regretted the way it occurred. A cynical part of me considered it would cement Arya’s departure to King’s Landing as her punishment, but I didn’t like thinking in such a way. With that settled, we all turned our attention to the food before us. As we settled down to break our fast, the tension in the air was still palpable. Sansa mustered up the courage to speak. "Father," she began softly, her voice wavering, "may I say goodbye to Lady after we finish our meal?"

Eddard glanced at Sansa, his gaze filled with compassion. He nodded in response. "Of course, Sansa," he replied gently. "We will ensure you have the opportunity to bid farewell to Lady properly."

Sansa nodded gratefully to her father. As she was about to begin eating, she glanced at me, her eyes still filled with resentment, before she began to eat, lost in her own thoughts and frustrations.

Jeyne cautiously attempted to speak to her friend, seeking to ease the tension. "Sansa," she said softly, "I know this is hard for you..."

Sansa, however, seemed lost in her own world, the words of her companion falling on deaf ears. She remained silent, her emotions swirling within her. She still felt bitter on my interferences and felt even more grateful I wouldn’t accompany her father to King’s Landing, even though she was also unsure of my presence within her family, worried of the disbalance I would bring or that I would influence her younger sister to be even more rebellious and unladylike.

I began to eat, even though my mind was elsewhere due to what just happened. I took a look at my knife and held up a sigh. Ever since I found myself in this place, one of the things I missed dearly from home was the fork or the napkin and eating with only a knife or the hands was so… improper. I scoffed inwardly, reminding myself that the contrast between my reality and Westeros. While it was intriguing because it was akin to how medieval times were, I reminded myself it was not real Middle Ages. I thought of the little request I made to the blacksmith of Darry Castle to make a fork. I was eager to see if it was done, especially with my imminent departure.

I took a glance at Sansa and Jeyne. Seeing the redhaired girl distant, I sighed inwardly, feeling a mix of guilt and sadness. While I knew my advices to lord Stark on the matter of Lady were done to prevent some potential disastrous fallouts, witnessing the distress and anger of Sansa weighed heavily on me. A part of me blamed myself for not truly having evaluated Sansa’s reaction when I made my advice to Eddard or the fact I would take the blow for him should she react badly. I felt also deeply her words and her accusative demeanor as it brought back memories of critics on how I handled things and how I used to take them to the core as personal attacks. But I couldn’t allow to lower myself to react badly to a thirteen years-old girl. Not only I would prove her that I was truly a lowborn commoner in demeanor, but I would face her father’s reaction and I would regard myself as no much better than the Lannisters or Balon Greyjoy with their blinding pride.

Arya, noticed my distress and turned to me with a mixture of frustration and concern. While she felt still contrite for how she spoke to her sister, she didn’t want to see me feeling guilty for something she understood the purpose.

"Don't blame yourself," she said. "You did what you thought was right. It's not your fault that Sansa doesn't see it that way."

I offered Arya a grateful smile, appreciating her attempt to comfort me. "Thank you, Arya," I replied, my voice sincere. "I understand why your sister reacted the way she did. It's difficult for her to accept the reality when she had such an idealized vision. But I can't help but feel guilty for being the catalyst for this separation."

Arya's expression softened as she listened to my words, her eyes reflecting a mixture of understanding and sympathy. She reached out and gently placed a hand on mine, offering a reassuring squeeze.

"Marc," she began, her voice filled with genuine empathy, "You can't blame yourself for what's happening. Sansa... she's always been like that, you know? Believing in fairy tales and all. But you did what you thought was right, and I'm grateful for that. Lady and I will be fine back in Winterfell."

Her words were a balm to my troubled conscience, and a small smile played on my lips. I appreciated her unwavering support and understanding. "Thank you, Arya," I replied, my voice filled with gratitude. I then whispered, "To tell the truth, when I was your sister's age, I was a bit a mix of both of you. A fiery temper and someone that felt out of place like you and someone eager to prove himself dutiful and a bit dreamer like your sister, wanting to see the beauty everywhere."

As Arya listened to my response, her curiosity piqued as my words intrigued her, and she couldn't help but ask further. "So, you were like a mix of both of us?" she questioned, tilting her head slightly. "What do you mean by feeling out of place? And why did you want to see the beauty in the world? Life isn't always beautiful; it's tough and unfair sometimes."

I smiled at her in understanding, appreciating her inquisitiveness. "You're right, Arya," I replied, choosing my words carefully for her young mind to grasp. "Life can be tough and unfair, but even in the darkest moments, there can still be beauty and hope. Feeling out of place meant that I didn't always fit in with the people around me, just like how you sometimes feel different from the others. But that's okay because being unique is what makes us special. It's like how you have your own way of being brave and not conforming to what others expect of a lady. You embrace your true self, and that's a beautiful thing."

"As for wanting to see the beauty in the world," I continued, "it's about finding joy in the little things, like the colors of the sunset, the laughter of friends, or the kindness in someone's heart. It's about believing in love stories and hoping for the best in people, even when they may not always show it. It's a bit like your dream of becoming a swordsman and proving that you can be as strong as any knight."

Arya mulled over my words, her expression thoughtful. She might not have fully understood the complexities of life, but I could sense that she resonated with the idea of embracing one's true self and finding beauty even in the face of challenges.

"I guess that makes sense," she finally replied, nodding slightly. "I'll keep being myself, even if others don't understand. And I'll find beauty in my own way too." She looked determined as she said those words, reflecting the strong-willed girl that she was.

"That's the spirit, Arya," I said, genuinely proud of her. "Being true to yourself is one of the most important things you can do in life. And remember, it's okay to have dreams and hope for a better world as long as you are ready to put endeavor in what you want to achieve."

Arya's gaze softened, and she gave me a small smile. "Thank you, Marc," she said, her appreciation evident.

“My pleasure, Arya”, I answered back.

A playful glint appeared in my eyes as I added with a teasing tone, "Just do not overdo yourself next time. Your intervention did make me feel like a little brother or a child younger than you, even though I'm the adult. It's not every day a grown-up gets defended by a brave and spirited young person like you."

Arya's cheeks flushed slightly at my teasing remark, and she couldn't help but crack a small smile. The corners of her mouth twitched as she tried to suppress her amusement.

"Well," she began, a mischievous glint dancing in her eyes, "maybe you needed a little sister to watch your back sometimes. And who better than the fierce Arya Stark?"

I chuckled at her response, appreciating her sense of humour. "You're right, Arya. I couldn't have asked for a better defender. Just remember to save some of that fierceness for those who really deserve it."

Arya's smile grew, and she nodded playfully. "Don't worry, I know when to use it. And I promise I won't go around defending everyone like a mother hen."

I raised an eyebrow in mock surprise. "Are you implying that you have a soft side hidden beneath that tough exterior?"

Arya shrugged nonchalantly, a playful twinkle in her eyes. "Maybe. But don't tell anyone. It's a secret."

I placed a hand over my heart in a mock solemn gesture. "Your secret is safe with me, Arya Stark. Just remember, being fierce doesn't mean you can't also be caring and kind."

She nodded, her smile genuine. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Marc."

As Arya and I continued our conversation, Eddard observed the interaction between us with a mix of gratitude and concern. Gratitude washed over him as he saw the potential positive influence I seemed to have on his daughter and how easily she had befriended me. He appreciated the way I handled the situation with Sansa and how I managed to connect with Arya on a deeper level.

However, beneath the gratitude, there was also concern. He couldn't help but feel responsible for the rift that had formed between Sansa and me. He knew that my intervention, while well-intentioned, had unintentionally contributed to his daughter's distress. As a father, Eddard always sought to protect his children from harm and distress, and now he found himself grappling with the repercussions of my involvement.

Yet, seeing Arya reaching out to comfort me, Eddard couldn't help but be moved by her gesture. It reminded him of his beloved sister, Lyanna, who had also been spirited and fiercely protective of those she cared about. He couldn't help but feel a tinge of wariness, worried that Arya might find herself in a similar situation as his sister had in the past.

However, Eddard reminded himself that I had sought his help at Arya's urging, and that she had initiated the whole situation even if I had defended her. He trusted his daughter's judgment, and he knew that I had only acted in accordance with her advice. Still, he couldn't shake off the thought that appearances could be deceiving, and he wondered what other knowledge I might possess from my world could potentially affect his family's future.

Pushing those thoughts aside, Eddard turned his attention back to his meal, trying to focus on the present moment and the challenges that lay ahead for his family. He hoped that my advice and presence in Winterfell would be worth the trust he had placed in me, and that I would prove to be helpful in navigating the complexities of their lives. He silently prayed that he wasn't making a mistake by involving an outsider like me in the affairs of his family and his home.

A.N.:
1. The eighth chapter now yours. One that was more or less a core chapter ever since I had decided to imagine this fanfiction with the mixed method of creation. It was not necessarily an easy chapter due to how to depict Sansa's reaction and the quarrel with her sister. I tried to make it as believable as I could without falling in something too theatrical or over the top. I hope it is balanced enough and narratively well-written.
2. The introduction to the household was something I thought was necessary. Initially, it was in the assigned rooms, but for narrative reasons but also I took inspiration of an obvious scene of breakfast between the Lannisters in the first book/season.
3. I wanted to explore the shades of reaction of the different characters, between those who had witnessed the intervention of the SI and those who only heard it, those who began to trust the MC in one way or another and those who are wary for different reasons.
4. Sansa's reaction was something I thought on and I considered that in regards of her initial personalit and of the context, the possible reaction is frustration and anger due to the accumulation of actions of the SI that kind of question her frame of perspective (the "humiliation" of her betrothed, the status of the SI and the fact he was behind the idea of sending back her companion). I also considered how she was distressed when Lady's death was decided in canon and I considered that being separated from her direwolf, while less traumatic than having her killed, was still an emotional distress. And the fact she lashes out was something I considered plausible
5. I took great care to emphasize on the reactions and thoughts of the other characters to deepen the context and make it more alive in spirit, not to mention that .
6. The idea of the "classical" dispute between Sansa and Arya was tied to to emphasize both a similar situation to canon when Sansa blames Arya for Lady's death and Arya blaming her for lying but in a less tensed and grave situation and of the way each character regards the MC due to their personal experience of the recents events (very recent of less than a day). Besides, while classical, it is a bit fun to show the contrast between the two characters.
7. Like in the previous chapters, additions with the help of ChatGPT, rewrite and deleting parts were present in order to make as organic as I could the chapter, especially in the interactions. One of the version of the quarrel was a bit too far in words, especially from Arya and while I know people can say things in anger they shouldn't, the end of the quarrel was too over the top even in considering the complicated relation between Arya and Sansa. And there was also the fact Ned has to "quickly" intervene, otherwise it wouldn't be consistent with his character in fatherly matters. For these reasons, I shortened it to those two exchanges as I couln't imagine the northerner passively observing his daughters tearing each others.
8. One of the last additions was the little passage on the thought on how to eat in Westeros as I thought it was interesting to add futher perspective in the contrast for the SI and a little pretext for the next chapter.
9. The discussion between Arya and the SI was something I wanted, notably to show another side of the SI, especially in the way he can interact with other people. As the SI is inspired by me, even if there is perhaps a little exageration in some matters, the easygoing manner with young people, the cautiousness, the tendency to regret and empathy or his way with words (using them for logic, diplomacy or wit) is either part of me or how I regard myself. Add the knowledge of Westeros and of the characters due to the books and show add another layer and make him act in a certain manner. I also wanted to make the SI in a certain manner a multi-layered character, not only in the manner of skills and flaws but also in his passions and interests. While he has a purpose, he also wants to remain himself in spite of the dubious nature of Westeros. While I love the concept of self-insert when it is well-done, I have sometimes the impression that the SI are unidimensional in the sense that they have only one focus (modernizing a world, preventing an incoming disaster, helping the hero) while everything else seemed overlooked or rejected. It is not a criticism since such focus can exist in certain case and I understand the narrative logic. But a very good SI (which doesn't fall in the Mary Sue/Gary Stu label) is a character that is inspired from the author but reflects his perceived strengths and flaws, his perceived passions and fears (meaning that knowing yourself (well enough) is kind of a prerogatory for someone wanting to make such stories, unless he wants to make parodies where Mary Sue or Gary Stue are more welcome). Of course, it is only my personal opinion on the matter. And concerning the SI (and to a certain extent to me), think of an adult version of Aang if he had awakened from his iceberg older but without magical powers (if having foresight due to the stories as a SI can be considered as a magical skill) or in ASOIAF context a version of Sansa having preserved her innocence in a certain manner while having experienced the complexity of the world.
10. Like the sixth chapter, something akin to an interlude from one of the other characters' perspectives. I thought it was something interesting to develop due to the fact that Arya is canonically compared to his sister or the fact that in spite of the trust he gave the SI, he is also a father and a lord who is worried and cautious, not to mention that the SI is only known for a day (and I made comment and fun of these matters and issues in different chapters while trying being consistent and to avoid cliches, especially in a "Disney manner" where mocking flaws is much more easier than trying to rectify them and to comment on them...).
11. Teaser: in the next chapter, a little passage to the forge after the breakfast...
12. Have a good reading !

N.B. : For the next chapters, the notes will less numerous and dense.

Chapter Text

As the breakfast concluded, I turned to Arya and offered her a warm smile. "Excuse me, Arya," I said gently, "there's something I need to discuss with your father."

Arya's eyebrows lifted slightly in curiosity, but she nodded and replied, "Sure, Marc. If you need to talk to Father, go ahead."

I made my way toward Eddard Stark, who had been quietly observing the interactions between Arya and me. As I approached him, he looked up from his plate, acknowledging my presence with a nod. I sensed the glances of the other members of the household present there, but I focused on the northerner lord.

"My lord," I began respectfully, "as I am uncertain about how much time I have left in this realm before departing with the escort you'll assign for your daughter and me, I believe it would be prudent for me to visit the blacksmith. I'd like to ask him to craft a weapon that would be useful for our journey."

Eddard's brow furrowed as he considered my request. He seemed to be contemplating the situation and the potential risks involved. After a moment, he replied, "I understand your concern, Marc. While my men would ensure your protection as they would for Arya, I can understand the need of having a weapon to protect yourself."

He added with a firm and serious voice, “However, I can’t let you walk on your own. The Lannisters may be tempted to strike at you if they are not aware that you are now part of my household.”

I nodded, understanding his concerns. “Of course, my lord. Who would accompany me?”

Eddard took a glance in the direction behind me. I restrained myself not to look behind to satisfy my curiosity as I suspected it would be improper and impolite.

The northerner lord brought back his eyes on me.

“Jory would.”, he said with a finality in the voice.

I nodded in acceptance of his decision. "Thank you, my lord," I said sincerely before bowing my head to him.

Eddard's stern expression softened slightly, and he offered a small smile before inclining his head slightly, acknowledging my gratitude.

"Go then, Marc."

I then moved towards Jory, who had been standing nearby, listening to our conversation.

"Jory," I addressed him, "shall we head to the blacksmith's forge?"

Jory gave me a nod. "Of course."

Jory and I then left the hall and began walking through the corridors of Darry Castle. As we moved, I made sure to indicate to Jory the general direction of the blacksmith's forge, where I intended to go.

“This way, Jory.”, I told him.

He gave me a curious glance, his brow slightly furrowed as we turned towards the new corridor.

"How do you know where the blacksmith's forge is?" he asked in a intrigued tone.

I answered him with a calm and yet passioned voice. "I've spent the last few days within the castle's walls, assisting Lord Darry's staff in various tasks during the king's visit. It allowed me to become familiar with the keep's layout, and I have a good memory for paths once I've taken them."

Jory nodded in understanding, seemingly satisfied with my explanation. "That would explain it. It's always useful to know one's way around, especially in times like these."

As we continued walking through the corridors of Darry Castle, we encountered some of servants and maids who served House Darry. While many went on their duties without paying attention on Jory and me, some greeted me with nods or even respectful smiles while others were uncertain or wary. I knew it was partly due to my contribution to help them handling the king’s visit, but I also suspected my intervention of the previous night to have played a big part. After all, it wasn’t everyday that a foreign commoner kind of challenged highborns, especially the royal family and the Lannisters and to leave unscathed, even though I wondered if some worried of a Lion’s retaliation. But I knew that some might take delight of seeing Tywin’s family taking a peg down by one of the lower status in a manner that made it difficult to be pinpointed as a true slight. As Jory and I were approaching the entrance, a maid called Ellyn that I had helped and who had a quick wit, approached me.

“Marc, I’ve heard people saying you spoke up to defend the Stark girl against the prince. Is that true?”

I met her gaze with a friendly smile and a nod. "Yes, that's me. I couldn't stand by while that boy mistreated her."

She answered back with a concerned glance and a soft smile. "You've got guts, speaking out against the Lannisters like that."

Their genuine curiosity and admiration were heartening. I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice. "Well, sometimes you have to stand up for what's right, even if it means facing powerful people."

Ellyn nodded, though her eyes still expressed great concern.

“Well, do not make it a habit. You have been a very helpful hand these days and I do not want to see you dead because you had tickled the wrong people. The Lannister always pay their debts, they say”, she said with a firm voice.

I looked at her with a comprehensive and kind look, appreciating her genuine concern.

"I promise to be careful, Ellyn. You take care as well, and may the gods watch over us all."

Ellyn offered a small, relieved smile before continuing on her way to attend to her duties. Jory had observed my interaction with keen eyes, noting how I behaved and interacted, not only with the maid but also to those who greeted me as I reciprocated their greetings with a friendly smile and respectful nods, genuinely acknowledging their presence with warmth.

However, as we reached the entrance, we crossed some people who cast dark glances in my direction. These individuals, easily distinguishable by the lion sigil adorning their clothing, belonged to the Lannister retinue. I knew that due to their loyalty to the queen and her kin, my intervention must have caused ripples of discontent within their ranks. The glares they directed at me carried an undercurrent of resentment, born out of the belief that my actions had "humiliated" the prince and reflected poorly on House Lannister. Only the presence of Jory seemed to stop them of doing something against me. I merely nodded to their presence without looking at them as I suspected they might take it as a pretext. It pained me to witness such divisions, as it reminded me of the toxic nature of pride and how it could blind individuals to the greater good. And in a place like Westeros, it was literally a second nature. A part of me wondered if it was not akin to try to live on Venus with all the toxicity and dangerous features of the place.

As we entered the courtyard, Jory looked at me thoughtfully, his expression tinged with concern. "You seem to get along quite well with the people of Darry," he commented.

I nodded, acknowledging his observation.

"Yes. While standing against the prince may have influenced their perception of me, I believe my friendly and cautious nature has always played a role in how I deal with others. You can’t imagine how much a good deed, kindness and generosity mixed with selfless friendliness can do as long you are aware and thoughtful of your actions and thoughtful of others."

Jory nodded, understanding a bit my reasoning. He seemed to ponder before raising an eyebrow. I wondered what aroused such reaction, but his next words and tone gave me the answer.

"I couldn't help but notice that you didn't address Arya as 'my lady.' And when speaking of the prince yesterday, you didn't use his title. Why is that?"

His pointed inquiry gave me pause. I carefully considered my response, aware of the change in my circumstances.

"I treat each person as an individual, not merely defined by their status. Arya possesses a fiery and independent spirit, and I believe addressing her by her title would not truly capture her essence. As for the prince, I wanted to address the situation objectively and speak the truth, rather than relying on his title. Titles can sometimes cloud judgment, and I felt it necessary to approach the matter with clarity."

Jory's expression remained firm, hinting at his concern as he pressed further. "I see. But now that you are in service of Lord Stark, it is important to understand the significance of titles and the expectations that come with them. Arya is a member of House Stark and must be treated as such."

His reminder struck a chord within me, and I nodded in acknowledgment. "You're right, Jory."

Jory seemed satisfied with my answer, but a part of me couldn’t help but feel a bit guilty of giving him a Dumbledore-like answer. While I knew that in public, I would interact with Arya in such a manner to avoid so many issues, I also knew that this was a matter that needed to be spoken with her. No matter how young she was, it was very important that we found a middle ground for our sakes, especially with how headstrong and determined and stubborn she could be. I might want to adapt to this world, but that didn’t mean I would bend to it. I inwardly sighed as I couldn't help but ponder the complexities of communication and perception in this world, where titles and status held immense weight in shaping interactions. I also let out a amused smile as I wondered if I didn’t have found my inner Martell when it was matter of cultural frames. Besides, snakes were among my favourite animals, that would fit well with me. Relegating those amusing thoughts to my mind, I focused on the surroundings as we were moving in the courtyard. It was filled with activity as people went about their tasks as we were heading in the direction of the blacksmith's forge.

As we arrived before the blacksmith's workshop, I noticed the familiar figure of the blacksmith, a middle-aged man with a stocky build and a weathered face. His name was Jallen, a skilled craftsman known for his dedication to his work. He recognized me as I approached, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Ah, Marc," he greeted with a friendly nod. "I've heard tales of your brave stand against that prince. It's not every day we see a commoner stand up to the highborn, especially not the heir to the throne."

I smiled modestly, acknowledging his words. "Thank you, Jallen. It was the right thing to do."

He nodded in agreement. "Aye, it was. Now, what brings you to my forge today?"

Jallen looked at me, his expression curious. "So, Marc, is that why you're here in my forge today? For the tiny fork you asked me to create?" he inquired, his voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

Before I could respond, my companion Jory interjected with an intrigued tone. "A tiny fork? What's that for?" he asked, clearly interested in the conversation.

I looked at him and answered with a fond smile, “This fork is primarily for meals, helping you to eat your meal in cutting your meat for example. However, it can be useful as a weapon in desperate times. More efficient than a spoon," I replied, acknowledging the usefulness of the unconventional tool.

Jory seemed taken aback by my request for a meal utensil that could potentially double as a weapon. He voiced his curiosity, "You asked for something meant for meals?"

Jallen joined the conversation. "I must admit, Marc, I was a bit puzzled when you first requested this fork. It's not something I'm accustomed to making," he admitted, his tone reflecting his initial confusion.

I simply smiled at their reactions. "It's a custom from home," I explained, hinting at the familiarity and sentimentality that the tiny fork held for me.

The two men nodded to my answer. An idea then struck me. "You know what, Jallen? You should create a fork for your lord. A lord that could eat his meals without dirtying his hands would be regarded as very proper. Your lord could win some good points by being the first to use such a tool," I suggested, hoping to inspire Jallen's creativity and benefit his position as Lord Darry's smith.

Jallen's eyes widened as he considered my suggestion. A mix of surprise and intrigue played across his weathered face. He scratched his chin thoughtfully, mulling over the implications of creating a fork for his lord.

"You know, that's an interesting thought," Jallen finally responded, his voice tinged with a hint of excitement. "I've always strived to provide Lord Darry with the finest weapons and armour, but a fork? It never occurred to me."

A smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he continued, "But you're right. A lord who can dine without soiling his hands... It would be seen as a mark of refinement and elegance. Perhaps it's time I expanded my repertoire."

Jallen's enthusiasm grew as he envisioned the possibilities. "I could design a fork fit for a lord, adorned with intricate engravings and crafted from the finest materials. It might even become a symbol of Lord Darry's court."

He turned to me, gratitude shining in his eyes. "Thank you, Marc. You've given me a new avenue to explore, and I won't forget your contribution to this idea."

I nodded appreciatively, glad that my suggestion had sparked Jallen's imagination. "I have no doubt that your craftsmanship will impress Lord Darry and his court," I replied, confident in his abilities.

I also thought of the dislike of the Darry for the Lannisters and the Baratheon due to the events of Robert’s Rebellion. And since Raymun Darry was present in the hall when I intervened, I could imagine he might be receptive of testing a tiny fork that would be used to help him to eat his meals. Inwardly, I was amused to the fact I might introduce an everyday life tool in Westeros and might contributed to develop a sub development of a specific Renaissance in the Riverlands and perhaps in the North as a fork could be very practical. The funniest thing was the fact that if forks were developed in the North, that would make the court of the Red Keep slightly “backwards” in the proper manner of eating a meal.

I inwardly chuckled to the fact that this was the first tool from home I contributed to recreate in Westeros, even though I just gave the depiction and idea to Jallen. At least, it was much easier to try to recreate a fork with the help of the relevant people rather than trying to recreate gunpowder or the Guntenberg printing press. Thank God I didn’t have any super Saiyan powers or were gifted some otherwise that would become a mess and that wouldn’t help me solve issues at hand. A part of me wondered if I wasn’t part of an inception self-insert as the current situation reminded me the funny thoughts and dreams I did since my young days, imagining myself traveling in different fictional worlds. But if that was the case, my true self was seriously a sadistic bastard to send me in a place where I either die backstabbed, flayed, crucified, burnt by wildfire, red priests or dragons or becoming a slave of death cheaters. I would rather be in Arendelle, Pemberley, Downton Abbey or even Storybrooke.

Relegating those thoughts in the depths of my mind, I turned back to Jallen.

"And to answer your question, Jallen, I am here partly for the fork, but not only that. I need a weapon, ideally an axe or a hammer. I have a journey ahead, and I want to ensure I can defend myself if need be," I explained, my voice carrying determination.

Jallen raised an eyebrow, considering my request. "If you're in need of a weapon, I have a few options available. Axes and hammers, you say?" he mused, his eyes scanning the array of weapons hanging on the wall.

He retrieved several finely crafted axes and hammers, presenting them to me one by one. Each weapon exuded strength and precision in its design. After careful consideration, I settled on a well-balanced hammer with a reinforced shaft, confident that it would serve me well on my journey.

Jallen nodded approvingly as I made my choice. "A good pick, Marc. That hammer will serve you faithfully," he remarked, his voice filled with satisfaction.

With the weapon matter settled, Jallen turned his attention back to the tiny fork. He retrieved it from a nearby table and handed it to me. As I examined the delicate utensil, Jory, ever observant, noticed that I was left-handed.

I thanked the smith, “Thank you, Jallen. How much do I owe you for the hammer?"

Jallen smiled warmly and replied, "For you, Marc, a friend and a brave soul, it's on the house. Consider it a token of my appreciation for your act of courage."

I smiled and said with a grateful smile, “Thank you for your generosity. I hope I would be able to pay you back one day.”

“No need for that. Your idea for the fork is enough.”

I acquiesced, understanding his words. With the hammer in my possession and the tiny fork tucked away among my belongings I nodded to Jory, who had been observing the exchange. "We're all set, Jory."

Jory nodded back, his expression focused. "Let's head back to the castle then."

I saluted Jallen with gratitude before Jory and I began to make our way back through the corridors, the newly acquired hammer held close to me. It was a reassuring weight, a symbol of my determination to protect myself and those I cared about in this unfamiliar world.

As we walked, Jory's voice broke the silence. "Do you know how to use that thing?" he asked, nodding towards the hammer.

I shook my head slightly, a wry smile forming on my lips. "Not really, Jory. I've never actually used a weapon before. But I intend to learn as we journey to Winterfell."

Jory raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by my response. "Never used a weapon?"

I chuckled softly. "The closest I've come to using something like this was a large hammer for splitting wood back in my world. It was a two-handed tool, much heavier than this. But wielding a weapon in combat is a whole different matter."

Jory nodded thoughtfully, seemingly taking in my explanation. "Well, it's good that you're taking the initiative to learn. A journey like this can be perilous, and knowing how to defend yourself is crucial."

As we moved along the corridors once more, we encountered more members of Lord Darry's staff. I greeted them with the same respect and friendly smile as before. Their responses were warm and appreciative, and I could sense a mixture of curiosity and admiration in their gazes. We finally made our way back to the assigned rooms of Lord Darry and his household. The mention of the royal family drew a thoughtful expression from me as I turned to Jory. "Do we need to go back to the hall, or should we head to the assigned rooms?"

Jory's lips quirked into a wry smile. "I think it's best to avoid the royal family for now. Let's head to the assigned rooms."

I nodded in agreement, and we began to make our way in the direction of the assigned rooms. Along the way, we came across more members of Lord Darry's staff, each greeted with a respectful nod and a friendly smile. Jory commented, "You certainly know how to navigate the social intricacies of this place."

I chuckled softly. "Well, let's just say that adapting to different situations and understanding people's perspectives has always been a skill of mine. It comes in handy, especially in unfamiliar territory."

Jory nodded in acknowledgment, his expression thoughtful. "It's a valuable skill to have, especially in the North. We value loyalty and respect here."

"I'm learning that quickly," I replied with a smile. "And I'm grateful for your guidance, Jory."

He gave a small nod, his gaze steady. "It's my duty to ensure the safety of those under Lord Stark’s protection. And from what I've seen, you have a genuine desire to help and protect as well."

I acquiesced to Jory's words, appreciating his insight and the companionship he provided. We quickly made our way to the assigned rooms, passing by the vigilant guards stationed around. As we approached, I noticed Vayon Poole, the steward of House Stark, waiting nearby. It seemed that at least Arya and Sansa had returned to their chambers.

Vayon noticed our approach and greeted us with a nod. "Did you find what you were looking for?" he inquired.

I offered a small smile in response and held up the newly acquired hammer. "Indeed, I did."

Vayon's brows lifted in mild surprise as he glanced at the hammer. "Ah, a weapon, I see. Well, it's good to be prepared."

I nodded in agreement. "Absolutely. Safety is a priority."

With a nod of understanding, Vayon continued, "Lord Stark is currently with the king, attending to matters of state. If you need anything, I'm here to assist."

"Thank you, Vayon," I replied. "I appreciate your help."

With that, I entered my assigned room and took a moment to survey the space, ensuring that I hadn't left behind any of my belongings. As I looked around, my thoughts drifted to the future. How would I navigate the challenges and opportunities that lay ahead? How would I manage the knowledge and information I possessed, given the potential implications for this world?

The upcoming journey loomed in my mind as well. How would I interact with the guards who would accompany Arya and me? How would I navigate the complexities of this world's politics and hierarchies while keeping my true identity hidden? My cautious self was having a field day, reminding me of the risks and dangers that came with my actions. Yet, I couldn't deny the sense of purpose that had driven me to this point. I was resolved to protect Arya and ensure her safety, even if it meant stepping into unfamiliar territory and taking risks.

As I pondered these thoughts, a knock on the door interrupted my musings. "Enter," I called out.

To my surprise, Eddard Stark entered the room. I immediately stood up.

"My lord.", I saluted him.

Eddard nodded in acknowledgment and offered a faint smile. "No need for formalities, Marc. Did you find a weapon that suited you?"

I returned the smile with a nod while showing the hammer. "I do. That should do for the journey.”

Eddard observed the weapon before nodding. His eyes seemed to be faraway and a bit amused.

“Robert would have loved to see you with such weapon. And with your dark hair, he might think you are kin to him.”

I chuckled a bit, noticing the little jest behind the lord’s words and understanding well his comment. It was coincidental, though also amusing and ironic as I knew Robert Baratheon loved to fight, to drink and to bed women while I disliked violence, was sober and still a green boy in the matters of bedding and would be glad to remain it for the time being. I just thought of the short discussion with Vayon.

“Vayon Poole mentioned that you were with the king. How did your meeting go?"

Eddard's expression turned thoughtful and grave. "It was... eventful. My friend is eager to depart from Darry Castle now that Arya is back. He was a bit flummoxed that I had to send her back to Winterfell, but he understood the situation."

I acquiesced to his words, imagining that a discussion with Robert Baratheon would be a complicated matter, even when you were his friend.

I then sighed softly.

"That means the departure of Arya, Lady, and myself will be sooner than I anticipated."

Eddard's gaze met mine, his eyes grave and solemn.

"Yes. I intend for you to leave this afternoon."

I nodded, processing the information.

"Well, I suppose it's best to be prepared for the journey ahead."

Eddard's expression grew serious. "Indeed. I wanted to inform you that Harwin and a dozen of my men will be accompanying you, Arya, and Lady on this journey. Most of them were part of the search party when Arya went missing."

I felt a sense of relief at the news. Having capable men to protect us was reassuring.

"Thank you, my lord. I appreciate the arrangement."

Eddard nodded in response. "Safety is a priority, especially given recent events. I trust that you'll all look out for each other."

I met his gaze with a determined nod. "Absolutely, my lord."

I then thought upon the news and felt torn apart. On the one hand, I was relieved as it would mean to be away from Cersei and her son. No matter how rightful it was to defend Arya from their lies and their awful and abusive attempt for retaliation, I knew that they would be like buffaloes or tigers determined to destroy those who harmed them in one way or another without striking them down. But on the other hand, I felt helpless and guilty because there were so many things I wanted to tell to Eddard before his departure to King’s Landing and mine to Winterfell. I as thinking upon what I could tell to Eddard, even though a part of me reminded me I informed him that I gave him that would help him in the future.

Should I tell anything else and breaking my word? Or should I apologize and tell him at least a complementary information to what he could expect in King’s Landing? I hated this feeling because I wanted so much to help him and to share anything I could but I also knew that knowledge could become a weapon or a mean of power, a tool that could help to thrive or to fall. I however knew that I had to give any reliable and key information that could help him in addition to what I had already revealed to him. Two matters that I considered crucial came to my mind, one for the sake of young people whose only crime was to be born outside the wedlock from the most important man in Westeros, and the other that could save thousands of people and completely breaking the Dragons’ legitimacy and claims if done well. A part of me disliked it due to the political implications, but I knew that I had no trust in the return of the Dragons, especially in regards of Daenerys. No matter her birth, her lack of knowledge, her views of the world and her over-reliance in her future dragons and her Essossi background made her an unreliable pretender and the second least relevant candidate for a Dragon restoration. To move forwards, even with the incoming storm in the North, the Seven Kingdom truly needed to heal and bringing back the Dragons wasn’t exactly helping it as it would be a nostalgic and reactionary move and the perpetuation of a vicious cycle that made the courts Ottoman empire and Frank kingdoms pleasant places to go.

Eddard noticed the serious demeanour on my face and asked, "Is something troubling you?"

I looked at him, a mix of determination and concern in my eyes, and answered, "There is so much more I want to tell you, and yet now there's not much time. However, there are two subjects I think are important to be told."

Eddard's expression grew curious and wary and he leaned in slightly, indicating for me to continue. "If it was the case, why didn’t you tell them yesterday or in the morn?"

I sighed, “They slipped my mind. Remember that my knowledge of your world is neither whole or perfect or certain.”

The northerner lord nodded, his brows furrowed and his mind clearly focused and pondering. A part of me wondered if he was wondering about the extent of my knowledge. Even if I warned him about its weaknesses and not to take it for face value, I knew he would be cautious about it, especially with the overwhelming implications my claims had.

A part of me wondered why he didn’t press on in our previous discussions, but I considered that maybe the whole cumulation of the recent events and incidents in a matter of days prevented him to see the whole extent of the situation that was unfolding. Maybe I was overthinking what he was reflecting upon, but it was the best guess I could make and I knew that in certain circumstances, people like him didn’t generally react as they would ordinarily. The situation that befell on him after his wound against Jaime Lannister in the books and show came to my mind as a clear example, even though it was tied to the pain and the milk of poppy affecting the clarity of his mind, not to mention the stress.

Another thought came to me: my personal reasoning concerning Bran’s final situation in the show. He was unprepared and since Brynden and him were utter fools that didn’t truly train in weeks and months for one of the most overbearing and complicated positions in the whole world, it was no wonder he was overwhelmed by information and trauma and that he might have become a shell to protect himself to break, especially as he spent several days in his warging and greensight state. Not an ideal situation for a young mind and person who saw his complete world being overwrecked. That was the closest thing that came to my mind to explain why Eddard didn’t pressure me on such matters. I reminded myself that both situations were not exactly the same, but being overloaded by the spirit of the three-eyed raven on the one hand and finding out that your whole reality might be an illusion were hell of a world-changing perspective akin to a trauma.

Eddard finally said in a firm voice and grave voice, “Go on. Tell me of those matters you consider important to inform me.”

I took a breath to reorganize my thoughts and began, "The first matter is tied to Robert's bastards. Some of them are in King's Landing, and should they be found by those who are close to the queen, they will be in great danger. There is a rumour that Cersei murdered twin babies in Casterly Rock because they were Robert's bastards. If you encounter any of them during your stay, try to think with your allies how to make them leave the city and send them somewhere safe, even if it means sending them to Dorne."

Eddard's eyes widened slightly, absorbing the gravity of the information. He pondered on it a bit, probably wondering why I gave him this information. He finally nodded slowly and replied, "I will take that into account. It is a troubling matter indeed."

Relieved by his answer, I continued, "The second issue requires your attention once you are in King's Landing. You must investigate what lies beneath the city. There is something hidden, at least beneath Flea Bottom and the Grand Sept of Baelor. It is something the Mad King had set up with the help of the Pyromancers—a dangerous secret that could still turn King's Landing into a mere footnote in history and shatter the stability of the Seven Kingdoms. It could even surpass the tragedies of Harrenhal and Summerhall."

Eddard's face grew solemn as he connected the dots, recalling the horrors of his own family's past and the Mad King's reign. He asked, his voice tinged with concern, "Who else knows of this danger?"

I locked eyes with Eddard, my voice steady as I answered, "You know him well because you accused him of having broken his oaths as a Kingsguard."

Eddard's expression hardened, a mix of distrust and disdain. He replied with a growling voice, "You speak of the Kingslayer."

"Yes," I affirmed, "I know you do not trust him and hold him in low regard because you discovered him seated on the Iron Throne with the body of Aerys still warm on the ground. I know what he did, and I understand your reasons for your feelings towards him. But I won't tell you his reasons because it is his tale to share. However, his actions are partly tied to this lingering danger beneath King's Landing. If you can find a way to make him reveal his secret to your friend, the King, as he is supposed to protect him, he might be able to absolve part of his dishonour. Personally, I find it more dishonourable and neglectful of him to not inform anyone of this danger than to have killed a tyrant whose deeds and intents would make Tywin Lannister seem like a child."

Eddard's face reflected a mixture of emotions, a war between duty and personal judgment. I could understand him. The circumstances he found Jaime Lannister that day weren't the best. Inwardly, I cursed Tywin Lannister for his stupid, foolish, short-sighted, pride-blinded, needless and wrong deeds. Jaime didn't deserve him as a father. Even with the things he did, he had the bad luck to be born in such a family. Damn, even Zuko didn't have such dysfunctional family. I dreaded, imagining the character having a thing for Azula. I cursed myself for such distorted and perverted thoughts. Damn, if I already made such dubious and awful connections and references, I would rather take the black, exiling myself beyond the wall or finding some vacation in the Summer Islands. I forced myself to focus on the main subject and to see how Eddard would answer to my reasoning.

The northerner lord finally spoke, his voice laced with scepticism, "Even if I speak to him, how am I supposed to make him reveal this secret?"

I met his gaze unwaveringly and said, "If he confronts you in one way or another, tell him three words: 'Burn them all.' Those were the last words of Aerys before he was killed."

Eddard's eyes widened in surprise, and he seemed to weigh the significance of my words. He remained silent for a moment, lost in thought.

After a while, he spoke softly, "Thank you for sharing this with me, Marc. I will consider your advice carefully. But I can't promise that a discussion with the kingslayer would ensue."

I nodded in acknowledgment, grateful that he understood my intentions. Though I was a bit disappointed by his scepticism and reluctance, I couldn't blame him. Tywin's cruelty tainted everything in the Lannisters and made them so hated that the idea of compromise could be a very complicated matter. But that Eddard was giving a thought to my advice on this peculiar matter was worth enough. That it bore fruits or not was something outside of my decision. Only Eddard could make this step and only Jaime could decide if he would let his pride and his toxic relation with Cersei prevent him to tell the truth.

I then said. “I should prepare my package for the upcoming departure."

Eddard nodded and said, "Take the time you need."

I saluted him respectfully. "Thank you, my lord.”

Eddard saluted me back before leaving the room. As the door closed behind him, I took a deep breath, the weight of the impending journey settling in. A part of me was relieved to leave soon, because I didn’t know how long Cersei or Joffrey would hold back before striking and discovering the North in real was something I was very interested.

I was however apprehensive, because the journey would be long and so many things could happen and while Eddard might have sent a message to inform his son, that didn’t mean it would be enough for him to trust me because he didn’t know, not to mention the wariness and distrust of northerners for foreigners. I knew I would have to make endeavours to prove my worth, while being careful in how I handled my knowledge and information. I looked at the hammer I just obtained and while I was fond of violence, I knew it would give me some safety as long as I pledged myself to train myself to develop and improve my skills.

And there was one thing I finally didn’t regret when finding myself on Westeros: Internet or computers. While I missed writing, it was a refreshing change and it allowed me to have more time for anything. And with the incoming journey, I would have time to train myself, to earn the trust of the guards that would accompany Arya and I and to develop this friendship with Arya. The tune of When you wish upon a Star came in my mind even though I couldn’t help myself to smile at the ludicrousness of such thought. But even in such a bleak word, light and fun were welcome things even though it was hard to find it.

A.N.:
1. This chapter wasn't planned as first but I considered it would be interesting to include a "common sense" choice for the SI, not to mention that it would help for the journey arc. And I found it interesting to explore indirectly the immediate aftermath of the intervention in the hall and to give a bit more background to the SI's presence before the start of the story.
2. I wanted to give something of the classical trope tied to ISOT and SI in Westeros, but in a realistic and pratical manner, especially in regards of the context.
3. The two last pieces of information given to Ned before the imminent departure to Winterfell. One out of concern (but possibly with its own issues) and one with a political motive. Just for information, it will be not a Targ bashing, but the SI has at best a neutral and yet scathing opinion on them. Something that will be further explored later in the story.
4. Teaser: for the next chapter, the departure from Darry Castle with a tense encounter and confrontation with a white lion and a scarred hound...
5. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

As the afternoon was at its zenith, I brought up my few belongings and bore the hammer on me before moving towards the courtyard. As I joined the place, Eddard Stark, Jory Cassel, septa Mordane and Sansa were there while Arya was fidgeting, probably a bit impatient but also apprehensive. I wasn't surprised because while she was glad of returning to Winterfell, she was also leaving her father. Observing my surroundings, I noticed the presence of Lady nearby. The direwolf was observing all of us and seemed a bit confused but truthful. I wondered when Sansa said her goodbye to her companion and how well the young animal reacted to the incoming separation. And I saw a dozen Stark guards preparing horses for the journey. Some people of Darry Castle and of the royal cortege were observing, but the place was mainly occupied by lord Stark's people.

I first turned to Jory Cassel and septa Mordane, offering them both a respectful salute. They responded, though the septa's demeanour seemed a bit tenser and more uncertain, perhaps reflecting the general unease that lingered in the air but most probably still gauging me as a stranger and a commoner of unknown place whose presence affected the family she was serving. I then approached the three Starks.

"My lord," I greeted him, acknowledging his presence. Turning to Sansa, I offered a polite nod. "My lady," I said, aware of the complicated emotions she harbored towards me.

Arya glanced up as she noticed my arrival, a mixture of relief and excitement crossing her face. She quickly finished her task and walked over to me, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. "Marc, you're here," she said, her voice filled with genuine joy.

I smiled warmly at Arya, grateful for her unbridled enthusiasm. Her presence provided comfort in this uncertain moment. I was happy to see that she seemed well in spite of the fact she will be separated from her father and likely worrying for him.

Eddard approached Arya and whispered to her, instructing her to say goodbye to Sansa. She nodded, understanding the importance of this farewell. She made her way towards her sister, and both of them exchanged tense and awkward words. I looked at them with a pang of sadness, but also knowing that should anything happened badly, Sansa could think of the fact her sister would be safe, even if my cautious and rational sides reminded me of the hazards of the likely Ironborn invasion of the North and the dangers that Winterfell would face in the future.

Eddard observed the farewell, his heart heavy with the strained dynamics within his family. As Arya returned to my side, he approached me and gestured towards a stocky man standing nearby. "Marc, this is Harwin. He will be leading the escort to Winterfell," Eddard informed me.

I nodded, acknowledging Harwin's presence, and extended my gratitude towards Lord Stark. "Thank you, my lord."

Eddard's gaze held a mixture of concern and determination. "Make good use of your skills, Marc. Robb will need all the help he can get," he advised, his voice filled with a father's concern for his son's well-being.

I nodded in understanding, my expression serious. "I will, my lord. I'll do my best to be of assistance," I assured him, fully aware of the challenges that lay ahead. Then, I leaned in slightly and added, "Remember, act in King's Landing as the commander who helped his friend to defeat the Dragons and the Squids, not as the lord warden in the North. But listen to your closest allies and advisors to prepare for the worst."

Eddard's gaze shifted to his chest, where the message containing the key advice I had given him was hidden. He nodded to my words. "I will keep your advice in mind," he responded quietly, a hint of gratitude in his voice.

Turning to Sansa, I observed the intricate tapestry of emotions playing across her face. It was clear that the events of the past day had stirred within her a multitude of feelings towards me. As I stood before her, I couldn't help but grasp the layers of her sentiments, both positive and negative, swirling beneath the surface. While she was standing with grace, her eyes were very expressive and put me ill at ease.

I could sense the weight of her resentment, stemming from the public humiliation her betrothed had endured due to my intervention in defending her sister and of interfering in family matters. It was a burden that I carried with a tinge of guilt, knowing that my actions had contributed to her distress. However, even in the midst of this guilt, my rational-self reminded me that at least Lady was alive, reducing the risk of Sansa falling prey to the machinations of Cersei and Joffrey. And if I had to suffer her anger and scorn, that would be worth the survival of her companion, not matter how complicated and hurtful it was for me to handle it. A part of me scorned to the fact I was kind of petty because of the reactions of a young girl for who I had empathy and concern. Sansa might not be a favorite character of mine, but her initial innocence and the trials she suffered in the stories were enough for me to regard her with respect.

As I bowed to her, a mixture of reverence and unease coursed through me. I initiated the conversation with a steady voice, masking the internal turmoil I experienced.

"My lady," I began, attempting to convey sincerity, "I am aware that you have every reason to resent me, and I apologize for any discomfort I have caused you. Please understand that my actions were not meant to spite you."

Sansa's gaze met mine, her eyes reflecting a blend of uncertainty and curiosity. The conflict within her was palpable, as she grappled with the decision of either rebuffing my apology or accepting it as a lady would. Her glances shifted momentarily to septa Mordane and then to her father, as if seeking their unspoken permission. While septa Mordane was neutral and cold towards me, Eddard's subtle nod seemed to grant her that permission. With a composed demeanour, she turned her attention back to me and nodded in acknowledgment.

Though I felt a slight sense of relief at her acceptance, I continued, my tone gentle yet resolute. "I would also like to offer you a piece of advice if you permit me."

Sansa regarded me with a mixture of curiosity and wariness, her expression guarded. She hesitated before answering.

"What advice do you have for me?" she inquired, her voice cautious and slightly cold.

While I understood her demeanour, I was a bit relieved she didn't outright reject my request.

"Be cautious of the allure of pretty things, my lady. They may conceal rare gems, such as yourself, but they may also harbour dangerous snakes ready to strike. Be vigilant and careful in your encounters, and may the radiant light that shines in your eyes endure even in the face of darkness.", I answered her with a calm and watchful tone.

Sansa's reaction was a mixture of surprise and contemplation at my words. The metaphor had captured her attention and ignited her imagination. It deviated from the conventional advice she had received, and its poetic nature intrigued and resonated with her. She experienced a whirlwind of emotions—a tug-of-war between her longing to believe in the inherent beauty of the world and the caution my words urged her to exercise. A small part of her found solace and flattery in being compared to a gem or possessing a radiant light, but conflicting sentiments stirred within her, causing internal turmoil.

I could discern septa Mordane's disapproving gaze, while Eddard Stark's expression revealed a hint of concern and intrigue at my words. Arya, who had observed the scene from a distance, wore a pensive expression, her thoughts churning. The weight of Sansa's emotions was evident in her gaze as it remained fixed on me—a mixture of surprise, introspection, and a desire to decipher the true intention behind my words.

As the silence lingered, I took a deep breath and concluded, "You possess a luminous light within you, my lady, a treasure to be preserved. Yet, strive to perceive the world in all its shades. Endeavor to become the lady you aspire to be—one who commands respect through her strengths and skills."

Sansa's gaze remained locked with mine, her countenance now a tableau of astonishment and introspection. My words seemed to have struck a chord on a profound level, resonating deep within her being while I suspecting she was facing contradicting emotions, which was in a way understandable for a young girl, even a well-raised one like Sansa.

Septa Mordane's disapproval remained apparent, etched upon her face, while Eddard Stark's gaze held a mixture of acknowledgement and curiosity. Arya's reaction, however, proved more enigmatic, her features shifting from contemplation to a flicker of understanding, leaving her thoughts concealed from my grasp.

Feeling a sense of closure, I decided to embark on a simple yet audacious gesture. With a subtle boldness, I leaned in, allowing my lips to graze delicately against the back of Sansa's hand in a fleeting hand kiss. It was a gesture infused with respect and a hint of chivalry, carefully measured to avoid overstepping any boundaries. More than that, I intended it to be served as not only a way to make a farewell gesture, but also to show my respect and apology to her. A part of me wondered if I didn't overdo it, but I let it go as it didn't matter. As I straightened, I bowed to her, my voice infused with reverence, "My lady."

Sansa's reaction was a whirlwind of surprise and uncertainty as she saw me kiss her hand, her visage caught between the societal constraints ingrained in her upbringing and the stirrings of her own personal emotions. For a fleeting moment, she hesitated, torn between the preconceived notions she held of me and the unexpected empathy I had displayed. Yet, with cautious delight, she accepted the gesture, allowing a small smile to grace her countenance. I was certain she was still conflicted on how to regard me, but at least I would leave with a slightly better impression.

Septa Mordane's disapproving gaze was evident and a part of me was nearly expecting her to suddenly swing a stick to chase me away. I couldn't blame her as while I wasn't fond of her traditional way of educating Arya and Sansa, she was in some manner their guardian after their parents. And I had yet done much to prove my worthiness and trust.

Eddard Stark's reaction was one of thoughtful observation. While caught off guard and a bit wary of my metaphorical and poetic approach to advise her, he also thought on it and inwardly agreed with it, thinking upon the role he needed to have with his eldest daughter once they were in the capital.

Arya's expression was the most intriguing, her brow furrowed as she observed the scene. She was intrigued by my advice, but wondered if Sansa would hear them as she seemed too trustful of Joffrey and of the queen in spite of what happened in the hall yesterday. I also suspected conflicting impressions due to the way I had interacted with Sansa, especially after the incident at the breakfast. Hopefully, I would have time to explain to her my way of interactin with people during the journey.

As I moved away from Sansa, I saluted septa Mordane before making my way towards the group of guards who were preparing to mount their horses. One of the guards offered me a horse, and I accepted it with a nod of gratitude.

As I was about to take hold of the reins, Lady approached with a curious tilt of her head. The animal was wary, sensing my presence and possibly mirroring the hesitation of her mistress. My gaze shifted to the young direwolf, and I couldn't help but feel a mix of caution and reverence. I tensed slightly, not out of fear of the young animal but out of caution, aware that Lady's behavior would likely reflect Sansa's feelings towards me. I silently wondered if I might be granted permission to interact with her. Her curious, calm and wary demeanor was enough to prevent any instinctual reaction of apprehension from me as I sensed no aggressiveness from her. Experiencing how Sansa raised the direwolf was peculiar and extraordinary. A part of me couldn’t help but wonder how my encounter with the other direwolfs, except Ghost, would be once I would be in Winterfell.

I sent a subtle glance towards Sansa, seeking her approval.

"May I?", I said with uncertainty.

Sansa's reaction was a mixture of hesitation and consideration, her gaze flickering between me and her direwolf. Eddard's understanding seemed to grant me an unspoken permission. Finally, with a measured nod, his red-haired daughter granted her permission, signaling her willingness to let me interact with her direwolf. The gesture was subtle and a part of me wondered if she allowed it by duty or because of the fact Lady would accompany Arya and me back to Winterfell.

With a silent expression of gratitude, I cautiously extended my hand towards Lady, palm facing upwards. Lady's golden eyes regarded me with curiosity, and after a moment's pause, she took a tentative step forward, her cold nose brushing against my open hand.

A sense of wonder and humility washed over me as I realized the significance of this moment. I gave Lady a gentle, almost imperceptible scratch behind her ears, careful not to overstep any boundaries. Lady's reaction was a subtle tilt of her head and a soft exhale, as if acknowledging the connection between us.

Sansa watched the interaction, her uncertainty slowly giving way to a flicker of appreciation as she observed the gentleness with which I interacted with Lady.

Eddard, witnessing the scene, felt a swell of gratitude towards me and some relief.

I finally moved away from Lady and mounted the horse. It was a bit hard, even though I was relying on my memory of the time I had made horse-ridding to know how to climb. The guard that presented me the horse helped a bit and I finally settled on it.

As the escort prepared to depart, he bid them farewell, his gaze filled with concern and a father's love.

"Harwin, protect my daughter, Marc and Lady," Eddard instructed, his voice filled with a mix of authority and trust.

Harwin nodded in acknowledgment. "You have my word, my lord. I will ensure their safety," he replied, his tone conveying his determination to fulfill his duty.

With final farewells exchanged, the escort began to move, slowly making their way out of the courtyard of Darry Castle, all of us riding a horse, even though I was handling cautiously mine, trying to remember the few tips I had learnt in the past. The Stark guards led the way, followed closely by Arya, Lady, and myself.

As our escort left the courtyard and found outside of Darry Castle, we stopped shortly after as we were facing a group of red cloaks led by ser Jaime nearby the camp of the royal cortege. The tension in the air was palpable as both groups halted, exchanging wary glances. It became evident that the red cloaks and Ser Jaime Lannister were intentionally displaying their power, attempting to intimidate us. I could sense the animosity directed towards me from some of the red cloaks, their eyes filled with contempt and hostility. A part of me suspected their presence to b tied to mine as I doubt that Cersei would be so foolish to attempt so shortly after the events of the previous night to intimidate Arya. The realization of this possibility sent a shiver down my spine, but I maintained a composed façade, knowing well that I needed to play my cards wisely. I silently hoped they wouldn't act rashly with Lord Stark's men, considering what transpired yesterday. The weight of their disdain was amusingly magnified by Ser Jaime's smirk as he was riding before them. In any case, I knew there would a confrontation. I hoped it would go as peaceful as it could be but with the Westerlanders tendency to use brutal tactics to remind anyone their supposed power, it was but a wistful wish.

Arya's gaze met mine, and I could see her concern mirrored in her eyes. I knew she was aware of the tension and the potential danger we faced. I offered her a reassuring smile, trying to convey that I was aware of the situation and prepared to handle it. With a subtle nod, I communicated to Arya that we should remain composed and cautious. It was essential not to provoke any unnecessary conflict, especially given the recent events involving Lord Stark's men. We couldn't afford to escalate the situation further. She nodded while her expression hardened, probably guessing the gravity of the situation. I also suspected her to be wary due to what happened to her in the recent days. I shivered as I thought on the fact Jaime was closed to have become a true childslayer if Jory hadn't found the young Stark first.

Lady reacted to the overwhelming tension in the air, her instincts detecting the threat emanating from the red cloaks and their leader. However, her gentle and well-behaved nature kept her from acting aggressively. She maintained a watchful stance, ready to protect her mistress’s sister if the need arose.

Ser Jaime, his eyes locking onto me, approached with an air of arrogance, his intention clear in his every step. The members of our escort tensed, their eyes narrowing in wariness as the infamous Kingslayer drew near. Harwin, vigilant, stepped forward and addressed him directly. "What are you doing here, Kingslayer?" he inquired, his tone laced with caution, yet subtly asserting his position.

Ignoring Harwin's presence, Ser Jaime focused his attention solely on me, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. There was a complex mix of arrogance, superiority, and a hint of personal vendetta in his eyes. He spoke, his tone dripping with his characteristic arrogance.

"So, you really have joined the Starks. My sister was furious when she had learnt that. She wishes you have met the same fate as the butcher boy," he remarked, his words laced with thinly veiled disdain and a desire to provoke a reaction.

Upon hearing this, Arya's expression darkened with anger and concern. Feeling her distress, I held out the temptation to reach out her hand as I knew it would misinterpreted and it wasn't the moment for such misunderstandings, confusions and unfortunate interpretations. I locked my eyes on Jaime, aware that in this situation, we needed to face the taunts of the Lannister with dignity and determination. I disliked the words of Jaime Lannister as it confirmed me that Mycah was dead and I wondered how long Arya would take before guessing the same as sharp as she was. I then turned my glance towards Jaime. I knew he was expecting me to be intimidated by his reputation or the fact his sister was obviously threatening me and threatening in an indirect manner Arya.

However, I stood firm and resolute on my horse, refusing to show any signs of fear despite my inward anxiety. I knew Ser Jaime was not only a formidable swordsman but also skilled with words, though not to the extent of his brother or Petyr Baelish. What he didn't know was my true identity, and he likely considered me a strange commoner with shared interests with the Starks. I reminded myself my indifferent opinion on him in spite of his part in Bran’s fall and of his other dubious deeds.

"Well, Ser Jaime, we can’t please anyone. Otherwise, your sister would be married to her Silver Prince. You would a revered knight respected for his skill and honor. And I would be back at home. But we can't have everything. We do with what we have and with the time that has been given to us", I replied, my voice steady and unwavering, determined not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me falter.

Ser Jaime's lips curled into a faint sneer, a mixture of annoyance and curiosity dancing in his gaze. It was a bit obvious that he was used to people reacting to his provocations. He regarded me with a complex look, a mix of his customary arrogance and a hint of a conflicted mindset taken aback by my boldness. He was also taken aback by my respectful tone to him, expecting me to call him the Kingslayer, especially with how I interacted with his sister and Joffrey yesterday. There was a momentary pause as he processed my words, his arrogant facade momentarily faltering. He finally broke the silence, his voice laced with a mixture of annoyance and begrudging respect.

"You certainly have a way with words, don't you?" he replied, his tone tinged with grudging admiration. "But words can only get you so far. Remember that."

Maintaining composure, I responded with a firm voice and a hint of a smile, hiding the underlying tension within me.

“I am aware of that as I also know that swords can only get you so far, my good ser. A poisoned drink and you’re dead, unable to fight back. Your sword hand is cut and you would lose all pride and dignity, perhaps even thinking that death would be a mercy for you as being a crippled would be a dishonor for you.”

My bold retort hung in the air, the words cutting through the tension like a well-aimed blade. Jaime Lannister’s eyes narrowing as he absorbed the weight of my words. A flicker of anger passed across his face, momentarily revealing the vulnerability beneath his arrogant façade. I suspected that mentioning losing his sword hand hit a nerve in the Lannister kingsguard as he was very proud of his skills. And my words on death being a mercy for a cripple a subtle reminder of his actions on Bran, even though he would dismiss it as a coincidence of wording. If it had been his twin, she would have immediately believed that I knew something about what happened in the Broken Tower.

"You dare speak of dishonor and weakness?" Jaime spat, his voice tinged with a mix of anger and wounded pride. "You, a commoner, who knows nothing of the true nature of power and strength."

I didn’t waver to his anger.

“You know nothing, ser Jaime. Brute strength as solely mean of power is a tool for weak men unable to handle their soul scars and wounded pride. Being able to use the sword in your hand and the sword between your legs doesn’t make you a strong leader. It just gives you means to ensure a ground for power. Otherwise, Gregor Clegane would be the king of the Seven Kingdoms, not king Robert and not even your father.”

My words hung heavy in the air, challenging Jaime Lannister's perception of power and strength. He stood there, his face a mask of fury and disbelief, his knuckles white as he gripped the hilt of his sword. I knew I had just insinuated that his family and his father were weak men in relying on their brute force and that he would take it badly. I also suspected that refering to the Mountain was kind of an insult as the man was more a henchman to his father than anything else.

Harwin and his men watched with a mixture of awe and trepidation. They were impressed by my courage in the face of such a formidable adversary, but they were also wary as they knew the Kingslayer was a dangerous and proud man. They were hesitant to intervene, partly intrigued on how it would go, but were ready to intervene if the situation escalated.

Arya couldn't help but smirk at the exchange, impressed by my ability to hold my own against the Kingslayer, her anger and distress being partly replaced by keen interest. However, she remained vigilant, sensing the potential danger in the situation and prepared to support me if needed.

The red cloaks in Ser Jaime's company displayed a range of reactions. Some mirrored their leader's anger and arrogance, sneering at my words and itching for a confrontation. Others, however, seemed taken aback by my audacity and the unexpected depth of the verbal joust. They exchanged uneasy glances amongst themselves, uncertain of how to react to this challenge to their authority. They likely expected a more submissive response from me, considering their reputation and association with the Lannisters. The fact that I hadn't cowered before Jaime's presence and had actually engaged him in conversation appeared to have thrown them off balance.

Jaime's voice trembled with suppressed anger as he retorted, "You think you know so much about power and leadership, yet you stand here, a mere peasant, lecturing me on what it means to be strong."

I met his gaze with unflinching resolve, my voice steady and unwavering.

"Strength is not defined by noble birth or the titles one is holding, Ser Jaime," I replied. "It is defined by the choices we make, the principles we uphold, and the ability to inspire others to follow us. True leadership is not about wielding a sword, but about guiding people with wisdom and compassion and handling challenges with intelligence and integrity."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Jaime's face, his anger momentarily giving way to contemplation. His eyes narrowed on me. Just as the tension hung heavy in the air, a gruff voice, rough and filled with cynicism, suddenly cut through the atmosphere.

"Quite the fancy words ya got there, green boy. Tryin' to impress someone, are ya?"

I stood still on my horse, wary and tense as I knew exactly who this voice belonged to. Turning my gaze slightly, I saw a large figure approaching, clad in armour and emanating an aura of intimidation. As his face was uncovered, I knew it was Sandor Clegane and suspected he had been sent by Joffrey himself. I wondered where he came from and if Eddard saw him because otherwise, the situation might go murkier. I wondered how I missed his tall presence, though focused as I was on Jaime Lannister, he might have come unnoticed by me. I regarded Sandor in the same manner for Jaime, in a neutral stance, because of the knowledge I have on his past and on the man he was. A part of me empathized with him and understood that he was a scarred survivor, but I also knew he was a prisoner of his past, of his traumas and of the way people treated him, making him a complicated and dangerous person.

Arya's grip on her reins tightened as she watched the Hound closely. The arrival of the Hound had added another layer of tension to an already charged situation. Harwin and his men shifted their stances, ready to intervene if things took a dangerous turn.

Sandor's gaze fell upon me, his burned and scarred face revealing no emotions, but I could feel his eyes assessing me with a cold intensity. This was the first time he was seeing me, and I knew that his reputation for brutality and his loyalty to the Lannisters made him a potentially dangerous presence.

The others present couldn't help but react to the Hound's arrival. Some exchanged uneasy glances, while others adjusted their grips on their weapons. Jaime's expression remained inscrutable, his eyes shifting between me and Sandor, as if assessing the unfolding situation and probably wondering how I would handle his nephew-son’s sworn shield. I could notice a small smirk as if he was expecting a change of tide in the confrontation.

Sandor's gaze finally shifted away from me and locked onto her. He spoke, his voice rough and laced with a hint of irritation, "Little wolf, yer friend here seems to have quite the mouth on him. He better watches his tongue 'fore it gets him into more trouble than he can handle."

Arya's eyes narrowed, and she took a step forward, not one to back down easily. "At least, he stood up for me when you lot were trying to blame me for nothing!"

Sandor's gaze flickered between Arya and me once more before he let out a short, humourless laugh.

"Blame you for nothin'? Your little friend, the butcher boy, would be beggin' to differ, waitin' for ya in the cold embrace of death."

The mention of Mycah hit a nerve, and I felt a mix of anger and sorrow well up within me. Not only because of the crime itself, but because it was something I wished Arya would discover later, in the aftermath of an emotional wrecking experience. I held my ground, refusing to let the Hound's words break my composure.

Arya's fists clenched at her sides, and I could see the emotions swirling in her eyes, a mix of guilt, anger, and grief. I knew that she was now completely aware of what happened to her friend.

"Mycah didn't deserve to die. Joffrey lied about everything!", she cried out in anger and distress.

Arya’s words and distress broke me and the feeling of injustice and anger entered me. Whatever composure I had was through. If I had learned to keep calm when it struck me even if it could be hard, I was always touched by the distress of someone. And this someone happened here to be not only a person I was fond of due to her character in the books and show, but also because of the starting bond I sensed between us. I looked at Arya with empathy and sadness, but also with a dark gleam in my eyes.

Arya's eyes briefly met mine, and I could see the distress, the anger and a plea for support in her gaze. My heart ached for her, and my determination to stand my ground only grew stronger.

Harwin and his men were digusted and ill at ease and yet hesistant to intervene, probably afraid of facing Sandor. Not that I could blame them as a man like him with his size and reputation, not to mention his brother's reputation, would be like a bogeyman. They however approached closer to Arya and I, ready to shield us.

Jaime and the red cloaks continued to observe the unfolding scene with keen interest, waiting to see how the Hound and I would interact.

In response to Sandor's cynical remark, I turned my gaze towards him, a cold and rigid expression on my face. A storm was raging inside me, a mix of disgust, anger and fear. And yet, I was restraining them, funnelling them to be used in a way that would be a surgical strike. Without breaking eye contact, I urged my horse forward a step, subtly positioning myself in front of Arya. It was a small movement, but one that was meant to protect her and deter any sudden moves on her part as I was aware she wouldn’t hesitate to strike at Sandor.

"My congratulations, ser Gregor," I spoke, my voice carrying a cold and calculated tone.

A palpable shift occurred in the air as the words left my lips. Harwin, the Stark guards, Jaime, and the red cloaks all reacted with a mix of surprise and confusion. Sandor's scarred face contorted with a mixture of shock and anger, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. His face twisted into a scowl, and he took a menacing step forward, his hand instinctively reaching for the hilt of his sword. The members of our escort tensed even further, fully aware of Sandor Clegane's reputation for violence. Harwin's grip on his own weapon tightened as he prepared for the worst.

"Ya dare to mock me, ya little shit?" Sandor growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble. His gaze bore into mine with a smoldering intensity, as if he were on the brink of unleashing his pent-up wrath. I looked straight at him, struggling inwardly to crush the fear within me.

“I dare”, I said in a steady and unwavering voice, “A tall man in armour that kills little children because his masters tasked him to like a hound would hunt a prey, this is something Gregor Clegane would do.”

The impact of my words was clear, causing a ripple of reactions around us. Arya's gaze flickered between Sandor and me, her eyes widening in surprise and concern at my audacity. The Stark guards and Harwin exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.

Sandor Clegane's anger flared, his face contorting with rage as I mentioned his brother's name once again. His grip on the hilt of his sword tightened, seemingly ready to draw it to strike me down in a fit of rage.

I heard my heart pounding in my chest, but I didn’t relent and face Sandor on my horse, refusing to allowing instinctual fear to dictate how to react. Anger and scorn were stronger in this instant. My eyes remained locked onto his face, unflinching and unwavering. No matter how much I knew of the man, I wasn’t in the mood of being compassionate for his insults and crimes. He was as much an abuser as a victim, a flayed soul who flesh was always hurting in spite of the armour he had built for himself and the screwed view of the world he had.

"Go ahead, kill me," I spoke, my voice carrying an edge of defiance and as much firmness as I could harness. "Prove to me that you are a mindless beast, a soulless soldier, a scarred puppy beaten by his masters to be a mere tool of fear. Prove to me that your prince and his mother's family can piss on every tradition and rule of the Seven Kingdoms."

My words hung heavy in the air, and a shocked silence settled over the gathering. Arya's gaze flickered between Sandor and me, her eyes wide with surprise at my audacity. She was torn between her instinct to protect and her desire to see this confrontation play out while fear also gripped her. The tension in the air was suffocating as my challenge hung between us, the weight of the words echoing in the silence that followed.

In the moments that seemed to stretch endlessly, I sensed a change in the atmosphere around us. Everyone were tensed, their expressions ranged from worry and intrigue to surprise and anticipation. The power dynamics were palpable, the unspoken challenge I had thrown Sandor's way hanging heavy in the air.

Sandor Clegane's face contorted with a mix of bewilderment, anger, and something akin to grudging respect as my words pierced through the armor he had carefully constructed around himself. His eyes blazed with a fiery intensity, battling against the torrent of emotions churning within him. For a moment, he seemed caught off guard, as if the harsh truths I had spoken had struck a nerve buried deep beneath his scars.

This hesitation seemed to give opportunity to Harwin as I heard his voice cutting through the tensed atmosphere in a commanding tone.

"That's enough!"

As everyone turned their eyes on him, the Stark guard stepped forward, positioning himself between Sandor and me, his presence a clear indication that he wouldn't allow the situation to escalate further.

“He is now part of lord Stark’s household, Hound. Harm him and you will have to answer to my lord.”

Sandor's scarred face twitched with a mixture of frustration and suppressed anger. He finally let out a deep, rumbling sigh. His grip on his sword hilt relaxed, and his shoulders slumped as if he had let go of a heavy burden. The anger that had burned in his eyes began to dim, replaced by a weary resignation.

"You're either brave or a fuckin' fool," Sandor grumbled, his voice gravelly with a tinge of bitterness. "I ain't spillin' your guts today, but mark my words, if our paths cross once more, I'll be the one plungin' my blade into your sorry hide."

He withdrew his hand from his sword and took a step back, distancing himself from me.

I simply looked at him in a more neutral manner while inwardly sighing in relief, my heart pounding hard in my chest. Trying to appease my disarrayed mind, I looked around me to observe the situation.

“Valar Morghulis”, I muttered for myself as a way to temper the words of threat of Sandor and a reminder of the inevitability of death, even though I dearly wanted to delay the date of appointment with her and to avoid the inevitable unbreakable wedding to her.

Arya watched Harwin and me with a mixture of relief, concern and perhaps reverence in her grey eyes. She seemed to be struggling with a swirl of emotions—gratitude for my defence of her, fear for my safety, concern for the brewing conflict, and a connection she felt with me. Her fingers twitched, and I could sense the tension in her posture, as if she were on the edge of action. She cast a glance on Sandor, her eyes somber of anger and concern.

Turning his attention to Jaime, Harwin spoke with an authority that brooked no argument. "Kingslayer, I suggest you let my escort pass. We have no intention of causing further trouble."

Jaime's expression shifted as he assessed the situation. He exchanged a glance with the Red Cloaks, the unspoken conversation cleared between them. The prospect of creating a public incident, especially after the controversy surrounding Arya's trial and my intervention, seemed to weigh on his mind.

After a tense moment of consideration, Jaime's shoulders sagged slightly, and he nodded in reluctant agreement. The Lions might not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep, but the risk of sparking a new controversy so soon after the events in the castle hall was too great. With a resigned gesture, he signaled for the Red Cloaks to step aside, granting passage for Harwin's escort to proceed with Arya, me, and Lady.

As we began to move away from the confrontation, riding toward the Kingsroad, the tension in the air began to ease. Arya's gaze flickered between Sandor and me, her eyes wide with a turmoil of emotions. The Stark guards and Harwin's men exchanged glances, their expressions a blend of curiosity and concern for the brewing conflict. Sandor's gaze, meanwhile, remained locked onto mine, his raw emotions still visible in the depths of his scarred face. His clenched fists at his sides spoke of his suppressed anger. Lady moved on, calm and yet cautious, observing the red cloaks with her golden eyes as if she was assessing their potential threat.

The red cloaks, simmering with resentment, watched as our group departed. Their eyes bore into me with a mixture of disdain and a desire for retribution, fueling their determination to protect the interests of House Lannister. They were also flummoxed by the fact I saluted them with respect while making their presence a good thing and not a display of power. They didn’t know how to consider my words and stance, if it was defiance or respect.

As I passed by Jaime, a sudden impulse struck me. I leaned in and spoke to him in a low voice, just loud enough for him to hear over the rustling leaves and the sound of horses' hooves. "Ser Jaime, tell your sister that the Valonqar sends his regards."

Jaime's eyes widened at my whispered words, and a mix of shock and realization flickered across his face as he tried to understand the meaning of my words. He looked at me uncertain and somber but I didn’t give him time to answer as I rode away.

As we rode away from Darry Castle, Harwin turned to me with a stern expression. "I admire your courage, lad," he said, "but you need to be more careful. You could have been killed with your stunt. Your intervention already stirred up the Lannisters, and what you just did won't make things any easier. I don't want to fail my duty to Lord Stark by letting you get hurt."

I bowed my head, understanding well his words. While bristling to his comment, I understood why he was deeply concerned. He had been tasked by his lord to watch over Arya and me and we had just left Darry Castle that I nearly contributed to make his duty failed. That thought churned inside me and made me angrier with myself as I lowered myself to petty insults and harming people where it hurt the most. My cautious self was like a storm clashing inside me, berating me for my bold and foolish move while my compassionate self was tempering it in pointing out it was done out of concern for Arya. I turned my glance on Arya and noticed her dampened, concerned and somber demeanour. She however sent me a relieved and reverent smile. I answered back with a small smile, a bit glad the situation distracted her from what she had learnt. I however promised myself to look after her as I knew she would think of her friend and let her sense of justice, anger and guilt flow her mind.

As Darry Castle slowly faded into the distance behind me, I reflected upon what just had happened. A part of me regretted to having let my emotions out, but I knew I couldn’t let those bullies think they had the higher ground. If they believed their swords could be the answer to everything, let words and truth be the dagger that would stab their heart. Let it be the pestilence that would taint their souls, their minds, their sleeps, their dreams. The Lannisters claimed to always pay their debt but they were so wrong. So many blood debts they had overlooked to pay and that threatened them for the incoming future. No need for prophecy or foresight due to knowledge from stories to know it wouldn’t dwell well for them if they let their pride and shortsightedness blinding them and hardening their hearts. They were the Pharaohs of Westeros, awaiting to face their own plagues. I wouldn’t be the Moses of Westeros, but I knew that should the opportunity was given, giving a piece of my mind to wreck their pride and image would be worth, no matter how much I understood the context or what brought them to act the way they did.


A.N.:
1. And here we are! The last chapter of the Darry Castle arc. A departure chapter I hope present two sides of the same coin.
2. It is one of those chapters in which I was the most entertained to imagine because of the challenges it offered. I tried to find some balance in how presenting the confrontation (and a litte pay off from a previous chapter), making this chapter of those where the rewrite and addition were among the most numerous (including some tips from two other AI, Poe and Bard). The confrontation with Jaime Lannister is in some manner a "hommage" to a famous scene of the first book/first season.
3. It also allows me to show other features (qualities and flaws) of the SI in this context and how his knowledge and mind brings him to handle in a certain way interactions with other characters. I tried to display shades of complexity in the different interactions.
4. Teasing: the next chapter is the start of the journey with a promise for safety and first discussions...
5. Have a good reading (and hopefully take good delight in this chapter) !

Chapter Text

As evening was settling, I made my way through the dimly lit corridors of Darry Castle, my white cloak flowing behind me, a stark contrast to the shadows that surrounded me. The encounter with that foreign commoner, weighed heavily on my mind. His audacity had left a lingering impression, a mix of amusement and intrigue that I couldn't easily shake. The way he'd stood his ground in the face of my taunts had piqued my curiosity and wonder.

As I neared the entrance to my sister's chambers, I couldn't help but ponder on how Cersei would react to the unfolding events. I knew her well enough to anticipate her disdain for this Marc, a man of foreign birth and lowly status who dared to challenge our family's authority. She would undoubtedly view the confrontation as another an affront to the Lannister name and an insult to our power. I could almost hear her voice in my head, dripping with disdain, condemning him as a threat to our legacy.

My thoughts drifted back to the confrontation itself. I had to admit that this peasant had handled himself remarkably well, especially when faced with the Hound's fury. His clever retorts and unwavering resolve had left me both impressed and somewhat baffled.

I found myself wondering about his true identity. This was no ordinary foreigner, that much was clear. There was an air of mystery about him, something that set him apart from the other smallfolk. Even his clothes and manner set him apart. I couldn't quite place my finger on his true agenda, and that bothered me more than I cared to admit.

As I reached the door to Ser Darry's chambers, I couldn't think about Marc's last words to me—the reference to "the Valonqar." This message was clearly meant to be ominous. It was as if he knew something I didn’t. Why would he asked me to tell Cersei those words? Perhaps it was another of his blatant provocations.

Just as I was about to enter the chambers, I noticed a group of servants huddled together, their hushed whispers and furtive glances drawing my attention. A pang of curiosity tugged at me, but I knew duty demanded I inform Cersei of the day's events first.

With a deep breath, I pushed open the door and stepped into the chamber, ready to recount the events that had unfolded and brace myself for my sister's reaction.

Pushing open the heavy door, my white cloak trailed behind me like a ghostly reminder of my role and the duties that came with it. Inside the lavish chamber, Cersei sat in a regal, high-backed chair, her impatience thinly veiled behind her expectant expression. Her hand clutched a goblet, and the rich aroma of wine filled the room. Her eyes bore into mine, and her voice dripped with irritation as she addressed me.

"Jaime, you've taken much longer than I anticipated. What delayed you?" Her tone held a hint of annoyance that I couldn't help but notice.

Drawing in a slow, deep breath, I prepared to recount the day's interesting turn of events. "I was overseeing your husband," I began, my voice carrying a trace of exasperation. "When I left, he was meeting with Ned Stark to discuss Joffrey's punishment following the incident with the Stark girl."

Cersei's lips curled into a contemptuous sneer at the mere mention of Robert, a sentiment I shared with her as he was a drunken fool that disrespected her.

"That oaf of a husband of mine," she muttered bitterly. "Always stumbling and making a mess of things."

I nodded in agreement. "Indeed," I agreed, "it seems that this foreigner’s presence has added more fuel to the fire."

Cersei's attention sharpened as she focused on the mention of the lowborn. She fixed me with an intense gaze, her icy eyes searching for answers. "Tell me, brother," she demanded, her voice carrying a chilly edge. "Did you confront this peasant as I asked you?”

I nodded.

“I did, sister.”

Her eyes bore into mine, with expectation and impatience.

“What transpired when you confronted him? Did you put that foreign commoner in his place?"

I sighed, aware that she wouldn’t like what I would tell her.

“I confronted him, expecting him to cower or to lash out. But he did nothing of the sort.”

My sister’s eyes narrowed dangerously, “He did not?”

I shook my head, “No. He addressed me not as the 'Kingslayer' like others do to taunt me, but by my title. He was firm, respectful and yet provocative. Each time I try to strike back to his words, he had an answer. It was like facing our brother, but a taller and a soberer version of him.”

Cersei's expression turned from impatience to a mix of curiosity and annoyance.

"He dared to speak to you with such audacity? To a member of the Kingsguard? This commoner continues to overstep his boundaries" she seethed, her grip on the goblet tightening.

“He did. He didn’t hesitate to question how power works, suggesting that the Mountain should be king if brute strength were the sole measure."

Cersei's eyes flashed with anger as she processed the audacity of Marc's words. Her voice dripped with disdain as she responded, "A commoner like him, and a foreigner, questioning the very foundations of power? He clearly lacks the understanding of how the world truly operates."

I nodded in agreement, though a part of me couldn't help but grudgingly admire Marc's boldness. "Indeed, but he seemed to possess a certain cunning and intelligence. It almost felt like talking to a Maester. It was as if he had studied our family and understood our weaknesses."

Cersei's lips curled into a bitter sneer.

"Go on," she urged impatiently, her voice tight with irritation.

I continued, "The Hound then arrived and he informed the Stark girl about her friend’s death, as per your and Joffrey’s wishes."

“And how did the little bitch react?”, my sister asked with some eagerness and scorn.

I took a breath and continued. "The Stark girl was deeply distressed by the news."

Cersei's lips curled into a predatory smile to the mention of the Stark girl’s distress.

"Good," she hissed, her voice dripping with malice. "Let her feel the price of crossing our family."

I continued, though a bit hesitantly, “The Stark girl’s reaction had been a spark for that peasant to react as he challenged the Hound and addressed him as “Ser Gregor”, saying he was like his brother.”

Her expression turned sour in hearing my words.

"How did the Hound react?" she asked, her voice laced with curiosity and longing, probably expecting some retaliation of Clegane.

"The Hound was furious and about to draw his sword. But that didn’t seem to trouble the lowborn. He even dared the Hound to kill him. His words were “Go ahead, kill me. Prove to me that you are a mindless beast, a soulless soldier, a scarred puppy beaten by his masters to be a mere tool of fear. Prove to me that your prince and his mother's family can piss on every tradition and rule of the Seven Kingdoms"”, I answered her while remembering the tense atmosphere when it occurred.

Cersei's eyes widened at the audacity of the stranger, Marc's words, a mix of anger and intrigue flickering across her features. She leaned forward in her chair, her gaze fixed on me as she awaited the rest of the story. I knew she would perceive it as a new slight against our House and even I was puzzled and troubled by the fact this foreigner didn’t relent when faced to the threat of death.

"And then?" she pressed, her impatience and irritation growing evident.

I continued, "A Stark guard of the escort accompanying him and the Stark girl intervened and put an end to the encounter before it could escalate further."

Cersei's face contorted with a mix of anger and frustration as my account of the events unfolded. She had likely hoped for a more satisfying resolution to the confrontation, one that involved Marc's submission or demise. My sister's pride and the honour of our house had been challenged, and she did not take such affronts lightly.

Her eyes blazed with a fierce intensity as she responded, her voice dripping with ire. "A Stark guard intervened," she repeated, her tone laced with bitterness. "So, this foreign commoner managed to escape unscathed, thanks to his new ties to these Northern savages. It seems that he's not only audacious but also strangely fortunate."

I nodded solemnly, well aware of Cersei's displeasure. Her frustration was palpable, and her desire for retribution was evident.

"He will not escape unpunished for long," she declared, her voice cold and determined. "This foreigner has stirred the pot, and he will soon realize that House Lannister does not tolerate such insolence."

I nodded, thinking that the commoner was indeed foolish to challenge the lion. Yet, there was something unsettling about the way his words affected me more profoundly than if he had called me the Kingslayer or spoken of my dishonour. It was as if he knew what I was thinking, and that troubled me deeply.

Cersei looked at me, her icy eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and sombreness. She asked, "Is that all?"

I hesitated for a moment, knowing that the final part of the tale would likely elicit a strong reaction. "Not quite," I replied evenly, my gaze unwavering. "When he left, he told me to deliver a message for you."

Her elegant brow furrowed with a mixture of confusion and concern. She leaned forward, her curiosity piqued.

"What did he say?" she asked, her voice tight with anticipation.

"He said," I began, " 'Tell your sister that the Valonqar sends his regards.'"

Cersei's reaction was immediate and frightening. Her eyes widened in shock, and her lips parted in disbelief. She seemed momentarily frozen, as if grappling with a revelation that had struck her to her core. She even let her goblet fall on the ground, hitting the stone loudly!

I watched her, puzzled by her reaction. I wasn’t expecting this message to have such an impact on her. I could see fear and dismay in her eyes and I knew she was overthinking too much. I couldn’t help but wonder what could provoke such reaction from my love to those words.

Cersei finally broke her silence, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and determination. "This lowborn," she began, her tone cold and calculated, "will never mock us again! I will ensure that he pays dearly for his foolishness."

I couldn't help but sense another of her schemes coming.

"Sister," I said in a nonchalant voice that sounded false in my head, "he's just a commoner. An annoying and disrespectful one, sure, but no real threat for our House."

My words seemed to fuel her anger rather than quell it. She turned to me with a fiery gaze, her voice dripping with frustration.

"You're utterly clueless, brother. He's privy to something he shouldn’t know. His words are a veiled threat. This is no mere peasant from foreign lands. It's a mummer’s show orchestrated by a skilled pretender who aims to diminish our House's standing."

Cersei's words sent a shiver down my spine. There was an intensity in her voice, a conviction that made me pause and once again consider the possibility that there might be more to this foreign commoner than met the eye. If she believed there was a hidden threat in Marc's words, then I should take it more seriously as well. And now I knew that the commoner was doomed. It was unfortunate that I could not catch up with him, to make him pay for his words.

"You’re right," I conceded, my tone more serious now. " His words were chosen carefully, meant to provoke and unsettle us. It's possible that he knows something, or he has friends who do."

Cersei nodded, her expression grave. "Exactly," she replied. Her eyes having a dangerous glint in them.

Her determination was contagious, and I found myself caught up in the gravity of the situation. If there was a hidden plot against House Lannister, it was our duty to uncover it and protect our family's interests.

"What do you propose we do, sister?" I asked, my voice steady.

My sister’s eyes glinted even more, with a dark shed, her eyes burning of anger like wildfire, her resolve unwavering.

“This uncouth scum must die. He now dares to threaten me! Whatever else he plans will be halted before he can enact them."

I couldn't deny that her reasons were valid. Marc's audacity had not only humiliated Joffrey but had also challenged the very essence of House Lannister's power and authority. His veiled threat, referencing the Valonqar, had struck a chord of fear within Cersei, and I understood her desire to eliminate this perceived threat. While I had reservations about the real extent of his threat, anyone who threatened my sister must be dealt with. I nodded in agreement with her assessment, acknowledging the severity of the situation.

"You're right," I concurred, my voice steady. "This foreigner has crossed a line that cannot be ignored. He has openly challenged our family's honour and authority, and we cannot allow him to escape the consequences of his actions."

Cersei's lips curled into a predatory smile, her determination clear. "Good. Since he is now riding with the Stark brat to the North, we must swiftly send some of our men to deal with them. Those Northern lands are rife with dangers including those savages of the Vale whom ambush travelers. No one would expect us to attack as he is now riding with the Stark brat. We can easily dispatch men to take care of them. As long as its in the areas common with the savages that come from the Vale.”

I understood Cersei's plan, but a sense of unease crept over me. While I was willing to act against those who threatened our family, I couldn't help but feel that Cersei's anger was clouding her judgment.

"Sister," I interjected cautiously, my voice tinged with prudence, "Robert would surely notice some of our men missing from the cortege, especially if Stark becomes vigilant with his daughter returning to the North."

Cersei's response was dismissive, her resentment towards Marc, that fool, evident. "Robert is a drunken idiot who cares more for his wine than the affairs of the realm. And as for Stark, he is blinded by his honour and loyalty. He will not suspect a thing until it's too late."

Cersei's response came off as chilling ignorant of my concerns. This was not the first time she left me with a gnawing sense of unease. Still I loved this woman. I would admit, her bitterness towards that stranger was understandably palpable, and yet I couldn't deny that her resentment had clouded her judgment. Why should she care about this obnoxious peasant? I knew better than to press the issue further at that moment. But I also knew that if we wanted to take care of this insignificant troublemaker, we must be smart. An idea came to my mind that hopefully would help my love make a better move against this foreign pest.

"Sister," I began, choosing my words carefully, "sending our own men might attract unwanted attention and raise suspicions, especially with the recent incidents we have with the Starks. If any one of them recognized our men’s faces and escaped, we would be exposed. However, there is another way to deal with this problem. Have you heard of the Brave Companions, the sellsword company?"

Cersei's gaze softened slightly as she considered my words. "Not much, other than they are in Essos" she replied, her voice tinged with curiosity. "What about them? It would take to long for them to sail here and aid us."

"Not quite," I said, "These men are easily finding recruits as they are made up of criminals. They have some recruiters just as those who take the Black do. In some areas of Westeros, they set up branches for jobs as well. Our father has been in contact with them. He told me when we were at Casterly Rock for Joffrey’s nameday. And I’ve heard that they have a branch in the Riverlands that would allow them to ambush the escort. No one would suspect our involvement thanks to the use of these outsiders. If we were to discreetly hire them, they could take care of this foreigner and his Stark companions for us. Our hands look clean in the eyes of Robert.”

Cersei's eyes narrowed to a calculating gaze as she pondered the idea.

"Yes," she said slowly, "that would be a wise move. We must ensure that this foreigner and companions are dealt with swiftly and without leaving any trace leading back to us. Send a raven to the Brave Companions, discreetly offering them a substantial reward for their services. Make it clear that the success of this mission will be well compensated."

I nodded, relieved that my suggestion had been taken. "Consider it done, sister," I replied. "I will send the message immediately and make that the Brave Companions understand the importance of being discrete about this."

Cersei's lips curled into a sly smile. "Good," she said, her voice filled with a dark satisfaction. "Let that foreign fool and the Stark brat learn the consequences of daring to threaten House Lannister. And let it serve as a warning to anyone who forgets about the debts we might pay."

A.N. :
1. Surprise ! I told this chapter would be about the journey and a promise in the previous publication. However, this chapter is delayed because thanks to a good advice, I decided to be back on my initial plan for this part of the story, i.e publishing Jaime Lannister's POV Interlude just after the confrontation chapter.

2. Like Cersei's interlude, this chapter is among thoseI have loved to imagine, even though it has changed a lot in shape since the very first draft. Probably because no matter my personal opinions on the Lannisters (and they are very scathing and harsh), they are among the characters of ASOIAF/GOT I think are the most fascinating and amusing to tackle. And with the Valonqar reference, it was too good not to imagine the whole set and ripples to be introduced.

3. I hope Jaime's depiction is faithful enough because I am aware he is a very complicated character, an arrogant and brash façade with a tormented soul and a complex relation with Cersei. And of course, I hope Cersei's depiction in this chapter works well, especially in regards of her own interlude.

4. This chapter and the following ones have the honour to have been reviewed by a beta reader that help me to refine the text and gives me ideas and perspectives that are very refreshing and welcome in addition to my intents for the story

5. In the case of the Brave companions, their mention and incoming presence is the result of a work with my beta reader : we consider that due to canon (their presence at the “very start” of the War of the Five Kings), they have some presence in Westeros, especially with how some of their members were Westerosi and the fact the way they recruited their members might be similar to the Night’s Watch and that their number were higher than suspected. And I would add to this fact that if historically, german lansquenets coming from the Holy Roman Empire were mercenaries, why wouldn’t be the same fo Westerosi sellswords selling their services for anyone in Westeros or Essos ? Not to mention the presence of “free” sellswords like Bronn at the start of Game of Thrones/A Song of Ice and Fire.

6. Teasing : well, as previously, the start of the journey and a promie (and this time for real ! ^^)

7. Good reading !

Chapter Text

The next hours spent riding on the Kingsroad were quiet and tense. I was slowly chasing away all the trepidation that accompanied me during the whole confrontation, my cautious inner -self crying in frustration and despair. I felt drained and regretful, not for facing those people, but for lashing out in such manner, not matter how restrained I was. Worry began to build up, as I considered the potential fallout of the conflict. But what was done was done and I could only move forward. If I turned back, I was lost.

As we rode further north of the Ruby Ford, my attention began to shift from our recent troubles to the awe-inspiring landscape surrounding us. The Kingsroad stretched out like an ancient lifeline. The land unfolded in all its untamed glory. Vast fields extended to the horizon, where the rolling hills met the sky in a breath-taking display of nature's grandeur. The open expanse was dotted with the occasional farmstead and patches of dense forests that seemed to stretch on forever. The air was crisp and pure, filled with the scents of earth and wildflowers. It was a land untouched by the chaos of politics and warfare that plagued the realm, a place where one could almost forget the troubles of the world. Seeing these landscapes was marvellous. It reminded me a bit the lands and woods surrounding my family’s home. A surge of nostalgia struck me in that instant and a part of me wondered if I would ever return to my world. In spite of this melancholy, it was a fleeting moment of tranquillity, an instant where I was in some manner back home. The pure air was a plus compared to home and one of the few perks I would gladly take from my situation.

While I took comfort in the landscapes and let myself take a break from what happened in Darry Castle and what awaited me, I turned to check on Arya. She was riding in silence, her face showing anger and regret on it. It was obvious that the confrontation left on her an emotional mark that needed to be healed. Seeing her in this state fuelled me with concern. That anger...I thought back to the episode of Game of Thrones, when she stabbed Meryn Trant to death. At the time, I saw it with gleeful anticipation and cathartic delight, with the fondness I had for her character and the whole extent of the depravities of the so-called kingsguard. But then I discovered how in the books, Arya was a girl that lost some of her sanity in order to survive. And finding out what happened to Mycah was the start of her journey down that dark path. This horrible path, where revenge and joining the Faceless Men would forever stop her from having a normal life.

As the miles passed, my unease grew. I couldn't stand the idea of Arya being consumed by guilt and anger, knowing where it would lead her. It was out of question to allow her spirit to be tainted, even if she would have to grow and to see all the shades of reality. If I could help to allow her to avert from that darkness, she would thrive in the best way she could in this world, I would. Internally, I shook my head, as I now wondered if this was that kind of feeling that really defined a mentor or a parental figure. I finally mustered the courage to approach her, guiding my horse closer to hers.

"Arya…" I began hesitantly, my voice soft yet laced with concern. "How do you feel?"

Arya's gaze remained focused on the road ahead for a moment before she turned to look at me. Her grey eyes were still filled with a mixture of anger and regret, but there was also a hint of curiosity in her gaze. She seemed surprised by my approach, perhaps not expecting me to reach out to her. I was uncertain if she would feel grateful or not for someone showing concern, but I knew that interacting with her in any manner might help her, at least in distracting her from the shadows finding their way into her soul.

Her response was slow, measured. "I feel angry," she admitted, her voice carrying a raw edge. "I hate Joffrey. Mycah is dead because of him… Because of me. If I hadn’t asked him to play with me, he would be still alive.”

Emotion overtook her as she pronounced those words. Her reaction reminded me of how she expressed her anger and distress to her father in canon. I was saddened and grieved by the sight realized that I had to reach out her now. Nodding in understanding, I decided to try and to guide her away from the dark thoughts she was having.

"Arya," I said gently, my gaze unwavering. "Did you ask Joffrey to hurt your friend? Did you ask Clegane to kill him?"

Her expression shifted, her eyes widening at the directness of my question. She seemed taken aback by my inquiry, likely not expecting such a straightforward approach.

"No, of course not!" she replied indignantly, her voice carrying a mix of frustration and disbelief. "I never wanted any of this to happen."

“Exactly”, I said, acknowledging her words. “You didn’t ask for it. You couldn't have known what that little monster would do. This was a situation you couldn’t have seen coming. Joffrey is the one that wronged you and Mycah. He acted cruelly and unfairly, and you shouldn't blame yourself for his actions."

I could see a flicker of relief in Arya's eyes as my words sank in. She seemed to be processing the idea that she wasn't responsible for the tragic events that unfolded. It was crucial for her sanity to understand that she couldn't carry the weight of the world's cruelty on her young shoulders.

"But...," she started, her voice wavering slightly, "I could have done something. I could have fought back, or... or tried to save Mycah."

Approaching my horse next to hers, I reached out to gently touch her arm, offering reassurance. "You are still young. It's unfair to expect yourself to be able to confront Joffrey or protect your friend against the Hound. You did what you could in that moment, and it's not your fault that things turned out the way they did."

Her eyes filled with tears, and I could sense the turmoil within her. I continued speaking, my tone gentle yet firm.

"Blaming yourself won't bring Mycah back, and it won't undo what has happened. But you have a choice now. You can let this guilt and anger consume your soul, or you can use it to become stronger and protect the people you care about in the future."

Arya's gaze met mine, and I could see a glimmer of determination mingling with the pain. Hesitating a bit, I then reached out to gently rest my hand on her arm, offering her a comforting touch, even though for a short instant as I didn’t want to lose control of my horse.

"It’s ok. l also feel angry and upset by such things. I personally do. But please, do not let it consume you. I do not know your friend like you did, but I am convinced he would not have wanted you to blame yourself. And I’m also convinced your father wouldn’t want you to drown in those feelings either.", I declared to her.

Arya's eyes held a mixture of emotions as she looked at me, her expression a mix of gratitude and contemplation. "I don't want to forget him," she whispered, her voice tinged with sadness.

"You won't," I assured her softly, my hand still resting gently on her arm. "But you can remember him in a way that doesn't drown you in guilt. Honour his memory by being strong and standing up against injustice not through anger but in honour."

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, and she nodded slowly, as if taking in the weight of my words. She didn't say anything, but her willingness to listen and the way she didn't pull away from my touch spoke volumes. A part of me felt relieved, glad and moved by the fact she was willing to let me in. My logical side was wondering how it was possible as no matter how grateful she was of my intervention, of how I interacted with her or that she had this skill of easily befriending people, it was quick. My compassionate-self forsook those interrogations as they were needless in the moment and the fact that bonds didn’t necessarily needed long periods to thrive. Some did, other didn’t. Focusing on Arya, I decided to do something anyone with a heart would have done.

"If you ever want to talk, Arya, or if there's anything I can do to help, just know that I'm here for you," I added, my tone warm and supportive. "We're on this journey together, and I'll do my best to make sure you shine the best way you can."

Arya offered a small, grateful smile. For a moment I thought I saw her cheeks turn slightly red as well. I felt a sense of relief that my words were resonating with her. As I let go my hand from her arm, I could only hope that our discussion gave her some measure of comfort with what had happened in the recent days to her. I knew the road was still ahead, but little steps were needed to help such a young and marvellous soul to heal of this horrible trauma.

Her smile then disappeared and her eyes expressed a sudden fear and turmoil. I wondered what caused her to react that way. It wasn’t anger and revenge anymore and a part of me was grateful of that, because the last thing I needed was to see Arya falling in one way or another on such a path, especially because revenge was so common in Westeros and so toxic and disastrous for everyone. But I didn’t know how to help her to handle her emotions and anger in such situation without infringing too much to her privacy. Even with my proposition, I wasn’t yet someone that could play the person to confide in, as Jon had been before the departure from Winterfell for both of them and I wasn't her parent either.

As we continued riding northward beyond the Trident, I felt Lady draw closer to Arya's horse. It seemed that she sensed Arya's distress and was offering some form of comfort. I was genuinely moved and glad, for even though Arya wasn’t her companion, she knew she is her mistress’s kin. I wondered how Lady would change as she wouldn’t be in the presence of Sansa for a while. As I thought upon this, I realized Harwin and his men were watching us. I did not know if they were concerned, curious or both of anything else on the discussion I had with Arya or how I interacted with her. I wondered how Harwin was considering me with what he might have heard or seen of my intervention and how I faced Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane. I knew his earlier admonishment was of concern and worry for failing his duty and I hoped the journey would help me to show the true me to both his men and him.

"I won't let them hurt you," Arya suddenly said, her voice tinged with a sense of urgency.

Confused, I glanced at her. "Hurt me? Arya, what are you talking about?"

She let out a heavy sigh, her words carrying a weight of concern. "For defending me, for being with me, you're in danger now. Joffrey and the queen won't let this go. And the Kingslayer and the Hound won’t forget how you challenged them."

I met her gaze squarely.

"Arya, I would have defended you regardless of the consequences. If someone should feel guilty, it's me for taking the risk. But I won't, because you are worth fighting for. That's why I accepted to heed your advice," I said softly, "because I know your father will protect me."

Arya's eyes widened as she listened to my words, her gaze locking onto mine with a mixture of surprise and gratitude. It was clear that my unwavering support and willingness to put myself in harm's way for her had taken her aback. And yet, I felt her worries weren’t assuaged as I could still sense the concern in her eyes. She turned her eyes toward Harwin, the captain of the Stark guardsmen who accompanied us, and the other guards who rode with us. They were all listening to our conversation, their expressions a mix of curiosity and concern.

"They can't know who you are anymore," Arya said, her voice tense. "They can't know or else..."

I pondered her words for a moment, understanding the gravity of the situation. Revealing my identity did make me an easy target for the Lannisters. While I was confident in her family's ability to protect me, there was no need to unnecessarily worsen the situation.

"I understand, Arya," I replied, my voice calm and measured. "It's best if my identity remains hidden, at least until we reach Winterfell."

She seemed to let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, her shoulders relaxing slightly. "Thank you," she said, her voice tinged with gratitude. I felt warm on the inside again. Such a brillaint girl for being so young.

But the tension in the air was still palpable, and Arya seemed to have something else on her mind. She turned her gaze back to Harwin and his men and spoke with a sense of urgency. "Harwin, all of you, promise me that you won't reveal his identity to anyone until we're safely back at Winterfell."

Harwin and his men exchanged glances, understanding the seriousness of the request. Harwin, being a loyal retainer of House Stark, nodded firmly. "You have my word, my lady. We'll keep his identity a secret until we're within Winterfell's walls."

The other guards nodded in agreement, their expressions determined. Arya seemed to visibly relax at their assurance, a hint of relief crossing her features.

Hearing Harwin and his men pledging their word to keep my identity secret during our journey made me feel glad of such concern of Arya, reminding me of what she did for Gendry in the books and show. But it was so strange, not only because of the fact it was now reality and not fiction, that I was the adult and she a child or the fact it was occurring so fast. A part of me was wondering if it wasn’t too Disney-like or too Gary Stu. But I reasoned with myself on the fact that Arya was grateful with me, curious about me as a person and glad that I had heard her when she suggested to seek Eddard’s protection. With the news of Mycah’s death, it was no wonder she would be determined to protect the person that defended her, especially since I was in matter of status on the same level as Mycah or even worse as I wasn’t part of the Seven Kingdom until very recently. Moved by such determination while reminding myself of who Arya was, admiring such dedication for those she loved or respected, I looked at her with reverence and gratefulness.

"Thank you for your concern, Arya. Truly," I said, my voice carrying a warmth of appreciation. "And you are right about the danger I face. Even a bastard would have a better chance than me."

Arya's gaze met mine, a mixture of determination and sincerity in her eyes. "You defended me without hesitation. It's only right that I do the same for you."

She then seemed to ponder my words for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. Then, with a determination that matched her character, she spoke again.

"You need a new name," she stated, her tone resolute.

I nodded in agreement. It was a sensible precaution to take, especially since I had said I would take a new identity. I thought upon something that would both be misleading and yet reminding me a bit of who I was. A possibility came in mind, something I found a bit amusing.

"I've thought about it," I replied, contemplating the idea. "A name that's unassuming yet not entirely out of place in this part of the world."

Arya's anticipation was evident as she waited for my response. After a brief pause, I finally answered, "Roger Bacon. My identity until we reach Winterfell will be Roger Bacon."

Arya's eyes widened with a mix of surprise and amusement at the name I chose. She couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "Roger Bacon? That's a peculiar choice, but I like it. It's definitely unassuming, and it has a certain ring to it. Roger Bacon it is then."

I couldn't help but smile at her reaction. It seemed I had chosen a name that resonated with her. "I'm glad you approve," I said, a hint of satisfaction in my voice.

Arya turned her attention back to Harwin and the guards, her voice filled with authority. "From this moment on, you will address him as Roger Bacon. No one outside this group should know his true identity."

The other guards nodded in agreement. I was glad that this new identity was accepted. A part of me was amused because it was a reference to a scientific figure of English Middle Age while reminding me my second name, my grandfather’s name. A part of me wondered how the true Roger Bacon would react to the fact I used his name as while I intended to mainly play an advisor part, I knew that uncertainty and circumstances might force me to take a more active role. And while I loved having a specific frame in which I evolved and worked, I knew that being prevalent was a good thing and allowed anyone to have a wide frame of perspective and to face more situations than they would if restricted to a certain position. And I knew my mindset was both my weakness and my strength in Westeros as most people were defined by their position and restricted by them, making most of them prisoner of narrow mindsets and of the inability to think out of the box. While not familiar with Roger Bacon’s life, I considered that he would have some issues with the maesters system as in his time universities were developing everywhere in Christendom while Westeros failed for knowledge centres spreading for unknown reasons as Westeros was divided when the Citadel was created.

The guards finished agreeing to the vow, understanding the importance of secrecy. Harwin spoke up, his voice filled with determination. "You have our word, m'lady."

However, my attention was soon diverted as I noticed that my own horse was beginning to behave erratically. Its nervous movements were becoming more pronounced, and I could feel its unease beneath me. I tried to steady the horse, my lack of experience in horse riding making the task a bit challenging. I was aware that sudden movements could startle the animal further, so I attempted to stay as composed as possible and spoke soothingly to the horse in an attempt to calm it down.

Arya's sharp gaze didn't miss my struggle, and she quickly caught on to the situation. "Having some trouble there?" she asked, her voice tinged with a hint of amusement.

I managed a sheepish smile, acknowledging my predicament. "I must admit, I've only ridden a horse twice in my life before this. It seems my skills are a bit rusty."

Arya's expression betrayed her surprise before softening as she empathized with my situation.

"Don't worry. You'll get the hang of it. This journey should give you plenty of practice."

Harwin and his men also observed my attempts to control the horse, their expressions a mix of understanding and patience. The fact that I was trying despite my inexperience seemed to earn their respect.

Arya's next words carried a sincerity that touched me deeply.

"If you need any help, just ask. I've spent a lot of time on horseback, and I can guide you."

"Thank you, Arya," I replied, genuinely grateful for her offer.

Arya's eyes met mine, a mixture of camaraderie and determination reflected in her gaze. Once again, she showed that amazing maturity despite being so young.

Harwin's voice broke the momentary exchange. "We're in this together. We'll make sure you get the hang of it."

The other guards nodded in agreement, their words echoing Harwin's sentiment. One of the guards was however curious, "Don't you have horses back home?"

I looked at him and nodded, thoughts hesitating to give an answer because I was uncertain how the discussion would evolve and I wanted to reveal neutral information's on my home if it was needed or if I wanted. I reflected upon how answer him in a neutral manner, even though I hated the situation. It was the very close thing I would be to lie and while it was easy for me to select information to discuss. But I was feeling playing Dumbledore and that was painful as a thought. I knew it was an unfortunate fact and unless extraordinary circumstances forced me to tell the truth, I couldn’t allow myself to fall in total honesty unless to be taken for a lunatic, a sorcerer or something else that could end with me being stabbed by a religious fanatic in the future.

I finally thought of something and yet felt deeply unsatisfied and disgruntled with myself. But I had to do with the restrictions and hurdles I had. I reminded myself I wasn’t part of a displaced group in the style of “The Rising of the Red Anchor” or “Canucks” where there were numerous proofs of the technologies my world had. A part of me was grateful it wasn’t the case as an Inca empire collapse-like scenario was a possible issue with how fractured the Seven Kingdoms were. Thankfully, I remembered how different parts of the world have various animals trained for transportation.

"We do have horses, but my people do not use them a lot, mainly because we have a diversity of means for transports adapted for each means: donkeys, aurochs, camels or elephants."

More than one of the guards muttered the words "Essos".

Arya, ever perceptive, sensed the tension in the air and changed the subject. "How did you end up in Westeros?"

I met her gaze and while grateful of her question, I considered how much I should reveal. In the end, I decided to take the approach I initially had with Eddard Stark in our first discussion.

"My land is far away from Westeros," I began, my tone reflective, "and I found myself on these shores like a shipwrecked sailor. I don't remember how I arrived here; it's all a bit of a blur. When I came to, I was lost and confused, with no knowledge of this part of the world or its customs. It was a shock, to say the least."

Arya's eyes held a mixture of curiosity and empathy as she listened intently.

"I arrived in the Riverlands about two weeks ago," I continued. "Fortunately, the peasants I encountered were kind enough to accept me, despite my strange attire that confused them. They initially mistook me for a lord or a wealthy merchant. I sought their help and offered my assistance in return. I lived with them, learning from their ways and helping them with various tasks."

I could see the guards listening in, their expressions a mix of intrigue and scepticism.

"For example," I added, "I showed them how to purify water from dirt before boiling it to make it drinkable. It was me and them working together in their everyday life, notably cutting wood for fire and other chores."

Arya's brows raised at my mention of purifying water. I smiled at her curiosity and sensed that a great opportunity to give basic survival skills that would be welcome.

"One day," I continued, "I heard news of the king's arrival in the Riverlands, and I decided to make my way to Darry Castle. With the help of the peasant family I stayed with, I managed to gain entry to the castle and offered my assistance in handling the arrival of the king and his entourage, including your lord's household."

Harwin and the guards were clearly intrigued by my story, though their expressions still held an air of scepticism. It was understandable; my tale must have sounded bizarre and outlandish to them.

"And then," I concluded, "there was that kangaroo trial where you were accused of the most outrageous and biased accusations. But you all know what happened afterward."

Arya's lips quirked into a small smile, a mixture of amusement and gratitude once again in her eyes. Harwin exchanged a glance with his fellow guards, and it was evident that they were processing the information I had shared.

Harwin spoke up, his tone curious, "Your journey is unlike any I've heard before. It's hard to imagine finding oneself in a land so foreign and unfamiliar."

I nodded, understanding his sentiment. "It has been quite the experience, that's for certain. But I am learning to adapt and make the best of the situation."

One of the guards rode up, a hint of confusion in his voice. "Kangaroo trial? I've never heard that expression before. What does it mean?"

I smiled and adjusted my position in the saddle before responding, eager to shed light on the unfamiliar term. "A kangaroo trial refers to a courtroom judgment where the judge jumps to conclusion and will give an unfair decision without considering the evidences, questioning the witnesses or the accused party. It is an unfair and rigged justice because everything has been decided even before considering the facts tied to the crime. And it is called that way because there is an animal called the kangaroo which is known in my homeland to move by jumping."

The guard furrowed his brows, processing the explanation. "I see. An intriguing animal by your depiction. And I can see why you call unfair trials that way."

Harwin chimed in, his tone reflective, "Aye, and we’ve our share of unfair trials when the Mad King was in power."

The other guards nodded in agreement, and the atmosphere grew serious again. I sensed that some of the guards were thinking upon what happened to Arya's grandfather and eldest uncle and all the rumors said about Aerys.

Arya's expression had turned somber. I wondered what she was thinking on, but then she looked over at me, her eyes still having that shine.

Silence settled for a little while as we were riding. It was a welcome respite, even though I appreciated to share a bit of my recent experience of life, even though I knew I couldn’t reveal too much without making things complicated. The landscape around us stretched out in a vast expanse of fields and woods, the sounds of nature and the horses' hooves creating a soothing backdrop.

Amidst the quiet, one of the guards curiously spoke up, breaking the tranquillity.

"I am curious about something."

“Yes?”, I asked.

“Why did you call the Kingslayer Ser Jaime? He is an oathbreaker and he intended to rile you up," the man asked, her brow furrowed in curiosity.

Noticing the inquisitiveness of Arya and guessing it was the same for Harwin and his men, I gave an explanation.

"While I have heard of his reputation, I consider him not solely based for what he did. I do not generally label people, even in regards of my principles. Besides, that would have been playing in his game and as a commoner, I would have lost in one way or another. And finally, showing respect where anger is expected is a powerful strike that can leave your opponent unprepared and stunned.”

The guard nodded, seeming to appreciate the reasoning behind my response. "I suppose there's wisdom in that," he admitted.

Harwin leaned forward in his saddle, his expression thoughtful. I imagined he was pondering my words. I turned my eyes to Arya and noticed she was also thoughtful. Her glance met mine and I sensed curiosity and some reverence. I then heard another guard, "You speak of respect and yet you address Lady Arya without using her proper title. Why?"

While his question reminded me the discussion with Jory, I knew it was a valid one, considering the Westerosi perspective and culture where titles and ranks held significant weight. While I had promised Jory to respect Arya’s position, I also knew that I would adapt to context. In personal discussions, I would speak to Arya without decorum as I knew she wouldn’t like it. But in public or with other people, it wouldn’t be a good idea. I was uncertain which position I should take with the presence of Harwin and his men. The Stark guards looked at me with intrigue and anticipation, clearly interested in my response. Arya observed both me and the guards, her expression curious.

I considered the question for a moment, then replied with a thoughtful smile.

"It's a matter of both respect and context. When I intervened in the hall, I wasn’t certain of her rank, and I was presenting facts and arguments tied to two individuals, regardless of their ranks. There would have been an issue of bias in judgment if I had introduced Prince Joffrey with his title as royals can’t be attacked, but individuals can be. When she came to speak to me after my intervention, I forgot the fact she was of nobility, but she didn't seem troubled or angered by it. Besides, from what I see, she is a unique individual. And I tend to adapt my approach based on behavior and interactions rather than their titles or ranks. I also see her nose crinkle when someone calls her a lady."

The guard listened to my explanation, his expression thoughtful and then amused as he absorbed my words. Harwin and the other guards exchanged glances, a knowing look on their faces. Arya's gaze remained on me, her grey eyes reflecting her understatement and slight embarrassment, but she still let out a laugh.

The guard nodded slowly, seemingly appreciating my response. "I see. It's a different way of thinking, I suppose."

I nodded in agreement. "Indeed, it is. I respect the rules and customs of cultures and people, but the most important thing to me is the genuine connection and understanding I share with others."

Harwin's voice broke the momentary exchange. "Your words hold wisdom, and your willingness to learn and adapt is commendable. As long as you understand your position with our lord and his family, it won't be an issue."

The other guards nodded in agreement, their expressions showing their respect for my perspective. I also knew that Harwin was commenting on the fact I would have to respect decorum, something I had no issue as long it was justified by circumstances and context.

Arya's lips curled into a small smile, her gaze fixed on me with a hint of camaraderie. Her eyes then turned full of curiosity and playfulness and I sensed she had something in her mind. A part of me wondered if she had totally forgot her anger and pain, but I dismissed the thought. No one could forget such strong feelings so quickly. But the fact she was riding back to Winterfell and not going to a place she was not very interested, the fact she seemed to regard me as a new friend, though I couldn’t say for sure, and her concern for my safety were strong reasons for her to focus on. At least, I thanked God that she didn’t see her friends mangled body or that she won’t witness for the incoming future the tragedies she saw in the stories. A part of me scoffed at the thought, wanting to curse myself with such a thought.

"So," she began, her tone casual yet intrigued, "Is that why you kissed Sansa's hand when we were leaving?"

I nodded and offered a warm smile, acknowledging her question. "That is one of the reasons. Your sister is someone who cares about decorum, and so I have to speak to her in the way she wants to be spoken. But I also did it because I thought it would further show I was apologizing for the distress I had caused her. Additionally, back in my land, it's a show of great respect for ladies. I do not know how it's perceived here in Westeros, but I felt it was relevant as I wanted to leave on a better note with her."

Arya's expression shifted from playfulness to curiosity, clearly intrigued by the notion. "Respect, huh? It sounds like a lot of formalities."

I chuckled softly. "Indeed, it can seem that way. But sometimes, it is your passage that can help you to be heard by some people who believed in those formalities."

Harwin and the other guards exchanged glances, processing the cultural differences I was explaining. It was evident that the concept was a bit foreign to them, but they seemed open to understanding.

One of the guards spoke up, a thoughtful expression on his face. "It's interesting to hear about the customs of other lands. We Northerners generally don't care for foreigners, but you are now part of the household and your willingness to adapt shows your flexibility."

I nodded in agreement. "Indeed. I may have my values and my way of thinking, but I know that customs are like a language to learn to be understood and to find its own way."

Arya's gaze held a mixture of amusement and appreciation as she looked at me. "You really are an interesting character, aren't you?"

I grinned in response. "Well, I suppose being a foreigner does make me stand out. But I've learned that embracing different perspectives can enrich our experiences."

As our horses continued to carry us northward, the landscape around us began to change subtly, the rolling hills and fields giving way to denser patches of woods. Silence settled over us once again, and I could sense a playfulness in Arya's eyes as if she had something to share. It wasn't long before she voiced her curiosity.

"Roger" she began with a teasing glint in her eyes, "what if you ever wrong me? Are you going to apologize to me like you did with Sansa?"

I chuckled at her question, the playful undertone evident. "Well, I didn't speak to you like a lady. I wouldn't apologize to you as one. Should I do it, you can punch me."

Arya burst into laughter at my response, her amusement contagious. The guards and even Harwin exchanged bemused looks, clearly enjoying the interaction between Arya and me. It seemed that our camaraderie was creating a light-hearted atmosphere among the group.

Arya wiped away a tear of laughter from her eye before playfully nudging her horse closer to mine. "Deal," she said, her tone still filled with humour. "I'll remember that."

I grinned, genuinely enjoying the easy banter with Arya. "I'll be sure to keep my apologies straightforward, then."

The guards joined in with light laughter, their initial scepticism replaced with amusement. Harwin's hearty laugh was particularly notable, the camaraderie among us growing stronger with each passing moment.

I smiled fondly and with amusement to the scene. It felt so great to be riding with a group of people, while they learned to know me and to trust me. Arya was obviously on this path but there was not guarantee it would have been easier with Harwin and the other guards due to the Northerner distrust for foreigners. Even with my intervention in the hall or my friendly demeanor, it would have not been sufficient on their own to be solid ground for potential trust and bonding. I knew I would interact with all of them anyway, mainly because while Arya was obviously someone I was enjoying to love to interact with beyond the initial fondness, focusing on her would be a bit problematic even with my open-mindedness. I was aware that she had had some rough days and the news of Mycah’s death was still fresh.

But for her, her father and family, I knew nothing was written in advance and that anything was possible. I needed to be as kind as Aang, as analytical as Hercule Poirot and as vigilant as Alastor Moody if I wanted to face the future and the ripples provoked by my presence without falling short like an idiot. It was necessary if I was to survive this place, especially with people blinded by pride and dogmatic traditions that didn’t evolve in thousands of years.

A part of me wasn’t very surprised if the Long Night was coming back as those highborn people were victims of the Pharaoh Syndrome: unable to accept change because it would mean renouncing everything they believed and fearing to lose power in the same occasion and as a result, everyone suffered the greatest disasters because of their imprisoned minds. And deep in my mind, I was beginning to think it was my duty to at least prepare the least blinded of them for the storm that would befell all of us unless to face Armageddon and the rise of an Ice nation. The choice to heed my words would be their decision, but I would hope that I could achieve something to settle step by step something that would mitigate the disasters that occurred in either the later books or, God preserved me of this, the disasters of the late seasons of Game of Thrones.

A.N.:

1. And here we are! The first chapter of the journey to Winterfell. A chapter that explores the aftermath of the confrontation at the departure of Darry Castle and the first true interactions of the SI with his different companions.
2. One of the key points of this chapter is obviously the SI taking a new identity, mainly to preserve his anonymity from potential retaliations from the Lannisters, even if it may sound insufficient due to the escort’s existence. This idea was born from a suggestion of my beta reader and I consider it interesting, partly because I love "playing" different characters.
3. This chapter also allows the SI to present some of his personal views and some details of his arrival in Westeros without revealing too much, but also learning new skills. Most SI either have learned their skills at the start of the story or in the first ones. I thought interesting to explore the learning path approach, because it is one tied to character-driven stories and because it shows that the SI is not perfect and has to adapt. It echoes to the challenges he has to tackle in this place.
4. This chapter like some of the next ones of the journey arc, is a character-driven chapter with a thematic approach : the focus is the interactions of the SI with his companions (Harwin, his men, Arya), how he is developing a bond with them, how he finds his place and how he learns to "settle" through learning things in one field or another. It is not plot-driven part, mainly because the SI has no specific reason to reveal anything to others. Consider these chapters (and others in the future) in the same approach as those concerning Arya in the books : they are on her character journey and are not necessarily tied to the main plot, especially once she joined Braavos. Of course, the SI would play (directly and indirectly) a role in the events, bu he won't necessary be the main driving force, outside of the ripples he initially created and of any knowledge and advises he gave to other characters, not to mention how interacting with other characters both affect him and them.
5. As a result, the interactions are the core of those chapters, mainly because it reflects how the SI is. Something I have often noticed in reading SI stories (that doesn't mean it is the norm) is the fact that those characters are plot-driven characters with features that could make them look like some version of Varys/Petyr Baelish/Tywin/Tyrion/Roose Bolton (when they are not literally those characters) even when they display positive features and values. It is not a flaw of course, only an observation of something that is a consequence of the initial premise and is defined by the fact most of SI are reincarnated characters. The SI here, because of his nature, does not have this "luxury": while he has knowledge and skills to use and wants to make a difference, has also "emotional" qualities that can find themselves in conflict wit the context and the norms of Westeros. And it is this contrast, but also the contrast between the analytical part of the SI and his emotional/empathetic part that bring some of the conflicts and dilemmas he has to face. His inward pledge at the end of the chapter reflects how he regards himself and how he perceives the situation.
6. Announcement : while I'll do my best to avoid as much as possible redundancy, the way the journey is built up will partly reflect the fact it is the very first time that the SI travelled through Westeros on horse (but that could have worked on foot), meaning that he is experiencing the shift in space-time references and landmarks in a journey when compared to his (our) world. Of course, once this journey is done, the future ones won't have as much chapters as this one.
7. Teaser: the next chapter will see a campfire for the night and a necessary first training for the SI...
8. Have (hopefully) a good reading !

Chapter Text

As dusk gradually settled, we finally came to a halt for the night. I must admit, the day's ride on the horse had left me feeling incredibly uncomfortable – a stark contrast to my usual walking habits. Every jolt and sway of the horse seemed to reverberate through my body, reminding me that I was truly out of my element. I was still learning how to handle the horse riding on a long distance and having only that or talking to do in a day was something that was complicated to handle for me as I loved being occupied. Oddly enough, a mixture of exhaustion and boredom had taken hold of me throughout the journey. The inactivity, the monotony, it all seemed to clash within my restless spirit. That allowed me to find some peace, even though I struggled still to find a new balance in that matter.

Yet, even though I was yearning for more activity, I couldn't deny the apprehension that crept in. This marked my first night sleeping outdoors, far from the cosy confines of an inn, from the rooms of Darry Castle or even the bed the peasants gave me when they hosted me. A part of me wondered if our group would have the opportunity to stop in an inn during this journey as I didn’t know how it was distributed in the Seven Kingdoms as a whole and in the Riverlands in particular as no specific mentions were made in the books I had read or the show.

The vulnerability of our situation became starkly apparent. With no inn in sight and the immediate surroundings unfamiliar, I realized we were at the mercy of any potential ambush. I thought on the possibility of Cersei making a bold and foolish move, especially if Jaime told her my last message. A part of me wondered if it was a good idea to defy in such a way the Lannister lioness, but the fact she sent her brother to intimidate me and possibility beat the hell out of me, not to mention Sandor, had been enough to make her taste her own medicine, even if it wasn't the smartest move.

My logical mind was considering the thought and wondering if I should inform Harwin and his men. I hesitated, because while the Lannisters were distrusted with fair reasons, the idea that the queen would backstab anyone behind the backs of her husband and of the Hand might not be believed, not to mention the fact I was still a foreigner. Then again, who would suspect she was having an affair with her own twin brother which lead to poor Bran being pushed off a tower? Even if Arya trusted me, my interactions with Harwin and his men were still in development and a foreigner claiming to know more than he should could be tricky in certain circumstances. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t try to prepare for the worst in any manner, but I had to be smart and thoughtful. I was not Thompson and Thomson from Tintin for God’s sake! If I was as direct as the two detective friends of the Belgian reporter, I could directly take a ticket for the septs, the Citadel, the Wall or any place away from lunacy and needless paranoia or to be killed as any misstep could lead to a brutal fall.

Attempting to end those thoughts, I took a look at my companions, my eyes stopping for a moment on Arya as she was with Lady. The time spent with her in riding was pleasant as she decided to help me with my unease and discomfort in this field. Harwin and some of his men also gave me tips in this endeavour and their contribution allowed me to slowly earn their trust beyond what they had heard from Eddard Stark or Arya and what occurred with Jaime Lannister and Sandor Clegane. It was strange to interact with them with a fake name, even though it was to protect me. I was reminding myself that I was Marc as Arya reminded herself who she was many times in the show. But a part of me was glad of the name I had chosen as it was my choice and a part of me wondered if I shouldn’t use it as my new identity. After all, I was nobody and there was an ocean of possibilities for me in spite of the harshness of this world.

My interactions with my companions during those first hours of journey allowed me to start a healthy bond with all of them. As a result, I managed to know all their names, but also experienced the contrast in culture and life style between us, even though the two first weeks since I had arrived in Westeros softened the gap. Not to mention using my knowledge in clever ways and my diplomatic and friendly manner to interact with my companions. I tried not to fall in my tendency to speak too much, partly because no matter my knowledge, I needed to know them as people and to understand them, but also because I was thinking upon how to depict to them, stories from home without falling in unbelievable claims from their perspectives, not to mention that I wanted to keep secret my peculiar status as what could technically be an alien. I didn’t feel ready to speak much of my home-world, even in a subtle and indirect way.

A part of me lingered on revealing it to Arya, but I decided to wait as no matter her curiosity and her adventurous mind, I was uncertain as to how she would be able to suspend her disbelief to some of the claims. And I was also thinking of the fact that revealing such truths to her would easily influence her if she believed them and could bring me in conflicting position with her family. Inside my mind, I was already imagining Catelyn Stark chasing me down because I would be corrupting her little daughter and swaying her away from her rank of Lady of the Stark House. But it was also the fact that I was aware that regardless of my boldness and of my skills, my position in Westeros was the lowest. Even a whore or a bastard would have a better position than mine. A part of me told me I was very harsh on myself, but it was a fact I couldn’t lie about.

Stopping to observe my companions, I glanced at Harwin who was giving his commands to his men. I thought on the opportunity to speak with him about the night watch organization.

As I approached him, I took in the scene around us. The camp was beginning to be set up as some of the guards were settling tents in a semi-circle. One of the guards, Jonric, was preparing fire while Errac was checking the supplies. Two others were tending to our horses. The atmosphere was filled with a sense of camaraderie and the underlying tension of being in unfamiliar territory. The other were either looking for woods for the fire, inspecting their weapons or observing the surroundings for any signs of danger.

As I arrived nearby Harwin, his gaze shifted from his men to me. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, bore into mine, giving away a hint of curiosity tinged with caution.

I approached him with a calm and inquisitive expression. He noticed me and turned his eyes on me.

“Ah, Roger. What do you want?”

"If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss how you will organize the night watch tonight. I would hope to contribute in any way I can," I began, my voice carrying a tone of concern, but also cautiousness, as I didn’t want to interfere too much in the matter without his approval.

Harwin looked at me for a moment, his eyes assessing my sincerity. After a brief pause, he nodded and gestured for me to walk with him to a quieter spot away from the rest of the group.

"I appreciate your willingness to contribute, Roger," he said, his voice carrying a note of gratitude and of intrigue.

As I followed him to the quieter spot, he paused for a moment, probably thinking upon what to say.

"I was considering dividing our group into shifts for the night watch. I'll personally take the first shift. We'll position ourselves in a semi-circle around the camp, keeping both a watchful eye and a clear line of sight.", he finally revealed.

I nodded in approval, appreciating his proactive approach. "This is a solid plan. Having experienced individuals on each shift should ensure that we're prepared for any surprises."

Harwin smiled appreciatively to my answer before asking with an intrigued and serious voice, "How do you think you can help? You don't look like someone having experience."

I thought upon his words before answering.

"You are right, I am no warrior. But let's just say I am very analytical. And the only thing I would suggest from your idea is that each shift has two men, each of them observing a certain part of the camp and of the surroundings. That way, we might restrict any unsavory surprises."

After an afterthought, I added. "We should also consider relying on Lady. While she is young, I think her keen senses can provide us an early warning if there's any sign of danger."

Harwin considered my suggestions, his brows furrowing in thought. "You make a valid point," he replied. "Having two men observing each part of the camp would certainly improve our vigilance. And involving Lady may provide an extra layer of security, since her scent could give us an edge in detecting potential threats."

He paused for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Let's implement your suggestions, Roger," Harwin decided. "I'll assign the shifts and pairs accordingly."

I nodded. "That is fine with me. Thank you for listening my suggestions. I just hope I didn’t infringe on your duties and tasks.”

Harwin shook his head, a reassuring smile on his face. "Not at all, Roger. You admitted not to have experience and your suggestions are practical and common sense.”

I sighed in relief. The last thing I needed was to sound infringing and blindly self-righteous to believe to I best on deciding how to handle issues when I was interacting with people who had experience in their field, no matter the cultural and perspective contrast.

“I think we should join our companions,” I said.

Harwin nodded and we moved back to the campfire. The fire was now lit and its flame was growing bright. One of the guards was preparing a kettle for a meal. The tents were almost settled while the other guards were busy in checking the areas, the horses, their weapons or bringing back wood. I looked with reverence and curiosity the activity. I never did campfire and witnessing one, especially one that would be close to medieval ones was a peculiar and opening-eye experience. I wondered if one was looking for water for the meal and of the possibility that would give me to show them the little technique I taught to the peasants who had hosted me. I saw Harwin moving towards one of his men watching the surroundings. Hearing rustlings, I turned around and saw Arya approaching me.

“Roger, what were you talking with Harwin?”, she asked with curiosity.

“I was discussing with him about the organization of night watches.”

Arya's eyes sparkled with curiosity, but she didn't press further.

"Sounds important. I trust you both have come up with a good plan," she said, her eyes moving to check around the camp.

I nodded, relieved that she didn't inquire further.

"Yes, we've divided the shifts and assigned pairs to keep watch over different sections of the camp. It should help us stay alert and prepared."

Arya nodded, her gaze determined. "That sounds good. Harwin and the guards will protect us.”, she said with conviction.

I nodded with a warm smile, my gaze meeting Arya's determined eyes. "I know they will.”

I just turn a bit more serious, though my tone was kind, “Just remember, should any danger occur, your safety is paramount, even if it means staying away from the fight or even fleeing it," I assured her, my voice gentle yet firm.

Arya's brows furrowed, her expression a mix of determination and frustration.

"But I don't want to leave anyone behind. They are loyal to my family. I want to fight alongside them," she retorted, her words reflecting that fierce loyalty and sense of justice that ran in the Stark family.

I took a step closer to Arya, kneeling down to be at her eye level.

"I understand your desire, Arya. But those men are prepared and ready for this possibility. And I am no warrior. I have no training that would enable me to protect you and myself in a fight. And I am sure your father wouldn't want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger. There is a time for bravery and there is a time for survival," I explained, my voice filled with empathy and concern. I then reached out and patted her head.

Arya's gaze softened, and she nodded, her fiery spirit momentarily subdued. Once again, her checks turned a shade of red. But then her determination came back in force.

"But I have Needle. I can fight with it. It's important to me," she stated.

While knowing well of what she was speaking, I wisely decided to play ignorant, “Needle? I hope you don’t expect to knit your enemies to death.”

Arya's eyes widened in surprise for a moment, clearly not expecting my playful response. She blinked, then let out a small, genuine laugh.

"No, not quite, Roger," she replied with a playful glint in her eyes. "Needle is a sword, a special one. My brother Jon had it made for me before he left for the Wall. It's small, but it's sharp, and it's mine."

As she spoke, she carefully unsheathed Needle from her belongings, holding it up for me to see. The blade glimmered in the firelight, and even in its small size, it exuded a sense of purpose and determination.

I couldn't help but smile at her attachment to the weapon and her willingness to prove herself.

"It's a fine blade," I acknowledged, nodding in approval. “But do you know how to use it?"

Arya's face brightened, and she proudly replied, "Stick them with the pointy end."

Chuckling softly and a bit fondly, remembering that it was the words Jon had told her, I nodded.

"Well, that's a good start. However, even though I am no fighter, I also know that being mobile and anticipating your opponent's movements is crucial. Your opponents won't be frozen dummies," I explained, trying to impart some practical advice.

For a moment, as I continued to look at Needle, my mind remembered her using the sword to kill that murderous bastard, Polliver. I rubbed my eyes quickly, dispelling the image. Now was not the time for dark memories of that sword.

Thankfully, Arya was listening intently, absorbing my words and did not notice my moment of brief discomfort. Her eyes narrowed, and she nodded in understanding. "I get it. I'll remember that," she replied, determination once again gleaming in her adorable eyes.

I nodded approvingly. "Good. Though you need to find a way or for someone to show you how to be mobile and to anticipate the moves of your opponent."

Arya's eyes glinted with a mixture of resolve and curiosity. "I should ask Harwin to give me tips until we reach Winterfell. He's a good fighter, and he knows a lot about this kind of stuff," she suggested, her mind already working out a plan.

I smiled at her proactive approach. "That's a great idea. Harwin's experience will undoubtedly be valuable to you. And I doubt he can refuse you as you are the one with the higher status and rank here."

Arya grinned, appreciating the support and advice. "You're right, I'll talk to Harwin about it. Thanks for the encouragement. I want to be the best fighter I can be."

I nodded, pleased with her determination and eagerness to learn. I was also glad to have found the best words to explain to her how to exploit an opportunity without riling her up by calling her a lady. Even though that could be fun to some extent, I preferred to share fun with her and not at her.

"You've got the spirit, Arya. Keep that fire in you, and I have no doubt you'll become a formidable warrior maiden in no time."

Arya's grin widened, her eyes again shining with excitement. "Thank you."

Her expression shifted, her brows furrowing with curiosity. "What about you? You said you're not a fighter."

I paused for a moment, contemplating Arya's question. Her genuine concern touched me, reminding me one again the remarkable person she was even at a young age, and the responsibility we seemed to have developed for each other. A part of me was amused, because while it was normal that an adult should be responsible for a child, the reverse was kind of unconventional and generally not ideal. But I knew that my young friend, while still very young and unexperienced with most of the dark shades of the world, had a sharp mind and great potential to shine. And a part of me wanted to help her become the Winter Rose she should have been, if it had not been for the awful experiences she lived in the books and in the show.

"Well, I intend to train myself to be able to defend myself and those I care for," I answered her with a thoughtful nod while revealing my hammer.

Seeing my hammer's head gleaming in the dim light, Arya's eyes widened as they landed on the weapon. She seemed to be studying it intently before her gaze shifted to my face, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. I noticed her watching my hands, particularly how I retrieved the hammer from my clothes.

"You're left-handed," she observed, her tone a mixture of surprise and curiosity.

I chuckled softly at her keen observation. "Yes, I am," I confirmed, a touch of amusement in my voice. Her attention to details was impressive, just like her father.

Arya's eyes flickered between the hammer and my face, her interest unmistakable. "Why did you choose a hammer? Most people here use swords or other kinds of weapons," she asked, her curiosity getting the best of her.

I smiled, appreciating her inquisitiveness.

"You're right. Swords are the more common choice. But I chose the hammer for a couple of reasons. Firstly, I sometimes used a big hammer to help split wood with my father when I visited him. It's not the same as fighting, of course, but it gave me some familiarity with the weapon. And secondly, well, while I am no fighter and dislike violence, I thought if I ever had to use a weapon, I would perhaps be more the knocking guy around than the stabbing one," I explained, trying to convey my reasoning.

Arya's lips curled into a grin, and she looked at the weapon with newfound appreciation. "Knocking the guy around, huh? I like that," she said with a chuckle, her eyes meeting mine.

I laughed along with her, glad that she found my reasoning amusing. "Well, I'm glad you do. It's a bit unconventional, I admit, but it suits me," I replied, my smile genuine.

Arya's grin lingered as she regarded me with an impish gleam in her eyes. "I can see it suiting you. You're different from most people I've met," she remarked, her tone light but genuine.

I raised an eyebrow playfully, teasingly echoing her words from our earlier conversations.

"Oh, is that a good different or a bad different?" I asked, a mock-serious expression on my face.

Arya's eyes sparkled with mischief as she retorted, "Definitely a good different. You actually have a brain inside that head of yours."

I chuckled heartily at her playful banter. "Well, I'm flattered that my brain is getting some recognition," I replied, a playful twinkle in my eyes.

Arya's smile softened, and she looked at me with a warm feeling coming from her.

"You know, Roger, you're not like the others. You're straightforward, you defend what's right, and you treat me like a person, not just a little girl. That's rare around here," she admitted, her tone sincere.

I met her gaze with a nod, touched by her words.

"Thank you, Arya. I appreciate that. And you know, it's easy to treat you like a person because you are one. Your age doesn't define your worth or your capabilities," I replied, my voice earnest.

Arya smiled, genuinely pleased by my response. I thought back on some of the skills and activities I was doing back home before my arrival in Westeros. When it came to combat, my mind went back to the aikido lessons I had done. Some would laugh and make jokes about Steven Segal and fake martial arts when it came to Aikido. However, I was not about to reach out and do a technique that the internet would call "bullshido". This was about one's inner balance and predicting what an opponent would do.

“You know what? Maybe I can give you some tips about training yourself to anticipate your opponent’s moves.”

Again, her eyes lit up with excitement, this time at the prospect of receiving training tips. She nodded eagerly, her curiosity piqued.

"Really? That would be amazing, Roger! I'd love to learn from you," she exclaimed, her voice filled with enthusiasm.

I smiled at her eagerness. "I'd be happy to help, Arya. However, that won't be now.”

My answer puzzled Arya whose glance turned from enthusiastic to confused and disappointed.

“But why?”, she asked confused.

“Well, beginning in the middle of the journey to your home doesn’t feel right and I intend to take inspiration from some of those moves for my own training and to remember them. And while I do want you to share these tips with you, I prefer to wait to be in Winterfell. First, we need to be in place where we will be at ease and second to avoid to face your brother and mother’s wrath because I gave you training without their consent, not to mention that this activity could be seen improper for you. If I present those lessons as something that could give you self-defense skills without weapons, it might convince your family”, I explained to her.

Arya's confusion turned into understanding as she listened to my explanation. She nodded slowly, realizing the wisdom behind my words.

"I see your point. It makes sense to wait and get permission. I don't want to cause any trouble, and I understand that it might be seen as improper, especially for a "lady' " she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

I reached out and gently placed a hand on her shoulder, offering reassurance. "I know you're eager to learn, Arya, and I promise we'll find the right opportunity to train together," I assured her, my voice filled with sincerity.

Arya's disappointment faded, replaced by a renewed sense of determination.

"You're right."

We heard rustling nearby us. As I turned my gaze, I saw Lady approaching us. I got on my knees towards the direwolf and extended a tentative hand towards her, as I wanted to see if I had her trust and to see if our first interaction in Darry Castle was not a whim. Arya watched with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation as Lady's nose twitched, her eyes fixed on my hand.

To my relief and a twinge of fanboy joy, her response was positive like the previous time in Darry Castle. She approached my outstretched hand and sniffed it, her demeanor calm and curious. Slowly, I reached out and gently scratched behind her ear, earning a contented rumble from the direwolf.

Arya's smile widened as she watched the interaction between me and Lady. She once again become inquisitive.

"Roger, if you want to train during our journey, would you ask Harwin or one of his men to train you? You said you need to learn to defend yourself, right?" Arya inquired, her concern showing in her tone.

I nodded in agreement, appreciating her suggestion. "Yes, you're right. Better take advantage of getting a veteran fighter help if I want to know how to fight and to defend myself," I replied, acknowledging her insight.

Arya's expression brightened, her enthusiasm apparent. "I think you can learn well. You've got a good head on your shoulders. With some training, you might surprise yourself," she stated, her voice filled with encouragement.

I smiled at her words, touched by her confidence in me. It helped that she was so adorable!

"Thank you, Arya. I appreciate your faith in me. And you know, having someone as spirited like you as a friend is already a source of inspiration," I replied, my voice sincere.

Arya's cheeks tinged with a hint of color, but her gaze remained steady as it met mine. "Likewise, Roger. We've got each other's backs," she said with conviction.

I acquiesced, appreciating her words. “We sure are. One for all and all for one!”

Inwardly, I was amused to make this reference to one of the most famous quotes from the well-famed Three Musketeers. It was a reminder of home and I felt it worked in this place, at least for the circumstance. For the so-called players, the motto would rather be “One for all, every man for himself!” like in “La Folie des Grandeurs” movie.

As we shared this understanding, a new presence joined our conversation. Wyl, one of the Stark guards, approached us with curiosity in his eyes. His gaze shifted between Arya, Lady, and me before finally settling on the hammer hanging from my belt.

"That's a curious choice o' weapon ye've got there," Wyl remarked, his tone light but intrigued. I smiled at him, appreciating his curiosity.

"Yes, I acquired it in Darry Castle. Thought it might come in handy for protection," I replied, my tone casual.

Wyl's brows arched, and a hint of amusement played at the corners of his lips. "Aye, I see. 'Tis better t' have somethin' than nothin', 'specially when ye travel."

Before I could respond, Wyl's curiosity got the better of him, and he leaned in a bit closer.

"So, Roger, dost thou know how t' wield that thing?" he asked, his eyes flickering with genuine interest.

I chuckled, shaking my head slightly. "I'm a complete green boy when it comes to fighting of any sort. I've had no training in wielding weapons.”

Wyl furrowed his eyes with intrigue, "So thou hast ne'er wielded a blade afore?"

I shook my head while sheepishly grinning.

“Never. I have some skills in self-defense moves I have learnt through a martial art of my homeland called aikido, but I had never used them. But I hope to learn to use my hammer along the road during this journey to Winterfell."

While his eyes were still intrigued and serious, Wyl's amusement was evident as he chuckled in response. "Well, I appreciate thy honesty. 'Tis a breath o' fresh air when compared t' those who claim mastery after a mere few swings."

I joined in his chuckle, nodding in agreement.

"I believe in being honest about my limitations. But I'm also eager to learn, if you or someone else would be willing to teach me the basics."

Wyl's expression turned thoughtful, and he regarded me with a contemplative look.

"Ye ken, I'm nae a master at arms, but I've got a fair share o' experience wi' a sword. If thou art willin' t' put in the effort, I could surely aid thee wi' the basics."

My smile broadened at his offer. "I'd appreciate that, Wyl. Thank you for being willing to help. Can we start tonight before we eat anything, at least with a basic lesson?"

Wyl nodded, his eyes gleaming with a sense of camaraderie. "Of course, Roger. We can commence forthwith. I'll show thee some fundamental techniques and stances t' get thee started. But mind ye, 'twill nae transform thee int' a warrior overnight."

I acquiesced to his words. While a part of me yearned to be able to defend on my own, I knew it wouldn’t come overnight, unless I was possessing magic, superpowers, divine gifts or even Gary Stu abilities. But I was neither Superman, nor Bran or Rey Palwalker, only a normal Frenchman in one of the most brutal places in any universes. I couldn’t even pretend to reach the level of a Batman or a Black Widow as I didn’t have years of training in my body. I surely wasn’t Allan Curran, the OC insert from “A Crazy Journey Through Fiction”, even when I was literally bonding and interacting with the character that looked so much alike Lyanna. Hopefully, Arya wouldn’t lose an arm and I wouldn’t have to face a paranoid family afraid of a commoner seducing their kin and Bloodraven wasn’t for the time being determined to backstab me in any manner, though with this dragon greenseer, I had to be cautious in spite of our truce.

I relegated my thoughts in my mind as Arya stepped forward with a grin as she had been observing my interaction with Wyl with interest.

Arya's eyes sparkled as she looked between Wyl and me. "I'm looking forward to seeing how you handle that hammer, Roger. It's going to be interesting!"

I grinned, playfully rolling my eyes. "Oh, I'm sure it will be quite the sight."

Lady, who had been standing nearby, seemed to sense the liveliness of our conversation and wagged her tail, adding a playful energy to the moment.

Wyl chuckled before saying, "Let us seek a spot where I can demonstrate basic moves and stances."

I nodded and followed him to a relatively quiet spot nearby the settled camp. A part of me was eager to learn, because I knew that any weapon would be my shield in this world. A part of me was however had mixed feelings. I disliked violence but I was aware that fighting back was like a necessity to use as a last resort or when any alternatives couldn’t be used. I prayed that the temptation to kill outside unavoidable situations in this world wouldn’t occur as I knew that in the depths of my mind, picturing punishing bad people in a way that would make Faceless Arya proud, was something that easily came to mind. I thanked myself and God that it was only fantasies resulting from anger and of the sense of injustice from reading the books and watching the show. I winced while thinking it, reminding that it was a bit how Arya came on the path of faceless in the books and show.

As we prepared for the lesson, some of the guards who were not on the first night watch curiously watched as we positioned ourselves for the training session. Lady remained nearby, a calm and watchful presence that seemed to offer an unspoken reassurance.

Wyl began by demonstrating some basic stances and movements.

"Alright, Roger, let's commence wi' thy stance. Keep thy feet at shoulder's width, knees slightly bent, and thy body turned a tad to the side. This stance grants thee balance and nimbleness."

I mimicked his stance, feeling a bit awkward but determined to get it right. Wyl patiently corrected my posture, helping me adjust until I felt more comfortable. Then he moved on to the basics of hand positions and how to hold my hammer defensively.

As we started practicing some basic movements, I could feel the stares of some of the guards watching us. I was however focused on trying to get the movements right. Arya stood to the side, observing with interest and occasionally offering a playful comment.

I continued to practice under Wyl's guidance, gradually getting a better grasp of the hammer's weight and the movements required. It was a new experience for me, wielding a weapon, but I was determined to learn and improve.

Arya couldn't contain her excitement and playfulness. "Watch out, everyone! Roger is going to be the Hammer of the North!" she exclaimed, earning a few chuckles from the onlooking guards.

Embarrassed but amused, I grinned as I looked in Arya's direction, careful to maintain control. "I'll do my best, Arya. Just don't stand too close!" I replied in a lighthearted tone.

Wyl, ever patient and encouraging, offered tips and corrections as I practiced different strikes and defensive maneuvers. Lady was silently observing me, crouched on the ground.

The training session continued for a while, with the guards eventually dispersing to their respective duties. Over the course of the training session, I stumbled a few times, my lack of experience evident. However, I was determined to learn and improve. Wyl's guidance and Arya's encouragement motivated me to keep going, and I began to feel a bit more confident with each attempt.

As dusk was fading, the training session came to an end, Wyl stepped back and wiped his brow.

"You're doing well for a beginner. It's clear that you're eager to learn, and that's half the battle."

Arya chimed in with a playful grin. "Yeah, not bad for a knocking guy."

I laughed, nodding in agreement. "Thank you both. I know I have a long way to go, but I shall improve."

I felt exhausted and my muscle being tight. And yet, it was as exhilarating as when I was working with the peasants or helping the staff of Darry Castle. Not the mind exhaustion I felt when writing on a computer or surveying data on screen. And once again, I felt blessed to be free of Internet and screens, even if I would lie to claim I didn’t miss writing as swift as a lighting stories and reflections or that I would need to learn how to write with a quill.

I carefully stored my hammer among my belongings, feeling a sense of accomplishment despite the stumbling and awkward moments during the training. Just as I was settling in, Harwin approached with a friendly smile, clearly having observed at least a portion of our training.

"Looks like you're putting in the effort," he commented, his tone a mix of approval and curiosity.

I nodded, a proud smile gracing my lips. "Definitely. It's challenging, but I'm determined to improve."

Harwin nodded, “Good. If you want to defend yourself fairly, you need to pursue your endeavor in the training.”

I acquiesced to the wisdom of his words. I observed his men and noticed that while some were still on duty, others were beginning to gather around the fire.

“How long do we have before to eat?”, I asked.

Harwin glanced toward the setting sun, gauging the time. "We have a little while longer before supper," he replied. "The men on duty will be relieved soon, and then we can all gather for a meal."

As if on cue, one of the guards approached, signaling the end of his shift. Harwin nodded to him, acknowledging his presence. "You're relieved, Errac. Take a moment to rest, and then join us for supper."

Errac offered a weary smile and a nod of gratitude before making his way toward the campfire, likely eager to partake in a warm meal and some well-deserved rest.

Harwin turned his attention back to me. "Would you like to freshen up before supper? There's a stream not far from here where you can wash and gather some water."

I nodded appreciatively, realizing that some water on my face and hands would be refreshing after the training session. "That sounds great. Lead the way, Harwin."

He gestured for me to follow him, and we made our way through the camp, past the bustling activity of the guards preparing for the evening meal.

The stream was a short walk away, its gentle babbling providing a soothing backdrop to the surrounding wilderness. Harwin showed me a secluded spot where I could wash up and refill my water flask.

As I knelt by the stream, splashing cool water on my face and feeling its rejuvenating touch, I couldn't help but appreciate the simplicity and natural beauty of this world. The absence of modern technology and the immersion in nature brought a sense of grounding and tranquility. I took a moment to enjoy the silence, the calmness and the fresh air of the evening. I let the exhaustion flowing through me. A part of me regretted not being able to wash myself. I looked at the stream, wondering for a short moment if refreshing my face and body could be a good idea. While my comfy side was tempted, my logical part was very vigilant and cautious as I knew that the water wasn’t necessarily healthy enough for a little wash. In spite of this longing for some comfort, I was glad of this evening and even of this journey start. The bonds I was developing with Arya, Harwin and his men were good and pleasant and attenuated the longing for the people I loved to interact back home. My logical self was accepting this absence, reminding myself that relations were like shared travels: they went and they passed. But I dearly hoped that in spite of the nature of Westeros and of the incoming events, there would be some light and joy to find there.

A.N. :

1. And a new chapter for your eyes only ! Another stage in the journey to Winterfell with both interactions and new skills learnt for the SI and of course how he perceives his situation and the contrasts he is experiencing.
2. Thanks to the help and advices of the Beta reader, I included a depiction of the settlement of a night camp as it could have been done in Middle Ages and in Westeros.
3. You have noticed names that didn't exist in the books outside of Arya, Harwin and Wyl. Those are OC tied to some of the guards accompanying lord Stark to King's Landing as they were many nameless ones outside of Harwin, Alyn, Wyl and the other ones killed in the ambush by Jaime Lannister near Chataya's brothel in the books (and show). It was thus a necessity to create names in that matter. However, while there will be other OCs when it is necessary, many names and apparitions will be tied to characters appearing in the books, the show or in other media tied to the canon of both. You may guess when they would appear...
4. Originally, this chapter would have presented a bit more (the depiction of purifying water, the fork...), but it would have been too much for one chapter and I tend to have a "theatrical" approach to a chapter or to be more specific, a chapter is like a little story in its own and yet tied to a bigger picture (while also making them consistent and hopefully well-fleshed out). But fortunately, those little details tied to the SI's specificites as a modern man from Earth will be tackled in other chapters in one way or another while settling them in a consistent way as it is not the same thing to "introduce" for the first time something that other characters would discover and to introduce it when those characters are now more familiar (which can bring the challenge of consistency and of introducing in a "meaningful" manner those elements).
5. Teaser : the next chapter is an "interlude" depicting a merman discussion around a wolf's raven...
6. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

As I sat in my solar, the weight of Lord Eddard Stark's message pressed upon me like a leaden cloak. The ornate letter, sealed with the Direwolf sigil, had arrived earlier in the morning, and now its words beckoned me into a world of treachery and intrigue. I glanced once more at the parchment, re-reading the words that carried both urgency and concern. I knew each part of the message ever since Maester Theomore had delivered me it when announcing a raven’s arrival.

"To Lord Wyman Manderly, Lord of White Harbor,

My esteemed friend,

May this message find you in good health and spirits. It is with a heavy heart and a sense of urgency that I write to you, seeking your counsel and assistance in these uncertain times."

The words of Ned Stark, a man I held in the highest regard, resonated deeply within me. He was a true friend of House Manderly, and his appeal for aid bore a concern that I could not be ignore.

"When the king’s cortege stopped at Darry Castle, there was an incident that forced me to send my youngest daughter back to Winterfell for her safety and to appease the Crown. She is accompanied by a strong escort, but I am still concerned for her safety. The incident has angered the Queen and the eldest Prince, and I worry about foul play."

I pondered the implications of this incident at Darry Castle. Troubling times indeed, when even the royal court was fraught with danger and intrigue. I wondered what could have made the Queen and Prince Joffrey angry? Then again, the queen being a Lannister, I could think of many things she might have taken for a slight.

"During this stop, a jurat also came to see me, giving me information that left me wary of what awaits me at King’s Landing. His report made me aware my position as Hand of the King might not be strong enough to face the lies and deceits of the city should the events go awry."

Questions swirled through my mind. What had this jurat revealed? What lurking dangers awaited Ned Stark in the shadowed alleys of the Red Keep? I knew not, but I could not stand idle while my liege lord faced such peril. Starks didn’t do well in the South, they said, and it seemed my friend was aware of this possibility.

"You are the only one I can reach out to in a short time, to support my household and to ensure the protection of my family against the dangers of the Red Keep. I also humbly ask that you send a ship to King's Landing with trusted individuals whom you shall appoint. We need a reliable means of communication and transportation in these uncertain times."

Ned's request was clear, and his trust in House Manderly was a bond I would honor with unwavering loyalty. I knew I had to act swiftly, for the safety of my friend and his family hung in the balance.

With a heavy sigh, I folded the letter and placed it carefully on my desk, the parchment bearing the weight of a heavy decision. My mind raced with thoughts and strategies as I anticipated the arrival of my sons, Wylis and Wendel. The fate of House Stark and the North itself rested upon our shoulders, and I knew that time was of the essence.

As I began to formulate plans, there came a series of polite knocks at the door of my solar. I straightened my posture and called out, "Enter."

The entry slowly creaked open, and Maester Theomore, a portly man with a rosy-cheeked countenance, entered the room. He had a head of golden curls that seemed at odds with his rotund appearance. His reputation as "all head and no heart" was well-known, but I trusted his intellect and discretion. However, with this message, I might have to be cautious as I remembered his potential ties with the Westerlands.

"Lord Manderly," he began with a respectful nod, "Your sons have arrived, as you requested."

I nodded in acknowledgment and gestured for the Maester to continue. "Very well, Theomore. Please, show them in."

As Maester Theomore stepped aside, my two sons, Wylis and Wendel, entered the room. They were both large men, like me, though each bore his own distinct features. Wylis, the elder of the two, was bald with a bushy thick mustache that obscured his mouth. He carried an air of formality about him, and his clothes, like mine, showed signs of the ample feasts we enjoyed.

Wendel, the younger, had a an equally large mustache of his own, but unlike his brother, he was loud and boisterous, with a booming voice that filled the room. His clothes were also stained with the remnants of his voracious appetite.

I greeted them with a nod and a warm, albeit weary smile. "Thank you for joining me, my sons. Please, take a seat."

They exchanged glances, clearly curious about the reason for this summons. Wylis, ever the more formal of the two, finally spoke up.

"Father, what brings us here today? Your message carried an air of urgency."

In response, I reached for the folded letter on my desk and presented it to them. "Read this, my sons. It is a message from our dear friend, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. I'm afraid it bears grave tidings."

Wylis and Wendel exchanged the letter, each taking turns to read its contents. Their expressions shifted from curiosity to concern as they absorbed the words of our friend and liege lord.

Wylis was the first to break the silence, his voice tinged with worry. "This is troubling indeed, Father. The safety of Lord Stark's daughter and the implications of this incident at Darry Castle weigh heavily upon him."

Wendel, always quick to voice his thoughts, added with a hint of anger, "And the treacherous nature of King's Landing is well-known. To think that even Lord Stark's position as Hand of the King may be precarious is deeply unsettling."

I nodded gravely, my fingers drumming on the arm of my chair. "Indeed, my sons. Lord Stark has called upon House Manderly for aid and protection in these uncertain times. His trust in us is unwavering, and we shall not fail him."

Wylis and Wendel exchanged determined glances, their loyalty to House Stark and our family's duty to the North echoing in their eyes.

"We shall prepare the necessary arrangements, Father," Wylis affirmed.

Wendel, always the more impulsive of the two, added with a fervent nod, "And we will ensure that our support reaches Lord Stark in his time of need. You have our word, Father."

I smiled at their unwavering dedication, a rare expression for a man with four chins. "Good. I knew I could count on both of you."

Wylis leaned forward and asked, "Father, how many men do you believe we should send to King's Landing to aid Lord Stark?"

I leaned forward in my chair, considering the question carefully. "Enough to be of help to Lord Stark, but not so many that we overshadow his own forces," I replied. "Our goal is to provide support and protection, not to provoke any unwanted suspicion at the Red Keep."

Wylis and Wendel exchanged thoughtful glances, clearly absorbing the weight of my words. Wendel, ever eager to offer his thoughts, spoke up, "Do we know the size of Lord Stark's household in King's Landing? That would help us determine how many men we should send."

I hesitated for a moment, contemplating the information we had. "If the rumors and whispers are to be believed, Lord Stark's household in the capital may consist of less than a hundred men," I admitted. "It is a delicate situation indeed, but one we must address with caution."

Wendel, always one to propose solutions, suggested, "Father, perhaps we should send a group of fifty men. Enough to provide security and support, but not so many as to draw undue attention. They can blend in with the city's populace."

I nodded in agreement, acknowledging the wisdom in his suggestion. "A group of fifty men it shall be, then."

My sons exchanged knowing glances, and it was Wylis who asked the next pressing question. "And who shall lead this group, Father?"

I leaned back in my chair, my gaze fixed on Wendel. "Wendel, you shall lead our men to King's Landing. Your experience in arms and your decisive nature make you the right choice for this task."

Wendel's eyes widened in surprise at the appointment, but he quickly composed himself and nodded with determination. "Very well, Father. I shall do my utmost best to ensure Lord Stark's safety."

With the matter of leadership settled, we turned our attention to the practical aspects of aiding Lord Stark.

"We need to gather information on the situation in the capital to prepare our men and for whatever danger they may need to look for once there", I said.

Wylis proposed, "To gather information in King's Landing, we could rely on the merchants of White Harbor who trade with the capital. They have their ears to the ground and may provide us with valuable insights."

I nodded approvingly at his suggestion. "A sound plan, Wylis. We shall enlist the aid of our trusted merchants to keep us informed of the goings-on in the city."

However, the issue of communication remained a challenge. Wendel raised this concern, saying, "Father, we must also establish a reliable means of sending messages between King's Landing and White Harbor. In these uncertain times, swift communication is necessary and we do not know if our messages will be read."

I nodded in agreement, knowing that the distance between our two cities could pose a significant obstacle. "You are right my son. If we need to communicate about the situation or to allow lord Stark to send messages he wants secured, it is a necessity. I shall consult with Maester Theomore on this matter. Perhaps he can devise a method using ravens or other means with the ship."

My sons nodded in acknowledgment, clearly satisfied with the direction our preparations were taking.

Wendel then asked, "Father, when do you intend for me to depart for King's Landing?"

I considered the timing carefully before answering. "Wendel, you shall leave within the fortnight. There is no time to waste. Begin making the necessary preparations immediately. Choose the men whom will accompany you."

He nodded, his spirit unwavering, and rose from his seat. "I shall see to it, Father."

As Wendel exited the room to carry out his task, Wylis remained, his thoughtful gaze fixed on me. "Father, this message from Lord Stark presents a unique situation. What more can you tell me about it?"

I sighed heavily, recognizing the depth of my son's curiosity and concern. I leaned forward, my expression serious. "I want you to bring your two daughters to my solar. There is a matter I want to discuss with them."

Wylis nodded again, his face showing a mix of curiosity and concern. "Of course, Father. I will summon them immediately."

He turned and left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. As I waited for Wylis to return with his daughters, my mind wandered to the weighty responsibility that lay ahead. The fate of House Stark and the stability of the North hung in the balance, and it was our duty as loyal allies to provide support in their time of need. But the situation presented an opportunity that could fortify my house's position with the Stark's and in the North.

My thoughts then turned to Lady Arya Stark, the youngest daughter of my Lord, whom was riding back to Winterfell from Darry Castle with an escort. The incident at Darry Castle had raised suspicions, and the concerns my liege lord expressed in his message made me concerned about his daughter’s safety. I vowed I would do everything in my power to ensure her well-being.

I also contemplated the need to inform the Lords near the Riverlands and considered the Crannogmen, who had a reputation for their stealth and loyalty. I knew that their lord, Howland Reed was a friend of Eddard Stark, and I thought it wise to warn him of Lady Arya's return to Winterfell and to seek his assistance in protecting her escort.

With these thoughts in mind, I decided to write a message to Howland Reed. I reached for parchment and a quill, ready to put my words in writing, and seek aid from the loyal Lords of the North.

Just as I began to write, a knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. Stopping my writing, I turned my gaze on the door and called out,

"Enter."

The entry opened, revealing Wylis and his two daughters, Wynafrid and Wylla, who entered the room with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension in their expressions.

I smiled warmly at them, despite the gravity of the situation. "Ah, my dear grandchildren, it's good to see you," I said, gesturing for them to take a seat. "Please, join me."

Wynafrid and Wylla exchanged looks before they seated themselves, clearly wondering why they had been summoned to their grandfather's solar.

Wylla, the younger of the two, couldn't contain her curiosity any longer and asked, "Grandfather, why have you called us here today?"

I reached for Lord Stark's letter and handed it to them, saying, "This message from Lord Stark will shed some light on the matter." I watched as they both took the letter and began to read.

Wynafrid's brows furrowed in concern as she read, and she looked up at me with a worried expression. "Grandfather, what does this have to do with us?"

I leaned back in my chair, considering how to explain without revealing the full extent of my plans. "My dear Wynafrid, my precious Wylla, this message is of great significance. It presents us with an opportunity to further fortify our relationship with House Stark."

Wynafrid, always sharp and perceptive, seemed to guess my intent. "You mean Lord Stark's heir..."

I nodded, acknowledging her insight. "Precisely, Wynafrid. When the news of Lady Arya's return reaches Winterfell, I intend to send a message to Lord Robb Stark, inquiring if he would agree to a visit from you after Lady Arya's arrival."

Wylla and Wynafrid exchanged excited looks, clearly understanding the implications of such a visit. Wynafrid spoke up, her voice filled with hope, "Helping Lady Arya to safety could be a remarkable opportunity, Grandfather. And if we can win Lord Robb's favour, it could bring great benefits to House Manderly."

I smiled at their enthusiasm and nodded. "Indeed, my dear. And since lord Robb is still unmarried andis as acting Lord of Winterfell and is also the next Lord Warden of the North, building ties with him is not only relevant but also strategic."

Wylla's eyes widened in understanding, and she exchanged a knowing look with her sister. "You mean, this could be a chance for one of us to..."

I chuckled softly, finishing her sentence, "To potentially secure a betrothal with Lord Robb Stark, yes. But let us not get ahead of ourselves. First, we must ensure the safe passage of Lady Arya and her escort. I am preparing a message that would bring help for her to come back without issues. And then, if Lord Robb agrees to our proposal, you two shall have the chance to meet and hopefully befriend him. But remember, the safety of the Stark family is our foremost concern."

Wylla and Wynafrid both nodded in understanding, their young hearts filled with a sense of purpose and duty. The weight of our task was clear to them, as was the opportunity it presented.

I paused for a moment, considering the gravity of our situation and the potential outcomes. "This mission is not without risks, but it is one that could shape the future of our house and the North itself. I have faith in both of you to carry it out with grace and determination."

Wynafrid spoke up, her voice filled with strong willingness. "Grandfather, we understand the importance of this mission. If it is your will, one of us will gladly take on this responsibility."

Wylla echoed her sister's sentiment. "Yes, Grandfather. We are ready to serve House Manderly and House Stark in any way we can."

I couldn't have asked for more from my granddaughters. Their dedication to our house and the North was clear, and I knew they were up to the task.

"Very well," I said with a nod. "You may take your leave for now, my dear grandchildren. I will prepare with you in the coming days to ensure everything is in order for Lady Arya's return and your potential journey to Winterfell."

Wynafrid and Wylla both rose from their seats, their faces filled with anticipation. They exchanged a final glance and then left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

Once the door had closed behind them, I turned my attention to my son, Wylis, who had remained in the room. He had a questioning look in his eyes, and I could tell he was curious about my plans.

Wylis finally spoke up, his voice tinged with a hint of concern.

"Father," he began, "I can't help but think of the last time my daughters were at Winterfell. Wynafrid danced with young Robb Stark, but there was no talk of betrothals then. Are you sure this plan will be successful?"

I nodded, understanding his reservations. "I remember that visit well, Wylis. But circumstances have changed, and the need for strong alliances in the North is greater than ever. Strengthening our position in the North and fortifying our bonds with House Stark are of utmost importance, especially given the current situation we have at hand."

I added, “Besides, both Wynafrid and Wylla have grown up."

Wylis seemed to consider my words carefully before finally nodding in agreement. "I trust your judgment, Father. If this is what you believe is best for House Manderly and the North, then we shall support you wholeheartedly."

I clasped my son's shoulder, grateful for his understanding and support. "Thank you, Wylis. Together, we shall navigate these treacherous waters and ensure the safety and prosperity of our house and the North."

With our plans set in motion and the future of House Manderly hanging in the balance, we were prepared to face the challenges that lay ahead, guided by our unwavering commitment to honor and duty.

A.N.:

1. And here we are ! The new interlude is depicting the first external POV not tied by the direct events and yet affected by them (though, in an indirect way). This chapter was something I knew would be present both to illustrate the first true ripples beyond the immediate and obvious ones depicted in the first chapters.
2. I tried to be as faithful as possible with how lord Wyman Mandery is depicted in the books, i.e someone loyal to the Starks and yet cunning in his own ways. Including his sons was kind of logical and necessary in regards of the context and the presence of his granddaughters help to give depth to the potential complexity of the character, not to mention a suggestion of my beta reader I find interesting and rather relevant. And of course, I take advantage of the blanks in the canon background concerning the years preceding the first book and season to give depth and context. And obviously, the Manderly would play an important part in incoming events...
3. I take advantage of this new publication to make an announcement concerning the nature of the interludes : while they would still play the role of timeline landmarks and of depicting key events or to depict how the characters react to the changes or to the SI, they would serve for the plot-striven part of the story (for most of them). After all, while there is a SI we are following in how he finds his way and interacts with other characters, the universe of ASOIAF is so developped and complex that it would be a shame not to depict this side of this universe. This new addition to the purposes of the "interludes" (or can they be called interludes as we will move forward in the story ?) partly result to the long-planning approach of this fanfic thanks to the help of my beta reader who is a very good pillar and source of propositions that I discuss and think upon them to give shape to the story. Besides, what we love in ASOIAF and GOT is both the characters and the plots they are embroiled in (as long as the way it is built make sense, of course). So giving another purpose to those chapters is relevant for this reason.
4. Of course, that raises the question of the balance between the SI's arc and the plot-driven tale as not much interlude would prevent the plot-driven story to thrive (especially with the multiple POVs that featured GOT/ASOIAF). The current approach would be a "cycle" : two to three chapters from the SI's POV, one interlude and then the cycle is repeated. However, for events that may need a multiple perspective, either a multiple POVs chapter or two to three "interlude" chapters might be necessary. While I have my personal preference, I'll discuss it with both any reader on that matter and my beta reader, mainly because I am very attentive to details and consistency in a story (and while no story is perfect, I am determined to work my stories in such a manner that the context, the characters' actions and the events make sense and that every detail for background or plot counts).
5. This newfound approach however helps me to deepening the fanfiction and to decrease the "Gary-Stu" temptation, especially due to the nature of the SI, even if his role and influence will be present. And to help me to develop in the most detailed and consistent manner the story, I began to develop a personal timeline of the events tied to the SI and the plot-driven story (and background details) with an inspiration from Vandal ASOIAF Fan Timeline.
6. Teaser : the next chapter is on a new step of the SI's journey through bonding and tales during the ride...
7. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

The journey North was going smooth, as my companions and I rode along the Kingsroad. This allowed me to take in more of the Riverlands countryside and to further admire this world. I felt the cool breeze on my face, and the beautiful scenery surrounding us was truly a sight to behold. Even three or four weeks after my arrival in the place, it was still hard for me, a 2023 French man, to grasp that I would be in a land of castles, knights, and political intrigue that had been depicted in a book series I was reading and a TV I watched. Both apprehension and wonder flowed through my mind, for while I was aware of the challenges that lay ahead, the true extent of what was to come eluded me.

Yet, not everything about this new life was agreeable. I was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the beard that had begun to sprout on my face. Its presence irritated me, and I disliked the rough feeling on my face. The only thing I might have liked, were the whiskers as I didn’t mind them. Furthermore, the clothing I wore, a mix of Smallfolk and 21st-century garments, did little to protect me from the unpredictable Westerosi weather, leaving me feeling exposed to the elements. While I was fond of my homeworld outfits, I knew that sooner or later, I would need to either add other articles of clothing to help me with this weather, or to replace them. Especially if I was to take a new role once we reached Winterfell. The change of name was one thing, but the clothes were also a dead giveaway.

The growing feeling of dirt and filth also bothered me. My previous life and the few days in Darry Castle had shielded me from such harsh realities, but now I was fully immersed in the grime of the road and countryside. This was a far cry from the comforts I once knew. Imagining something and living it were two obviously different things, but even with this awareness, experiencing it was far from pleasant. I was bothered by the feeling of filth growing on me, even though refreshing myself when we rested or stopped attenuated a bit these impressions. There was the embarrassment thought, that I might start to stink in front of my companions. I did not want to be anything like Reek!

A small growl escaped my mouth, but was thankfully not heard by the others. Thinking of Reek also reminded me of Ramsey Sn...No Bolton. I refused to call Ramsey by the name bastards are usually given, because it made it sound like him and Jon were related. If only I had arrived here 2 years earlier! A chance to save Domeric Bolton, now dead, killed by an evil that he wanted to call brother. And remembering the horrors inflicted upon those of Winterfell sent more chills down my spine. When the time was right, I would have to deal with that rat. In the dark depths of my mind, pictures of him slowly crushed in every part of his body and slowly crippled of everything, including his manhood, sneaked out. Taking a deep breath, I concentrated on my surroundings again, rejecting the dark tendrils of my mind.

As we moved near the Green Forks, my earlier feelings were replaced with awe. The unfamiliar surroundings were overwhelming with their contradicting beauty and danger. We couldn't afford to let our guard down, for whatever lay ahead could be both uncertain and unforgiving. But that didn't prevent me from admire the surroundings full of hills and of trees. More than ever, I loved the presence of nature and the feeling of breathing that pure air.

However, in spite of small discomforts, the journey was pleasant due to both the landscapes and the people I interacted with. My bond with Harwin and the guards was evolving positively. They now saw me as more than just a foreigner in their midst, but someone who was slowly proving his worth. Yes, my way of thinking and socializing was sometimes strange and unusual to them. And now, while I still reminded myself my true name, to the rest of this world, I was Roger Bacon.

Arya continued helping me to improve my riding and to control my own on a horse, guiding me through the basic techniques and offering me tips to feel more at ease on the saddle. That child was a blessing! Some of the guards and even Harwin also helped me with riding. Lady was moving along us, though she was so silent, I didn’t pay attention to her presence, as I was focused on mastering riding.

As Arya patiently explained the proper way to hold the reins and adjust my balance, she demonstrated her own impressive horsemanship. I watched intently as she effortlessly manoeuvred her horse with skill and grace. Her passion for riding was evident, and I couldn't help but admire her spirit again. I knew about her willpower, but seeing it in everyday life was another thing.

"Keep your heels down, and maintain a firm grip on the reins," Arya instructed, her voice firm yet encouraging. "You'll find that it's easier to control the horse and feel more secure in the saddle."

I followed her instructions, trying to copy her posture and movements. While my attempts were far from perfect, Arya's words motivated me to keep trying. She patiently corrected my mistakes and praised my progress, making me feel at ease despite my initial nervousness.

"See, you're getting the hang of it," she said with a warm smile. "Riding takes practice, but you're doing great now."

"Thanks to you," I replied sincerely, feeling more confident in my abilities.

Harwin and the Stark guards, whom were constantly observing our interactions (no doubt making sure I was legit and honourable to the young Stark Lady), were clearly enjoying seeing the young heiresses teaching skills. Harwin chimed in, "It seems like the little lady is becoming quite the mentor. You've made progress."

I grinned at Harwin's compliment, acknowledging the truth in his words. "Arya has been an excellent teacher," I said. "Her passion for riding is infectious, and learning from her is fun."

The young Stark girl blushed slightly at the praise but maintained her confident demeanour. "I'm just doing what I love," she said modestly. "And it's even more fun when I get to share it with others."

As we continued our ride, she encouraged me to practice some basic riding techniques independently. She watched attentively, offering pointers and cheering me on when I managed to execute them correctly. I couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment with each successful attempt.

"You're becoming a natural, Roger. I knew you could do it," Arya said, her eyes sparkling with pride.

I thanked her once again, grateful for her support. "I'm lucky to have you as my teacher," I replied, genuinely touched by her kindness.

Her eyes lit up with a mix of satisfaction and playful pride. And once again that cute blush returned. "Well, you've been a quick learner," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of excitement. "Not everyone takes to riding so easily."

I chuckled, glancing over at her. "I suppose there's something about your way of teaching that makes it more enjoyable."

Arya grinned mischievously. "Maybe it's my charm."

I chuckled at her words while nodded approvingly. Her playful demeanour softened, and her expression grew more thoughtful. "I've always wanted to be good at something, you know?" she admitted, her eyes focusing on the path ahead. "With Sansa being all ladylike, I often felt overshadowed. But this... I can be good at this."

I looked at her, my face showing sympathy. It was easy to sense her own trouble and concerns. I reminded myself that while she was a remarkable person, she was still a child who sometimes felt inadequate because of how she was compared to Sansa. The hurt she felt with how her failures and her unconventional choices of hobbies were called out. While I was aware she had flaws, I also knew that when faced to figures of authority as well as most medieval gender roles, people tended to behave on a spectrum that went from complete imitation to complete rejection. Her rebellious streak was perhaps part of her personality, but it was also fed by her environment and her interactions with other people. I made a promise to could give Arya some tips to approach her challenges in a different way and hopefully, she would be on the right way to find her own path in such a restrictive world.

"You are your own person," I assured her, my voice gentle. "Sansa has her strengths and qualities, but you have yours. Your choices, your skills, your abilities, your passions, and your strengths are what make you unique. Your determination, bravery, and thirst for independence are admirable traits that I love. Don't let others define who you should be. Embrace yourself and be true to your values."

Arya looked at me with gratitude, her eyes glistening slightly. She was clearly touched by my words, and I could see a hint of something deeper beneath her confident exterior.

"Thank you, Roger," Arya said softly, her tone appreciative. "I don't usually get talks like that."

"Anytime," I replied with a warm smile. "You're an incredible person, Arya, and you deserve all the compliments in the world."

As I said those words, a part of me was proud of encouraging her in this manner while the logical part was hesitant because of the blurred lines my words could create for a young mind like hers. But between the choice of letting her be scarred in her soul like her canonical character was or trying to be a positive presence in any manner? The answer was easy. It was best for her to thrive and shine in spite of the restrictions and restraints of her society. I reminded myself of the promise I gave Eddard to help her to find her balance, but I knew that uncertainty and unexpectedness could affect promises and plans.

I then added, "Besides, shouldn't it be the role of the older people, be to provide not just experience, but also support to the younger kids to help them become the person they can be? Although in this moment, I'm not quite sure who's the elder and who's the youth between the two of us.”

Arya chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She paused for a moment, her expression growing more serious. "I appreciate your words, Roger. It's not always easy being me, but having someone like you who sees me as I am means a lot."

I nodded understandingly, acknowledging the challenges she faced. "You're a unique one, Arya. And remember, I'll always be here to support you. You're not alone in this journey."

Her gaze met mine, and for a moment, the playful spark in her eyes was replaced by something more profound. "Thank you," she said, her voice soft but heartfelt. "It means more than you know."

When I heard her words, I flushed a bit. It was a compliment that was so pleasant and yet so unexpected. Even when considering the circumstances that allowed us to meet and bond, I didn’t expect it at all. A part of me wondered if it wasn’t because of the fact the other grown-ups were doing their duties and were prisoners of a traditional frame, preventing them to express such emotional support notably when it concerned non-traditional paths? I knew that Septa Mordane, no matter the level of care she had for Sansa and Arya, wasn’t the best person to help Arya understand why she had to be a “traditional” lady. And Eddard and Catelyn were good parents in regards of Westerosi perspectives, but they were also prisoners of a cultural frame that prevented them from thinking out of the box, concerning certain issues. There were other factors as well such as Eddard Stark’s personal traumas tied to Lyanna's death and the rebellion.

Harwin, who had been quietly observing our conversation, stepped forward with a faint smile on his face.

"It's good to see you give wise counsel, Roger," Harwin said, his tone respectful. "Lady Arya may be headstrong, but she's got a good heart. All youths need people who believe in them and support them for they are, not what others want them to be."

Arya nodded in agreement, appreciating Harwin's words of support. "Harwin's right," she said. "I've always been a bit of a wild one, but that doesn't mean I don't need a little guidance in life."

I smiled at both of them, feeling a sense of camaraderie in our shared desire to help Arya thrive in a world that often tried to stifle her spirit.

"Thank you, Harwin," I said sincerely. "It's easy to care for one like Arya, and I'll do my best to be there for her, just as you have. We're all in this together, one supporting the other."

Harwin nodded, and the other Stark guards echoed his sentiment with nods and smiles. It was a moment of unity and understanding, a recognition that our roles were not just in Arya's life, but each other’s. The journey had become not simply an escort mission, but somewhat spiritual. As we continued riding, Harwin's expression turned serious, and he cleared his throat. He glanced over at Arya, a mix of concern and caution in his eyes.

"That being said," he began, "I must remind you that she's still a Stark, and her family's responsibilities weigh heavily on her. It's essential that we don't overstep our bounds and interfere with the duties of House Stark."

Arya's demeanour shifted slightly, her eyes narrowing as she listened intently to Harwin's words. As I saw her reaction, I saw resignation, frustration and concern as her gaze crossed mine. I remembered the discussion with her father in the show where Eddard told her what her future would be how she answered that said future, was not for her.

I nodded in understanding again, though I wanted to be clear in my intents and not allowing medieval social restraints poison or distort the friendship I had with Arya (did they think I might be a lecherous individual that wanted to marry Arya in order to get a higher position? I hoped not!). I remembered what I had told to Eddard Stark on the matter and decided to express the same idea to Harwin and his men.

“You are correct, Harwin. I know her situation and truthfully, I can’t replace her family’s responsibilities. But it never hurts to offer an outside perspective to help another. It is always healthy to find one’s inner balance between who they are and the frames of this world.”

Harwin regarded me for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "Your intentions are honourable, Roger," he said finally, his voice tinged with caution. "But tread carefully. Highborn paths are complex ones, and while I believe she can benefit from your guidance, we must be mindful not to disrupt the delicate balance of her responsibilities and her position within House Stark."

I nodded, acknowledging his words. "I appreciate your concern, Harwin, and I assure you that I will be mindful of those aspects. My goal is not to undermine or replace her family's role but to provide her with a different perspective on life as she discovers the challenges ahead. I understand the importance of maintaining that delicate balance."

Arya, who had been listening silently, spoke up. "I trust Roger," she said firmly, her voice carrying that Stark determination. "He's shown me kindness and understanding, and I know he genuinely wants to help me. I know my responsibilities, but I want to find my own way, and I think both you and my friend can help me do that."

Harwin looked at Arya, his expression softening. He understood her desire for independence and self-discovery, but as a loyal member of House Stark, he also had a duty to protect her. A part of me wondered if he was reminding himself of Lyanna. After a moment, he nodded.

"Very well," he said, his tone resolute. "I trust your judgment, Lady Arya. If you believe that this man can provide you with the guidance, then I'll support you both. But remember, the path you choose may have consequences, and it's important to be prepared for them."

Arya's eyes sparkled with gratitude as she looked at Harwin. "Thank you," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

With Harwin's acceptance, I felt a sense of relief. I understood the complexity of the situation, not to mention the emotional dilemma, even though Harwin didn’t comment on it. Even if I wanted to help the Starks, I was aware that whatever action I took could backfire on me. I was nevertheless glad, even though it was only a Stark guard. I knew that I would need to be very convincing when the time came to speak to Robb or Catelyn Stark.

I looked at my young friend, “In the end, you will become the Winter Rose. Beautiful and yet able to face the harshness of the world and having its thorns to defend herself from dangers.”

Arya smiled at my words, her eyes shining more. "Thank you, Roger. I appreciate your belief in me, and I'm ready to face whatever challenges come my way. I'll strive to become the person I want to be, just like that winter rose you described."

I smiled at her, appreciating her eager spirit. I noticed Harwin exchanging a glance with some of his men as we rode. The cautiousness was still there but I felt some kind of understanding and intrigue was present. Once again, my way of socializing with others, was unconventional even though I was respectful in my own way. It was probably best, they know that in spite of my status of foreigner with a different perspective, I had no issue with their customs, but how they could interpret and implemented. I turned my gaze to Harwin.

“Harwin, I do not mean to slight your traditions and ways when I defended my position. I may be a foreigner, but I am no fool. I am aware of the importance of responsibility, of duty and of tradition. However, I consider them as relevant as long as they are thought as landmarks that help you to know where you are, not when they are walls that imprison you and crush one's spirit. People regard them as natural things because they forgot why and how those traditions were built in the first place. There is too much status quo in preserving traditions without understanding their history, or truly understanding it's meaning. Without questioning them is like forcing a dam on a powerful river without trying to understand how the river works. The river will either overflow onto the shore, over-flood the dam, or destroy it, hurting everyone in the end."

Harwin listened to my words attentively, his expression thoughtful. It was clear that he was considering my opinion. Thankfully he appreciated the respect I showed for their traditions and values. He exchanged a glance with his men as they absorbed my perspective, intrigued by the way I depicted my personal vision of traditions. I could imagine the complexity of their emotions due to the deep-ingrained old ways in their minds or the fact “The North Remembers”. A part of me wondered if I didn’t accidentally slap on that notion as commenting on traditions and how they could fall or break was akin to say that Northerners could forget. Then again, the coming of the Others or White Walkers was a stark example of this unfortunate reality. I heard Arya’s voice speaking to me.

"So, you're saying that even though tradition might have been useful once, it can stop people from growing?"

I turned my eyes on her and noticed her contemplative gaze. I nodded to her again. This little girl never stops picking up the lesson quickly.

"Exactly. Tradition should be a guidepost, not a cage. It's important to adapt, especially when circumstances change. That is how life works. And we are part of this circle of life, whether we like it or not."

Harwin nodded, his expression thoughtful. "I see your point, Roger," he said, his voice carrying a mix of understanding and contemplation. "There is wisdom in this."

I could sense a shift in his perspective, that I was winning them over to consider the possibility of change. It was a small victory, but an important one. I wanted to emphasize that my intention was not to undermine their traditions, but rather to encourage thinking outside the box as well as preserving their core values in a way that allowed for growth and adaptation.

The silence that followed was comfortable, a shared moment of understanding between two individuals who had found an unexpected connection. The sound of hooves against the earth and the rustling of leaves created a soothing rhythm that seemed to echo the unspoken bond we were forging. Said silence was however broken when I heard Wyl speaking to me.

"Roger, thou hast spoken of thy thoughts on tradition and its role in society. Is it somethin' tied t' thy home's own customs?"

The question took me by surprise for a moment. I glanced at Wyl, then to Harwin the other guards, noticing their attentive expressions. Arya also looked at me with eager and curious eyes.

Quickly I thought of what to say. It occurred to me that names like France seemed alien compared to other territories on Planetos. I then remembered what France and its cities used to be called in its own medieval age.

"My home, Gaul, does have its own rich traditions and a long history. Old traditions had been questioned because of the inability of the people protecting them to adapt them or to understand the sole meaning of those traditions, letting them to become meaningless and soulless. Some of those traditions have shaped my perspective as my people allow many, the possibility to think on their own. However, my views on tradition and change are not solely derived from my country's heritage. They are also influenced by personal experiences I've learned throughout my life. I believe that it's important to draw wisdom from various sources, including one’s own cultural traditions, and a willingness to learn from others. These kinds of influences helped shape my views on tradition and its role in society."

The guards nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response. It was clear that they valued the diversity of perspectives and exchanging ideas and opinions. Arya, in particular, seemed intrigued by the notion of drawing wisdom from different sources. I could see her mind working, perhaps contemplating how she could incorporate that mindset into her own journey of self-discovery.

I pondered the discussion that just occurred and felt it was heavy in philosophical and cultural fields. I was a bit impressed, because Northerners were among the most practical people in Westeros, but I could also understand and imagine the need for them to reaffirm and defend their traditions when they felt they were challenged. And in some manner, I was questioning them even though I did not want to revolutionize them. Radical changes were double edge swords and poison, because they created a vacuum in which vultures and opportunistic people like Baelish thrived. A part of me wanted to allow silence to rule and for me to observe and admire the scenery of the lands nearby the Green forks. And yet, I wanted to share more of my country to allow Harwin, his men and Arya to understand me as a whole and to have a reason to trust me beyond my sole deeds in Darry Castle. I thought of an something I wanted to do since I was in their company.

“Would you like to hear a bit more of my homeland?”

The question hung in the air, and I could see a glimmer of curiosity in their eyes. Harwin nodded, his gaze steady. "Aye, I would be interested in hearing about your homeland, Roger. It would help me understand you better."

Arya leaned forward, her expression eager. "Yes, please!"

I smiled at her enthusiasm and felt grateful for the opportunity to share a piece of my world with my companions. I felt the curiosity of the other guards.

Taking a breath to gather my thoughts, I began to paint a picture of my homeland for them. "Gaul is quite far from here, beyond the seas. It's a land of diverse landscapes—mountains, rivers, fields, hills, woods, cliffs, and beaches—each region with its own unique beauty and character."

As I continued, the Stark guards and Arya listened intently, eager to learn about this distant place that had shaped me. Sensing their growing curiosity, I decided to share a bit more about my personal experiences as I knew I could speak of them without revealing subjects and matters that would be unbelievable or far too alien for them.

"I spent my youth in a place called the Kingdom of Arles, a region known for its vineyards and picturesque villages. I do not know any equivalent in the Seven Kingdoms, though perhaps the Reach would be the closer from what I’ve heard. Later on, I lived and worked in a city called Beauvais, at least before the events that led me to be there in Westeros."

Harwin and his men exchanged knowing glances, perhaps discussing among themselves the similarities and differences between the Seven Kingdoms and this distant land of Kingdom of Arles which today, was called Burgundy. They were eager to learn about the world beyond Westeros, and my descriptions provided a glimpse into a world they had never heard before.

One of the guards, Alaric, couldn't help but ask, "Speak further 'bout Beauvais."

I smiled, appreciating their interest. "Beauvais is a city famous for its impressive cathedral, a temple-like building. The Beauvais Cathedral is known for its remarkable architecture, particularly its soaring nave and intricate stained-glass windows. It's a place of worship and reflection that has stood the test of time."

The guard seemed intrigued, but curiosity wasn't limited to just him. Arya, too, had questions.

"What about the people of Beauvais. Were there any notable figures?"

I smiled at her enthusiasm and found a good opportunity to present a figure I knew would interest her.

"Certainly, Arya. One of the notable figures from Beauvais is a woman named Jeanne Hachette. She lived more than five hundred years ago and is remembered for her bravery during a siege. Legend has it that she protected the city from attackers by rallying the townspeople to fight alongside her. Together, they prevented the enemy from overrunning a gate and capturing their sigil. Her courage is celebrated to this day."

Arya's expression was a mix of admiration and intrigue. "A woman who fought and led in battle? She sounds like quite the character."

I nodded, impressed by her quick grasp of the significance and thinking of the fact her model was Princess Nymeria, the Rhoynish princess that crossed the Narrow sea with ten thousand ships to find refuge in Dorne.

"Indeed, she was. Her story is a testament to the strength and determination of individuals, regardless of their sex."

Harwin and the Stark guards listened attentively, their curiosity piqued by the tale of Jeanne Hachette.

"It's not a common thing here, a woman taking up arms and leading in battle," Harwin commented.

I nodded, though I hesitated to answer, because of my convictions on the matter of women and the fact I regarded them with respect, reverence and most importantly as people. In a place like Westeros, where the cultural bias was as deeply rooted as a cancer, it would be a very controversial issue. I decided to choose a neutral answer.

“Well, when what you hold dear is endangered and that there are not enough people to protect it, you do it yourself. No matter how untrained you are. A mother protects her children even if it means losing her life. A woman or a girl wouldn’t hesitate to fight if it means defending what she holds dear or if she has nothing to lose. And as there are men who won’t answer expectations for them, there are women who won’t answer them either. In each case, it means they are like outsiders that will be forced to be the good boys or girls they always have to be. If they don't their spirits are either crushed, made silent or even destroyed.”

Harwin nodded thoughtfully, considering my words. "Aye, I suppose that makes sense. There's strength in all individuals. And sometimes, it takes extraordinary circumstances for that strength to shine through."

The other guards seemed to agree, their expressions showing a mix of understanding and contemplation. I appreciated that in spite of the divergence in how we regarded rules and traditions, they seemed to understand my perspective. I was impressed by the fact that in spite of the distrust northerners have for foreigners, our interactions allowed some understanding, even though I did everything to find a common ground that helped me to interact with them. I then thought upon the fact I spoke a lot about home and myself, but didn’t ask about their land. While I knew the North through the stories, I was also aware that it was a partial and biased source and that there was a difference between reading about something and experiencing it and between discovering it from a third source rather than a direct one.

I glanced at Arya, Harwin, and the Stark guards, a genuine curiosity shining in my eyes.

"I've talked quite a bit about my home and my beliefs, but I've realized I haven't asked much about yours. The North is a land of legends and mystery and I’ve heard a bit, but I understand that there's a difference between reading about something and experiencing it first-hand. What can you tell me about the North, its people, its customs?"

Arya's face lit up, clearly excited to share her world with me. Her youthful enthusiasm was palpable as she began to weave her tales of the North. Her eyes, wide and bright, shone with a mixture of pride and a childlike wonder as she transported herself back to the heart of Winterfell and its surroundings.

She took a deep breath, her voice filled with excitement as she began to share her stories. "The North is a vast and rugged land, characterized by its harsh winters and unforgiving terrain. It's a place of stark beauty, with towering mountains, deep forests, and sprawling plains. Our people are known for their resilience and their unwavering loyalty to their families and to my family."

She continued, her words painting a vivid picture of her homeland. "In Winterfell, the seat of my House, we have traditions that have been passed down through generations. We value honour, duty, and loyalty above all else. Our customs are deeply rooted in the old ways, and we hold steadfast to the belief in the importance of family, honour, and protecting the North."

Arya's voice softened as she spoke about her family while sending a glance towards Lady that was moving nearby. "The Starks are known for their connection to the direwolves, majestic creatures that are a symbol of our house. We believe that the direwolves were sent by the old gods to watch over us, and each Stark child is given a direwolf pup as a companion and protector."

She paused for a moment, her eyes reflecting a mix of pride and sorrow. "But the North is not without its challenges. We face harsh winters that can last for years, and the threat of invaders from beyond the Wall, where the Night's Watch guards against ancient evils. We are a proud and resilient people, and we stand together in the face of adversity."

Harwin and the other guards nodded in agreement, their expressions showing a deep understanding of the hardships and values Arya spoke of. Harwin spoke up, his voice filled with a sense of reverence.

"The North is a land that tests its people, but it also forges strong bonds and unwavering loyalty. Our customs and traditions are born out of necessity, to survive in this harsh environment."

I nodded to his words, feeling all his experience and conviction in his words. A part of me wondered if this conviction was part of him, because he was a Northerner or to defend the Northerner traditions after hearing me commenting on the way of traditions. It didn’t matter though because I could hear the pride, the determination and the sense of loyalty in his tone. Hearing the way of life of the Northerners depicting in such a way was more rooted than the depictions in both books and shows. It also reminded me I was but a foreigner with no real ties with the Seven Kingdoms and having so much to learn to earn my place, even if I wanted to remain true to myself.

Harwin continued to speak, resuming the tales of the North that Arya had begun.

"We have our ancient castles and strongholds, like Winterfell and the Dreadfort, which have stood for centuries and witnessed the rise and fall of generations. And then there are the smaller holdfasts and villages scattered throughout the land, each with its own unique character and history."

He leaned forward as he seemed to think upon a personal memory. "I remember the time where lord Stark went to Bear Island after this craven, Jorah Mormont, fled the North and facing justice for slavery. It is a place unlike any other in the North. It's a rugged and wild land, surrounded by the sea and known for its dense forests and treacherous terrain. The Mormonts are the lords and ladies of Bear Island, and they are a fiercely independent and strong-willed people. They say that a bear is carved into the heart of every Mormont, symbolizing their strength and determination and that ten regular men are worth a Mormont warrior."

Arya nodded in agreement, chiming in with her own memory. "I remember when Lady Maege Mormont came to Winterfell with some of her daughters. They were fierce women, skilled in the ways of the North. Lady Maege herself was known for her loyalty to House Stark and her fierce protection of her island." And I remember how her daughter Dacey, stood there, tall, dressed in armour. That Morningstar she carried showed she was a woman that was a warrior. That's when I knew I wanted to be something different."

I stayed silent, looking at Arya in surprise. That had not been in the books or show! But then again, the Northern Lords and Ladies no doubt visited Winterfell to see Lord Stark. There was no way the Stark children were ignorant of the other Lords existence. And I had to remind myself that this Westeros was not exactly as the books or the show, not to mention the fact that the years between the end of Robert’s Rebellion and the start of the canonical events were full of blanks, notably in how Arya and her siblings had grown and their interactions with other people.

Errac spoke up next, sharing his experiences in the Wolfswood.

"At times, I accompany Lord Stark and his sons when they hunt in the Wolfswood. 'Tis a vast forest that blankets much o' the North. 'Tis a realm o' ancient trees and hidden mysteries. The wolves roam freely in the Wolfswood, and 'tis said they are the true lords o' the forest. 'Tis a place where one can easily lose their way, and only those well-versed in its paths can traverse it safely."

I struggled to remember other details about Wolfswood in my mind. Didn't the Starks meet someone important there? One thing I did remember were several characters being pursued by Theon's men through the large forest that made up Wolfswood.

Jonric followed, sharing his insights into Moat Cailin.

"The first sight ye'll glimpse o' the North, lad, be Moat Cailin. A fortress like nae other, guardin' the passage betwixt the North and the rest o' the Seven Kingdoms. 'Tis a place steeped in history, havin' witnessed many battles o'er the years. The swamps surroundin' Moat Cailin be treacherous, and 'tis a place that hath tested the mettle o' many a warrior."

I silently gulped. Because unless something was done, Moat Cailin would fall at the hands of a dim-witted brute from the Iron Islands!

Cal, the young guard, spoke of his visit to Deepwood Motte.

"Deepwood Motte be a stronghold in the North, and its folk be known for their unwaverin' sense o' duty and honour. The Glover family holds sway there, and they be staunch supporters o' House Stark. The castle itself be nestled atop a hill. Its walls be fashioned from palisades o' logs, and they be guarded by two square towers. I've heard tell o' their godswood, but I ne'er set foot in it."

I wanted to face palm in front of the others but stopped myself. The "stronghold" was old and fading. A force of archers against the majority of the Iron Fleet? Was it any wonder it fell so easily to Yara/Asha? Come to think of it, which version of the pirate princess might I encounter on this world? The one from the book or the one from the show?

Tor, another guard, added his impressions of the Barrowlands.

"The Barrowlands be a land o' eerie beauty, renowned for its ancient burial mounds and barrows. The folk there possess a deep bond wi' their forebears, and they hold their traditions close. 'Tis a place where the past be ever-present, and 'tis said the spirits o' the departed keep watch o'er the livin'."

I could have sworn there was also a town in that area. Wasn't there also many "Barrow Knights"? And wasn’t it the place ruled by the bitter lady Barbrey Dustin? I could not voice this however, without giving myself away.

As they finished their stories, I thought more on their words. They painted a picture of a land shaped by its surroundings, where honour and loyalty were deeply ingrained in the fabric of society. It was a stark contrast to the cultural tapestry of my own homeland, but one I found fascinating and worthy of respect.

I soon realized of how different it was to read about Westeros lands in the stories back home and to hear it in real life. The gap between imagining and seeing were the most obvious in this instant. And while there were differences between how they perceived the world and how I regarded it, their simplicity spoke volumes to me. Even if a part of me regretted the disappearance of the comforts and commodities from my previous life, the soul and the values that the Northerners presented proved endearing to me. As we continued riding through the Riverlands, the bonds between us seemed to strengthen even further. Sharing with them a little part of my world while not revealing too much of it and hearing about their homeland was very pleasant and educating. A part of me wondered if I wasn’t a bit selfish and vain, but sharing what I knew and loved was always a trait of me at my best and worst. But it was so cool and comforting to share something I could speak to some extent without any pretence.

Interacting with Arya, Harwin and his men reminded me every day I was with people that were fictive back home and I knew how many of them would meet their end. Not an easy thing to share with anyone. I reminded myself that I already helped them in a certain manner. I had advised Eddard Stark and hopefully, I would advise Robb. While I couldn’t claim to know what the future would hold for me, I also knew that helping them to face the storm was worth the risk. Despite their cultural restrictions and frames, despite their status, they were still amongst the most decent people I could interact with in this whole place. And people I might claim one day to consider as friends in spite of my tendency to distance myself of everything.

A.N.:

1. And here we are! Return to the SI's journey. Another chapter of bonding with notably tales of both worlds.
2. One of the things I wanted to explore in the journey arc is the bond between the SI and Arya due to their respective personalities and the circumstances in which they had met each other, not to mention the fondness of the SI for Arya because of the books and show. And it allows to explore his demeanor and his mindset and how he tries to find a balance between his personal views and perspective and the context in which he is now, even though he is trying to remain true to himself, only with a new frame to handle.
3. As some have noticed there are of course the cutlural issues and restrictions and the social expectations in Westeros that affect how things can be perceived.
4. One thing I am uncertain to be explored in SI fanfics (except when it is clearly expressed) is the contrast between how the world of the story is depicted in the tale and how it is depicted in reality, notably on the personal level for the characters (outside obviously when the canon depicts it). It is a bit like hearing/reading about a country and visiting it. Even if a traveller can find many of the things he had read or heard, experiencing it on a personal level can be very different in sensation and perception.
5. Teaser : the group stops at an inn...
6. Have a good reading

Chapter Text

As I continued my training regimen with the hammer, the sun beat down upon me, intensifying the heat with each passing moment. Sweat poured down my face, and I couldn't help but despise the discomfort it brought. Unlike back in my usual surroundings, the heat seemed to exacerbate my tendency to sweat profusely. Yet, despite the discomfort, I remained determined to master my skills with the hammer, knowing that it would serve me well should any trouble occur.

Casting a glance around my training area, I observed the serene landscape that surrounded us. To my right, the distant horizon revealed majestic mountains, acting as a natural border. The rolling hills and scattered woods added an element of tranquillity to the scene, providing a picturesque backdrop to my training endeavours. I remembered that our escort was now moving northwards, away from the Green Forks, even though I didn’t know where we were in regards of the Freys’ crossing or how long it would take to arrive at the Neck and then the North.

While observing the surroundings, I noticed how my companions were using the break. I knew that Arya was nearby, trying to copy sword moves with Needle, even though I knew those moves wouldn’t fit well with the type of sword she had. In the clearing we were taking a rest at, some of the guards like Jonric or Cal were tending the horses, while Errac and Tor were watching the surroundings. The other guards were taking a rest. Harwin and Wyl weren’t there, but I knew they were scouting to check something they remembered from the journey from Winterfell, while accompanying the king’s entourage. I also saw Lady resting nearby the horses. I looked fondly at the direwolf as the days spent in the journey allowed me to be at ease with her and to appreciate her warm furry presence, especially as her temper was akin to my usual demeanour.

Relegating those thoughts, I focused once again on my training. Remembering the advice of Harwin and some of his men, I reproduced and repeated the lateral movements to strike the blunt side of the hammer against the trunk on which I was practicing. Since the very first training with Wyl, when I couldn't train with them in the campfires we made, I was practising those moves every time our escort made a break. I was driven by a sense of urgency, because it was more than necessary for me to develop my skills.

While I swung the hammer in rhythmic motions, practicing my strikes and footwork, the rest of the group, including the escort and Arya, took a moment to rest. Harwin and Wyl were off scouting the Kingsroad ahead, ensuring our path remained safe and free from any potential threats.

As the hammer connected with the tree, I could feel the impact reverberating through my arms, testing my strength and technique. Each strike was deliberate, focused, and executed with precision. With every move, I honed my skills, striving to become a formidable force on the battlefield. I than turned the war hammer around and swung with the claw end. Burying it into the tree and pulling out. Remembering to pull as if it was an opponent’s weapon.

Even amidst the intensity of my training, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe for the natural beauty that surrounded us. The landscape, though different from the farms and plains I had encountered earlier in my journey, held its own allure. It reminded me a bit of home but also the fact that in spite of the possible danger, there was always something new to discover and take it in. I was very glad to allow my curiosity to thrive unburdened by distraction, even with the knowledge I had of Westeros. It was humbling and refreshing.

As I continued to practice my hammer strikes, the rhythmic thuds and cracks reverberating through the tranquil scene, the distant sound of a horse neighing and riders approaching caught my attention. Instinctively, I turned my head in the direction of the Kingsroad, my grip on the hammer tightening just slightly.

Two riders soon emerged from the horizon, approaching our resting spot. Errac, one of our guards, made his way toward them to assess the situation. I watched with keen interest, wondering what had prompted this interruption to our peaceful break.

Errac exchanged words with the riders, and after a brief conversation, he turned his head toward me. Walking over, he made a request.

"Roger, seek out Arya. Harwin and Wyl have returned."

I nodded in acknowledgment and quickly made my way towards the trees where I knew Arya had gone to practice her swordsmanship with Needle. "Arya," I called out, approaching her cautiously. "Harwin and Wyl have come back."

Turning my attention to Arya, I could see the curiosity in her eyes as she processed the news. "What did they find?" she asked, her eagerness evident.

"I'm not sure," I replied, my voice carrying a hint of excitement. "Errac just said they've returned. Let's go find out together."

Arya and I joined the group, gathering around Harwin and Wyl. The other guards and members of our escort looked equally intrigued, and Lady, Sansa's direwolf, padded over to us, her presence calming and reassuring.

Harwin took a moment to address us all.

"Wyl and I have found a small village not too far from here. It seems there's an inn where we can rest and replenish our supplies. It might be a good opportunity to take a break from the road and escape this heat for a while."

I looked around at the faces of our companions, seeing a mixture of relief and joy to get out of the heat. My mind raced with the possibilities this presented. "This will be the first time I'll be in an inn here in Westeros," I admitted, a touch of excitement in my voice.

Arya's eyes widened, and a mischievous grin crossed her face. "You're in for an interesting experience, Marc" she said, using my real name. "Inns in Westeros have their own charm."

Harwin chuckled, his deep voice resonating through the group. "Aye, that they do. It'll be a welcome change from the hard ground and campfires."

Some of the Stark guards exchanged knowing glances, and Jonric, one of the older members, chimed in, "In those parts, ye'll always find good ale."

I couldn't help but smile at the camaraderie and the prospect of a new experience. "Well then, I'm looking forward to it," I said, my enthusiasm genuine.

Alaric, who was nearby me, chuckled at my comment about the inn. "Aye, Roger, ye'll discover that inns can be quite the affair."

The other guards, who had been listening to your conversation, chimed in with their own thoughts. "A warm meal and a soft bed sound like a blessin' after a long day's ride," Mors said.

Cal added, "And some good company wouldn't hurt neither. Inns be a grand place t' hear tales and meet interestin' folk."

I nodded, even though my cautious and logical selves were a bit wary because I knew that interacting with strangers could be tricky, especially as I couldn’t pretend to be one of the usual Westerosi residents. I knew I could play the role of the shy stranger which would be better at letting me fit in. I then thought about the ale and felt apprehensive. Alcohol wasn’t something I was fond of and strong drinks were not of my taste. I remembered how my companions reacted when they found out: raised eyebrows and some in amusement.

“I am however uncertain about the ale.” As I thought about my lack of taste for any kind of alcohol,

Arya couldn't help but chuckle at my uncertainty about ale. "Don't worry, Marc," she said with a teasing glint in her eye, "if you're not a fan of ale, there is also the food here as well. And I've heard they serve watered-down ale too, if you prefer that."

I smiled in response, grateful for her understanding. "That sounds like a more suitable for me," I admitted. It wasn't that I had anything against enjoying a drink with my companions, but the flavour of ale was something I had never tasted. Since I didn’t like strong drinks or alcohol, it wasn’t a loss for me.

Harwin nodded approvingly, though also looked at me with concern.

"It's good to know your preferences, Roger. But you need to blend with us. Someone who doesn't drink ale is not something people are used to seeing in our lands."

I understood Harwin's concern and the importance of fitting in with the local customs. While I didn't particularly enjoy the taste of alcohol, I realized that sharing a drink with my companions would be a good way to fit in.

With that in mind, I assured Harwin, "I'll try my best to adapt. If sharing a drink with all of you is part of that, then I'll give it a shot."

Harwin nodded, acknowledging my willingness to embrace the traditions of the land while the others guards smiled approvingly.

"That's the spirit, lad," Wyl said, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Thou'll come t' appreciate the warmth o' an ale-filled mug and the joy it brings."

I nodded before Harwin told us, “Prepare to ride. We need to get inside this inn before the night.”

As he gave the command to prepare to ride, we all quickly gathered our belongings and mounted our horses. Lady took her place by Arya's side as we set off towards the small village and inn that Harwin and Wyl had discovered.

The sun continued to beat down on us, but now there was a renewed sense of purpose in the air. We rode in a tight formation, with Harwin leading the way and Wyl guarding the rear. Arya and I rode side by side, exchanging glances and sharing a sense of eagerness for this incoming stop. As we were moving closer to the small Riverland village, the landscape began to change. The rolling hills and the sparse woods of the area gave way to more fertile land, and I could see the farms more clearly now. They were scattered around the village, each with its own patchwork of fields and crops. The fields were lush and green, a testament to the hard work of the villager farmers who tilled the land.

As were close of the village, Harwin turned to Arya.

“Arya, Lady can’t join us. Direwolves are not something usually seen over here and I want us to remain discreet.”

Arya nodded in understanding, her face showing a tinge of disappointment. She patted Lady's head affectionately and spoke to her in a soft tone, "Lady, you have to stay here and keep watch. We'll be back soon." The direwolf whined softly but obediently stayed behind, watching us as we rode towards the village.

As we entered the village, the sounds and sights of daily life became more apparent. The air was filled with the smell of fresh bread and the distant sound of laughter. I could see villagers going about their tasks, some working in the fields and others tending to their livestock. It was a peaceful scene, a reminder of the current peaceful summer.

Harwin led us through the village, and we soon arrived at the inn. It was a modest building with a thatched roof and a sign hanging above the entrance, depicting a tankard of ale. As we dismounted and entered the inn, a wave of warmth and the aroma of food greeted us. He finally led the way to the inn's stable, where we dismounted and handed our horses over to a stablemaster. The horses would be well taken care of, and it was a relief to have them tended to after a long day's ride.

As we dismounted from our horses, Harwin approached me, his voice low and serious. "Roger," he said, going back to my assumed identity, "when we enter the inn, I'd advise you to keep a low profile. We don't want to draw too much attention to ourselves."

I nodded in understanding, realizing the need for caution in unfamiliar territory. "Should I keep my hood up?" I asked, gesturing to the smallfolk cloak that partially obscured my face.

Harwin considered for a moment before responding, "Yes, that might be a good idea. It'll help you blend in and keep your identity hidden."

With that settled, I asked another question to ensure I didn't make any missteps. "When we sit, where should I be as maintain discretion?"

Harwin pointed to a corner table toward the back of the inn. "That corner table over there should give you some privacy and keep you out of the main flow of traffic. Just act natural, and you should be fine."

I nodded in acknowledgment, grateful for Harwin's guidance. However, another concern crossed my mind. "And sorry to sound too overbearing, but wouldn't it sound strange to have Arya entering with all of us? I know she's highborn, but that sounds a bit odd to have a dozen adults around her in an inn."

Arya, who had been listening to our conversation, spoke up with a mischievous grin. "Oh, don't worry about that, Roger. We can make it a part of the act, can't we, Harwin?"

Harwin raised an eyebrow, considering Arya's suggestion. "Aye, that's not a bad idea. We could play it off as if you're my ward, and we're her protectors. It's not uncommon for noble children to travel with a sizable retinue for safety."

I chuckled at the thought, finding the idea amusing, especially as it reminded me my young days and the fact I loved the idea of playing a role.

"Alright, then. I'm up for being a mummer for the night. Just tell me my part, and I'll play along."

Arya beamed with excitement, her eyes sparkling. "You can be my mysterious guardian, Roger, sworn to protect me at all costs. It will add an air of intrigue to our little group."

I nodded, playing along with the idea, but also touched that Arya would choose such position for me. It was indicative of the faith she had in me.

"Very well, my lady. I shall be your loyal and enigmatic protector."

Arya scowled in protest, “Hey! I’m not a lady!”

I held up a chuckle, even though I was amused by her reaction. A part of me was even more amused as it was the very first time I talked to her in the proper manner. I knew I wouldn’t interact much like that with her except in specifics circumstances, and this was one of them. A part of me was giddy as role-playing was something I loved to do. Memories of my theatre clubs came to my mind or the times I amused myself by reciting dialogues of movies, while varying the tones of voices, to illustrate the different characters.

Harwin was a bit amused by Arya’s reaction, but then looked at us with a serious glance, indicating for us to be mindful and serious in how handling the situation inside the inn. I quickly composed myself and nodded in acknowledgment. Arya, though still scowling at being referred to as a lady, also straightened her posture and assumed a more serious expression.

As we entered the inn, the sounds of lively conversations and laughter filled the air, mingling with the scent of ale and cooked food. The place was bustling with activity, and I couldn't help but observe the various people and scenes around us. Some of the patrons took a glance at our arrival, but seemingly didn’t care for very long as they returned to their conversations or meals.

Harwin led Arya, two of his men, and me to a table close to a wall, exactly as he had advised earlier. It was a strategic location, providing us with some privacy and keeping us out of the main flow of traffic. We took our seats, and I made sure to pull my hood a bit lower to obscure my face further, though not enough to draw undue attention.

In a nearby corner of the inn, I spotted a man in grey septon's robes, his head partially balding, with a round-shouldered posture. I couldn't make out his features clearly from this distance, but he was speaking to a group of travellers, gesturing animatedly as he talked.

My curiosity got the better of me, and I strained to listen to his words. Septons were a common sight in Westeros, but this one seemed somewhat peculiar. Perhaps it was his choice of companions or the way he presented himself that piqued my interest. It was also perhaps the theological curiosity of mine, both as a Catholic and as someone who regarded God as an entity that went beyond any human’s comprehension and from which anyone could interpret from the stained-glass windows perspective He had been offered in life.

As I tried to focus on his conversation, my attention was briefly diverted to a fool seated at the next table. He wore motley of green and pink, and his laughter was high-pitched and shrill. He leaned in to share a joke with the people at his table, causing them to erupt in laughter. I couldn't help but overhear the jest:

"Why did the bloomin' knight lug a bleedin' ladder into the jolly tavern?" the fool asked, his voice filled with exaggerated mirth.

The group at the table responded with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. "Dunno, mate. Why's that?" one of them prompted.

The fool leaned in, his eyes wide with mock astonishment. "'Cause 'e fancied reachin' sky 'igh spirits, didn't 'e!"

The table erupted in laughter, and I couldn't help but to let out a laugh as I found the pun very funny. It was not certain that any jokes in Westeros would be to my taste due to the cultural differences between my world and the place. Then again, the environment allowed us all to be easy-going and enjoy ourselves. I also knew that it was better to smile than to cry, even though I was aware I could be far too serious to understand second degree humour, especially when applied to me. The main exception was Arya, Harwin and his men, but the time spent with them allowed me to be at ease with them.

I turned my attention back to the septon and continued listening to his words, trying to understand his conversation to the company he was keeping. Meanwhile, Harwin guided Arya and his men in settling comfortably at our table, ensuring that our presence remained discreet and inconspicuous in the lively inn. The rest of the Stark guards settled in nearby tables, keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings and ready to ask for food and drink.

“Roger?”

Harwin’s voice brought my attention back to him. I noticed that Cal, Derec, Arya and him were looking at me with curiosity.

“Sorry, I got distracted,” I said.

"No need to apologize," Harwin replied with a reassuring nod. "Just remember to stay focused and alert. We're in unfamiliar territory, and it's important to be aware of our surroundings."

Arya leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Did you find something interesting?"

I chuckled softly. "Just observing those around us, Arya. Seeing how similar or different it is from home.”

My answer intrigued her. “And how much similar and different it is.”

I pondered my answer. “Both. On the one hand, I can see the lively atmosphere and the interactions or the meals. But the way it is handled and the fact that we used inns for more than just stopping places for travellers, not to mention using forks.”, I told in a whisper, trying to be discrete.

She nodded, absorbing the information with keen interest while her eyes sparkled in amusement. “Ah yes, like the fork you are using.”

I acquiesced, thinking a bit of her reaction and of those of our companions the first time I used my fork. But before I could speak further, Harwin hushed us, “The innkeeper is coming our way.”

I turned my glance and saw that a stout man with a jovial demeanour was indeed moving to our position. As he arrived by our table, his eyes crinkled at the corners as he greeted us.

"Step right into the cozy embrace of the Green Leaf Inn," he greeted, his voice filled with warmth and hospitality. "Pray tell, what might I fetch for you esteemed guests on this fine day?"

Harwin looked at his men and me, before turning their eyes to Arya, acknowledging her status as a noble lady among us. I sent an encouraging glance at the young girl to let her play the game as it was perhaps the only way for her to act like a lady.

Arya composed herself, her posture straightening slightly as she spoke with a hint of regality in her voice. "Thank you for your hospitality, good innkeeper. We would appreciate a meal and ale for our party, if you would be so kind.", she said while showing with her hand our table and the next ones where the other guards were seated.

The innkeeper nodded with a friendly smile. "Certainly, milady. I shall have it whisked over to your table in a jiffy."

With a bow, he turned and made his way back to the bustling kitchen. I was relieved the exchange went well. As we waited for our food, the lively conversations and laughter continued around us. Some of Harwin’s men were interacting with some of the other travellers, probably discussing the recent rumours in the Riverlands. A part of me was wary, because discussions could end in accidental information revelation. But my logical part was also reminding me that the chance that the rumours tied to what happened in Darry Castle reaching this place was slim to none. I was glad that I didn’t have to speak for the meal or drink as I knew I would need to change my voice. Even if I was completely unknown here, I'd rather be overcautious and be the chameleon I knew I could be even though I was hooded.

As our food arrived, carried by a young serving girl with a friendly smile, I noticed that she glanced at us with a hint of curiosity. It was a reminder that even though we had taken precautions, our presence in this unfamiliar inn could still attract attention. I made a mental note to be extra vigilant and maintain my low profile.

The aroma of the freshly cooked trout filled the air, making my stomach rumble with hunger. The innkeeper had not exaggerated; the dish looked mouth-watering. Arya, Harwin, and I exchanged glances, appreciating the simple yet delicious meal set before us. We thanked the serving girl and began to eat, savouring each bite. While I appreciated the meal, I was a bit picky because the lack of the fork made me a bit reluctant to touch my food with filthy hands.

Arya, always observant, noticed my reluctance and couldn't resist teasing me. "Roger, you're not used to eating without utensils, are you?" She grinned.

I chuckled, though I couldn't hide my discomfort entirely.

"You caught me, Arya. It may be not the first time I’m forced to eat in such a manner, but I love a bit comfort."

Harwin, who had been quietly eating, chimed in with a reassuring nod. "Don't fret, Roger. You'll get used to it. And I know you’ll use your fork anytime again."

I nodded in agreement, fully understanding the necessity to learn to face a situation so different from home, determined not to let something as minor as a lack of utensils bother me. After all, adapting to new customs and traditions was part of surviving.

I watched as Harwin took a sip from his ale, the frothy beverage glistening in the dim light of the inn. While he seemed to enjoy it, I hesitated, knowing that I rarely drank alcohol. I chuckled inwardly, thinking on the fact I was among the rare people of Westeros not appreciating or drinking daily alcohol while aware of the challenges it gave to me. But I also knew that I needed to play the game, only to assuage strange behaviours. That didn’t mean I would drink the whole pint, or even at all if I could fake it. I cautiously took a small sip of the ale, letting the bitter taste linger on my tongue for a moment before setting the mug aside. It was as I expected, and I made a mental note to stick to my preferred beverages in the future whenever possible.

Derec, sensing my distaste, chuckled softly and raised his mug in a toast. "With time, thou'll find it t' thy likin', Roger. Savour it alongside thy meal."

While sceptical of his claim, I nodded and clinked with him my pint before going back to my meal.

As we continued to enjoy our meal, the jovial atmosphere of the inn enveloped us. The sound of music and laughter continued, creating a sense of camaraderie among the patrons. I couldn't help but feel a fleeting sense of belonging in this diverse group of people.

As we ate, the innkeeper made occasional rounds, ensuring that all his guests were well attended to. He would exchange friendly words with the patrons, sharing laughs and stories, always wearing a smile on his face. It was evident that he took pride in his establishment and genuinely cared about the comfort of his guests. A part of me also thought that our number was also a boon for his inn, as I wasn’t certain there were that many travellers to this part of the Riverlands, even though a part of me scoffed at this assumption.

As we were ending our meal, Cal who seemed to be a bit tipsy, began to sing at the next table. The song was unknown to me, even though Westerosi songs were mostly like foreign lyrics. But this one was a complete unknown as none of the lyrics were in one way or another familiar. I moved to Harwin and asked, “What song is this?”

Harwin answered with a smile, “A Cask of Ale”.

I furrowed my brows in amusement as I found it ironic to sing about ale when we were drinking it. Arya, catching on to my amusement, leaned closer and whispered, "Seems like Cal has a keen sense of irony, doesn't he?"

I chuckled softly, nodding in agreement. "Indeed, Arya. Singing about ale while we're enjoying our ale. It's a light-hearted touch to the evening."

Cal's voice filled the inn, carrying the melody of the song. The other patrons joined in, some humming along and others singing the verses with gusto. The atmosphere became even livelier, with the music becoming the centrepiece of the inn's joviality.

As the song came to an end, the inn erupted in applause and cheers. Cal, flushed with a mix of embarrassment and pride, bowed graciously to the audience. The innkeeper, his face beaming with delight, clapped Cal on the back and offered him a free round of drinks to celebrate his performance.

Arya glanced at me with a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with mirth. "Perhaps, Roger, it's time for you to showcase your musical talents. I'm sure you can charm the whole inn with your voice."

I looked at her with amusement and intrigue, sensing her teasing me. "What makes you say I can sing?" I asked, genuinely curious about her assertion.

Arya's grin widened as she leaned closer to me. "Oh, I've heard you humming or even singing to yourself when you were preparing for our training sessions. You've got a decent voice, you know."

I flushed, surprised that she had noticed. A part of me cursed myself to have fallen into certain habits as if I was back home, though a part of me felt another bond to Arya.

"You did?", I asked a bit flummoxed and yet moved.

She nodded, her expression playful. "Indeed, I did. So, what do you say? Willing to give it a try?"

Harwin, who had been quietly observing our conversation, chimed in. "Come on, Roger. It's all in good fun. Give the folks in here a taste of your home's music."

I hesitated, unsure of my abilities, and also realising that the songs I knew were from my world would not likely to be appreciated in Westeros. "Are you sure? All the songs I know are from my home. And the only one I am familiar with in Westeros is the 'Rains of Castamere,' and I doubt that both you or the other people in the inn would appreciate it."

Arya's eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned closer and whispered, "Well, then, perhaps you can surprise us all with a song from your home. I'm sure it would be a welcome change of pace."

Derec encouraged me, "Aye. Give it a whirl. I'm certain thou dost know songs that would meld right in 'ere."

Their encouragement was infectious, and I found myself considering the idea more seriously. While it was true that the songs of my world might be unfamiliar, it could be an opportunity to share a piece of my own culture with the people of Westeros. I pondered which song to sing as my musical culture was sure eclectic, but also very specific. And I was aware that many songs were very specific in style and themes. I would lie if I didn’t want to share all those songs in one way or another, but I thought most would wait for Winterfell as a precaution. An idea came to my mind of a song that would fit well over here. With a nod and a faint smile, I relented. "Alright, I'll give it a try. I may have a song that would be lively enough."

Arya grinned in response, clearly pleased with her persuasion skills. "That's the spirit, Roger! Just be yourself, and I'm sure they'll appreciate it." She said, returning the encouragement I had given her earlier in the journey.

Harwin, Derec and Mors nodded, eager to hear me singing, probably to discover which song I would sing and perhaps to see if I was a good singer.

With a deep breath to calm my nerves, I waited for a moment when the inn's noise level dipped slightly. I was still a bit hesitant because singing to an audience was kind of scary and yet endearing as I loved sharing. But I decided to focus on the companions at my table. I took a deep breath and begin to sing in the same manner the song was originally sung, though with something akin to an opera voice:

“Some things in life are bad

They can really make you mad

Other things just make you swear and curse

When you're chewing on life's gristle

Don't grumble, give a whistle

And this'll help things turn out for the best

And”

I let the word drag on before going:

“Always look on the bright side of life”

I delivered the famous whistle of the song accompanying the chorus.

“Always look on the light side of life

If life seems jolly rotten

There's something you've forgotten

And that's to laugh and smile and dance and sing

When you're feeling in the dumps

Don't be silly chumps

Just purse your lips and whistle, that's the thing

And

Always look on the bright side of life.”

While whistling, I looked on the people in the inn and said like Eric Iddle, “Come on” before singing:

“Always look on the right side of life

For life is quite absurd

And death's the final word

You must always face the curtain with a bow

Forget about your sin

Give the audience a grin

Enjoy it, it's your last chance anyhow

So always look on the bright side of death

A just before you draw your terminal breath

Life's is full of spit

When you look at it

Life's a laugh and death's a joke, it's true

You'll see it's all a show

Keep 'em laughin' as you go

Just remember that the last laugh is on you

And

Always look on the bright side of life

Always look on the right side of life

Always look on the bright side of life

Always look on the bright side of life

Always look on the bright side of life

Always look on the right side of life

Always look on the right side of life

Always look on the right side of life

Always look on the right side of life”

As I began to sing, the inn fell into a hushed silence. All eyes turned to me, and I felt a both excited and nervousness at once. Arya, seated next to me, watched with a gleeful grin, thoroughly enjoying the unexpected turn of events. Her eyes sparkled with mischief again, as she relished the reactions of those around us. She was clearly delighted to see me take centre stage.

Harwin, Derec, and Mors wore expressions of intrigue and amusement, clearly impressed by my willingness to perform and curious to see how the crowd would react. They exchanged glances, silently acknowledging that this was a unique and unexpected moment.

Cal, who had sung the previous song, looked surprised at first, but then a grin spread across his face. He seemed to appreciate the choice of song and the lively atmosphere it brought to the inn. He raised his mug in my direction.

The other Stark guards scattered throughout the inn also turned their attention to me, some with raised eyebrows and others with faint smiles. They were all curious about the unexpected performance, and their eyes reflected a mix of amusement and interest.

The rest of the inn's patrons, many of whom had been enjoying their meals and conversations, were now focused on me. Some wore expressions of bewilderment, not quite sure what to make of this foreign song. Others, however, began to nod their heads and tap their fingers to the rhythm, slowly warming up to the lively melody.

The innkeeper, whom had been making the rounds, had paused in his tracks to listen. His eyes widened in surprise, but he soon joined in, clapping his hands to the beat and encouraging others to do the same.

The serving girl, who had returned to her duties, couldn't help but steal glances in my direction as she moved about the inn. She wore an amused expression, clearly not expecting such a performance during her shift.

As the song reached its comical climax, with me whistling and inviting the audience to participate, a few brave souls in the crowd began to sing along, picking up the chorus. The inn's atmosphere shifted from initial scepticism to one of jovial participation.

Arya, still grinning mischievously, joined in the singing, her voice adding to the chorus and encouraging others to do the same. The room began to fill with laughter and merriment, as people from different backgrounds and walks of life came together in song.

Harwin, Derec, and Mors, unable to contain their amusement any longer, joined in the singing as well, their voices blending with the others in the inn. They raised their tankards and mugs in a toast, thoroughly enjoying the light-hearted atmosphere.

Cal clapped me on the back, his eyes filled with appreciation for the unexpected musical interlude. He had clearly set the stage for this impromptu performance.

The other Stark guards in the inn followed suit, raising their tankards and mugs in salute to the lively song. They grinned and exchanged nods with one another, sharing in the camaraderie that had suddenly enveloped the inn.

The innkeeper, delighted by the turn of events, offered a free round of drinks to the entire inn in celebration of the unexpected performance. The patrons cheered and clinked their mugs together, toasting to the lively spirit of the moment.

As the song came to an end, the inn erupted in applause and cheers once again, this time with a heartfelt appreciation for the unexpected entertainment. Then, unexpectedly, someone burst into laughter, and soon the whole inn erupted in applause and laughter. This reaction made me feel proud and a bit dazed. I wasn’t certain of how my singing would be received, but it was beyond my own expectations. I stood up to bowed to the patrons, thanking them.

I noticed the septon observing me, but his glance was difficult to decipher. I shrugged about his focused attention as I could imagine that the song was totally new and strange and perhaps a bit insulting to his faith, especially with the focus on death in the last verses, as if the Stranger was either to be praised or to be mocked. The fool seemed very amused, but his eyes betrayed a glint that unsettled me for an unknown reason.

Arya, Harwin, Derec, and Mors had wide smiles on their faces, clearly delighted by the reception my performance had received. Arya's eyes met mine, and she mouthed a heartfelt "Thank you" across the table.

Embarrassed but also elated, I bowed my head in gratitude to the crowd before retreating back to our table. The warmth of the moment lingered as we celebrated together, the inn's atmosphere filled with a newfound energy.

In the midst of the revelry, a stranger approached our table. He was a middle-aged man with a friendly face, his eyes gleaming with appreciation.

"Now, that there was a sight to behold, my friend," he chuckled heartily. "Never afore have I laid ears on a ditty quite like that, but it did lift my spirits in a manner beyond words. I reckon I owe ya a big ol' thank you for that, indeed."

I smiled at him, grateful for his kind words. "You're welcome. I'm glad I could bring some joy to your evening."

He introduced himself as Tom, a local bard who frequented the inn. "Should you ever find yourself yearnin' for a place to perform them rare melodies of yours, know that this here stage is open to ye. The folk of Westeros, they do love a fine yarn, and your song, well, it was like nothin' we've ever had the pleasure of hearin' before. A true gem, it was."

As Tom moved away to join his table, I turned my attention back to my companions. Arya still had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, and she leaned in closer to me.

"See, Roger, I told you that you could charm the whole inn with your voice," she teased.

I chuckled, feeling a warm sense of camaraderie with the Stark guards and Arya. "Well, I must admit, I didn't expect such a positive reaction."

Harwin, sitting across from me, raised an eyebrow and grinned. "I'll be honest, Roger, I didn't suspect you had such a good singing voice."

I shrugged and smiled modestly. "Singing has always been a pastime for me, a way to express myself. I guess it came in handy tonight."

Derec chimed in, his tone appreciative. "'Twas a grand choice o' song, that. Unique, but it truly lifted the spirits o' all present."

Mors, who had been relatively quiet throughout the evening, finally spoke up. "I must confess, I had me doubts 'bout all this singin' affair, but thou truly brought life t' this establishment. Well done, Roger."

I nodded in gratitude, appreciating their support and encouragement. The hustle was back to a normal level after the display of Cal and me in songs. A part of me wondered what fate awaited my companions, both in the canon and now with my presence creating ripples in the sea of time and new notes to the song. I looked at Harwin and Arya and smiled fondly. They were now part of my life and while I didn’t know how my life will be organized in Winterfell once we would be there, I knew I would regard them as the other guards as acquaintances and friends. My cautious side was wary of such feeling by fear of facing heartaches by loss or betrayal while my logical side reminded me that unless those bonds throve to become stronger, they could easily be swept away by events and circumstances. My empathetic side refused to solely resign itself to such perspective. I already had such approach back home while it helped me to find my balance.

I was aware I needed to completely rebuild my life here, as there was no guarantee I would find a way out from this reality, otherwise Bloodraven would have suggested it the moment he encountered me in dreams. I reminded myself there were other powerful magical people out there, but I doubted they would be over here, except in exchange of a service that strengthened their agendas. Turning away from those thoughts, I took a new sip of the ale, enjoying the lively and pleasant instant, even though the strong and bitter taste of the ale was still not of my liking.

A.N.:

1. And here we are! A new chapter with a new place, new discoveries and interactions.
2. The inn is a creation, but considering both the distance and the culture, it was something I found acceptable to include and also helps to set up for an incoming chapter. I know there was the Crossroad Inn, but it was so close from Darry Castle I couldn't use it. And adding this chapter allows diversity in the journey arc.
3. The introduction is to show the diversity of activities the SI is achieving during the journey and I added some references that showed off-screen developments that either couldn't be directly depicted without relevant reasons or that would serve as reference points for details in future chapters or to develop the SI's character, like the dislike of alcohol or singing.
4. Since the SI is me, singing is something I love as an amateur. However, I would consider when I would place some of the songs I love, especially as while potentially eclectic, the SI (and me) have specifics song and musical tastes and including some of my favourite songs in this fanfic without some reflection or context would be more "fanservice" from me than relevant inclusions. There might be in the future an inclusion of a "random" singing because it is something I'd do.
5. Nevertheless, the Monty Python songs, especially "Knights of the Round Table" and "Always Look On The Bright Side of Life" that I know rather well, would fit well in a Westerosi context.
6. Three figures depicted in the inn are canonical characters that would reappear very quickly. One who is named and two others depicted by their positions. You can try to guess who they are and that might help you to guess what is about to come.
7. Teaser: the next chapter is full of danger and of nasty surprise...
8. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

As the sun began to rise, I rose from my bed, having enjoyed a good night's sleep in the inn. I knew that I would not sleep again like this until perhaps Winterfell, but it was a pleasant reward after the first few days of the journey. I did some warm-ups, including push-ops and sit-ups, and noticed that Cal was not there. I guessed he was either eating or preparing for the departure for our escort. After finishing my small workout, I made my way down to the hall of the inn to grab some breakfast. I refrained myself from singing to myself or humming. While I was a bit enthusiastic and easy-going after the previous night, I didn’t want to disturb anyone that was still asleep. As I joined the hall, some of the Stark guards were already there, and I recognized Errac, Tor, and Jallar. They were sitting together, talking and sharing a meal.

I approached their table with a friendly smile. "Good morning. Did you sleep well?"

Errac, a burly man with a scar on his cheek, nodded and replied "Aye, Roger, these beds here be cozier than I anticipated."

Tor, a younger guardsman with a friendly demeanor, chimed in, "Truly, 'twas a night o' restful slumber."

Jallar, the quietest of the three, simply nodded in agreement.

I chuckled and said, "That's good to hear. I slept quite well myself."

They exchanged looks, and Errac finally asked, "Art we the sole ones stirrin'?"

I looked around, taking in the scene in the inn. "It seems that way. Some of the others are probably tending to our horses for departure."

I decided to join their table, grabbing a plate of food along the way. We spent some time chatting about the journey so far, sharing stories and discussing our plans for the day.

As we were engrossed in our conversations, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Turning in my seat, I saw Arya, Harwin, Mors, and Wyl making their way into the hall. The young Stark's face brightened when she spotted me.

"Roger," she said me with a warm smile.

I returned the greeting with a smile of my own. "Good morning, Arya. Did you sleep well?"

She nodded, her grey eyes lively with energy. "Yes, I did. Though, I can't help but miss our nights by the campfire."

I gave a small chuckle. "I can imagine. Those were some memorable nights."

Arya's mischievous spirit shone through as she responded, "Indeed they were."

I said with a smile, “Well, we will have some more before reaching Winterfell.”

Arya's eyes gleamed with excitement. "I can't wait. Winterfell feels so close already."

Harwin, who had been standing beside Arya, chimed in, "Well, we still have to cross the Neck, but we should be in the North within the next fortnight."

Truthfully, I was pleased and eager to discover the North, even though I was a bit wary of the cold.

I greeted Harwin, “By the way, morning, Harwin. And good morning to you two as well,” I added, acknowledging Mors and Wyl.

Harwin greeted me back, as his two men. “Morning, Roger.”

I then glanced at the inn's entrance before turning back to the Stark guard. "Do you have an idea of when we will leave?"

Harwin considered the question for a moment before answering, "Well, within the next few hours. I know that Cal and Jonric are tending the horses."

Nodding in acknowledgment, I shifted my attention to the ongoing breakfast with Harwin, his men, and Arya. We all enjoyed our meal, savouring the one of life’s most simple pleasures. The rest of our escort joined us to break their fast during this moment.

As we continued our breakfast and conversations, I would now and then glance toward the inn's entrance, keeping an eye out for newcomers who might enter. However, my attention was abruptly diverted by a sudden ruckus and shouts coming from outside.

My heart raced as I stood up from the table, my instincts telling me something was horribly amiss. Harwin, his men, Arya, and I exchanged a concerned look.

Cal suddenly rushed into the inn, his expression tense. "What's going on?" Harwin asked, his voice edged with worry.

The young guard quickly replied, "A band o' unfamiliar men be approachin' the inn, brandishin' their weapons!"

Harwin's face tightened as he asked, "How many of them are there?"

Cal's answer sent a shiver down my spine. "Mayhaps twenty, mayhaps near thirty."

Harwin jaws clenched in frustration.

“Where is Jonric?”

"He remained by the steeds," Cal answered quickly.

Harwin wasted no time. He immediately gave orders to his men. "Prepare for battle! Be ready to defend the inn."

He turned his eyes on Arya, “Lady Arya, I want you to find a safe place to hide. Stay out of sight until we give you the signal."

Arya nodded, an intense look on her face. "I can take care of myself, Harwin. Don't worry about me."

As Harwin and his guards began to prepare, the innkeeper, clearly alarmed by the commotion, approached us. "What's happening?" he asked nervously.

Harwin, his eyes never leaving the inn's entrance, informed the innkeeper, "We have hostile individuals approaching. It would be best if you and the patrons take cover."

The innkeeper, now fully aware of the danger, quickly ushered the few patrons that were in the hall, to a safe area. I could feel the tension in the air rise, and my instincts kicked in. I knew I needed to act as well. Without a moment's hesitation, I turned and rushed back to my room to retrieve the war hammer that I had earned at Darry Castle. I had hoped that my training would be enough to defend myself from the danger. Thankfully the weapon was on top of my belongings. Grabbing the hammer, I turned around to head back to the hall but stopped as I saw Arya standing in the doorway. Her grey eyes were filled with that Stark family courage and a touch of anxiety. I was glad she was here, as I would be making sure no harm came to the young lady.

"Roger," she said, her voice steady and concerned.

"Arya, where's Needle?" I asked.

She shook her head, her expression slightly regretful. "I left it in my room."

I didn't waste a single moment. "You will need it. We'll try to avoid a fight, but if we find ourselves in a tricky position, you'll need to protect yourself."

Arya hesitated for a moment, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. Her looks reminded me she was still a child that never truly faced violence and cruelty and was still untainted, which contrasted with her canonical future self. But then she nodded resolutely, understanding the gravity of the situation.

"Lead the way," I said, holding her hand, motioning for her to take the lead.

Arya swiftly turned and led me to the room she had slept in at the inn. Letting go of my hand, she began searching her belongings, and after a moment, she retrieved Needle, her slender sword.

I nodded in approval. "Good. Now, stay close to me," I instructed.

As we made our way back to the hall, we suddenly heard breaking noises and the first clashes of weapons from the inn's entrance. The sounds of chaos and violence were a bit too close for comfort. I glanced at Arya, my heart pounding with dread, aware that the assailants were now inside the inn. I felt some unease, as for the very first time, I would have to fight and possibly kill someone, even if it was to defend myself and my companions. My heart was pounding and my breathing more frantic. A part of me was wondering if I would be able to overcome my strong reluctance to violence. I felt a bit like Aang when he was facing the dilemma of ending Ozai or like Jaime when the lives of the people of King's Landing were conflicting with his oath as a kingsguard. I struggled hard to keep self-control as I knew it wasn’t the time for such reactions. Especially if I wanted to survive. With a deep breath, I steadied myself, trying to ignore the fear within me.

"We have to get out of this inn," I said to Arya, looking her straight in the eyes. "Otherwise, we'll be trapped."

Arya nodded, her grey eyes reflecting a deep understanding of the gravity of the situation. She was frightened, but, true to the girl I had watched on the show and read in the books, she was also very brave.

Turning my attention to the main hall of the inn, I could see chaos unfolding. Harwin and his guards were fighting with all their skill against the invading group of men who looked like either bandits or sellswords. My gut felt it was the latter. The inn's interior had turned into a battleground, with overturned tables, broken chairs, and a couple unlucky patrons scrambling for cover.

The scent of blood and sweat hung heavy in the air, and the clash of weapons was deafening. Some bodies lay motionless on the ground, casualties of the brutal confrontation. The odds were against us, and it was clear that the sellswords were determined to take control of the inn. There was no honour in this fight, just a clear intent to hurt and kill.

I quickly scanned our surroundings, desperately seeking a way out. My eyes fell on a window nearby the stairs, a potential means of escape.

"Arya, look," I said, pointing to the window. "We need to go out through here!"

She followed my gaze and quickly understood. "Good eye," she praised me. "Let's go."

We hurried to the window, and I quickly opened it, allowing the cool outside air to rush in.

"I'll go first," I said to Arya, understanding that it was my responsibility to ensure her safety. She nodded, though her eyes betrayed her concern and wariness.

Climbing through the window, I emerged outside and assessed our surroundings. We were at one outskirt of the village and I noticed on my right a farm and on my left woods. It was still early morning, and the sun was barely beginning to rise.

I turned back to the window, extending my arms inside. "Take my arms," I urged Arya.

With my help, Arya managed to slip through the window and join me outside. She landed softly on the ground, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and fear.

"Are you alright?" I asked her, concerned for her well-being.

Arya took a deep breath and nodded. "I'm fine," she replied, her voice steadier than I had expected.

"Get to the woods!" I exclaimed, keeping a watchful eye on our surroundings. The commotion inside the inn was still audible, but it was gradually growing distant as we moved away from the source of the chaos.

As we began to move towards the woods, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. The woods seemed like the safest option at the moment, but my instincts were telling me that danger was still close.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps approaching us fast! Turning around, I saw six men coming towards us. I should have realized they would have kept men on the outside!

I raised my hammer stepping in front of Arya. I did not want to die like this, but she had to make it safe! There was some kind of irony here. Syrio, Yoren and others whom had tried to help Arya in cannon always died. It looked like it would be my turn now.

The sound of hoofbeats approaching filled the air and I glanced at the riders. I then froze up, wondering if I had lost my sanity. It couldn't be! For there was no way that was actually Don Quixote and Sancho Panza riding towards us!

I blinked and looked again. No, it was not the two heroes from the famous Don Quixote novel. But they could pass as their doppelgangers. One was indeed an old knight in rusty armour. With a fat companion behind him. The two riders rode their horses into the path of the sellswords, making the mercenaries dive for cover!

I had been so surprised that I had not felt Arya pulling on my arm. I came to my senses when she gave my leg a kick! I again grabbed her hand and ran to the woods, the trees coming closer to us.

Suddenly, I heard movement behind us. I swiftly turned around, my free hand still holding my hammer. My heart raced as I saw a sellsword charging towards us, his sword gleaming menacingly in the dim morning light.

Letting go of Arya's hand I quickly positioned myself between her and the approaching opponent. "Keep going, Arya," I said firmly, my voice carrying a sense of urgency.

Arya hesitated for a moment, torn between her instinct to stay and help me and the realization that she needed to flee. Her young face reflected her fear and concern for my safety. I didn’t know if she heeded my words as I narrowly dodged the first swing of the sellsword's weapon, the blade slicing through the air where I had been standing just moments before. My heart pounded in my chest as I realized the grimness of the situation. This was no longer a theoretical scenario; it was a life-and-death struggle. The man once more swung his weapon at me, and I relied on the moves I had learned from my training. I mainly focused on dodging his strikes while using my hammer to parry and counter his attacks. It was a dance of evasion and precision. It was complicated because of the environment and my lack of experience and I nearly staggered in one of my dodges. However, the man I was facing seemed impetuous and uncontrolled as if he was lacking some experience himself in how handling a fight. That made him both a dangerous opponent, but also ones a calculating, cautious and opportunistic person could strike down when given the chance.

After a few exchanges, I saw an opening and struck with all my strength. The head of my hammer connected with the man's ribs, and he let out a pained cry as he staggered back! Without hesitation, I followed up with another strike to his chest, ensuring he wouldn't get up again. I didn’t look on the man, not wanting to see the damage and feeling the knot tightening in my stomach.

Breathing heavily, I turned to see where Arya was. I blanched as I saw her facing two unexpected opponents whom had cornered her against a tree. One was a stern and yet threatening sellsword, but it was the other that arose my concern. It was the septon I had seen yesterday evening at the inn. But now, he was clad in black chainmail over his robes, a far cry from the peaceful figure he had portrayed before. A part of me wondered if he was waiting for us the previous night, making this ambush less a terrible and unexpected occurrence and more a nasty ploy. The sight of this woke a memory in my mind, but I couldn’t place it, only that I knew it was something I have read or heard. I saw Arya’s terrified face, even though she was holding Needle. And then came those horrible words as he approached her.

“I generally prefer boys. But I’ll make an exception with you. You’re very boyish for a girl…"

For the first time since arriving in Westeros, I was legitimately pissed off! I thought of the scandals back home with some priests and bishops and by connection, a name came in mind: Utt. The name and everything that was tied to unleashed within me a fury I never knew I had. In spite of the exhaustion, I moved towards the two men and said in a strong and venomous voice, anger blaring each of my words: “Not on my watch, sale porc galeux!”

The first sellsword, surprised by my sudden intervention, as well as my French words and the intensity in my voice, shifted his attention towards me. He sneered, raising his sword in a defensive position. Utt seemed momentarily surprised as well, his eyes narrowing as he assessed me.

Arya, wide-eyed and still visibly shaken, stepped back, her grip on Needle tightening even further. I could see the mixture of fear and relief on her face, knowing that she wasn't alone in this dangerous situation. But on instinct, my presence snapped her out of her fear as she found her courage and stabbed Needle at Utt. I winced as I saw where her blade hit: straight in the pervert’s privates! The septon let out a squeal of pain and doubled over, clutching his injured groin. His cry distracted his companion as he turned his eyes on Arya and saw what happened to his accomplice. This distraction was all I needed as I rushed on him and delivered crushing blow at him. He turned his eyes on, but it was too late. It was like I was an American baseball player for a moment. The head of my hammer striking him in the cheek, teeth flying from his mouth, as his body flew into the air! His head striking a tree with the sound of bone breaking!

Too high on adrenaline and anger, I didn’t react to what I just did and moved on Utt, my hatred for rapists, pedophiles and any abusers of their kind erupting like a volcano. The man was struggling not to fall on his knees and holding his (probably lack of) balls while Arya stayed stunned by what she just did. The last thing the pervert would hear was:

“How fitting a child took your weapon, connard!”

Without allowing the wounded creep to react or defend himself, I struck true with my hammer, first breaking his shoulder. Suddenly, I was like Robert Baratheon and Benjamin Martin, striking again and again! I did not intend for the man not to die but to suffer and to be as crippled. As I unleashed my fury upon the septon, striking blow after blow with the hammer, the forest seemed to blur around me. The sounds of battle from the inn faded into the background as my focus narrowed solely on the man before me. Even his pleas for mercy fell deaf in my ears. Each strike was fuelled by my anger and disgust at his words, A pool of blood began to spread. Unconsciously, the music of Rogue One from the scene where Vader slaughtered rebel soldiers started playing in the depths of my mind.

But amidst the frenzy of my fury, I suddenly heard Arya shouting, and her voice cut through the red haze of my anger. "Marc, look out!"

Her using my real name, caused me to turn, but it was too late. I heard a small whizzing sound, and a knife flew through the air, lodging itself halfway into my thigh! I felt a sharp, searing pain, and a yell escaped my lips! My leg buckled beneath me, and I stumbled, my balance thrown off by the unexpected blow.

As I struggled to regain my footing, I saw my assailant. It was the fool who had been in the inn the previous evening. My memory gave me a name for the man: Shagwell. I felt anger, disgust, and worry as I felt the pain in my thigh and the warm blood seeping onto my leg as I struggled to stand up to face my new foe. He wore a wicked smile on his face, relishing in my suffering. His eyes gleamed with malevolently.

He took a step closer, his gaze shifting from me to Arya.

"Well, well, ain't this a jolly sight?" Shagwell taunted, his voice dripping with sadistic malice. "A stranger and a Stark lass, so defenseless and all on yer lonesome. We've been paid good coin to handle scum like you, ye ken," he said with an insane giggle in his voice.

My anger surged again, especially as an awful suspicion arose in my mind. But the pain in my leg was a constant reminder of my vulnerability. I knew I had to defend myself and Arya, but I was at a disadvantage, being wounded, unsteady and exhausted. I steadied myself in spite of the pain and somehow once again got between Arya and the threat to her.

Shagwell wasted no time. He swung his triple morningstar with a cruel grin on his face, taking advantage of my injury and exhaustion. I tried to parry his strikes with my hammer, but with his quick movement, he forced me to my knees as the pain going through my leg was unbearable. As he raised his weapon for another strike, I braced myself for the impending blow, knowing that I couldn't escape it this time. But then, just as he was about to strike me down, Arya charged forward with Needle in hand. With a swift and precise movement, she stabbed him in the side. Her eyes were full of fear, nervousness and determination as she acted.

Shagwell let out a pained cry and staggered to the side, his morningstar falling from his grasp, holding his bleeding side. I winced in pain as I tried to stand back up, but my injured leg wouldn't fully support me. I could only watch as Arya faced this new threat with a resolve that belied her age. A part of me was saddened and torn apart by the fact she had been forced to experience this kind of violence like I just did and yet I was grateful of her intervention. Arya stepped back, having pulled her sword out of the fool and realizing what she had just done.

Shagwell gritted his teeth and looked with evil eyes at Arya, even though he was struggling with his wound. "Ya little whelp," he sneered through his teeth. "I'll make ye howl afore I'm through."

Arya, wide-eyed and clearly shaken by the threat, raised Needle defensively. I tried to stand up to protect her, but the pain and the exhaustion prevented me to do so.

As Shagwell prepared to lunge at her, we all heard a sudden cacophony of howls and growls that seemed to come from all directions. The fool stopped in his tracks, his face morphing in uncertainty and fear, and turned his gaze to the right, as did I.

There, emerging from the shadows of the woods, was a grey direwolf, larger than Lady. My mind raced as I tried to process this unexpected arrival. I thought it was Lady at first, but the features were different. This wolf had an air of danger about it that Lady lacked.

Arya, for her part, seemed to recognize the wolf. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she looked at the creature. I could see the wheels turning in her mind as she processed the identity of the direwolf.

Shagwell, still bleeding and injured, turned his attention to the direwolf as well. His wicked grin had vanished entirely, replaced by a look of fear and uncertainty. The wolf growled menacingly, its eyes fixed on the fool.

In the midst of this tense standoff, I couldn't help but suspect the identity of this new direwolf. Could it be Nymeria? The pieces were falling into place, but there was still a sense of uncertainty in the air.

Though still gritting my teeth, I looked at Shagwell with a defiant look.

“Go ahead and you’ll be wolf’s meal. Flee and you’ll die like the pig you are.”

Shagwell's eyes darted between the direwolf and me, uncertainty and fear evident on his face. He seemed to weigh his options, realizing that his chances of survival were slim. The direwolf growled again, its menacing presence intensifying the tension in the air.

I then saw another shape moving behind the fool and Arya’s eyes turned in a defiant glint. Another growl could be heard. Shagwell turned around and saw Lady. Sansa’s direwolf seemed more threatening than usual and ready to strike. Shagwell’s fear was palpable and as wounded and unarmed as he was, he couldn’t do much. In spite of the pain, I let out a nasty grin, seeing the predator becoming the prey. I suddenly heard a roar behind us. I turned around with difficulty and saw a sellsword charging at Arya. He didn’t manage to reach her as the great direwolf lunged at him. A violent struggle ensued on the ground where the man tried to force the animal to let him go, while the direwolf bit and mauled him. I heard footsteps moving away behind us. As I forced myself to turn around again, not allowing myself to look at the brutal sight, I saw Shagwell trying to move away, even though blood was spilling from his wound. Lady was observing him with vigilance, but not attacking him, probably considering him not to be a threat anymore. I scoffed at the man, as he had used the opportunity to take the French Leave. While I did not know how deep his wound was, he would be weakened for the time being. I winced once and forced myself to sit down, clutching my wound. Lady approached me, seemingly concerned. I looked at the direwolf and though I was suffering, I told her, “It’s alright, Lady.”

As the adrenaline faded away and exhaustion burdened me, I felt my arms and hands stiff and crispy while my breath was heavy and irregular. A part of me was seemingly trembling, though I didn’t know if it was from the physical endeavour or the anxiety and fear that now overwhelmed me. Trying to handle the crushing sensations, I noticed that fighting sounds and cries were slowly dying down in the distance, while noises of flight could be heard. A part of me hoped that Harwin and his men survived, but I couldn’t be so sure. I also observed Arya looking at the direwolf that ended up killing the sellsword. They locked eyes with each other. While I couldn’t see Arya’s reaction, I could guess by her demeanour that it was overwhelming for her, even though I wondered if the trauma, fear, and relief didn’t also play a part. Her voice quivered as she whispered, "Nymeria...", confirming my earlier suspicions.

Slowly and cautiously, she approached Nymeria, her eyes filled with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. She extended her hand toward the direwolf, who had been absent for so long. Nymeria, in turn, approached Arya, her dark golden eyes reflecting recognition and a sense of longing. Nymeria nuzzled her mistress's hand, and Arya, despite her own emotional turmoil, managed a small smile through her tears.

Seeing the reunion between Arya and Nymeria was a poignant instant. In spite of the pain and fatigue, I let out a little smile, glad that at least compared to the books and even more the show, Arya had been reunited with her direwolf far earlier and would keep and nourish the bond between them. Lady approached both Arya and her litter mate. As Arya stepped aside after nuzzling her direwolf, Lady approached Nymeria. Her demeanour was curious, cautious and yet hopeful. I remembered that they didn’t see each for a fortnight, perhaps a little more. They circled each other, sniffing cautiously before Lady let out a soft whine, seemingly acknowledging Nymeria as a fellow packmate.

I watched this interaction with a sense of wonder. The pack was slowly reuniting, even though Lady’s mistress was probably in King’s Landing by now and Jon and Ghost were at the Wall. But seeing those two direwolves interacting was marveling me, making me forget the pain I felt for a moment. Arya was observing them with a fond smile, her eyes teary.

After a few moments, Arya turned her eyes away from the direwolves and looked at me. Her gaze held a mixture of emotions, from concern for my well-being to gratitude for my protection. She approached me, her steps cautious, likely aware of the pain I was in.

I forced a weak smile as she drew near, my body aching from the wounds and the exhaustion that had settled in. Arya didn't say anything; instead, she simply wrapped her arms around me in a tight, heartfelt hug. I winced at the pressure on my injured thigh, but the pain was secondary to the overwhelming relief of being alive.

I returned her hug as best as I could, mindful of my injuries. In that moment, words weren't necessary. Our bond had deepened through this harrowing experience, and the simple act of embracing each other spoke volumes about the trust and friendship we had developed.

"Thank you," I finally said, my voice filled with both pain and relief. "You saved me. My little shining warrior in armour."

Arya pulled back slightly, her eyes glistening with tears and a soft smile playing on her lips. "You’ve saved me too,” she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. “I couldn't let anything happen to you.”

I nodded, but winced in pain. I looked around us and saw the bodies of the sellswords we had hurt or killed when trying to flee. My eyes stopped at Utt and I winced in seeing the damage I did to the man. Broken, bloodied, he was nearly looking like battered meat in a butchery, surrounded by a growing pool of blood. My stomach couldn’t hold anymore and I stumbled onto the ground, freeing contents of my body. Unlike before, I felt dread, guilt, disgust and self-loathing. I felt weak, not only because of my wound, but because of what had just happened. Concern and despair clutched my heart as I coughed bile.

Arya's expression turned from concern to alarm as she witnessed my sudden collapse and the distress that overcame me. She hurriedly knelt down beside me, her voice filled with worry. "Are you alright? What's happening?"

I tried to catch my breath, my body trembling with a mix of physical pain and emotional turmoil, the image of the battered body of Utt now haunting me. "I... I'm sorry," I managed to say between gasps. "It's... I never killed anyone before. I feel so... tainted."

I took a deep, shaky breath, attempting to calm my racing heart and clear my mind. Arya's hand gently rested on my back, her touch offering a small measure of comfort. Her eyes were solemn and understanding, probably thinking of the fact she hurt two men with her sword, even though it was for defending both her and me. My logical side reminded me of the fact that I did what I had to, but the lingering trace of fury I had in battering Utt was like a poison churning my stomach. Self-loathing and anger for myself was growing inside me. I berated myself for letting my anger blind me when I should have been more careful of my surroundings. Wincing in pain, I was reminded of the price I paid for letting my emotions rule me. I wasn’t the oversensitive little boy I was anymore, for Heaven’s sake!

We heard movement. I tried to get, but my wound prevented me. Arya looked at me.

“Don’t move,” she told me.

I nodded, frustrated by my situation and in understanding of her. She again Needle raised as she was ready to defend me. It was so moving and adorable. Yet I was worried because she was still untrained and currently affected by what had happened. Looking in the direction of the inn and of the village, we saw people stopping in our direction. They looked like villagers and I wasn’t certain of their reaction, though the presence of Lady and Nymeria must have made them wary. One of them turned back and shouted “They’re here!”

I saw movement and shortly after, I saw with some relief Harwin and three of his men arriving and approaching us. behind them was the old man in rusted armour and his companion. They all seemed battered and bruised but alive. A part of me was concerned and wondered with wariness how many of the escort survived the fight or how many people died in the struggle. Harwin looked at Nymeria for a short moment as if to decipher her presence before his eyes widened a bit, probably guessing what she was. He turned to his men and the villagers, “Do not fret. These direwolves are with us.”

Whispers of wonder and disbelief rose among the people. Harwin and his men approached us. I recognized Errac, Tor and Jallar. They stopped by our side while Harwin knelt by my side, his expression filled with relief and concern as he looked at me and then at my leg.

"You took quite a hit there," he remarked, his voice gruff.

I nodded in response. I noticed Arya’s attention was still on me. She knew that my injury, while painful, wasn't the only thing weighing on me. She had seen the darkness in my eyes as I had unleashed my fury on Utt, and she understood the toll it had taken on me.

Harwin then turned to Arya, his concern shifting to her. "Are you alright?" he asked, his voice softer this time.

"I'm fine," She nodded, her tone tense. "M… Roger protected me."

Harwin looked at me before glancing back at Arya, “Did he? Good.”

"Aye, quite the bold feat, that was, safeguardin' the fair maiden, wouldn't ya say? A task of great valor, it was, no doubt about it", a new and yet familiar voice remarked in a half-singing voice, full of admiration and amusement.

I turned my gaze and saw Tom, the bard who had praised my singing skills the previous evening, standing nearby with a bloodied axe. His sharp features and wide smile contrasted with the grim aftermath of the battle. A part of me felt grateful, because the success we had was thanks to him and probably to other people in the inn or even in the village.

I managed a weak smile in response to Tom's comment. "It was necessary," I replied, my voice still trembling. "I couldn't let harm come to Ar... the young lady." I stopped myself from saying Arya's name because I did not want her identity revealed to those whom were not friends.

The bard looked at me before observing the bodies around us.

"Well, if I didn't know nothin' better, I'd reckon you're worth the likes of a knight, I would. Ain't no denyin' that, my friend.", he said with his singing voice.

A part of me was amused and touched by such praise but I couldn’t deny it, even though the image of the crushed body of Utt reminded me it wasn’t the case. Even if I wanted to represent certain ideals, I wasn’t a knight. Arya's expression softened as she listened to Tom's words of praise. She glanced at me, her eyes reflecting a mixture of pride and concern.

"He's more than a knight to me." she said quietly, her voice filled with unwavering belief. Once again. her cheeks turned a cute shade of red.

Her words touched me deeply, providing a glimmer of solace amidst the turmoil within me. I looked back at Arya, gratitude shining in my eyes. "Thank you," I whispered. "Your faith in me means more than you know."

Despite the pain and guilt I felt, her unwavering support gave me strength to face the aftermath of the battle and confront the darkness that had surfaced within me.

Harwin, who had been silently observing our interaction, spoke up. "We should tend to your wound," he suggested, his voice gruff but filled with concern. "There's a healer in the village who can help."

I nodded in agreement, realizing that I needed medical attention for my injury. The pain in my thigh was becoming more unbearable with each passing moment, and I knew that delaying treatment would only make matters worse.

“You are right, Harwin,” I said with a wince, “This wound needs to be cleaned.”

I was thinking of the titbits I might hopefully give when I would be tending if the healer was ready to listen to me, of course.

The old knight in the rusted armor and his companion gently helped me to my feet. I cast a final glance at the bodies of the fallen sellswords, a somber reminder of the consequences of the violence that had unfolded. The weight of their deaths would forever be a burden I would carry.

“How many of your men survived, Harwin,” I asked with concern in spite of the pain.

The man’s eye turned somber, “We lost six of them and three others have been wounded. If it has not been for some of the patrons, the villagers, and these two we would have been overwhelmed.”, he said gravelly while showing the two newcomers that had joined the battle some respect.

"As followers of the Seven, we did our duty." said the old knight, as his companion gave a respectful bow to Harwin.

I nodded somberly, inwardly praying for the souls of the dead companions. I felt a deep pang in my heart as I thought upon the fact I wouldn’t see a lot of them after this awful fight. It was a terrible and sobering thought, a stark reminder of this world’s cruel and wicked ways. And yet, in spite of this reminder, in spite of the pain, in spite of the fact I was feeling sorry and tainted like never before, a part of me was still happy for staying true to myself. I might have fought, I might have killed, but I had the potential to thrive again and to learn from falls, failures and mistakes. It was while having those thoughts that I was moved back to the inn, supported by the old knight and his companion, while Arya stood by my side. Their presence brought a shimmer of comfort to me. Lady and Nymeria were moving alongside and their presence gave my soul more hope.

A.N.:

1. Here we are ! The new chapter and a very tense and suspenseful one I hope would thrill you. With the chapter depicting the confrontation with Jaime Lannister, it is one of my personal favourites, even though it has been a bit of a challenge.
2. The ambush idea was an idea I had for a long time, from the moment I considered how Cersei would react and might act after the very first chapter. I then perfected the idea thanks to the chapters of the confrontation with Jaime Lannister and of Jaime's interlude. One of the numerous set-up/pay-offs this story would have.
3. One of the main challenges of the chapter was to find a balance between action and believability, especially considering the fact that the SI is still "green" in matters of fights. Thanks to the help of my beta reader, I hope I had found this balance within this chapter. Same thing for the casualties or how the fight could have ended.
4. The setting was another challenge and finally this surprise attack was the choice made for this chapter, mainly because of the reputation of the Brave Companions in the books.
5. As you have noticed, many character references through the text and some new arrivals, either expected due to the canon (a certain wolf companion) and two unexpected ones that are two characters that appeared in the later books and whose background is blank enough to justify their presence there. There is a personal homage to/inspiration from a certain Jurassic Park scene for a certain moment in the chapter in the way the scene was settled. And of course, so many little references to depict the SI's mindset in this chapter.
6. I also wanted to show how the situation, the stress and a certain spark could unleash the darkest part of the SI (and because I am somewhat a sadistic author who can be very harsh with himself) and how it affects him on physical and emotional level. And the reaction after the fight is to some extent how I would imagine myself reacting as I have a tendency for roller coaster reactions when I felt very emotional, going from strong reaction of anger or defensiveness to very deep regret and self-loathing and bitterness. And being someone who dislikes violence, I know (or at least believe) this is how I would feel.
7. When creating a story, I am of the "middle ground" approach and this applies to Arya's situation or the SI's in this chapter. There are references and echoes to her personal trial by fire on witnessing the horrors while not exactly doing the same deed, mainly because I took into consideration her inexperience and the conditions of the scene as depicted. And concerning the SI, there is of course his fighting skills and chances, but also what befell on him during this chapter.
8. You might have noticed that I let the fate of one of the depicted characters unknown. It will be another potential set-up. While I'm trying to be as realistic as possible, I am also aware I am creating a story (even one based from a canonical one), meaning it is like a journey with its steps and its moves.
9. Teaser : the next chapter will be on the SI recovering from the ambush...
10. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

I lay on the bed of the inn I had been occupying since the ambush of the previous day. All I could do was sigh or grit my teeth in pain. Being immobilized from a wound was not a pleasant experience. The closest I had been in this position was being sick with flu and then bronchitis twice in my school years, and until now, those had been the worst experiences in life. But with what had happened yesterday, I had to wonder if the events didn't break a record as the pain was both physical and spiritual.

I couldn't bear to look at my leg, even though it had been bandaged and covered by the bed sheet. It reminded me so much of what happened with the healer in the evening. It had been a woman called Melly, a rather elderly one, who came to take care of that wound inflicted by Shagwell. It had been painful, especially as she had needed to retrieve the metal parts that the knife had lodged within the wound.

The memories of Melly’s ministrations were still fresh in my mind, and the pain in my thigh served as a constant reminder. She had approached with a tray of implements, her hands steady and experienced. Her touch was surprisingly gentle despite the pain she was about to cause.

"Easy, lad," she had said in a soothing tone as she saw the tension in my face. "This will sting a bit, but it's necessary."

With a practiced hand, she began cleaning the wound. I couldn't help but flinch and bite my lip as she worked, retrieving the fragments that Shagwell's knife had left behind. The pain was excruciating, but I knew it had to be done. I had offered a few words of advice, drawing from my limited knowledge of medicine.

"Boil some water," I had suggested. "We'll need to cleanse the wound thoroughly. And make sure to bandage it tightly to prevent infection."

She nodded in acknowledgment and carried out my instructions, her movements swift and sure. It was evident that she was skilled in her craft, and her actions put me at ease, despite the pain. I couldn't help but appreciate her efforts, as every touch and gesture were aimed at healing me. I was grateful she had accepted my little titbits and advice on taking care of my wound, even though I tried to be as diplomatic and humble as possible when making those suggestions as I didn’t want to assume I was questioning her skills. She made me drink a concoction of herbs to ease the pain and while it was very bitter, it helped me a bit. This was probably not milk of the poppy otherwise I would have been out if it.

During the process, it was obvious that Melly had honed her skills through years of experience. While Westeros was similar to some extent to medieval Europe in the sense that medical knowledge was limited, though only in specific fields like microbes or how the body could work, I thought I remembered that GRRM had said he made Westeros more advanced in medicine than medieval earth. Her remedies and treatments rooted in herbs, poultices, and incantations passed down through generations. While her methods might have seemed archaic to some, they were the only option available in a world devoid of modern earth medicine. And the little knowledge I had in care, more theoretical ones I knew could work than the practical ones, was there to complete whatever her skills had brought.

My thoughts drifted to Arya. I couldn't help but wonder if she had wanted to be present during the treatment. She had been concerned about my well-being ever since the ambush, and her presence had been a source of strength. I recalled a small smile that had graced her lips when she expressed her desire to be there, her cheeks turning a cute shade of red. However, Harwin, loyal protector he was, had gently moved her outside the room to shield her from the sight of the painful procedure. And I also wondered if it was to shield her eyes not only from any more horrors or to give me some privacy, especially since she was both a child and a lady. I chuckled as in my mind, I could hear Arya growl that she was not a lady.

My mind wandered to Shagwell, the man who had caused this injury. I couldn't help but hope that he had met his end during the skirmish. The thought of him still lurking out there, potentially causing harm to Arya or anyone else, filled me with a mix of anger and anxiety.

And then there was the fear of infection. As the healer continued her work, I couldn't help but pray that my wound wouldn't fester and develop a fever. The battlefield was a breeding ground for all sorts of filth, and the consequences of an infected wound would be dire.

The night afterwards had been restless, haunted by nightmares. The gory remains that was the face of Utt, the man I had killed, had tormented my dreams. It was the first time I had truly used violence and taken a life, and the burden of that act had weighed heavily on my conscience. The vividness of the nightmare still lingered, and I shuddered at the memory. My strong imagination made it worse as I saw his face in different forms of damage, including the gruesome exploded one like Oberyn’s face after the trial by combat against Gregor Clegane. I still remembered how my stomach churned through the nightmare as the corrupted septon’s face tormented me like a horrible ghost or an incarnation of the Erynias. The blood, the feelings I had felt when crushing his body with numerous strikes was vivid in my mind during this nightmare and I awoke many times during the night. I thought back on the fact that I had prayed three times in this moment to find solace and comfort in God as he was my first confidant and friend.

Yet, amidst the darkness, there had been a glimmer of solace. The howls of Lady and Nymeria, the direwolves, had assuaged my troubled sleep. Their presence had provided a sense of comfort and a reminder of the bond that had formed between me and these majestic creatures.

My thoughts abruptly returned to the direwolves as I lay on the inn's bed. The memory of Lady and Nymeria by my side brought a small smile to my face. The two direwolves were a testament to the extraordinary world I now found myself in, and they had become an integral part of my life. And I was deeply glad that Arya and Nymeria were back together again. I wondered if that would affect her warging skills. Probably, since she wasn’t separated from her direwolf anymore and hopefully wouldn’t know isolation, fear and survival for a while or even forever, even though in such a place, it was a fool’s hope. I didn’t know why but Arya’s struggles in the books reminded me to some extent those of lady Aliena’s in “The Pillars of the Earth” as I had played a video game version of Ken Follet’s books.

Trying to chase away those different thoughts, I turned my gaze toward the small window of my room. I knew that outside, they were burying the fallen from the fight. The weight of their deaths was a burden I would forever carry, a stark reminder of the brutal and unforgiving nature of this world. As I lay there, in pain and contemplation, I couldn't help but reflect on the events of the past days and the uncertain future that lay ahead.

I signed myself again, praying to God for the moment, my heart clenching hard in my chest as I prayed again.

“Seigneur, veille sur les hommes et femmes qui sont tombés dans la journée d’hier. Accueille-les dans ta miséricorde et ta clémence. Apporte-leur la paix qu’ils n’ont pu recevoir en ce jour. Apporte à leurs proches et à leurs familles le réconfort qu’ils recherchent en cet instant et apaise leurs cœurs lourds de peine. Accompagne-les dans leur tristesse et soutiens-les dans leur désarroi pour qu’ils puissent retrouver l’éclat de lumière dans ce brouillard de larmes. Seigneur… Apaise mon Coeur souffrant. Libère-le de ce fardeau étouffant qui l’écrase et le met à terre. Eclaire mon âme pour que je puisse la voir dans toute sa complexité, pour déceler ses failles, ses faiblesses et ses fragilités pour les circonscrire, les domestiquer et les atténuer ; pour que je puisse repérer mes forces et mes qualités pour les faire épanouir et croître… »

My prayers were interrupted when the door to my room suddenly opened. Sighing to myself again, I turned my body, a twinge of discomfort shooting through my injured leg as I shifted. It was Melly, the elderly healer who had tended to my wound the previous evening. I greeted her with a kind voice, "Melly, how well do you fare?"

Her wrinkled face displayed a mixture of relief and concern as she answered, “I’m fine lad.”

She then asked me, "How's your leg, lad? Is it giving you much trouble?"

I winced slightly, not wanting to admit to the full extent of the pain, and replied, "It could have been better." The memories of her ministrations were still vivid in my mind, and I felt gratitude for her expertise.

Melly went about her usual business, moving closer to inspect my wound. She gently prodded the bandages and the area around the injury. "Let's see how well it's healing," she muttered to herself. After a moment, she looked up and met my gaze. "It seems to be mending nicely. The bandages are clean, and there are no signs of infection."

I breathed a sigh of relief, grateful that my wound was not showing any ominous signs. "Thank you," I said, my voice filled with genuine appreciation. "Your care has been a great comfort."

The old healer smiled, her eyes crinkling at the corners. "You're a strong lad, and it's a pleasure to see you on the road to recovery."

Just as I was about to continue the conversation, Melly's expression shifted, and she informed me, "Someone is here to speak with you."

I furrowed my brow, wondering who might be seeking me out at this hour. "Is he or she here now?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

Melly turned her head to the door and called out, "Harwin!"

Harwin's tall and imposing figure filled the doorway as he appeared in my room, his face reflecting concern. Melly, the elderly healer, excused herself and left us to our privacy. I shifted in my bed, wincing slightly at the discomfort in my injured leg as I regarded Harwin with a questioning look.

"What brings you here, Harwin?" I asked. It was the first time we had an opportunity for a private conversation without Arya or his fellow men around.

His eyes were filled with a mixture of worry and empathy as he answered, "I came to check on you, lad. After what happened yesterday, I wanted to ensure you were well."

I offered a small, appreciative nod and replied, "I am well, at least for what my situation presents." I paused for a moment, my gaze drifting to the window, before continuing in a more somber tone, "But on the matter of the heart, I am not certain. I felt sick for what I have done and felt dirty and tainted."

Harwin's expression softened, understanding the weight of my words. He moved closer, his voice calm and reassuring, "It's not an easy thing, lad. The first time you take a life, it lingers in your thoughts. But you must remember that you did what was necessary to protect yourself and Arya. In times of violence, there is no room for hesitation. You did what you had to do."

His words brought me comfort, and I nodded in acknowledgment. "Thank you, Harwin," I said, sincerity in my voice. "But I fear that Arya needs it more than me. She is still a child, and she shouldn't have to be confronted with such things."

His eyes softened even further, reflecting his understanding. He answered with a reassuring tone, "I've been with her through the night, lad. I'll do my best to help her overcome what she has witnessed. She's a strong one, Lady Arya. We'll see her through this."

I nodded, grateful for Harwin's presence and his commitment to caring for Arya. I knew he was the right person to guide her through these troubled times. There was a reason he had earned the right to be part of the Stark household. While I knew Arya and I had a growing bond, I wasn’t certain I was fit enough to handle such matters, especially when I needed to solve my own inner issues.

A part of me wondered if I was wrong to downplay and to decline any help from him, but I wasn’t certain he would understand how impactful yesterday's events had been for me. I felt like Superman in “Man of Steel” after killing Zod. It was an excruciating pain I had to handle and I wondered how long it would take to mend it.

Taking a moment to shift the conversation, I inquired about the other wounded men of our escort.

"How are Derren, Tor, and Mors?" I asked, wanting to ensure the well-being of the Stark guards who had been injured during the ambush.

His expression brightened as he looked at me thankful before answering, "They're all on the mend, thanks to Melly's care. The wounds were painful, but none of them seem to have taken a turn for the worse. They'll recover."

A sigh of relief escaped my lips. It was comforting to know that the wounded members of our escort were in the same capable hands that had helped me. The worried concern began to relax as I took in Harwin's reassuring words. We both shared a brief moment of silence, allowing the events of the previous day to settle between us.

After a while, Harwin looked at me with a more serious expression, and I couldn't help but regard him with wary eyes. It was evident that he had something on his mind.

"There's something I need to speak to you about," he began, his tone measured. I looked at him with wary eyes, wondering what had prompted this conversation.

He continued, "I couldn't help but notice what you did during the fight at the inn. You took Lady Arya and fled into the woods. I want to understand why you made that choice."

I took a deep breath, my mind revisiting the events of the previous day. Guilt and self-doubt washed over me. I had put Arya in danger by taking her away from the inn, and now, I feared Harwin's disappointment and dejection.

"I was afraid that she would be cornered and trapped when they attacked," I explained, my voice faltering with the weight of my confession. "My concern was that Arya was too close to the fight. Even with the training I received to use my hammer, I was far from being a fighter. I wanted her to take refuge in the woods, waiting for the end of the fight. I know what enemies like to do with captive women. One of them was open about it! And his partner would have joined in!"

I closed my eyes for a moment. “I dared not stay in that inn. The only other option was to have Arya grab Needle and join the fight. But that would have been the stupidest thing I could have done. You do not bring a child to the front of a battle. I didn’t know what else I could have done.”

My voice trembled as I admitted my oversight, "My mistake was to overlook the fact they could have men to watch if anyone would try to flee." I locked eyes with Harwin, the regret evident in my voice. "But I would have given my life to prevent anyone from harming her in any way."

Harwin nodded understandingly, his features softening with empathy. "Lady Arya told me what happened. She told me how you protected and saved her. She also saved you," he remarked, a touch of pride in his voice for the young Stark girl.

I nodded in agreement. "Yes, she did. Without her, I might not be here right now."

I couldn't help but feel proud of Arya's bravery in protecting me, even if a part of me was sad that she had been confronted by the horrors of Westeros violence in a slightly similar way as in the canonical events. At least she didn’t see her entire household slaughtered this time around.

Harwin's expression grew more serious again as he continued, "You and Lady Arya share a bond, and that's clear to all of us who have been traveling together. It was already obvious she regarded you with high esteem after what you did in Darry Castle and now, it is stronger. But remember, there are boundaries, especially considering her age and her noble upbringing. You must tread carefully."

"I know, Harwin. And I understand the trouble it could bring. I won't overstep any boundaries," I assured him, understanding very well the blurred lines of such relations, especially for someone in my position.

Harwin gave me a reassuring nod, acknowledging my commitment to Arya's well-being. The tension that had been building in the room seemed to ease, and a more relaxed atmosphere settled between us.

I broke the brief silence by asking, "Is there anything else on your mind, Harwin?"

He cleared his throat and leaned in slightly, his voice lowered, "I've been helping the villagers look out for any signs of the sellswords. And..."

I raised an eyebrow, prompting him to continue. "And?" I inquired.

Harwin's expression grew grimmer as he spoke, "No trace of them. We found some horse tracks. It seems they've left the area."

I nodded, though a sense of unease lingered. "It's good that they're gone, but something about all this doesn't sit right with me...”

Letting my last words trail, I was thinking about Shagwell’s words during our fight and had a huge suspicion on the reason behind the Brave Companions’ attack. But I wanted to check it out with Harwin before expressing my thoughts.

"Is there any survivor among the sellswords who fell during the skirmish?" I inquired, my curiosity piqued.

Harwin's expression grew somber as he replied, "Yes, there were around five men that were only wounded in the fight, but three of them were killed by the villagers before my men and I managed to settled down the situation."

I nodded, understanding the villagers' fear and anger at the sellswords with how the latters attacked their village.

"Were the remaining survivors questioned?" I asked, hoping to gather more information on their motives and to see if my suspicions were right or wrong.

Harwin nodded in response, and his gaze grew more intense. "Yes, we questioned them. It turns out they were were hired to pursue us for a task that only their leaders were aware of. They claimed to know nothing about the specifics of their mission, just that they were to find us and to kill us."

I nodded and felt my suspicions grew stronger but also shivered in hearing the answer. Even though the response wasn’t obvious and considering the possibility that Harwin didn’t torture the prisoners for different reasons, it was for me enough as it echoed what came to my mind in regards of who was the mastermind behind the sellswords.

Taking a deep breath, I added, “Harwin, I may have an inkling of who have sent them," I admitted, choosing my words carefully.

His eyes met mine, and he listened attentively.

"During the fight," I continued, "there was a man I had fought. He claimed they were here because they've been paid to take care of Arya and me. And considering what happened in Darry Castle, I can't help but think that there is only a member of a certain family who could have orchestrated this."

Harwin's face tightened in thought. His brows furrowed as he processed the information. The gravity of the situation was evident in his expression.

"You think the Lannisters are behind this?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"I can't say for certain," I replied, my tone serious. "All I have is what I’ve heard of them and what happened in Darry Castle. They seem to be the kind of people who would burn down a village because an elder spat in their direction. I know the queen was irate by how my intervention prevented whatever she expected for Arya or even the direwolves. And her son, the prince was no better" I paused, my voice filled with reservation, "And forgive me if I sound pretentious, but I have the feeling many lords tend to have a strong sense of resentment and revenge against those they believe have slighted them. And someone like the queen or prince would likely ask someone to do the dirty work, even if it means threatening the peace."

Harwin nodded, his expression tightening and reflecting the uncertainty of the situation. He however voiced his reservations, saying, "I understand your concerns and I do not like the Lannisters. That would be something they could do. But it's a dangerous accusation to make without proof, especially against a member of the royal family."

I nodded in acknowledgment but couldn't shake my unease.

"I know we have no concrete evidence, but the coincidences are too great to be easily dismissed."

Silence settled over us as we contemplated the potential threats that loomed. After a moment, I asked, "What will happen to the prisoners?" I inquired.

Harwin sighed, his expression heavy with the weight of his next words.

“If it has been the North, I would have brought them back to Winterfell to let lord Stark or his son to make judgment on them. But we are in the Riverlands and this matter is tied to the lord who ruled the land where the village is. They will remain here for the time being.”

I gravely nodded, understanding the man’s reasoning and reluctance. A part of me was glad, because having two of the men being behind the attack along us once we left the village wasn’t something I was eager to have, not to mention the practical issues as it would slow us. My cautious self was also wary of the possibility the sellswords could come back, meaning that any prisoner we would take could remain a threat for us. But I wasn’t fond of the idea of letting these two men in the village that had been attacked. They would be a stark reminder of what just happened and considering how easy it would be to lash out on people that contributed to a wrong, it would mean the moment Harwin and our group left, the villagers might be tempted to deal with them without their lord’s justice.

"Did the villagers send someone to warn whoever rules over them about this attack and those men?" I asked Harwin.

His gaze remained serious as he replied, "Aye, they did, but it'll be some time before we hear back from them."

I nodded, knowing that we were still in a precarious situation. I hesitated to express my personal thoughts because I wasn’t certain if it would right but I decided otherwise as I couldn’t let Harwin ignorant of how I felt about staying in the place longer than expected.

"We can’t wait here too long. I do not want to impose on these kind and brave people. Not when they also have to handle the impacts of this attack."

Harwin nodded in agreement. "Aye, we can't overstay our welcome. But we need to give my men some time to recover from their wounds before we can think of leaving the village and resuming our journey to Winterfell."

I nodded again, acknowledging the need for our men to regain their strength. "You're right. We all need to be in the best shape possible, considering the dangers that may lie ahead."

Harwin looked at me with concern. "You need to take some time to heal as well, Roger. That wound on your thigh is no small matter."

I winced slightly, feeling the discomfort in my leg. "You're right. I'll take some time to rest to allow the wound to heal properly."

Harwin then shifted the conversation. "By the way, I've interacted with those two hedge knights who helped us yesterday."

Leaning in, I asked, "Do you know who they are?"

Harwin nodded as he explained, "Ser Illifer the Penniless and Ser Creighton Longbough, they call themselves. They've been looking for lords who would accept their service. They helped Lord Leslyn Haigh discard some bandits that had raided his lands a few moons ago."

As he mentioned their names, I couldn't help but remember them from the last books. A part of me wondered where they were in the context of the very first books. I could only guess it was a wide interpretation, one that allowed a fan to imagine. It was like one of those fanfictions where Earth and Westeros had a portal linking the two worlds, found by the two knights.

"Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton... They seem like honourable men," I commented.

Harwin nodded in agreement. "Aye, they do. It's not often you find hedge knights with such dedication and principles. But I am grateful for their arrival as I do not know if we would have managed to chase away those sellswords"

I couldn't help but be curious about their motives. "Did they tell you why they were here?"

Harwin considered for a moment before answering, "They're looking for a lord to pledge their service to, someone who upholds the ideals of knighthood."

I nodded, pondering their quest. "That's an admirable goal. I hope they find what they're looking for."

Harwin offered a small smile in response to my words. "Aye, they seem like good men. In fact, ser Illifer came to see me, asking if we needed their services. He said they were aware of how you and our men protected Lady Arya."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by their knowledge of Arya. "Did you tell them her name?"

Harwin shook his head. "Not yet, but they guessed she must be a highborn one, even with her peculiar manners and ways."

I couldn't help but snort at his description, knowing Arya's strong-willed and independent nature. "Peculiar is one way to put it."

Harwin chuckled softly before continuing, "Well, they offered their help because they knew we lost a lot of men in that ambush, and they believe we'll need all the necessary help we can get."

As he mentioned their concern for our situation, all I could feel was a gratefulness for their offer.

"It's good to know we have new allies in this journey, especially considering the danger we have just faced."

Harwin nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Roger. They have been helpful in handling the peace in the village after the attack on the matter of the prisonners.”

He then added, “They were also curious about you and how well you fare after the ambush."

I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie with our newfound companions. "I appreciate their concern. We'll have to get to know them better as we continue our journey."

Harwin continued our conversation, "Roger, it seems we have more potential companions joining our journey. Tom the bard has expressed his desire to accompany us."

I raised an eyebrow in surprise, not expecting the bard to want to venture further north with us. "Tom the bard? He's not exactly a seasoned fighter, is he?"

Harwin nodded, acknowledging the bard's lack of combat skills. "That's true, but he expressed his curiosity for the North, though I think he is more intrigued by you with your performance the other night. The fact you are a foreigner and one that knows songs but also displayed bravery in the face of danger to defend ladies intrigued him a lot. Tom of The Sevenstreams, he prefers to be called.”

I nodded both amused and surprised by the situation. I also suspected the man of wanting to create a song of the journey as it became more adventurous and dangerous than expected. Remembering a bit of who he was, I was impressed he decided to accompany us to the place where the sister of Edmure Tully lived. Especially since she would not see his presence in a good eye with how he mocked her little brother. “Fropping fish” indeed! I also realized that two members of “The Brotherhood Without Banners” were now traveling together. How much my presence and actions had already changed events so far?

The voice of the innkeeper suddenly called out to Harwin from outside, interrupting our conversation. "Harwin, there's a matter that needs your attention. We're waiting for you to assist in burying the fallen."

I turned to Harwin, slightly surprised. "I thought they were already buried."

Harwin shook his head. "The villagers wanted to prepare their fallen themselves."

The mention of the fallen villagers made me wince, a pang of sadness coursing through me. "Are your fallen men being buried here too?"

Harwin nodded, acknowledging the practical reasons. "Aye, for practicality's sake, they'll be laid to rest here."

I couldn't help but feel my heart clutch at the thought, knowing that traditionally, fallen Stark men were sent back to Winterfell to be buried in their ancestral home. "May I attend the burials?" I asked Harwin, my voice reflecting the somberness of the occasion.

Harwin's expression mirrored the gravity of the situation, and he answered, "I understand your sentiment, Roger. However, we would need the healer's consent, given your wound."

I nodded, understanding the need for caution. Harwin then called for Melly, and the healer entered the room, her face concerned.

Harwin quickly informed Melly of my desire to attend the burials and asked if it was possible. Melley answered, “Only if I checked his wound. If it’s still clean and the damage is not too severe, I'll allow it.”

She carefully examined my injury and, after a brief pause, she finally spoke. "You can attend, but you must be cautious, and keep the pressure on your leg as much as possible."

I nodded, appreciating and understanding her words. “I won’t overuse my leg, my dear lady. I give you my word.”

Melly smiled warmly, her eyes reflecting her kind nature. "Thank you for your understanding."

With Melly's approval in place, I slowly stood up, wincing a bit from the discomfort in my leg. Harwin, who had been quietly observing our interaction, immediately came to my side to offer support. His strong arm helped me maintain my balance as we made our way out of the room.

We navigated down the stairs with caution, and once outside, we moved through the village. Villagers watched with curiosity as they also made their way toward the same destination. Some of them recognized Harwin and me, offering nods and murmured words of acknowledgment.

As we approached the outskirts of the village, we found ourselves in a field where villagers and others had gathered. People turned to see us arriving, and the air was heavy with the somberness of the occasion. I felt a lump in my throat. It wasn’t the first time I attended a funeral or something similar, but it was the very first time it was deeply emotional for me.

I couldn't help but smile fondly as Lady and Nymeria rushed toward us, their tails wagging excitedly. Despite the pain in my leg, I gently stroked their furs, appreciating their presence.

“How are you girls?”, I asked with a little smile as I stroked them.

I felt people looking at me and I knew that Harwin was observing me with probably a fond glance but also perhaps some exasperation. Perhaps I was wrong but I didn’t mind this little momentary distraction.

Then, a familiar voice filled with emotion called out to me. "Roger!"

The direwolves stepped away as Arya rushed to me and hugged me strongly. I winced slightly as she did, but I returned the hug just as tightly, feeling her warmth and affection.

Harwin, standing beside us, reacted swiftly. "Easy there, Lady Arya. Roger is still healing."

The young girl pulled away slightly, concern in her eyes. "Are you alright, Roger?"

I reassured her with a kind smile, “I am alright, Arya. It's nothing I can't handle." I then shifted my focus to her. “And you? Are you well?”

Arya sent a grateful smile Harwin's way before answering, "I'm better, Roger. Harwin helped me with the nightmares."

The Stark guard nodded, appreciating the mention, then looked around the field, his expression growing more serious. "I thank you for your words, my lady. But it seems like we've gathered quite the audience."

I followed Harwin's gaze, noticing the villagers who had gathered to pay their respects, as well as the other members of our escort. Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton, along with Tom of the Sevenstreams, were also present.

Feeling a bit sheepish about openly displaying my emotions, I offered a small, apologetic smile to Harwin, knowing that he was right about maintaining a sense of composure.

Arya, ever the straightforward one, scoffed playfully. "Don't be so serious, Harwin. We've been through enough already. Let them watch."

I chuckled at her words, appreciating her spirit and inwardly agreeing with her. While my heart was heavy, I knew letting myself down wouldn’t do any good.

Ser Illifer and ser Creighton then approached us, the rounded knight having some difficulties to move, giving me the impression that he had some eye issues. Ser Illifer saluted Arya and Harwin. Both his companion and he looked warily at Nymeria and Lady before looking at me. The old knight noted my condition and commented, "You seem alright, Roger."

I met his inquiry with gratitude. "Thank you, my good ser. I wanted to be here to pay a last homage to the men that gave their lives to protect us.”

I added, “And I thank you for your concern, my good ser. Harwin has told me what you and your companion asked him," I replied with a kind smile.

Ser Illifer nodded solemnly, his eyes filled with a mix of respect and sorrow. "It was the least we could do, Roger. Your bravery as well as the sacrifices made by the men accompanying you and the young lady will not be forgotten."

I held up a snort as Arya reacted, “I’m not a lady!” while Harwin kindly hushed her.

Ser Creighton, standing beside Ser Illifer, chimed in with a gruff but sincere tone. "Aye, that we do."

I nodded, acknowledging their words with a humble expression. "Thank you, both. Your presence and support mean a great deal to me. We fought together, and we mourn together."

Tom approached us with a somber melody. "I shall raise me voice high, singin' of their valor and mettle, so their names be etched in songs and tales. They shan't ever fade from memory, they won't."

He then turned to me, "Mayhaps ye could lend 'em a song, me dear fellow. You sang well the previous night."

I hesitated for a moment. His suggestion was touching, as I was still a stranger. While I wanted to give something to honour Wyl and his fellow guards, I knew that the cultural differences were there and I didn’t want to make people ill at ease or confused.

"I would be honoured to sing in their memory," I replied to Tom. "However, many of the songs I know carry the marks of my homeland, and I'm not sure how they would be received here. My faith is different from yours, Old or New Gods."

Ser Illifer the Penniless and Ser Creighton Longbough exchanged glances at my words, their upbringing in the Faith of the Seven making them curious about my different faith and a bit wary, for which I couldn't blame them. It was the very first time I commented on my personal religious faith since I had arrived in Westeros.

Tom, with a thoughtful nod, acknowledged my concerns, but he still seemed eager to hear what I could offer. "Ah, I see where ye're comin' from, but even if ye know a single song that ye reckon would pay homage to the departed, 'twould still be a lovely tribute."

I thought for a moment and then nodded. "In that case, I may, Tom.

I noticed the looks of Harwin, ser Illifer, ser Creighton, Arya and of the bard.

Arya looked at me with curiosity, her grey eyes reflecting a blend of emotions as she awaited my decision. Harwin, standing beside her, had a thoughtful expression, his gaze shifting from Tom to me. Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton exchanged another glance, their interest piqued by the idea of my song. Lady and Nymeria, the direwolves, remained close by, their watchful eyes trained on our group.

Tom smiled warmly, his gratitude evident. "That's the spirit, Roger! Whenever ye be ready, we'll be right 'ere, eager to lend our ears."

I felt a reassuring squeeze on my shoulder from Harwin, and I nodded at Tom. "Thank you, Tom. I'll do my best to offer a fitting tribute to our fallen comrades."

Harwin then noticed that the innkeeper and the remaining villagers were joining the gathering.

“It is time,” he said.

Ser Illifer nodded while I straightened up, preparing myself for the solemn instant while thinking of the potential song I might sing to honour Wyl, his companions and the fallen villagers. We all moved towards the group.

As we all joined the rest of the group, I noticed familiar faces among the mourners. Jallard, Jonric, and Tor, the villagers and the patrons who had offered us their hospitality at the inn, stood with somber expressions. They had witnessed the events of the previous day, and I could sense the weight of the tragedy on their shoulders.

Harwin stepped forward, his voice carrying across the field. "We have come together today to pay our respects to those who have lost their lives. Let us remember their bravery, their sacrifices, and the impact they had on each of us."

As Harwin spoke, the crowd grew quiet, their attention focused on his words. He continued, his voice steady and filled with conviction. "Today, we stand united in our grief, but also in our determination to carry forward their legacy. We will remember them, honor them, and ensure that their memories live on."

Arya stood beside me, her expression a mix of sadness and determination. She reached out and took my hand, offering her silent support. I squeezed her hand gently, grateful for her presence.

Ser Illifer and ser Creighton, standing nearby, nodded in agreement with Harwin's words. They understood all too well, the significance of the moment and the importance of honouring the fallen.

The ceremony began with a moment of silence, a collective pause to remember and reflect. The air was heavy with emotion as each person paid their respects in their own way. Some closed their eyes, while others whispered prayers or shared quiet words of remembrance.

My throat thickened as I thought of Wyl and of his fellow guards who had fallen in the fight yesterday. Their sacrifices weighed heavily on my heart.

Arya noticed my reaction and reacted. Her grey eyes, filled with sympathy, met mine. She gently squeezed my hand, offering silent support in the face of our shared grief.

I smiled at her with gratefulness for her unspoken comfort, and she returned it with a small, reassuring nod.

Nymeria and Lady stood by our side, their presence a comforting reminder of our journey and the bonds we had forged. The direwolves had become our silent protectors and companions, and their loyalty was unwavering.

As the villagers and the remaining guards gathered around, we turned our attention to the solemn ceremony. The graves of the fallen were marked with rough-hewn stones, a stark reminder of the sacrifices made to protect the Stark household.

I closed my eyes for a moment and silently offered a prayer to God for the souls of the departed, seeking solace and strength. Beside me, the villagers began their own prayers to the Seven, and Harwin, his men, and Arya bowed their heads in reverence to the Old Gods.

Amidst the quiet contemplation, Tom of Sevenstreams stepped forward and began to sing, his mournful melody filling the air. The haunting strains of "Six Sorrows" echoed through the field, capturing the collective grief and loss we all felt. I felt my heart clenching as I heard his voice, grave and sorrowful. I was also touched by the song, perhaps because I loved these kinds of emotional ones, but also because it was one I never heard even though it was probably one that existed in one way or another in Westeros.

The lyrics of the song depicted tales of sorrow and sacrifice, evoking memories of the fallen guards and the villagers who had lost their lives. I stood among the onlookers, my own heart heavy with the weight of the tragedy. Though the song was unfamiliar to me, it touched a chord deep within, perhaps because it was the embodiment of the emotions I felt or because it was reminiscent of the emotional songs from my homeland.

I glanced at Arya, who stood beside me, her grey eyes reflecting a myriad of emotions as she listened to the song. Her face displayed a mix of sadness, determination, and a longing for payback. She had known these men, and their deaths had affected her deeply.

Harwin, standing beside Arya, shared a thoughtful look with me. His gaze shifted from Tom, who was now in the final verses of the song, to me, his eyes silently asking if I was ready to contribute my own tribute.

As the last notes of the song faded into the still air, Tom turned his eyes in my direction. I could see a look of expectation in his gaze. Some of the villagers and guards also turned their eyes towards me, curious about what I might offer.

The innkeeper, who had seen me perform the previous evening before the ambush, spotted me among the crowd. Recognition dawned on his face, and he nodded with a hint of encouragement, remembering my song from the evening before the fight. He must have guessed that I might give a personal homage to the fallen people of his village and of the Stark men.

The moment was filled with an expectant and uncertain silence. I felt overwhelmed by the situation. The eyes of those around me seemed to carry the weight of their grief, and I was uncertain if my contribution could provide the solace they sought.

Arya, sensing my hesitation, gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. Her silent support offered me the strength to step forward, even as my throat constricted with emotion. I looked down at her and smiled gratefully before straightening up.

Taking a deep breath, I made a step forward towards the burial place, where the rough-hewn stones marked the final resting places of the fallen guards and villagers. While wincing a bit due to the pain of my wound, I knew it was time to offer my own tribute, a song that had deep personal significance and that would fit the moment. Or at least, I hoped it would.

With a lump in my throat, I began to sing. My voice, though filled with sadness, carried a sense of reverence and hope:

“Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee

E'en though it be a cross that raiseth me

Still all my song shall be nearer, my God, to Thee

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee

Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down

Darkness be over me, my rest a stone

Yet in my dreams I'd be nearer, my God, to Thee

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee

Or if on joyful wing, cleaving the sky

Sun, moon, and stars forgot, upwards I fly

Still all my song shall be nearer, my God, to Thee

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee

Nearer, my God, to Thee, nearer to Thee”

While I wavered a bit at the start, I kept on singing, remembering the rhythm of the song as it had been played in the movie “Titanic”. Each time I took a breath, I closed my eyes to feel the emotion and to focus solely on the song. It was as if the music and lyrics provided a channel for the grief and hope that filled my heart.

The villagers, deeply rooted in their Westerosi traditions and customs, listened with a mixture of curiosity and reverence. The unfamiliarity of my song didn't deter them from appreciating the sentiment behind it. The lyrics struck a chord with them, speaking to the pain and loss they had experienced.

Tom watched with a solemn expression. His voice had been the initial catalyst for this tribute, and he seemed to recognize the sincerity in my performance.

Ser Illifer the Penniless and Ser Creighton Longbough observed the ceremony with a thoughtful demeanor. Their interest in my cultural differences had grown, and this moment provided them with another glimpse into the depth of my background.

Harwin and his men stood with heads bowed, listening to the song. Harwin's eyes conveyed a sense of approval, a silent acknowledgment of my contribution.

Arya watched me with a look of deep appreciation. Her grey eyes shimmered with emotions, and I could see that the song had touched her heart. The emotion in her eyes made my heart melt and I could feel some tears in the corners of my eyes. Nymeria and Lady stood by her side, whining softly as if knowing that howling would have disturbed the moment.

As I reached the final verse of the song, I raised my voice, letting it soar in tribute to the fallen. The last notes faded into the still air, leaving a lingering sense of reverence. The villagers and guards remained silent for a moment, absorbing the emotions that the music had stirred.

The solemn ceremony had been a collective expression of grief, a tribute to the fallen guards and villagers who had given their lives in defense of the Stark household. As I stepped back, I felt a sense of connection with the people around me, despite our differences. It was a moment of unity in the face of tragedy, and I hoped that my contribution had provided some solace to those who had gathered to pay their respects. I thought upon the fact that as emotional and painful it was, it was like a welcoming reprieve after the terrible events of the previous day. Wincing from my thigh, I thought upon the fact that I had made my true trial by fire in Westeros, but that the path remained very long and full of unknown, especially with the ripples that had already been settled through my presence, my actions and words and those that would come in one way and another.

A.N.:

1. Here we are! The new chapter, albeit not the one initially expected. Due to a comment and because I felt it could be relevant and interesting, I created this chapter to tackle some of the aftermath of the ambush of the previous chapter and to develop some interactions I felt would be interesting to see. That kind of chapters of last minute would be the exception because I had planned ahead the story and there are already a dozen chapters that have been created and awaiting the publication. Creating new ones in the current thread before some of those that are already written would disrupt the plotline I have in mind if I am not careful.
2. Concerning the chapter itself, I wanted to tackle the care around the wound, the situation after the ambush, the newcomers in the group and show the state of mind of the SI and finally the burials. The trauma dimension for the SI will be further explored in another chapter that had been created for a while as it played a role in the bonding process with one certain character. In the context of this chapter, it serves for the interactions with Harwin as I felt one big discussion with this character would be relevant and interesting. The others interactions were of course important and hopefully good, but I thought that showing the SI handling the aftermath of the ambush in speaking with one person he is now close and yet in a more formal way would be good.
3. Concerning the mentioned prisoners, it will be one case where their fate is let for open interpretration, even though I am sure most of you would agree the likeliest end. It is one of those cases where the SI doesn't need to know or see what happen, but only guess. And of course, it is more plausible and "realistic" as a situation.
4. There are now three new known characters of "A Song of Ice and Fire" joining the story and creating new ripples in the way the events would evolve. I hope the justifications of their presence in future chapters are good enough.
5. The burials scene was something I consider would work well as an end for the chapter, notably for the emotional dimension and to create some kind of conclusion for this mini-arc around the ambush before the resuming of the journey. The songs references is IMO an obvious (the first as part of the universe of ASOIAF and hte second because of its nature) but what would be funerals/burials without a sad song (at least when you have a singer/bard to do the job, of course)? The last lines are my way to tease in a subtle way the core of the next chapter, one that I had already created and one that have been approved by my beta reader, which I am glad because of the bombshell that would be there.
6. Teaser : the next chapter is about a quiet wolf arriving in a city in a scene similar to the canon and yet with a little difference that will open the path to a bombshell that would set a big game changer in the Song and in the Game of Thrones...
7. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

As I wearily trod the stone corridors of the Red Keep, a mix of fatigue, irritation, and frustration clawed at my very soul. I yearned for respite after the last fortnight of journey, yet destiny had other designs in mind. It came in the form king’s steward , coming to me as I arrived in the courtyard, informing me that the Grandmaester was gathering the small council. A part of me had yearned to decline it, but my sense of honour and duty, deeply ingrained into my very being, prevailed. The council was a test, a challenge to my commitment to justice for the realm.

As I navigated my way towards the council chambers in borrowed attire, slightly exhausted still from the journey, my thoughts were fixated on the information that my mysterious informer had relayed to me, prior to his departure for Winterfell. It provided me with a rare sense of purpose in the treacherous maze of King's Landing's politics. While a part of me was wary of the foreigner’s knowledge and claimed origins, his demeanour and his deeds in Darry Castle tempered my worries. I reminded myself of the fact that he knew about my promise to Lyanna and Jon’s parentage, something that couldn't be faked. The weight of those secrets bore down on me, a burden I carried not just as Eddard Stark but as the Hand of the King.

My hand started reaching into a pocket that was inside my cape. For in there were the notes of Marc's advice, one of the means that helped me as a stark reminder of my utmost priority – safeguarding Sansa and my household while aiding me in facing the intrigues of the Red Keep. I stopped myself from taking them out. Now was not the time, especially as someone might be watching and grow curious.

The mantle of the Hand weighed heavily on me, an isolating responsibility further compounded should Stannis's departure be confirmed by anyone within the keep. Given the modest size of my household compared to the sprawling Lannister establishment, our vulnerability loomed large, particularly if circumstances were to take an unfortunate turn. I prayed that I wouldn't face whatever fate was depicted in these... stories that the enigma, Marc, read back in his home.

But such claims were very hard to grasp, especially as I wondered what it meant in the matter of my existence. Were the gods only illusions? Was the man who had created the tales back in Marc’s world the true deity of my world? I regretted that I didn’t ask him about those terrible implications, but time was against us. I found myself grateful that neither he or my youngest daughter were with us in King’s Landing. Especially as I had heard of the foul mood of the queen, Robert having complained of her recent tendencies, after our departure from Darry Castle.

The end of the journey to King’s Landing had been tense, and I had heard of a confrontation between Marc, the Kingslayer and the Hound, before my informant had left Darry Castle with Arya. I prayed that my daughter was alright and would arrive at Winterfell safe and sound. My thoughts shifted momentarily to my son Robb, pondering on how he would adapt to the newcomer's presence and if he would trust him.

There was also caution concerning bringing a stranger into my service, particularly in relation to my son. However, Marc's assistance and demeanour provided a good level of trust. I believed that he would extend his support to Robb with utmost sincerity and refrain from exploiting any vulnerabilities.

As I hurried through the dimly lit Throne Room, the resonance of my steps echoed inside the chamber of power. It was there, in the shadows of that imposing room, that I unexpectedly confronted the man who brought out conflicting emotions within me. Here was a man I had grown to resent more deeply than any other player in this treacherous game of thrones - Jaime Lannister, the one is was the first to call the Kingslayer.

My muscles involuntarily tensed as I looked at him, standing tall and unapologetic before the Iron Throne. The disdain I harboured for him ran far deeper than the simple moniker of "Kingslayer" suggested. It was a resentment fuelled by his heinous act of regicide, his relentless taunting, and his blatant disregard for honour. And that he caused a scene in front of my daughter! Jaime had a knack for targeting the very essence of everything and everyone I stood for. This encounter was one I loathed, but it was one I couldn't avoid, especially considering his audacity to confront Marc, in a way that put my youngest daughter in harm’s way. For a moment, I pictured Arya slapping him across his arrogant face. This image brought a brief half-smile to my face. But now was not the time for fantasies.

He noticed my presence and, in typical Lannister fashion, adorned himself with that smug grin that runs in his family. But his eyes shone with a resentment and a scorn stronger than when we spoke during the feast of Winterfell. A part of me wondered what made him resent me even more than before, but I didn’t care about the man’s opinion, distrustful and dishonourable as he was.

"Thank the gods you're here, Stark," he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "About time we had some stern northern leadership."

My irritation simmered just below the surface at his insolence. "Glad to see you're dutifully guarding the throne," I replied with a wry edge.

Jaime's laughter cut through the tension like a dagger. "Sturdy old thing, isn't it? How many kings' posteriors have polished it, I wonder?

What's that saying? 'The King shits, and the Hand wipes.'"

My gaze drifted to his impeccable armour, untouched by the rigors of battle. "Impressive armour you have there. Not a scratch on it."

"I know," Jaime responded, his arrogance oozing from every word. "People have been swinging at me for years, but they always seem to miss."

"You've certainly chosen your opponents wisely," I retorted, matching his icy demeanour with my own.

Jaime's tone then took a sudden change, his voice growing somber. "It must be strange for you, coming into this room. I was standing right here when it happened."

The mention of my brother and father's deaths by this man, the very man who had watched and done nothing, ignited a smouldering anger within me. My sense of honour bristled, and I could barely contain my rage. "But you just stood there and watched."

"Five hundred men just stood there and watched," Jaime replied bitterly. "All the great knights of the Seven Kingdoms. You think anyone said a word, lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men, and this room was silent as a crypt. Except for the screams, of course, and the Mad King laughing. And later... When I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned... It felt like justice."

The audacity of his words left me seething with fury. Yet, as Jaime continued to speak, a flicker of hope danced in my mind. Marc had whispered about the wildfire plot and how to possibly make the Kingslayer tell the truth.

"Is that what you tell yourself at night? You're a servant of justice? That you were avenging my father when you shoved your sword in Aerys Targaryen's back? Or that it helped you forget about him shouting 'Burn them all!'" I retorted, my voice firm and unwavering.

Jaime Lannister's smug demeanour was suddenly replaced with a widened look of surprise and discomfort as my words hit home. He looked away, his expression troubled. It was obvious he didn’t expect it, and the advice Marc had given me on how confronting him seemed to work. It was obvious the words spoken had rattled him to the core. Now to try and get the truth out of him.

For a brief moment, silence hung in the air between us. The weight of the history and animosity between our families bore down on the room. The Kingslayer’s usual arrogance seemed to waver, replaced by a more vulnerable and conflicted demeanour. He seemed to struggle on how to answer me. Seeing this demeanour, I narrowed my eyes, realizing that beneath the armour of pride, there was a hint of humanity trying to break through.

As he continued to grapple with my words, it was clear that he was not going to easily divulge the truth about the Mad King's death, especially not to me. His initial surprise at my question quickly gave way to a renewed sense of defiance, and his demeanour shifted back to that of the confident and enigmatic Kingslayer I had come to know. Still, he seemed more defensive than before.

"Always the paragon of honour, aren't you? But I won't indulge in your accusations or assumptions. You weren't there; you don't know the whole story," he finally replied, his tone scathing and somber.

I clenched my fists, frustrated by his evasion.

"No, I wasn't there. But I know what I saw when I found you on the Iron Throne, with the corpse of Aerys at your feet while your father was sacking the city. That day, I didn’t just see a man breaking his oaths to protect his king. I also a man that didn’t do anything to protect the children his father ordered to be butchered," I retorted, remembering the moment Tywin Lannister displayed bloodied cloaks that contained the bodies of Elia Martell and her children.

Jaime's face hardened at the mention of the innocent lives lost during the Sack of King's Landing. The pain and guilt that flickered on his facial expressions betrayed the conflict within him. He seemed to struggle with himself before he looked back at me with bitter eyes.

"You speak of oaths and honour, Stark, but do you truly believe that everything is as black and white as you make it out to be? The world is not so simple. Sometimes, in order to protect the greater good of others, sacrifices must be made," he retorted with steely bitterness.

I shook my head, refusing to accept his justifications. "Sacrifices? Is that what you call it? What about the lives of the innocent? The children who had nothing to do with the madness of their grandfather or their father’s folly? Your actions were not those of a noble knight. They were those of a man who chose his family's interests over the lives of others."

Jaime's gaze hardened, and his voice grew colder. "You judge me without understanding the full weight of my choices. You think you know what happened that day, but you don't. You don't know the true horrors I witnessed, the impossible decisions I had to make."

I took a step closer, my voice laced with assertiveness, sensing that the truth might be disclosed as Marc’s advice echoed in my mind about the fact that the Kingslayer had specific reasons for killing Aerys.

"Then tell me the whole story. Tell me why you killed him."

Jaime's eyes met mine, and for a moment, there was a glint of something deeper in his gaze. But he quickly masked it with a cold, aloof expression. "Why should I? What would it change, Stark? You've already judged me."

I held his gaze, refusing to back down.

“I’ve judged you because of what I saw that day. But if there’s more to the story, if you broke your oaths for reasons beyond personal gain, then it would change everything."

Jaime's face remained stoic, but I sensed a crack in his armour. His eyes flickered with a mix of emotions – pain, regret, and a hint of longing for absolution. He seemed torn between the weight of his past and the possibility of redemption. A war waged within him, between upholding his reputation as the Kingslayer and the desire to unburden himself of the weight he had carried for so long.

There was a palpable tension in the room as he hesitated, his gaze shifting between me and the Iron Throne. The weight of his past deeds and the judgment of others seemed to bear down on him. I wasn’t certain he would accept, as his pride would prevent him from telling the truth, or he would dismiss my question with his usual arrogance. And yet, there was something else in his demeanor, as if he was conflicted and tormented, even though he was trying to hide it. The arrogance and smugness seemed to have vanished. For a moment, it seemed as if he might refuse to answer, but then he let out a long sigh and spoke, his voice filled with a mix of resignation and defiance, his eyes somber and conflicted.

"All right, Stark. If you truly want to know, I'll tell you."

I nodded, signalling my readiness to listen. A part of me couldn't help but hope that what Jaime was about to reveal wouldn't confirm the dreadful information Marc had given me back in Darry Castle.

"You know that Aerys was obsessed with wildfire," he began, his voice tinged with the bitterness. "Every execution he ordered was carried out by burning people alive. But when news of the defeat at the Trident and the death of his son reached him, he gave a new command. He ordered his pyromancer to place caches of wildfire beneath the very heart of King's Landing. His intention was to reduce the entire city to cinders, leaving nothing but ashes for your beloved friend to rule over. As the sole Kingsguard there, I knew of his plans but I tried to fulfil my oaths. But so many vows to swear and to respect. When the king you’re supposed to protect is planning to exterminate the innocent people of an entire city, which vows do you hold first?"

His words hung heavily in the air, a horrifying revelation that painted a grim picture of a deranged king's plan to destroy the city and all within it. The implications were staggering, and I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of dread as I processed the enormity of the revelation. Even in regards of what Marc had told me, it was beyond what I could imagine. His words about the conflicting oaths struck a chord with me. I thought of my promise, remembering that I, too, had forsaken my honour to protect my nephew.

But Jaime, now unburdening himself of a secret he had carried for years, continued to speak, revealing the grim extent of the tragedy.

"When my father's army arrived at the gates of the city," he confessed, his voice still heavy, "the king was deceived into believing my father to be his loyal ally. He graciously opened those gates. You are well aware of what transpired thereafter. When he found out about my father's betrayal, Aerys ordered the pyromancer to ignite the wildfire, and he demanded that I bring him my father's head."

My reaction was a blend of shock, anger, and a deep understanding of the terrible choice that had been forced upon Jaime that day. Forcing his Kingsguard to commit kinslaying, one of the greatest sins of the Seven Kingdoms, was something I couldn’t fathom, even with a man like the Mad King. What kind of man could enforce such monstrous commands on those who stayed loyal to him? It was a sick way to use oaths and vows. A part of me remembered the day Jon Arryn called the banners in response to the Mad King’s demand to him to bring the heads of Robert and me, even though we were his wards.

Jaime's voice quivered slightly as he pressed on, his words laden with anguish. "You speak of honour and duty, Lord Stark. So many vows. They make you swear and swear... Defend the King, obey the King, obey your father, protect the innocent, defend the weak. But what if your father despises the King? What if the King massacres the innocent? It's too much. No matter what you do, you're forsaking one vow or another."

I nodded, my demeanour reflecting a somber readiness to listen. Jaime's question hung in the air, echoing moral dilemmas and the torment he had endured. His eyes betrayed his inner struggles, and I could see the burden of the choices he had been compelled to make, inviting me to confront my own inner turmoil.

"So tell me," Jaime sulkily implored, his gaze unwavering and seeking understanding. "What would you have done if the king asked you to deliver him your son's head?"

Meeting Jaime's gaze with a heavy heart, I was filled with sorrow. I thought of my promise to Lyanna, but I also considered what I would have done if my own children were in peril and I had to choose between them and duty. I hesitated, but my response was filled with unwavering conviction.

"I would have refused," I replied, my voice steady but firm. "No matter the consequences, I would not forsake my son. Duty and honour must serve the realm and protect the innocent, not be used as tools of cruelty. It is the duty of every true knight to uphold justice, even when faced with the most agonizing choices."

In that moment, I grasped the depth of Jaime's torment and the tremendous burden he had carried for years. I thought of Marc and wondered how he viewed the man before me since he may have known his motives to kill Aerys.

Jaime's eyes remained locked onto mine, and it felt as if the fate of the entire world rested upon his shoulders. His voice held a mixture of vulnerability and defiance as he broke the heavy silence.

"You speak of refusing, Stark," he began, his gaze unwavering, "and yet that was what I did that day, when Aerys told me to kill my father. And you called me kingslayer before trying to understand why I did it."

Jaime's words sent a shiver down my spine, and I couldn't help but feel a deep sense of sorrow and pity for the man before me. Despite my stern demeanour, conflicting emotions surged within me. This was the Kingslayer, a man whose actions had earned my contempt, but now I was faced with the harsh reality of the choices he had been forced to make. A part of me reminded me that it wasn’t just the fact he broke his oaths in killing the Mad King that irked me.

The weight of my own judgment and my past perception of Jaime as a dishonourable oathbreaker were now slapping me in the face. I had called him "Kingslayer" without truly comprehending the torment that had led him to that fateful moment. It was a moment of reckoning, a stark reminder that our world was not always as black and white as I had once believed.

“Your father’s actions biased me against you when I entered this room and saw you seated on the Iron Throne,” I said even though it pained me to tell Jaime this.

His gaze remained fixed on mine, and I could see a glimmer of something resembling gratitude in his eyes, a flicker of understanding that I was willing to listen and reconsider my judgment. And yet, he didn’t relent. I was surprised as I expected him to gloat about my admittance, but it seemed my words fortified his current attitude. I wondered if there was something else that he knew but didn’t tell me. But the man might not tell anything if I pressed him too much.

"What did you do then?" I asked, no doubt still sounding stunned from today's revelations.

Jaime's response was tinged with bitterness and resignation. "You saw what I did," he retorted, a hint of defiance in his voice.

Suppressing a biting retort, I pressed him further, needing to hear the full account of those crucial moments.

"Tell me everything that happened that night," I urged.

With a slight tremor, Jaime recounted the harrowing final moments within the Throne Room. "The people of King’s Landing would have perished if I didn’t do anything. I dispatched the pyromancer first. He was the Hand of the King then. Then I went for the king. When he found out what happened, he tried to flee, shrieking 'Burn them all!' I drove my blade into his back, halting him in his tracks. And to ensure that he would never awaken as a dragon, I slit his throat."

As I gazed into Jaime's eyes, I couldn't help but see the haunting expression of a man who had been forced to make an unthinkable choice for the greater good. The knowledge that the city and its innocent inhabitants had been saved from a fiery death weighed heavily on my conscience. Jaime's actions, though morally complex, had a logic that was hard to deny. It didn't absolve his father's actions that day or the fact he broke his oaths, but the Mad King's intended atrocity was of a monstrous scale I couldn't fathom. Even after Marc had shared his knowledge with me, the reality of it all remained almost unbelievable and terribly grim.

A shiver coursed through me as I realized just how close my men and I had come to a gruesome end that day. I owed my life, and the lives of those I had led, to Jaime Lannister's actions. Yet, Jaime himself seemed oblivious to this fact. I wondered how he would react if he ever found out, especially considering the Lannisters' reputation for exploiting any advantage to further their power. But in hearing his tale, I saw that Jaime was a complex figure. He wasn't a good man, but he had done good and had sacrificed his honour to save countless lives.

"What happened to those caches of wildfire?" I inquired, my voice somber and concerned.

Jaime's expression grew solemn. His voice, though tinged with uncertainty, conveyed a sense of responsibility.

"With the death of Aerys and the pyromancer, I thought that the immediate threat had been thwarted," he explained. "Its potency must have faded with time."

His response, while logical, did little to ease my concerns. The mere existence of the caches of wildfire hidden beneath King's Landing was a danger that could not be ignored. And I couldn’t solely rely on Jamie's word, not just because of his situation but also because he was a knight, not a maester or one of those damned pyromancers. I also thought of Marc’s words and considered he wouldn’t have revealed such information if he didn’t believe it to be a threat for me and my household. I shivered as I thought of Sansa. My daughter was not only in a pit of vipers, but also one that could potentially go ablaze.

"We cannot afford to leave such a threat unchecked. What measures have been taken to locate and secure these caches?" I inquired with a concerned voice, my eyes locked onto Jaime's, searching for any hint of deception or remorse.

Jaime winced, bitterness etching deep lines on his face, and he let out a soft, scornful scoff. "I didn't think to share the secret of those wildfire caches," he confessed, his words hanging heavily in the air.

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. The gravity of his admission weighed down on me, and it only exacerbated my frustration. Marc had warned me about Jaime being the sole keeper of this dangerous secret, but hearing it from the man himself was a different matter entirely. The fact that the Kingslayer had kept such a crucial secret, one that posed a significant threat to the lives of countless innocent people, was deeply troubling. It wasn't just about refusing to explain why he had killed the king; it was about withholding information that could prevent a potential catastrophe. The pride of the Lannisters knew no bounds, and Jaime's actions now only solidified my distrust of him.

A surge of anger and frustration coursed through me, but I knew that succumbing to these emotions would serve no purpose. I took a deep breath, attempting to maintain composure even as I felt more distress from the situation.

"Have you considered the consequences of your silence on the safety of your own sister, the queen, and her children? You must inform the king and the small council immediately to ensure that this threat is addressed."

As I delivered my stern words, I studied Jaime's reaction closely. His expression shifted from bitterness to shock, revealing the inner turmoil he must have been grappling with. There was anger, but also concern and worry. The mention of his sister and her children clearly struck a chord with him. He let out a sigh, and his shoulders slumped in reluctant acceptance.

"You're right, Lord Stark," he admitted, his voice heavy with regret.

"Then, come with me. I have to meet with the small council. Hopefully, the king will be there to hear you," I urged Jaime, my voice firm and resolute.

Jaime responded with a bitter scoff, a hint of that smug grin I had grown to despise playing on his lips. His eyes, however, revealed a deeper well of bitterness beneath the surface.

"Ah, Stark," he drawled, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Your dear friend gracing his presence at the small council? Well, let's just say the chances are as slim as awaiting the return of dragons."

I regarded Jaime with an unamused expression. His sarcastic response grated on my nerves, and I felt the urge to dismiss him outright. Yet, I couldn't ignore the troubling changes I had observed in Robert since his arrival in Winterfell. His apathy towards matters, even those concerning his own children, had grown evident. It was disheartening to think that it took a foreigner like Marc to reveal the truth about Arya and Prince Joffrey. And as much as I held contempt for the Kingslayer, there was no denying that he had been protecting my friend since Robert had been crowned.

Sighing heavily, I relented, my voice carrying the weight of my concerns. "Then, accompany me to the small council. They need to be informed, and after that, we will seek an audience with the king."

Jaime's piercing gaze bore into me, his face revealing a look of exasperation. Unsettled by his look, he shifted his stance and released a sardonic laugh before speaking.

"I may not possess the same wit as my brother, but even I can discern the reaction awaiting us if you were to arrive with me and declare that we have just discussed a matter of the realm tied to the Mad King. Everyone knows you can’t stand me. So, how do you intend to present this issue to the small council?" he challenged, his tone bitter.

I took a moment to collect my thoughts, resisting the urge to react to his taunts. He was right, and I had to acknowledge that. How could I possibly arrive at the small council chamber with Jaime Lannister in tow, announcing the danger to everyone, especially given the animosity between our houses? How could I fulfil my duty when I knew that doing so would make me a target for scorn and blame?

Marc's advice echoed in my mind, urging me to find a practical solution, reminding me of the commander I had been during the Rebellion and against the Ironborn. I needed to approach this situation with the same pragmatism I had employed in the past.

As a potential idea formed in my mind, I turned to Jaime with a resolute expression. "You're right. Our presence together would raise more questions than answers," I admitted firmly.

Jaime appeared somewhat appeased by my decision, though a hint of scepticism still lingered. He posed a valid question, as expected.

"And what if they demand to know the source of this information?" he asked.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get there," I replied, my tone unwavering. "But for now, let's focus on the immediate task at hand: ensuring the safety of the city. If we can convince the council of the threat, they'll be more willing to work with us, regardless of the source."

Jaime couldn't help but comment with a wry smirk, "For the honourable man you are, you can be very cunning."

Ignoring his remark, I concluded, "I must go to meet the small council now."

As I was about to leave, I added, “We may not see each other eye to eye, ser Jaime, but the truth must be told. You have broken your oaths, but you saved lives. When the time comes, I’ll make sure the king clears you of the “Kingslayer” name. You have my word.”

Jaime's expression softened slightly at my words, a mix of surprise and gratitude crossing his face. He nodded in acknowledgment, the weight of his past actions evident in his eyes. And yet there seemed to be something else there...

"Thank you, Lord Stark," he said, his voice laden with a mix of bitterness and genuine appreciation. "I never expected such words from you."

I offered him a curt nod, acknowledging his gratitude without further comment. Time was of the essence, and the urgency of the situation demanded immediate action. I turned to leave, my mind already racing with the next steps I needed to take to address the threat of the hidden wildfire caches.

As I made my way towards the small council chamber, I couldn't help but reflect on the complexities of the situation. Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, was a man burdened by his past actions, yet he had also carried out a tremendous act of sacrifice to save innocent lives. The truth of his choices and the revelation of the wildfire plot weighed heavily on me. I knew that navigating the political landscape of King's Landing would require delicate manoeuvring, but the safety of the city and its inhabitants had to take precedence. A great sense of urgency was now in my mind. A part of me couldn’t believe the situation I was now. The fact that Marc’s claims on the wildfire was now confirmed was a dreading perspective and made the safety of the people of King’s Landing very crucial. To think that I would need the Kingslayer of all people was something I couldn’t have believed some weeks ago, even if it was not the first time I had to work with people I distrusted and disliked. But the lives of countless innocent people were at stake, and it was imperative that we acted swiftly and decisively. A part of me wondered if I could still call him kingslayer. He was and yet he saved so many lives. I couldn’t fathom to dismiss his wrongs, even though they prevented a greater evil. My head pounding hard to the complicated thoughts I was having. The warnings Marc gave me about the members of the small council came back in mind and made me warier than I was. I felt tired and yet I couldn’t let such an urgent matter be left aside. As Hand of the King, it was my duty to ensure that the realm was safe.

As I arrived at the council chambers, I pushed open the heavy doors and entered the room. Upon stepping into the council chambers, I bore the weight of Marc's counsel, the intricate insights, and the weighty decisions that lay ahead. Even more than before, I felt his words of advice and information might play a greater role in spite of my reservations. As I moved inside the chamber, the small council room contained four members awaiting my arrival. The room's opulence struck me - Myrish carpets gracing the floor, tapestries adorning the walls, and Valyrian sphinxes standing sentinel by the entrance. Yet, there was scant time to marvel at this grandeur; the council's matters beckoned urgently, especially with what Jaime Lannister had told me.

The Spider was the first to extend a greeting laden with feigned concern.

"Lord Stark, news of your travails on the kingsroad grieved me deeply. We've all frequented the sept to light candles for Prince Joffrey. May his health be restored through our prayers."

His words pricked at me, conjuring memories of the incident involving Mycah, the butcher's boy. The prince's falsehood to implicate Arya lingered, and I silently acknowledged that without Marc's intervention at Darry Castle, the repercussions might have been graver. Yet, it also cast a shadow on the prince's character. Varys’s words pricked me even more as I thought upon the information Marc gave me about his plans to bring the Dragons back to power in the guise of a civil war.

"Your supplications have reached the gods," I replied, my tone remaining cool. "Each day sees the prince's strength grow."

"My dear friend, it is not his strength that needs to grow back," the voice of Renly Baratheon voice resonated with a touch of amusement behind the eunuch. "No, no. My nephew requires the restoration of his pride. For you see, it is not an everyday occurrence that a little girl takes him down and a lowly peasant manages to knock him off his royal pedestal, without facing swift retribution." His words dripped with a mixture of condescension and sly mockery, his tone subtly emphasizing the absurdity of the situation.

I furrowed my brows as I heard those words belittling Robert’s eldest son. While Joffrey’s behaviour was something I was now wary of because of the obvious influence of his mother and of Marc’s warnings about him, he was still the prince. Mocking Joffrey, even in what was supposed to be a private meeting could have future consequences. I extracted myself from the Spider’s grasp to turn my eyes on the man who made this nonchalant taunt. Varys's hand left traces of powder on my sleeve, while the sickly-sweet fragrance he exuded hung in the air like blooming flowers at a gravestone.

I looked at Renly as he was approaching me to greet me, followed by a slim man being behind him that I suspected knew be Littlefinger, the master of coins and the man Marc told me to beware. While Renly's striking resemblance to Robert struck me, Marc’s words reminded me that he was also a visage not to be trusted on face value alone.

"I see you've arrived unscathed, Lord Stark," Renly greeted me.

"Likewise for you," I returned. "Pardon me, but at times, you bear a striking likeness to your brother, Robert."

"A meagre imitation," Renly shrugged.

"Though decidedly better dressed," Littlefinger interjected with his customary impertinence. "Lord Renly's wardrobe expenditures could rival those of half the court's ladies."

Renly's flamboyant attire was conspicuous, golden stags embroidered upon his doublet, and a cloth-of-gold half cape draping his shoulder, secured by an emerald brooch. "There are graver offenses," Renly countered with a laugh. "Yours included, I'm afraid."

"Worse dressing habits, indeed," Littlefinger chipped in, his irreverence a persistent undercurrent.

I held little patience for their exchange, yet Littlefinger persisted, his smile teetering on the edge of insolence as he approached me.

"It's been some years since I anticipated this meeting, Lord Stark. Undoubtedly, Lady Catelyn has shared thoughts of me with you."

His familiarity with my wife, Catelyn, set off a disquieting chord within me. While I was now aware he was a slippery character to beware, he was even more oily and insinuating than I had imagined. His eyes were constantly darting around, as if he was always looking for something to exploit.

I knew that I needed to be careful around him. He was the kind of man who could twist words and turn situations to his advantage. And with what Marc tells about his part in Jon’s death, I had no doubt that he was already scheming to use me and my family for his own ends. The determination to find the proofs of his guilt was strong, but I knew I had to play along, as much as I disliked those games.

"Indeed," I replied, a frosty edge creeping into my voice. "She has."

The master of coins seemed unfazed by my tone.

"I gather you knew my association with your brother Brandon as well?" Littlefinger remarked, a trace of amusement threading through his words. "Rather too intimately, I dare say. I still carry a memento of his regard. Did Brandon ever happen to speak of me?"

"Often, and usually with fervour," I retorted, a subtle bid to discourage further exploration. My patience waned, and interacting with the man was grating.

"One would assume such fervour sits uneasily with Starks," Littlefinger's insolent tone persisted, his words dancing on the precipice of provocation. "Down here in the South, they claim your kind to be forged from ice, and that you thaw, you cross the Neck."

"Rest assured, Lord Baelish, melting isn't in my immediate plans," I retorted in an unwavering manner before breaking away from the conversation to find solace beside Grand Maester Pycelle at the council table.

As I approached him, the Grand Maester offered me a benevolent smile. In other circumstances, it would have offered me some comfort, but I remembered that his loyalty was entwined with the Lannisters and the queen. Even more than Renly, I had to tread carefully with him. His feeble and benevolent appearance was likely to hide a cunning and treacherous mind, if Marc’s words were to be confirmed. A part of me wondered how I would handle those challenges with this necessity to tread cautiously even amidst the confidences of the small council.

"Maester Pycelle, I trust your well-being," I greeted with a formal nod.

"As well as a man my age can be, my lord," he responded, fingers intertwined atop his ample abdomen. "Though I find myself growing exhausted with each passing day." The maester's collar, adorned with an assortment of metals and precious stones, symbolized his wisdom, yet equally emphasized the connections he wielded.

"Very well," I concurred, taking the king's seat that bore the embossed stag of House Baratheon in gilded thread upon its cushions. The absence of Robert cast a somber shadow, causing a void feeling to be in the room. Nonetheless, as the Hand of the King, I had a duty to uphold.

"My esteemed lords," I addressed the small council with formal gravity, "I extend my apologies for the delay."

"You are the King's Hand," Varys said with an air of servitude. "We serve at your pleasure, Lord Stark." I knew better than to trust his words completely, and I kept a watchful eye on all present. Internally, I prepared to navigate the treacherous waters of the small council with the knowledge and advice that had given to me.

Seated within the council chamber's lavish surroundings, an unsettling sensation gripped me. An uncanny feeling of displacement loomed, a stark awareness of my true place among these men of covert designs and artful stratagems. The recollection of Robert's warning, imparted to me amidst the crypts of Winterfell, reverberated – I was surrounded by sycophants and jesters. But Marc’s warning also echoed in my mind and I couldn’t help but wonder to what extend I could rely on one or the other warning as I surveyed the council table before me. Complacency with the intelligence at my disposal was not a luxury I could afford, not when the safety of my household, especially of Sansa, could be at stake.

"We stand five in number," I observed, acknowledging the conspicuous absence of Stannis and Ser Barristan.

"Lord Stannis returned to Dragonstone shortly after the king's departure north," Varys interjected, a sliver of slyness threading his words. "And our noble Ser Barristan, I presume, rides alongside the king as his rightful place dictates – the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

I sobered at the answer of the eunuch as his words confirmed another information Marc gave me. Dear gods! How much did he know about what was going on in King’s Landing and beyond? A part of me was grateful, but I couldn’t help but to be concerned as such knowledge could be abused. And even if Marc had shown cautiousness, concern and vigilance and something that told me he was honourable, I knew not much of him and regretted that I couldn’t have enough time to fairly judge him on other deeds. Hopefully, messages from Winterfell would give me an answer to these uncertainties.

"Might we consider waiting for Ser Barristan and the king's presence?" I ventured, the idea dissipating in the wake of Renly's boisterous laughter. His mirth-filled dismissal spoke of a cavalier attitude toward the king's obligations, embodying the cavalier nature of Robert's reign. It was also a reaction that inadvertently mirrored Marc's depiction of flamboyant yet ineffectual rule.

"Our illustrious King Robert shoulders numerous concerns," Varys chimed in, his words attempting to rationalize the council's involvement in the realm's governance. "Certain minor matters he entrusts to us, lightening his load."

Hearing those words aroused the disappointment, but also the wariness as it confirmed the kingslayer’s words on the matter.

However, the matter at hand was far from trivial. Robert had decreed a grand tourney in celebration of my appointment as Hand of the King. The ostentation of the event, coupled with the staggering expenses it entailed, left me momentarily speechless. I scrutinized the missive adorned with the royal seal, its contents further fuelling my astonishment and mounting frustration. I couldn’t fathom the extravagance and the cost, especially with the fact I was now aware of the potential danger beneath our feet.

"An exorbitant ninety thousand gold pieces," Littlefinger sighed, his tone carrying the weight of calculations. "And let us not disregard the other expenditures. Robert's penchant for lavish feasts is well-known. That entails a whole retinue of cooks, carpenters, serving girls, minstrels, acrobats, jesters…"

"Fools, in abundance," Renly interjected, brushing aside the concern with a breezy jest.

Yet, the reality of the Crown's mounting debt bore heavily upon me. Littlefinger's revelation laid bare our staggering liability – over six million gold pieces owed to sundry parties: the Lannisters, the Iron Bank of Braavos, and the Faith, to name but a few. I couldn’t help but think that the realm was in a very bad place. This debt was as problematic as the wildfire caches and I had to handle both. Irritation and annoyance were growing inside me.

"How did you let it come to this?" I demanded of Littlefinger, my horror palpable at the financial quagmire the realm had sunk into. "Aerys Targaryen left behind a treasury brimming with gold. I refuse to believe Jon Arryn would permit Robert to squander the realm's wealth."

Littlefinger's casual shrug was a spark that kindled my ire, his nonchalance fanning my frustration. "The master of coin discovers the gold. The king and Hand decide how to spend it," he replied, neatly deflecting accountability. How I wanted to reach out and throttle him!

Renly, too, dismissed the weight of the matter, asserting that Robert's affection for tournaments and banquets vastly overshadowed his enthusiasm for financial prudence. I resolved to confront the king, to address the mass extravagance that the realm could ill-afford.

"I shall have a word with His Grace," I declared firmly. "This tournament is an indulgence our realm cannot bear."

"Speak as you must," Lord Renly concurred, his demeanour casual. "But it's prudent we chart our course nonetheless."

"We can’t," I snapped with an edge, realizing my impatience and quickly adopting a more composed tone as I continued. "Forgive my abruptness, my lords. Fatigue weighs heavily upon me. I must report that I have heard disturbing rumours about something the Mad King did before his death and that may still threaten the city and the royal family.”

All the members of the small council were looking at me with intrigued or calculating eyes.

"Disturbing rumours?" Littlefinger asked, his interest piqued. "What kind of rumours?"

“I didn’t know you were the kind of man that listens to rumours, lord Stark”, commented Renly with a jape.

I held their gaze, each of the small council members awaiting my response. The weight of the information I was about to share hung heavily in the air. I chose my words carefully, aware of the gravity of the situation.

"I didn't seek out these rumours, Lord Renly," I replied evenly, "but circumstances brought them to my attention." I paused for a moment, letting the tension build before continuing. "It's said that before his death, Aerys Targaryen may have ordered the creation of caches of wildfire hidden beneath King's Landing."

The room fell into a stunned silence. Pycelle's eyes widened in recognition, and Varys, ever watchful, showed no visible reaction, but his attention was rapt.

Littlefinger broke the silence first, his curiosity piqued. "Wildfire, you say? The Mad King's obsession? How intriguing."

Renly leaned forward, his interest growing. "And what's the significance of these caches, Lord Stark?"

I continued, my gaze shifting from one council member to the next. "The significance, my lords, is that if this rumour is true, then we may face a great danger. I do not know how wildfire works and it may still pose a grave danger for the city and the royal family. A single spark could ignite the entire cache, leading to a catastrophe of unimaginable proportions."

The council chamber remained hushed as my words hung in the air. The gravity of the situation had settled upon them, and the weight of responsibility was palpable. Each member of the small council seemed lost in their thoughts, contemplating the potential consequences of such a revelation, some worried and other hiding their reactions behind calculating and pondering looks.

Pycelle was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with concern. "Wildfire is a highly volatile substance, my lords. Its destructive power is unparalleled. If these caches exist beneath King's Landing, the threat would be cataclysmic ."

Varys, ever the master of secrets, spoke next, his tone measured and calculated. "This revelation, if true, sheds new light on the Mad King's madness and his intentions. It also underscores the importance of our vigilance in protecting the realm from such hidden dangers."

Littlefinger, who had been observing the reactions of the others, finally chimed in. "Indeed, it is a curious turn of events. But one must wonder, Lord Stark, how you came by this information. Is it purely based on rumours, or do you have some tangible evidence to support these claims?"

I met Littlefinger's inquisitive gaze with a steady one of my own. "For now, it is based on rumours and whispers, but I intend to investigate further. The safety of the city and the realm is paramount, and we cannot afford to dismiss such a threat lightly."

The small council members exchanged glances, their expressions a mixture of concern and intrigue. It was clear that the revelation had struck a chord with them, and they recognized the gravity of the situation. Lord Renly was the first to break the silence, his voice filled with a newfound seriousness.

"We cannot afford to ignore this, Lord Stark," he said, his tone devoid of his earlier casual demeanour. "The potential danger posed by these wildfire caches is too great. We must take immediate action to assess the validity of these rumours and, if necessary, neutralize the threat."

I nodded in agreement, grateful that Robert’s brother understood the urgency of the matter. "I couldn't agree more, my lord. The safety of King's Landing and its people must be our utmost priority. I will do everything in my power to investigate these rumours further and ensure that appropriate measures are taken to mitigate the risk."

Pycelle cleared his throat before adding his voice to the discussion. "I concur with you, my Lord. Wildfire is an incredibly dangerous substance, and if the Mad King indeed left caches of it hidden beneath the city, we must act swiftly and decisively. I will provide any knowledge and expertise I have on the matter to aid in our efforts."

Littlefinger, always the opportunist, interjected with a sly smile on his face even though his eyes were calculating and wary. "Rest assured, Lord Stark, I will assist you in whatever way I can. Uncovering the truth behind these rumours could have far-reaching implications, and I am not one to shy away from a good game."

Varys, ever the pragmatist, offered his assistance. "I can use my little birds to discreetly inquire about any unusual activities or knowledge regarding the wildfire. However, I must warn you, my lord, that anyone who might have known about the plot is likely dead or long gone."

My thoughts turned to Jaime Lannister, reminding the discussion I had with him just before this small council meeting and the revelations he had made. Varys’s words gave me the opportunity to give to the man the opportunity I had told him. I decided to use this opportunity to probe further. "Speaking of those who might know, The Kingslayer was by the Mad King's side before... before the end. His insights into the matter could prove invaluable."

The mention of Jaime Lannister's name caused a stir among the council members. They exchanged glances, clearly taken aback by the suggestion.

Littlefinger, always the one to seize upon opportunities, spoke first. "Ah, the Kingslayer. Quite the enigmatic figure, isn't he? If he knows anything about these wildfire caches, he may hold the key to unravelling this mystery. But getting information out of him won't be easy."

Renly nodded in agreement. "Indeed, Lord Stark, the Kingslayer is not known for his cooperative nature. And you, more than anyone, know that he is no one to be trusted. Should we place our trust in his words when questioning him about the wildfire?"

I looked at Robert’s brother with a grave glance, even though it pained me to say the next words, “I do not trust the Kingslayer, Lord Renly. But if there is a thing I might trust in him, it is the loyalty he has for his family. And since he is the Queen’s brother, he might tell us the truth if he thinks it can endanger her children and her.”

Varys, ever the pragmatist, chimed in with a thoughtful nod. "It is a risky proposition, my lord, but it may be our best chance at uncovering the truth about these hidden caches of wildfire."

Pycelle remained silent at first, but then he nodded gravely. "Ser Jaime’s inputs might be invaluable in uncovering the truth about these wildfire caches. But you must know that as a Kingsguard, he is held by his oath to keep his king’s secrets.”

I furrowed my brows, not much because of the Grandmaester’s words but because Jaime Lannister confessed me the truth once I told him that I could amend my judgment. And a part of me doubted he would have kept all Aerys’s secrets. But Pycelle’s words revealed a potential challenge that fortunately could be settled. I looked at the maester with a firm eye.

“Fortunately, the current King can bring ser Jaime to reveal his mad predecessor's secret.”

All the members of the council pondered my words before finally nodding. A part of me was relieved I was able to tackle this issue, but I also felt deeply troubled by the whole issue and the fact I had to handle so many challenges when I had just arrived in Kings Landing.

“I thank for your trust my lords. I think we should adjourn for the day and reconvene when our minds are clearer," I finally said.

Rising abruptly from my seat, I exchanged nods with the assembled council members and directed my steps toward the exit. An avalanche of contemplation's and schemes awaited my attention, a labyrinthine network of intents and ambitions demanding careful decryption. Weariness plagued my mind as I contemplated what I had experienced in this first day in the Red Keep. The fact that much of the information that Marc gave me had been confirmed in one way or another was terrifying and made me even more worried of what awaited me in this pit of snakes. My concern was greater for Sansa as this place might be even more dangerous for her. I had spent as much time as I could during the journey with her and I knew I had to pursue this endeavour into this pit of vipers for her sake and to prevent her to be isolated with the schemers that were in the place. I thought on the fact I needed to contact Syrio Forel for one of my daughters as well.

As I exited the council chambers, I acknowledged that the path I had embarked upon as the Hand of the King teemed with pitfalls, an odyssey where relentlessness was mandatory, and vulnerability tantamount to recklessness.

Emerging beyond the chamber's confines, the castle gates heralded a scene of chaos - wagons and riders converged in a tumultuous array of mud, steeds, and clamorous voices. Having advanced ahead of the main column with my retinue, I sought to distance us from the Lannisters and the escalating tensions. King Robert Baratheon was conspicuously absent, rumoured to be ensconced within his towering wheelhouse, ensnared by inebriation's embrace (and hopefully not more whores as well). A mingling of fatigue and apprehension shadowed me, vividly recalling the peculiar tension that had underscored our journey since Darry Castle. Marc’s advices might have prepared me for the dangers of the court and I knew I could rely on Vayon Poole or Jory and hopefully on whoever lord Manderly would send, but I felt something was amiss and I needed to prepare for the worst, if not just for me, but for the sake of my wife and children.

A.N.:

1. Here we are! The interlude containing the bombshell and a key interlude. And one of those chapters I loved to imagine, even though it was also one of the most challenging and difficult.
2. Some of you might have noticed, but some parts are like an echo to the canonical chapter or show scene depicting Ned's arrival in the Red Keep. It was intentional because I thought that would be interesting to show the similar and yet different nature of the situation, notably due to the knowledge he had been given
3. This chapter had known different versions because I wanted to explore how Ned would have interacted and acted after the events of Darry Castle while also not strechting the chapter too far. Initially, it was closer to the book chapter structure, though with the divergences created by the initial chapters of this story and by the fact it is from Ned's POV. However, it was a bit cumbersome and two-folds in structure. Fortunately, as I considered mixing both books and shows when it can work, I remember Jaime and Ned's discussion from season one in the episode of the arrival in King's Landing and I thought it was a golden opportunity, notably for the confrontation between the men in regards of the new information Ned had, especially as it could be easily tied later with the small council meeting.
4. The scene between Ned and Jaime was however a bit of a challenge because I didn't want a cliche scene in one extreme or another (i.e Jaime easily confesses or Jaime totally stayed firm and refused to answer and on the other hand Ned being a total "Honour above all" or should I say "Ehre über alles" caricature as he is sometimes depicted), mainly because of the complex relation between the two men or the fact that Jaime is also "plagued" by the deeds he has done to the Starks so far (the canonical fall of Bran, the canonical attempt to find Arya to kill her on Cersei's request after the incident on the Ruby Ford and finally the advise to call for the Brave Companions to murder Arya and the SI). I hope this "middle ground" approach works well, especially with how much complexity it would bring to the relation between the Starks and the Lannisters (not to mention different ironies). I hope it was a respectful tribute to the complexity of both characters while also alloing the plot-driven part of the story to thrive. With the show scene, I also made a reference/hommage/easter egg to the famous question of Jaime to Brienne in the start of season 3 when he confessed the truth to her, but this time to the man who despised him and called him "Kingslayer". And considering that Ned lied about Jon's true parentage and canonically lied on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor to protect Sansa, one can guess how his answer would be.
5. Concerning the small council meeting, outside of the aftermath of Jaime's confession to Ned, it was obviously how the Northerner lord would interact and handle the different members in regards of the informations he had received, but also how the events on the Ruby Ford and in Darry Castle influenced the reactions of the different characters (notably Renly as I had read how he dislikes Cersei and Joffrey...). A mix of canonical and divergent events as I doubt Robert awaited the arrival to King's Landing to plan his project of tourney to celebrate his friend (though, with the incoming situation...).
6. I truly hope to have given an interesting take that yet remains faithful/respectful in this new context to the mindset of the different characters depicted in this chapter, especially Ned with how he handles the intricated situation in the Red Keep, the fact that he has to handle the information he had been given and the concern he has for his family. While my beta reader had seen no issue or discrepancy with this huge Point of Divergence in the canon, that still remains a bold move from me to depict such a scene in regards of how two of the most famous characters of this universe interacted.
7. Teaser: for the next time, return to the SI who has resumed his journey to Winterfell with a halt with both comfort and training...
8. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

Sweat poured down my forehead as I jerked awake, my heart pounding! I found myself surrounded by the dim glow of the campfire. My head throbbed, and my heart was tightening in my chest. The awful images were still plaguing my mind. Sitting up straight, I let out a sigh. While a part of me knew it would take time to allow those scars to heal, I was frustrated by the fact that even ten days after the ambush, the images of violence, the faces of Utt and of the sellswords I hurt or killed, the fear of dying or worse the thought of Arya being hurt were messing with my mind. Ever since the attack and my recovery, I had been praying to God more than I ever had before, in order to find comfort. At least, I knew I didn’t expect things from him, only the fact to confide in him, expressing my fears, my vulnerability and hopes, asking for forgiveness for the wrongs I did and to help me to move on.

This time, the nightmare was much worse and I refused to linger on it as thinking about those visions were disgusting, repulsing, even more when I could hear Utt’s mocking voice in my head. My stomach was twisting and I had to use all my will not to vomit.

Trying to focus on something else, I moved out of the tent to observe my surroundings while attempting not to awaken Harwin. I winced as I felt the pain lingering in my leg. I took a glance, seeing the clothes the people of the village gave me, including some from the sellswords that had been killed in the ambush. I still kept the jeans, but it was now with my belongings, awaiting an opportunity to be hopefully sewn in the future.

As I took a look around our camp, darkness was still present, even though it was perhaps moving towards dawn. I noticed the presence of Jallard on watch duty, keeping a vigilant watch while the fire was dying nearby him. I sighed, glad and relieved of his presence. Sadly, he was the only one on watch which made me a bit worried. From the three men that had been wounded, only Mors had completely recovered while the two others, Artos and Derren, were still hurt. Our other companions were still asleep in their tents. My stomach knotted as I thought back again of those who died in the ambush. My throat tightened as I remembered the burial place and the ceremony that the villagers and we held for them and the villagers who died. So many lives lost in a brutal manner and a part of me couldn’t help but think that a lot of that blood was on my hands. I struggled to get rid of these feelings as they were nothing but poison for my psyche.

Observing the surroundings to be sure he was not alone on watch, I was glad to see there were at least two of Lord Charlton’s men checking the place. I was glad of their presence, remembering when they first arrived in the village some days after the ambush to investigate the attack. Harwin and the villagers had talked about the sellswords, while the possible implication of the queen or her son wasn’t mentioned. A part of me could understand why: there was only suspicion and while the Lannisters had the most predictable behavior, it was one thing to suspect them of wrongdoing, it was another to prove it when there was no obvious proof. I however knew that rumors would rise and that sooner or later, people would connect the dots, especially when it was a likely possibility that Lord Charlton sent ravens to the Tullys to inform them of the situation. Nevertheless, Lord Charlton sent some of his men supporting our group in addition to ser Illifer, ser Creighton and Tom. We were nearly as strong as we had been in the first place and I hoped that would be enough for completing the journey to the North without any further incident. I also knew those men would only accompany us until the Neck. I guessed Lord Charlton wasn’t too keen to waste his men far away from his lands.

Taking a deep breath, I stayed silent as I didn’t want to distract Jallard or his companions from their duty. I finally turned around to another tent, which had a resting Nymeria and Lady. Seeing the two direwolves act like silent guardians was a sight I never got bored of witnessing. I approached them cautiously, not wanting to disturb them. I kneeled by the side of Lady and gently stroked her fur. I heard a little growl and turned to see Nymeria observing me. I glanced at her in a cautious and yet respectful manner as I didn’t interact a lot with her since the ambush. Mainly because I spent a week to be tended to and to allow my wound to be slowly heal.

“Hello, Nymeria. I hope you’re alright.”, I said while remaining where I was.

As I greeted the direwolf and remained by Lady's side, she continued to observe me with her sharp, intelligent eyes. She approached me slowly, her movements graceful and cautious. She sniffed the air around me, her nostrils flaring slightly. After a moment, she seemed to relax and lowered her head, allowing me to continue stroking Lady's fur. Encouraged by her response, I extended my hand towards Nymeria, offering a gentle touch on her sleek, grey fur. She leaned into my touch, and I could feel the powerful muscles beneath her fur coat.

"I'm glad to see you're doing well, Nymeria," I said softly, my voice filled with a mix of relief and affection.

Nymeria let out a low, rumbling growl that sounded almost like a content purr. I let out a little smile to her reaction. A part of me wondered if her demeanour resulted from the bond between her and Arya. Especially as she seemed to go along with me even if we had only known each other for ten days or more. I knew that direwolf’s behaviour, while tied to their natural instincts, was also affected by their companions’ personalities. But the fact I slowly bonded with Nymeria as well as with Lady was something exceptional and intoxicating to some extent. A part of me was wondering if this was the kind of situation that could be considered as a Mary Sue moment in a story. But the time spent with Lady and Nymeria since the ambush tempered such thoughts. And truthfully? If you spent time with direwovles, you would find them to be both graceful and at times, adorable.

I yawned a bit and considered going back to sleep, but as I stood up, I heard soft sobs coming from Arya’s tent. I stopped still, suspecting her having a new nightmare. I hesitated to enter her tent. No matter the bond we shared, entering her tent would be impolite and interfering in her personal space. I wasn’t the best one to handle this kind of trauma when I was also confronted by it. Harwin had already been doing this role to help her to the trauma of the ambush since it had occurred and I knew that Arya was grateful for that. I wasn’t sure it would be a good idea to intervene when there was already someone that Arya also trusted and was better fit for tackling these issues. There was also that voice telling me to try and avoid appearing inappropriate, even more when I remembered the discussion Harwin and I had the day after the ambush. And the presence of the Charlton men didn’t help as I had felt their condescending and disproving looks each time I had interacted with Arya.

But as I was struggling to decide what to do, I heard a little whine coming from Nymeria. I turned my glance on her and as our looks crossed, she tilted her head slightly and let out another soft whine, as if encouraging me to go and comfort Arya. Taking her subtle support as a sign, I took a deep breath before cautiously opened the tent, silently moving so as not to startle her. As I peered inside, I saw Arya's silhouette huddled under her blanket. More sobs escaped from her, confirming my suspicion that she was indeed having a nightmare. I did not have to see her face to know about the distress she must have felt Seeing her like this broke my heart. Gently, I made my way closer and knelt down beside her. Placing a hand on her shoulder, I whispered, "Arya, it's ok! You're safe. It was just a dream."

She stirred at the sound of my voice, her sobs subsiding slightly. She turned towards me, her eyes filled with fear and relief. "Marc? Is it really you?" she asked, her voice trembling as she used my real name.

"Yes, it's me," I reassured her with a warm smile. "I'm here with you. You're not alone."

Arya reached out and clung to me tightly. I held her gently, allowing her to let out her feelings while offering comfort. Gradually, her sobs subsided, replaced by a deep breath as she sought solace in my embrace. As I comforted her, I could only imagine the horrors that haunted her dreams—threats, violence, and the fear she had endured during the ambush.

"How do you fare? Still the same nightmares?" I finally asked softly, my concern evident.

Arya's grip on me tightened, and she buried her face into my shoulder, seeking comfort from the memories that haunted her dreams. Her voice was muffled as she spoke, her words filled with vulnerability and pain.

"Yes," she whispered, her voice trembling. "The nightmares... they won't leave me alone. I keep reliving that moment, over and over again. I see you and Harwin's men... I see the sellswords attacking, and I can't do anything to stop it."

I held her tighter, my heart aching for her and the burden she carried. For a moment, I flashed back to the cannon events when she found Stark men she admired slaughtered by the Lannisters. Despite my efforts, she still ended up witnessing similar horrors.

"I'm so sorry, Arya," I murmured remorsefully. "I wish I could make those nightmares disappear. But I'm here with you, alive and safe."

Arya lifted her head slightly, her eyes searching mine for reassurance.

"Promise me you'll stay safe," she pleaded, her voice filled with desperation. "Promise me you won't leave me alone."

"I promise," I said firmly, my voice sincere, even though I wondered how long I could keep such a promise. "I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. We're in this together, Arya. We'll face whatever comes our way, side by side."

Arya nodded, her grip on me slowly loosening as she began to regain her composure. She wiped away the tears from her cheeks and took a deep breath. "Thank you, Marc," she said, her voice filled with gratitude. "You have been a blessing to me."

I smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. "You don't have to worry about that," I said gently. "We're a team, Arya. We'll always be there for each other."

She let out a small smile before her glance turned concerned and intrigued.

“Why are you here instead of sleeping?”, she asked.

I sighed, “I couldn’t sleep. The same nightmares, the same fears keep showing up in my dreams as well.”

I turned away the glance, as the terrible images came back to my mind. I couldn’t face those awful sights. And it was out of question for me to tell them to Arya, for God’s sake! Telling to a child that I just saw what happened to her during a nightmare was a line no one ever crossed. A middle ground was needed, but as the adult I needed to be cautious and responsible in how expressing my trouble.

I took a moment to gather my thoughts, knowing that I needed to find a balance between being honest with Arya and protecting her from unnecessary fear. I looked into her eyes, trying to convey both my concern and my determination to keep her safe.

"They're filled with images of the ambush, of feeling helpless and unable to protect you. It's been haunting me, and it's hard to shake off the fear," I continued, my voice filled with a mix of vulnerability.

Arya's gaze softened as she listened to your words, understanding the pain and turmoil that consumed me as well. She reached out and took my hand, offering a comforting squeeze.

"I'm sorry you're going through this too," she said softly, her voice filled with empathy.

I looked at her reassuringly while squeezing softly her hand, “It’s alright. We have each other to rely on.”

I involuntarily yawned. Arya chuckled softly, her eyes now filled with warmth.

"You must be tired," she said, her voice gentle. "Why don't you lie down here next to me? We can keep each other company and find some solace in each other's presence."

I looked at her with a mix of gratefulness and concern. “Are you sure? I do not want to impose on you or to be improper, especially with how it might look like for our companions”, I said.

Arya shook her head, a determined expression on her face. "I don't care what others might think," she said firmly. "We've been through so much together, and we understand each other like no one else does. If it brings us comfort and helps us face the nightmares, then it's worth it."

Her words touched me deeply, and I couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for the bond we shared. Nodding, I smiled softly at her. "Thank you, Arya. Your understanding means the world to me."

Arya returned my smile, her eyes reflecting the deep connection and trust that had grown between us over our shared experiences. She shifted to make room for me beside her, and I carefully lay down, keeping a respectful distance. Just because I had accepted her request didn’t mean I wouldn’t keep proper manners, especially as I remembered Harwin’s cautious words to me on that matter. While my logical side was reasoning that refusing her would have been difficult due to her status, I also knew that she wouldn’t care or abuse it and that my decision was also guided by the fondness I had for her. Inwardly, I reminded that I was a mentor figure, an honorary uncle figure and a friend. The last thing I needed was to accidentally create a Bael situation. Should it happen, the first thing I’d do would be to join the Wall or to offer my head to Robb or his father. A part of was berating me for such promises, but I needed reminders and red lines not to cross. I inwardly repeated "Friendship over love", my personal mantra for relations, as if to ward off missteps.

As we both settled in, Nymeria curled up at the foot of the tent, keeping a watchful eye over her two companions. The night air was cool, and the soft rustling of leaves and distant sounds of the camp provided a soothing backdrop to your presence.

Arya reached out and gently placed her hand in mine, a silent gesture of solidarity and support. "We'll get through this, Marc," she said softly. "Together."

I gently squeezed her hand and smiled at her.

“Together,” I repeated.

We stayed silently side by side, quickly finding peace. Finally, tiredness caught me up. I moved up to sleep on the ground nearby Arya’s blanket to ensure personal space even if it meant discomfort for me.

As I moved to sleep on the ground nearby Arya's blanket, she stirred slightly and looked at me with concern in her eyes. She reached out and gently touched my arm.

"Marc, you don't have to sleep on the ground," she said softly. "You can share the blanket with me. We can both be comfortable."

Her kindness touched my heart, and I felt a surge of warmth towards her. However, I also wanted to maintain proper boundaries and respect her personal space.

"I appreciate your offer, Arya," I replied, my voice filled with gratitude. "But it's important for us to maintain personal boundaries. I'll be just fine here on the ground."

Arya's expression softened, understanding my perspective. She nodded and withdrew her hand, giving you a reassuring smile.

"Alright, if that's what you prefer," she said. "But remember, I'm here if you need anything."

I returned her smile and nodded, grateful for her understanding and support.

In spite of the peculiar feeling of the ground, leaves and dirt beneath me, I settled on and whispered softly, "Bonne nuit, Arya."

Arya smiled, the hint of a French phrase on her lips. "Bonne nuit, Roger."

I let out a little smile, happy to see that the French lessons I had been sharing with her since the ambush had allowed us to assuage the fallout of the attack and to have something of a personal language while giving me the opportunity to practise once again my mother tongue. At least, my time to recover from my wound had not been totally idle or I would have been deeply frustrated of being unable to do anything.

I did not know how long I slept in spite of the discomfort, but the sound of a soft breeze and the movement of either Nymeria or Lady outside made me awaken. As I slowly opened my eyes, I took a look at Arya who was peacefully sleeping in her blanket. I smiled at the sight, thinking of the innocence and youth she had. I thought I needed to leave the tent to prepare myself for the morning training and to avoid problematic situations. I inwardly thanked that Catelyn Stark wasn’t there because I bet her reaction would be a stormy one. I slowly get up, careful not to wake her if she still needed rest. As I was about to move, I whispered to her, "I need to prepare for my morning training, Arya."

The young girl stirred slightly, her eyes fluttering open as she registered my words. She blinked a few times, her gaze focusing on me. "Marc?" she mumbled, her voice groggy with sleep.

"Yes, Arya," I replied softly. "I need to get ready for my training. I don't want to disturb your rest."

Arya yawned and sat up, rubbing her eyes. "Right, your training," she said, a hint of sleepiness still present in her voice. "Of course, go ahead. I'll be fine."

I nodded, appreciating her understanding. "Thank you. Rest well."

She acquiesced with a little smile. I then slowly left her tent to allow her to sleep a bit more. I winced a bit of my leg, but moved one. A part of me scoffed at my wariness, but one could never be so cautious with the situation. One of my companions or of Charlton men noticing me leaving Arya’s tent could be interpreted in the wrong ways. The cool morning air greeted me as I stepped outside, and I saw Nymeria and Lady standing nearby. They both turned their heads to look at me as I approached.

I greeted them in a whisper, not wanting to disturb the still-sleeping camp. "Good morning, Nymeria. Good morning, Lady."

Nymeria let out a soft huff, her eyes locked onto mine, while Lady simply lowered her head in acknowledgment. I smiled at their reactions. I then observed the camp. Some of my companions were awakened. Tor was on the watch while Jonric was checking the supplies. Some of the Charlton men were eating or helping Tor to the watch while the rest were checking their equipments.

I decided to approach Tor and Jonric slowly, not wanting to distract them from their tasks. However, before I could reach them, I heard another voice calling out to me, causing me to turn around. It was ser Illifer, the hedge knight who had joined our escort after the ambush. His demeanour and appearance reminded me of a medieval knight, and I respected his sense of duty and chivalry, especially considering that he decided to join us to protect Arya, though Harwin and I remained discreet on her identity as were our other companions for anonymity. It had been a complicated decision, but it had been decided that revealing that the daughter of the Hand of the King was traveling in the northern and wildest part of the Riverlands might not be wise, at least until the Neck was reached.

Watching ser Illifer approaching, I was still a bit stunned by the fact that even after the time spent in his company, his features still reminded me a bit of Don Quixote. I was also a bit intrigued to interact with a character I knew not much even though I remembered he appeared in the books.

While we didn’t interact much, as he mainly spoke with Harwin, we had shared some discussion, notably about my faith due to what occurred in the burial ceremony. While the differences made a bit difficult to grasp or to settle understanding on the matter, the values that Catholicism and the Seven shared helped to assuage some of his concerns, even more when I swore having not interest to disrupt the realm’s religious peace or perhaps my demeanour in spite of the traumas I had suffered from the ambush. But outside of my dedication to Arya and the fact I was obviously a foreigner, the man didn’t pay much attention on me as I was either a guard or some kind of servant close to Arya, which in both cases was true from a certain point of view considering my status of commoner or my close bond with the young Stark girl.

"What were you doing in the lady's tent?" he inquired, his tone curious but cautious.

I turned to face him and offered a respectful bow before answering, "Greetings, ser. To answer your question, I had trouble sleeping and went to get some fresh air. I heard Arya having trouble sleeping, so I spoke to her to offer my support. I assure you, there was nothing improper about it. I swear on my life and honour."

Ser Illifer's eyes bore into mine, and I could tell he was a man of principle. I knew he had been observing my interactions with Arya since he joined our escort and that I earned my injury in defending her during the ambush. I didn’t mind his watchful eyes, even if I felt a bit uneased. I could understand his dedication and was impressed. And I couldn’t blame his cautious question. Even if I share a deep bond with Arya, my status and her own ones meant that our interactions could be misunderstood and misinterpreted. And while Harwin and his men learnt to know me, ser Illifer had known me more recently and had no reason to totally trust me, especially as my status as a commoner and foreigner could be biased against me. As would any man of lord Charlton.

After a moment of contemplation, he nodded and seemed to accept my explanation. He then continued with another question, "What are you doing now, Roger?"

I replied with a soft smile, "I am preparing for my morning training, ser."

Ser Illifer raised an eyebrow, recalling the days I had spent training alongside his companion, Ser Creighton. The Aikido self-defence techniques were slowly catching on. As the man was near-sighted, this was a blessing for one on one encounters. In spite of my wounds I needed to be prepared, focusing on what I remembered, notably from my aikido lessons from home. Illifer's scepticism had turned into curiosity as he witnessed my dedication to working with the other hedge knight despite my injury. It wasn’t the case of the Charlton’s men who looked down the training and scoffed at the use of the moves I had shown to ser Creighton or the fact I had to rely on street rat moves to compensate for my wound. It was irritating to hear such comments, but I held my ground while also preventing Arya from overreacting when those comments occurred, which was kind of a challenge and of a herculean task.

"I see," he remarked. "You're quite committed to your training, even with that wound of yours."

I nodded, acknowledging his observation. "I believe in the importance of being prepared and skilled and to know how to adapt to circumstances."

The man nodded approvingly. I took the opportunity to inquire about his companion. "Is ser Creighton awake, ser Illifer?"

The old knight glanced towards their shared tent and then back at me with a grin. "Ah, Creighton, he's still sleeping like a log. But I'll make sure he's up and ready for some more of your training later. He's quite taken with your lessons."

I chuckled softly, appreciating ser Creighton's enthusiasm for learning. "Very well, ser. I'll be ready whenever he is."

I then saluted him again. “See you later, ser.”

Ser Illifer returned the salute with a nod. "Until later, Roger. May your training be fruitful."

I then moved first towards Tor and Jonric as intended. I greeted them. “Tor, Jonric.”

Tor, who had been keeping watch, turned towards me with a nod. "Mornin', Roger. How did ye sleep?"

Jonric, who had been inspecting the supplies, looked up and offered a tired smile. "Mornin', Roger. Gettin' ready for yer mornin' trainin', are ye?"

I returned their greetings with a smile. "I slept well enough, thank you. And well… I was about to do that."

Tor nodded and gestured towards the training area. "Good to hear. We'll be watchin' o'er things 'ere while ye train. Give us a shout if ye need aught."

I appreciated their support and nodded in gratitude. "Thank you, Tor. I appreciate it. I'll make sure to give it my all during the training."

Jonric placed a hand on my shoulder, his tired smile turning into an encouraging one. "Thou hast been dutiful in thy trainin', Roger. 'Tis evident. Keep up the good work."

His words bolstered my confidence, and I replied with a nod. "I will, Jonric. Your encouragement means a lot."

I moved towards an empty space where I could start warming up. I quickly greeted one of the Charlton men-in-arms who answered me with a grunt. My interactions with the men were neutral and few, mainly because I was a foreigner and even though the rumours on what happened in Darry Castle hadn’t reached their lord’s ears yet, I knew they heard a bit of what I did from Harwin’s men. Though it had been more about the ambush than the trial itself, mainly because I wasn’t eager to boast on it. It was the right thing to do, nothing more nothing less, even if it led to tensions and danger from Cersei and her disturbed child. Some of the Charlton men however had observed me with an intriguing and complex eye, probably because of how I fought sellswords in spite of my lack of experience.

Moving away from the Riverlander, I took a look in the direction of the tent I shared with Harwin, wondering if the man was awake or if he was doing morning duties. A part of me was tempted to retrieve the hammer to work on some moves, but I decided against it for the time being. Unless we had to quickly leave, I might have time to practice with my current weapon of choice. Besides, the current moves I was showing and teaching to Ser Creighton focused on hand-to-hand combat as I didn’t want us to accidentally hurt each other with our weapons.

Joining the empty area nearby the camp, I looked around, admiring the woods that surrounded us. It was a peaceful and beautiful place, at least for me. I wondered how long we would have to join the Neck, but Harwin told us that we were at two- or three-days’ ride from the Twins if we wanted to join the place. Fortunately, we wouldn’t have to do that, especially as I suspected that Walder Frey wouldn’t appreciate seeing his keep to be used for a one-sided stop without crossing the river. He would very likely take it as a slight. That wasn’t the opinion of some of the Charlton men, probably because their lord was sworn to the Frey and thus we should ask lord Walder Frey help after the ambush. I however suspected the old lord might have been informed of the incident, though I wasn’t sure if he would respond in any manner.

As I went through my warm-up routine, I occasionally glanced over at the Stark guards who were diligently performing their duties, preparing for our journey, or keeping watch on the surroundings. Their dedication and discipline were evident, and I was proud to be a part of such a capable group. My heart ached for the men we lost in the ambush and inwardly, I prayed once again for their souls.

As I finished my warm-up exercises, the soft sound of approaching footsteps reached my ears, and I squinted to make out ser Creighton's figure emerging from the direction of the tents. His near-sightedness was apparent as he struggled to navigate the camp. He appeared well-rested, despite his earlier deep slumber.

I greeted him with a warm smile, "Did you sleep well, ser Creighton?"

Ser Creighton, his beard slightly dishevelled, replied with a nod and a hint of a yawn, "Aye, I did. Thank you for your concern, Roger."

I nodded in understanding, mindful of how important a good night's rest was, especially for someone who was learning new skills. "That's good to hear. Sleep is important for a fighter."

He gave me a reassuring smile, perhaps a sign that my previous training sessions had boosted his confidence. He then looked at me with a hint of concern.

"Did you sleep better, Roger? Your wound still bothers you, I imagine."

I squinted slightly, my wound still causing discomfort, and replied, "Yes, it still aches at times, and I haven't yet managed to overcome my nightmares.”

Ser Creighton stepped closer, his expression serious yet compassionate, his own near-sightedness not hindering his ability to convey empathy.

"Remember, Roger, a true knight doesn't let his wounds or fears define him. You've shown great resilience and courage in the face of adversity. Keep fighting, both on the outside and within your own mind. You'll overcome these challenges."

His words resonated with me, and I felt a surge of gratitude for his support and wisdom. Even though I had known him for some days and was still learning to understand the kind of man he was, his demeanour, the fact he had come to our escort’s help with ser Illifer, were elements that brought me to trust him.

"Thank you, ser Creighton," I said sincerely, squinting slightly in the bright daylight. "That's something I intend to achieve. And no matter how much trouble those nightmares or this wound brings me, it won't stop me from improving myself"

Ser Creighton, being a fighter at heart, understood my determination. He gave me an encouraging nod, his near-sighted eyes reflecting his confidence. "That's the spirit. I'm ready for a new lesson whenever you are."

I nodded in approval, ready to impart more knowledge to my eager student. "Good. Because the moves I'll teach you today can be applied whether you're armed or unarmed. They can give you an edge in a fight and help you uphold your oaths as a knight, defending your honour while using tactics your opponent might not expect, especially in a real battle."

The hedge knight nodded, understanding well the intent. Teaching a knight, especially someone older than me, moves and techniques of aikido and self-defence that could aid him in the future was an interesting challenge, made all the more unique by ser Creighton's near-sightedness. It had taken some effort to demonstrate to him and ser Illifer that these moves weren't dishonourable, even if leveraging an opponent's strength might be seen as a trick. Those initial lessons were already proving valuable for him, given his visual impairment, as I guided him in transforming this perceived weakness into a strength. It was a challenging endeavour, especially since it was my first time dealing with this kind of training and this particular handicap in this field.

I returned his nod with a reassuring smile. "Excellent. I have already done my warm-ups, but I do not mind repeating them with you."

Ser Creighton's eyes brightened with enthusiasm, and he eagerly agreed, his near-sighted gaze fixed on me, "That sounds good, Roger. Let's do it."

Together, we embarked on our warm-up exercises, focusing on stretching and loosening our muscles to prepare for the day's training. The routine was not only physically beneficial but also served as a bonding experience between us, transcending the challenges posed by his near-sightedness and my role as his mentor in this unconventional training.

As we went through our warm-ups, I couldn't help but notice the approach of another familiar face in our camp. The sound of footsteps grew louder, and I turned to see Tom or should I say, Tom of the Sevenstreams making his way toward us. Seeing the man approaching, I wondered how Catelyn Stark would regard a man that had mocked her brother if she found out about this fact. Maybe it was not a good idea to sing a song about Edmure's manhood. A "fropping fish" indeed!

Tom greeted us with a friendly smile, "Good morrow, good sers. I spy ye gettin' yer daily sweat on."

I paused my warm-up to return his greeting. "Good morning, Tom. Indeed, we are. A man's got to stay in shape, especially on the road."

Tom nodded in agreement. "Aye, 'tis what it be. Mind if I tag along fer a spell?"

I exchanged a glance with ser Creighton, who seemed amiable to the idea. I then turned back to Tom and welcomed him with a nod. "Of course, Tom. The more, the merrier. Join us for some stretches."

The bard joined our impromptu workout session, and together, the three of us continued our warm-up exercises. The peaceful woods around us provided a serene backdrop to our efforts. As we stretched and strengthened our bodies, I couldn't help but feel a sense of camaraderie among us.

As we reached the end of our warm-up routine, I turned to Tom with a friendly expression. "Tom, I've mentioned before that I have some knowledge of self-defence techniques. If you're interested, I'd be more than happy to teach you."

Tom considered the suggestion for a moment, just as he had when I first brought it up.

"I'm obliged fer the offer, Roger, but I reckon I'll pass fer the nonce. I'm more inclined to sing than tussle."

I nodded understandingly. "It is your choice, Tom. But you can still observe us and pick up a few things if you ever change your mind."

Tom gave a nod of appreciation, clearly content with his decision.

"Much obliged, Roger. I'll bear that in mind."

Turning to ser Creighton, I continued our training discussion. "Ser Creighton, do you remember the key notions from our previous sessions?"

Ser Creighton, with a determined look in his eyes, replied, "Aye, Roger. I've been practicing the moves you've taught me."

I nodded approvingly. "Excellent. Let's begin then and see if one of the guards is available to train with you."

He nodded, adapting to the familiar routine we had established since I began training him. This approach not only helped him enhance his skills but also enabled him to engage with the surviving guards, fostering trust and camaraderie.

I shifted my gaze towards the guards, searching for Jonric, who had been one of ser Creighton's regular training partners. However, as I surveyed the camp, I noticed that the watch had changed as Mors was now on duty with two other Charlton’s men. I hesitated, considering his recent recovery from the ambush's wounds and whether he was fit for such training. But at the same time, I thought that some physical exercises might aid his recovery. Moreover, since Jonric had already completed his watch, he might be available. I turned to ser Creighton, and he met my gaze, determination evident in his near-sighted eyes.

We approached Mors, and I greeted him politely, considering the challenge his recent injuries might pose. "Good morning, Mors. We were wondering if Jonric might be available for some training today."

Mors glanced over his shoulder, then turned back to me with a nod. "Jonric be takin' his rest at present, but I can lend ye a hand. What dost thou require?"

I appreciated Mors's willingness to step in, aware that his involvement might be beneficial for both ser Creighton and his own recovery. With gratitude, I replied, "Thank you, Mors. Ser Creighton here has been learning some self-defence techniques, and we'd like to practice a bit. Would you be our sparring partner?"

Mors cracked a grin and flexed his muscles, displaying readiness for the challenge. "Aye, Roger. I'll strive to provide him with a worthy test."

Ser Creighton nodded in agreement, his near-sighted gaze unwavering, eager to put his training to the test. With our trio assembled, we moved to a clear area nearby, considering ser Creighton's unique needs and readiness, ready to begin our training session with Mors as our partner. I could feel the two Charlton men on watch observing us, probably wondering why I took away Mors from his duty or thinking of what we were about to do.

With Mors ready to participate, I began to explain the key principles of the self-defence techniques we had been working on, keeping in mind ser Creighton's near-sightedness and the fact that this was our third or fourth training session together. While I knew a professional might have a more thorough approach, I did my best with what I knew, adhering to the philosophy of a versatile approach.

"Before beginning, I want to remind you that these moves are not meant to be taken as strict forms, but rather as references that can help you in a real fight," I explained, considering ser Creighton's unique challenges. "The essence of self-defence is about anticipating your opponent's moves and using their own actions against them. Keep that in mind as we practice."

Both ser Creighton and Mors nodded in understanding, their expressions focused and determined, with ser Creighton's near-sightedness adding an extra layer of concentration to his efforts. With that, we began our training session in earnest.

I demonstrated a few aikido-inspired moves, starting with a wrist technique that allowed one to control an opponent without causing significant harm. I showed how to use leverage and balance to your advantage, emphasizing the importance of these principles, which were particularly helpful for ser Creighton given his near-sightedness. As I guided him through the motions, I could see his dedication to learning and improving. It was inspiring to see how he had begun to incorporate his near-sightedness into his fighting style. He relied on his heightened ability to sense an opponent's movements through their footwork and subtle shifts in weight, giving him an advantage in predicting their actions.

Mors, despite his recent recovery from wounds sustained during the ambush, displayed remarkable strength and agility as he practiced the moves, adjusting them to accommodate his current physical condition.

Throughout our training, I encouraged both ser Creighton and Mors to adapt the moves to their own strengths and fighting styles, considering ser Creighton's unique situation. I emphasized the importance of anticipation, reading the opponent's intentions, and using their actions to gain the upper hand. Our practice continued, with each of us taking turns as the attacker and the defender, honing our skills and building trust in our abilities. Tom observed us for a while before moving away, likely impressed with the progress we were making.

We would go through Ikkyo, Nikyo, Sankyo, and Yonkyo techniques, improving our skills in disabling opponents’ writs. Tom was improving the quickest thanks to his leaner body. After a while, we made sure the ground was smooth as we switched to Ukemi or Aikido rolls. In this area, Creighton was the star. He may have been a bit pudgy, but the extra padding helped him be a natural roller.

As the training session neared its end, I called for a halt and stepped back, a sense of satisfaction washing over me. "Well done, all of you," I praised ser Creighton and Mors, considering the extra effort ser Creighton had put in due to his near-sightedness.

"You've made excellent progress today. Remember, these techniques are tools to help you think and react in a fight. Trust in your training, and it will serve you well."

Ser Creighton wiped sweat from his brow, his expression a mix of exhaustion and determination, his near-sighted eyes reflecting his commitment. "Thank you, Roger. Your guidance has been invaluable."

Mors, too, nodded appreciatively. "Aye, I can sense the change."

As we caught our breath, ser Illifer made his way over to us. His comment on our progress was a welcome addition to the conversation.

"Impressive," he grumbled, his gaze shifting between ser Creighton, Mors, and me. "It seems your training is paying off."

I nodded in acknowledgment of his words, appreciating the validation from the seasoned knight. "Thank you, Ser Illifer," I replied. "We're all working together to be better prepared for whatever challenges come our way."

Ser Creighton, who had been wiping the sweat from his brow, chimed in, his voice a mix of exhaustion and determination. "Indeed, Ser Illifer. Roger's teachings have been invaluable. I feel more confident in my ability to defend myself and others."

Mors, who had been listening attentively, nodded in agreement.

Ser Illifer, satisfied with our responses, grunted in approval before turning his eyes to ser Creighton, his companion and partner. The two of them shared a silent exchange, their camaraderie evident.

I took this moment to address the group. "If you don't mind, I will refresh myself," I announced, indicating my intention to head back to camp and clean up after the training session.

Ser Creighton nodded in understanding. "Of course, Roger. We'll join you shortly."

Mors echoed the sentiment, giving me an appreciative smile. "Move at thy own pace. We'll be right on yer heels."

With that, I turned and made my way back toward our camp. The sense of accomplishment from our training session lingered, and the camaraderie among our group continued to strengthen. As I reached our campsite, I couldn't help but feel proud of the few skills I could share in fighting field that I remembered and might help my companions. I thought of the promise I had made to Arya at the start of this journey, but wondered how I could achieve it even if at least Robb agreed to support the initiative. As I joined the camp, I saluted Jallard who was coming back from searching for supplies in the surroundings. The man greeted me back with a friendly glance. I decided to see how Arya fared as it was the first morning she didn’t come to observe the morning training, but perhaps she was nearby making some exercises with Needle.

As I approached Arya's tent, I noticed that Lady and Nymeria were roaming around, their wolfish curiosity piqued by the surroundings. Derren, still a bit pale from his recent wounds, was walking nearby. He greeted me with a nod, and I returned it with a friendly smile.

"How fares your recovery, Derren?" I inquired, concerned about his well-being.

He took a moment to catch his breath before responding, "I'm mendin' well, thanks to the tender care o' the villagers and our comrades. 'Tis takin' a wee bit longer than I'd prefer, but I'll be back on me feet soon 'nough."

I offered him a reassuring smile. "That's good to hear. Take your time to heal properly. We'll need everyone at their best when we reach Winterfell."

Derren then asked, "Hast thou completed thy trainin' for the day?"

I nodded before taking my leave. "Yes, for now. I'm going to freshen up at camp. If you need anything, just let me know."

Derren responded with a friendly nod. "Indeed, Roger. I appreciate thy thoughtfulness and the trainin' thou hast bestowed upon me."

With that, I made my way towards Arya's tent. Upon reaching her tent, I heard voices coming from inside. My initial instinct was to respect her privacy, but I couldn't help but be curious, especially as one of the voices belonged to Harwin. While it answered my questions about his whereabouts, I was a bit curious because I didn’t attend his discussions with Arya, mainly for privacy. I was about to turn away when I heard him asking, "Ser Illifer told me Roger visited you, my lady. What happened?"

My curiosity piqued further in hearing those words, and I moved a bit closer, but still out of sight, trying to listen discreetly while checking my surroundings to see if there was anyone, notably of the Charlton’s men nearby, as I didn’t want to be seen eavedropping. A part of me was intrigued to hear how Arya would answer, but also to hear how Harwin was playing this unexpected role of the concerned guardian.

Quietly, I moved a bit closer to the tent, careful not to intrude but wanting to catch snippets of the conversation within.

Inside the tent, Arya's voice was soft and somewhat troubled as she responded to Harwin's query. "I... I had a nightmare, Harwin. It was about the ambush, and I couldn't shake the fear."

Harwin's response was gentle and understanding, a reflection of the bond that had grown between them. "It's all right, my lady. Remember, you're safe now, and we all care for you."

I nodded approvingly to his words and appreciated the concern and care he had for Arya in this instant. I wondered if he wasn’t thinking of Lyanna when comforting the little girl, but I dismissed this thought as I was overthinking.

Arya's voice held a hint of vulnerability as she continued, "Roger... he told me he's had similar nightmares. He understands, Harwin."

Harwin's reaction was a mix of surprise and acknowledgment. "Roger? He confided in you about his nightmares?"

Arya nodded, though he couldn't see it. "Yes, and it made me feel less alone, knowing that someone else understands."

Harwin's voice softened even more, filled with genuine concern for the young Stark girl. "You're not alone, my lady. We're all here for you, and Roger is a good man. He has not stopped caring since the first time he met you."

Arya, reassured by Harwin's words, finally asked, "Has anyone helped Roger with his nightmares?"

Harwin answered thoughtfully, “I am not certain. He had mentioned that he struggled to sleep well these last days and I know that my men or our new companions gave him advices and support, but we do not know the extent of his nightmares. He is faring well and yet there is a vulnerability in him.”

I then heard him adding, “But it seems he trusts you to confide himself to you, my lady, even though I hope he didn’t tell anything of his nightmares that shouldn’t be said to you.”

His words moved me because they were true, especially as I now truly experienced the power and impact of trauma. A part of me wondered how I could move on, but the other told myself that if I stopped or looked behind on my mistakes and failures, I would be lost. Once again, I inwardly scoffed at the reasoning as it reminded me too much of Daenerys. And there was just one step between fairness and virtue, and dogmatic cruelty and madness. I felt a bit regretful not to confide to him or my other companions and to rely too much on releasing my emotions unto my prayers. I also felt guilty for falling into my old habits of keeping certain things to me, even though my logical-self reminded me that anyone could have done the same. I was wary of speaking of these matters when the situation wasn’t the best to tackle such issues.

Arya's response came with a mixture of empathy and gratitude, her voice carrying the weight of the trust I had placed in her. "He didn't share the details of his nightmares. But knowing that he feels comfortable enough to confide in me means a lot. We all carry our own burdens, don't we?"

There was a brief pause before she continued, her tone becoming even more reassuring. "I'll keep an eye out for him, just as you do for me. We'll support each other through these difficult times."

I felt once again touched by her concern for me. I felt there was something else, but I hesitated to think upon it because my logical mind would consider all the implications while my empathetic side was wary of how to handle some of the possibilities. I decided to withdraw quietly to avoid being caught eavesdropping. But as I was moving towards the tent where I slept, I heard growls behind me. I turned around and noticed that Nymeria and Lady were taking tense positions, their fur raised. Their reaction troubled me because they weren’t like this way since the ambush. I wasn’t alone as some of the Charlton men moved closer, wary of the direwolves’ reactions.

“What’s going on with them?”, asked one of the Riverlanders.

Arya, having heard the commotion outside, stepped out of the tent, concern etched on her face. "What's happening, Nymeria? Lady?"

Harwin was following her and was observing the situation. He saluted me by a nod. I answered in the same manner, before turning my glance to Arya.

“I am not certain, but they may have smelt something. And whatever it is, it is not good sign,” I said, worrying about different possibilities, including the fact that those who ambushed us at the Green Leaf Inn might have come back with reinforcements and were tailing us.

Nymeria and Lady continued to growl, their eyes fixed on a distant point in the woods. The tension in the air was palpable and I regretted not having my hammer with me.

Harwin's eyes narrowed as he scanned the surroundings. "We can't take any chances," he said firmly, his voice commanding. "Roger, Arya, we need to warn the others and pack up quickly. Something doesn't feel right here."

Arya nodded in agreement, her gaze never leaving the direction the direwolves were fixated on.

"Agreed. Let's gather everyone and be ready for whatever comes our way."

As we hurried to rouse our companions and prepare to depart, a sense of unease settled over the camp. The mystery of what had triggered Nymeria and Lady's agitation weighed on all our minds, and the feeling of impending danger loomed ominously in the air. I hoped that whatever was lurking nearby was an animal at best or a scout at worst, because otherwise, our group would be as doomed as Yoren’s group in the books and show. And knowing that it might be the Brave Companions again, I felt dread, disgust and anger. The pain in my thigh reminded me of what their last ambush cost us and I was determined to protect Arya and our companions, even if it meant the price to pay would be my life.

A.N.:

1. And here we are! Back with the SI in his journey to Winterfell with emotional stuff and some developments that resulted from the ambush and of the prolonged stay in the village to recover of his wound.
2. This chapter had been developed before the chapter of the burials and that's why the emphasis on the traumas is far more developed here. And to be consistent with the inclusion of "Buried reprieve", I added the mentions and presence of the men of Lord Charlton while updating some details to be more consistent with what had been settled in the previous SI chapter.
3. Exploring the SI and Arya's traumas in the first part was something I found interesting (all the first paragraphs on how he is coping with his dreams after all those days had been totally written by my hand in relying on how I would feel), especially with how it can influence relations and bonds. And I wanted to show how the relation and bond is evolving while trying to balance it in a natural way that doesn't sound forced or controversial (Westeros or not, there are big red lines I would never cross, even for fictional characters). This is where circumstancial details and context can help to build up those situations in something that can work in both narrative and emotional fields.
4. As you will notice, there are mentions of elements that have been developped in background or in the time that had occured between "Buried reprieve" and this chapter. This is where the interlude play a part in creating ellipses. There was also the fact that considering the mentionned time spent since the ambush, depicting every decision and activity made by the SI would have been a bit difficult without stretching a lot the narration or condensing it in an artificial way. Showing the result of those background actions allow to show how the SI has evolved in his relations and actions (for example, the mention of French and of the aikido). And concerning the ellipse length, I worked to find a balance in the minimal time that could work for the SI to recover enough of his wound (something I had discussed with my beta reader in order to make it plausible and consistent). Even if there would be always imperfections and overlooks, I sought to imagine stories that both are entertaining and consistent to the furthest of its details.
5. This chapter is also the opportunity to develop more the interactions between the SI and ser Illifer, ser Creighton, notably with this "aikido" training. It is something I had practised in my young age and my reasoning here (as developed in the chapter) is that while not necesarily a tool for fight itself, it could be a tool that help to develop other skills. And it also allows to show how his interactions with Harwin and the surviving guards have evolved since Darry Castle.
6. The end of the chapter is an intended cliffhanger as I consider that while young and developping their skills, Nymeria and Lady would be "useful" to sense potential trouble, especially Nymeria, considering that she has travelled across the Riverlands to find her mistress.
7. Teaser: for the next time, trouble is back for Marc and his companions and help from people of a powerful House is there...
8. Have a good reading!

Chapter Text

The clearing was almost void of the traces of the camp we had settled in the previous evening as we were preparing for a hurried departure. As I was moving towards my horse, tension hung thick in the air. None of us were at ease. How could we be, as someone might be lurking nearby, observing us? No doubt everyone was thinking back to the ambush at the Green Leaf Inn. My logical side tried to rationalize the situation, reminding me that wildlife, travellers, or local soldiers could be in the vicinity. But my cautious side was on high alert, the trauma of the previous ambush was still fresh in my mind.

I glanced at the hammer that I now had hanging at my side, ready to be picked up and swung at any enemy. There was a knot in my stomach at the thought of having to kill again. That tainted feeling was still strong and I wasn’t certain I could be able handle myself correctly in battle. I took a breath, trying to calm myself. As I observed my surroundings, I noticed that Nymeria and Lady were on edge, their hackles raised, with their eyes fixed on a distant point in the woods. Their reaction troubled me because they hadn't been this agitated since the ambush. And the fact they didn’t stop to behave that way since the moment they started growling didn’t help with the wariness me and the escort felt.

Arya was already prepared to mount her horse but remained in place, awaiting further instructions. She glanced a concerned look towards me and then at Harwin who was giving instructions to Mors. Lady and Nymeria, on the other hand, continued to roam around, looking ready to pounce on something.

Ser Creighton and Ser Illifer were in fight stances, ready to spring into action if necessary. They were supported by three of the Charlton men. Jonric and Tor, meanwhile, were finishing up storing our remaining supplies with another Riverlander. Artos and Derren were already on their horses, ready to leave alongside the leader of the Charlton men. Tom was preparing his horse and ready to mount it, even though his axe was in his hands, ready to be swung.

In spite of my logical and analytical mind trying to give me reassurance, I couldn't shake the apprehension of a sudden attack and thought with some regret of the time it took to break camp.

Harwin approached me and gave a quick nod of acknowledgment. I returned the gesture, acknowledging his presence in this tense situation.

"Roger," Harwin said, his voice low and firm, "mount up. We can't afford to stay here any longer."

Quickly, I moved toward my horse, preparing to mount. As I did, I couldn't help but voice my concerns. "Harwin, where should we go? We're still a bit away from the Neck, and if we are expecting an attack, heading back south might not be our best option."

Harwin's brow furrowed as he considered our options. "The Twins are not too far from here," he replied, referring to the location of House Frey. "We could make for there. It's a defensible position, and we may find some shelter and allies if needed."

I stopped myself from facepalming. "Are you sure? From what I’ve heard and with how you spoke of them, the Frey's seem not to be the most reliable persons to ask for help” I said while keeping quiet about my true thoughts on lord Walder Frey. A gruesome image of Catelyn Stark having her throat sliced at the Red Wedding, flashed through my head.

Harwin's expression remained resolute. "It's our best chance for now. We'll have to make haste and hope for the best. We can't stay here, and we can't join the Neck in a short time. Trust me, Roger, this is the safest option we have."

With a reluctant nod, I acknowledged Harwin's decision. We couldn't afford to stay exposed, and the Twins might provide at least a temporary refuge before pursuing our journey to the North. But the unease in my gut remained, as if I knew something foul would occur. And I couldn’t help but think of the delay those incidents brought to this journey, contributing to increase of dread within me. If this kept up, I might not be able to possibly delay Tyrion or do anything else to impede the spark that started the War of the Five Kings.

Harwin, then surveyed the group. Jonric and Tor were now ready to climb their horses to leave while Mors, ser Illifer and ser Creighton were in a defensive position while watching their surroundings. Half of the Charlton men were observing the area while the rest were ready to ride. I shot a glance at Arya, who had mounted her horse and was waiting for further instructions. Her concerned eyes met mine briefly before she turned her attention back to the woods, where the direwolves, Nymeria and Lady were still on edge.

Harwin's voice cut through the silence, his low, firm tone carrying a sense of urgency. "Prepare for riding!" he commanded, and I wasted no time in quickly looking over my horse, checking the straps and saddle to ensure everything was in place. Arya was already prepared, but her horse seemed to sense the unease in the air, causing her to struggle to calm the skittish animal.

As we were about to leave, Nymeria and Lady growled again, their hackles still raised. The hairs on my neck also stood on end as I scanned the woods, my hand instinctively resting on the hammer at my side. This was no ordinary unease; it was a foreboding sense of danger.

Then, a sudden whistle pierced the air, followed by the deadly hiss of arrows. Panic erupted as the projectiles rained down upon us. Some struck the horses, causing them to rear up and neigh in pain, one of them falling to the ground. I saw Jonric clutch his leg in agony as an arrow found its mark. Some of the arrows hit Charlton men while another was thrown back his horse who neighed in pain of one arrow piercing his side. One one of the arrows came narrowly close to hitting my face, while Arya’s horse panicked in spite of her efforts. Instinctively, I rushed over to try and help handle the startled horse. I had to step back to avoid a kick while feeling the pain in my leg flare up! I looked up at Arya, preparing for the worse should the horse cause her fall. Attempting again to help her, I managed to take the reins and hold them in spite of the pressure on my arms, “Easy girl”, I said as calmly as I was able to muster. The horse finally settled down thanks to both Arya and mines efforts.

From the woods, we could hear the shouts of our assailants, and the thunderous noise of a charge closing in on us. Panic welled up inside me, but I knew we had to act quickly.

Harwin's shout cut through the confusion, "Ambush!" His command set the Stark guards into action as they formed a protective perimeter around Arya and me.

Harwin barked orders, his voice carrying authority amidst the chaos.

“Prepare to hold them back!”

As he turned to us, his eyes locked onto ours with a sense of urgency. "You two, get out of here."

Arya nodded, her eyes wide with fear but determination burning in them. I knew we couldn't stay and fight, not with Arya's safety at stake. I nodded but as I noticed that my horse had fled, I felt dread and panic.

“Get up on the horse!”, Arya shouted to me on her horse.

While slightly hesitant, I quickly assessed the situation, realizing that there was no time to waste. I knew I had no choice and climbed on her horse, in spite of the slight pain in my thigh. I grasped the saddle and pulled myself up, settling in behind Arya as tightly as I could manage, placing my hands on the reins. I didn’t want to infringe her personal space, even in this current situation. For a moment, it felt like an anime where a child protagonist saves the adult.

Harwin observed us with a solemn eye before shouting to his two men that were on horse, "Artos, Derren, protect them!"

The two Stark guards nodded and spurred their horses into action, disappearing into the woods as Arya and I galloped with them. We were accompanied by two Charlton men who were already on their horses. I heard another horse galloping and wondered if it was Tom, ser Iliffer or ser Creighton that was accompanying us

"Hold on tight!" Arya yelled over the chaos, her voice taking a brave tone. She urged the horse forward, and we galloped away from the ambush site, desperately trying to outrun our pursuers. The wind whipped against my face as we rode. I breathed a sigh of relief as I looked at Nymeria and Lady. They were unharmed, which meant Arya's loyal animal companions could keep up with us. It was a small comfort in the midst of chaos.

As we rode, we heard shouts and clashes of weapons, even though it faded from the distance. I couldn't help but steal a glance at Arya. She was handling her panicked horse remarkably well, her young face a mask of determination.

However, danger was still there as I suddenly heard the whistle of arrows coming our way. One came very close to the horse we were on, and suddenly it reared up once again with a neigh of pain. I tried to hold the reins, but being the second person on the saddle made it harder. Suddenly, Arya's horse stumbled and fell, with everything seeming to happen in a blur. We were both sent tumbling to the ground, and I felt a sharp pain shoot through my side as I landed. The pain in my leg was also strong. Panic surged through me as I struggled to regain my bearings.

Arya was quick to her feet, rolling when she hit the ground. As she stood, her eyes scanned our surroundings for any immediate threats. Meanwhile, I groaned in pain as I pushed myself up, clutching my injured side and feeling the lingering pain in my thigh. My first concern was for Arya's safety, and I was relieved to see that she appeared to be unhurt, though her horse also hurt.

"Are you okay?" I asked, my voice strained.

Arya nodded, her gaze still alert. "I'm fine, but we need to get out of here."

Tom stopped by our side while Artos came back to us. Nymeria and Lady moved over to us as well. I knew time was slipping and that our assailants would be there soon. The two Charlton men kept on riding. I scoffed, wondering if those men had sense of duty, especially to their brothers in arms. This impression was confirmed as I saw four men rushing towards us. In a split-second decision, I turned to Artos and roared, “Artos! Take Arya and bring her to the Twins. Do not turn back!”

Arya, however, clung to my arm, her eyes wide with fear.

“Don’t! You’ll be killed!”

As I saw the men moving quickly to us, I retorted, “We’ll both be killed if you stay here. Arya, please. Leave. Your family would be broken if you stay here.”

Arya hesitated for a moment, torn between her desire to stay by my side and the realization that fleeing would be the smarter choice. She looked into my eyes, searching for any sign of reassurance or a different solution. But the urgency in my voice and the approaching danger left little room for debate. Reluctantly, she released her grip on my arm and moved to Artos. The Stark man helped her to climb onto his horse. As they were about to leave. Arya and I shared a look.

"Roger," she said, her voice trembling slightly, "please be careful. We'll find each other again, I promise."

I managed a small, reassuring smile despite the pain in my side and the anxiety that threatened to consume me.

"I'll find you, Arya. Stay safe."

In that one instance I strangely thought of Gendry. How in some stories when the TV version of Melisandre had him in her clutches his one wish was for "Arry" to be safe. A small shudder of guilt went through my body as I realized that Arya might not meet her true love thanks to my interference. But right now, all I could do was try to step up and fight our attackers again.

With that, Artos took Arya in his arms and spurred his horse into action, heading in the direction of the Twins. Nymeria followed the two riders, while Lady seemed to hesitate between following her littermate or staying.

“Please go,” I begged the direwolf softly, not wanting to see Sansa’s direwolf killed after all I did to prevent her fate.

Lady hesitated for a moment, torn between her loyalty to Arya and her instinct to protect me. Sensing the urgency in my voice, I gave her a gentle nudge and whispered, "Go with them, Lady. Protect Arya." With a final glance, Lady bounded after Artos and Arya, disappearing into the distance.

I watched them go, my heart heavy with worry, but I knew it was the best course of action for both of us. Tom and Derren stayed behind, both remaining on their horses. I didn’t have time to ask why they stayed, especially Tom, but I was grateful of their presence as it would balance the incoming fight. Behind the four men, I saw Harwin and his companions fighting like wolves their House claimed to be against the returning sellswords, in spite of a slight disadvantage in number. The Charlton men held also their ground against the sellswords.

I drew my hammer and while I was still feeling the pain of the fall, I would never let the men that were attacking us think I would go down easy. As much as I disliked violence, I felt like a pissed off bull ready to strike down those who bothered or threatened me. Derren suddenly moved forwards on his horse in a swift move while raising his sword. His sudden attack, forced the attackers to separate to avoid being run over. One of them weren’t lucky enough as his head was cleaved by Derren's sword in a nasty manner that nearly make me puke. It was like a scene from a splatter film! Despite my disgust, I took advantage of the opportunity to charge a sellsword that was closer to me, a burly man with rotten teeth and a wild almost scarlet beard. As I didn’t shout my presence, the man only reacted through experience to parry my hammer in time with a polesword. I noticed blood on his weapon and quickly wondered who he had killed.

Our weapons clashed with a resounding clang, the force of the impact jarring my injured side. The pain shot through me, but I gritted my teeth and pushed forward, determined to protect myself and those I cared about. I had lucked out as the polesword was a weapon meant to keep people at a distance. But here I was, close to my enemy so striking him would be easier.

The sellsword sneered at me, his barbaric face contorted with malice. "Like my beard? I enjoy dying it redder with the blood of those I kill. You'll just be one more!"

His face seemed familiar but I could not place it. This was obviously not Tormund Giantsbane. But it did not matter as he was trying to kill me!

He swung his polesword at me with brute force, aiming for a quick and decisive strike which was swiping towards my neck. Taking inspiration from one of the aikido moves I remembered, I went low, dodging his attack, narrowly avoiding the deadly edge of his blade. This allowed me to use his strength and speed against him, causing him to stumble. Using the momentum from evading his strike, I swung my hammer in a wide arc, aiming for his exposed side. The impact landed with a satisfying thump causing the sellsword to fall on the ground while blood escaped his mouth. I took further advantage in landing another strike in his back, hearing the crunch of bones. I turned around and saw new men charging at us, though most were moving towards Tom and Derren. The Brave Companions must have deemed the two as the most dangerous. They were proven correct as my allies took care of their opponents. But it was the man moving towards me that brought a feeling of pure disgust. While he was limping a bit and was using an axe, Shagwell was recognizable and he looked at me with a nasty grin. I steadied myself, preparing for a fight, but a part of me was wary because I knew that those sellswords are the kind to stab someone while he was fighting another. For a moment, I could see Bronn, looking at Lysa, who berated him for not fighting with honour, as well as the snappy comeback of "But he did". My cautious-self was wary of such a move with Shagwell distracting my attention to allow someone else to cut me down.

"Well, well, look 'ere. We've got ourselves the green foreigner boy. Where's yer little whore, eh? I've got a score t' settle with 'er."

I bristled to the insult he used for Arya, feeling anger and fury boiling within me I clenched my grip on the hammer but forced myself to stay still, as I knew charging at him to shut up his taunting would be a mistake. And it was out of question to be killed by a wretched bastard of his kind, not when I promised to be alright to Arya. The evil fool seemed a bit disappointed by my lack of reaction.

"Matters not, mate. I'll deal with ya meself. No wolf bitch to come to yer rescue. I'm no fool like Barret the Bloodbeard [1] down the're!”

Barret the Bloodbeard?! Wasn't that....

He lunged at me, determined to kill me and God knew whatever he intended to inflict on me. I managed to parry his strike and tried to hit back. We exchanged some blows, both of us being hampered by our own physical restraints. But after the first strike, I tended to dodge his attacks when it was possible, as I wasn’t confident enough to fight an axe with my hammer. However, my resistance frustrated the fool. As we faced each other and took our breath like two wolves ready to pounce each other, I taunted him with, “The green boy has more thorns than expected, you fool.”

Shagwell's face twisted into a snarl at my taunt, his eyes filled with rage. He lunged at me once again, swinging his axe with ra wild strike. I focused on my footwork, sidestepping his strikes and countering with swift, calculated blows from my hammer. I used some of the aikido footwork to dodge the man, enraging him further. While my cautious-self was wary of an enraged opponent, my analytical-self knew that opportunities would present themselves with a less focused foe.

"Quit yer dodgin', ye craven!", Shagwell spat at me as I avoided another of his strikes.

As he swung his axe in a wide arc, leaving himself momentarily exposed, I seized the opportunity. Closed the distance between us, I gave him a powerful blow to his chest with the blunt end of my hammer. Shagwell staggered backward, the grip on his axe faltering. However, I was prevented to from ending the fight thanks to another sellsword attacking me. I narrowly avoided being stabbed by the latter and was on the defensive, as my fight against Shagwell exhausted me. Plus the pain in my side and leg were now hindering me more than ever and the sellsword before me was healthier and thus, more dangerous.

This new attack allowed me to briefly see what was going on. Derren and Tom were handling with great difficulty the fight they were in as they were facing multiple sellswords and were tiring. Only the presence of one of the Charlton men with them seemed to balance the fight, even though the man was also at disadvantage and tired. I however focused again on my new opponent as he lunged at me, his sword aimed at my chest. I managed to dodge the attack by sidestepping and pivoting on my uninjured leg, narrowly avoiding the deadly blade. Using the momentum from my dodge, I swung my hammer in a sweeping arc, aiming for the sellsword's exposed flank.

However, my weariness and injuries slowed my movements, and the sellsword was quick to parry my strike with his sword. Our weapons clashed, the impact reverberating through my arms, sending jolts of pain throughout my body. I gritted my teeth, refusing to let the agony deter me. But I found myself on the defensive and I feared this would be my end soon. Inwardly, I prayed God to prepare myself for my appointment with death while hoping that Arya was now safe.

But as I was dodging and parrying with greater difficulty, I suddenly saw a grey shape land on the sellsword and star mauling him. Wincing while hearing the cries of pain from the man, I stood stunned, wondering what was going on before seeing the shape turn towards me. I recognized Nymeria, which increased my surprise, but also my concern.

“Nymeria?”, I couldn’t help but ask.

I then heard shouts coming from the road where Artos and Arya went. I raised my eyes and saw around a dozen riders charging into the area. They weren’t sellswords and the sign of a two keep towers on the shield of one of them, brought back another memory that I couldn’t place. I suddenly heard an arrow whistle and I felt feared it was aimed at me, before seeing one of the riders hit and falling swiftly from his horse. His foot snagged on the saddle, causing him to be dragged by his horse. I winced, imagining the pain and the damages the poor lad would suffer. But the other riders charged the sellswords that fled their arrival, only to be cut down or surrender. Shagwell would not be taken alive as his chest was crushed under the hooves of a horse that trampled him. As I turned around to see the scene unfolding, I saw the remaining sellswords trying to flee. I noticed that Harwin seemed all right as were ser Illifer and ser Creighton, but I couldn’t say the same of Mors, Jallard or Jonric who didn’t stand. A feeling of dread went through me, knowing the remaining guards were either dead or wounded.

“Roger!”

Arya’s familiar voice made me turn around towards the road and I saw Artos and her approaching with Lady nearby alongside another rider. As I saw there was no danger anymore, I let my hammer fall, tired but relieved. Artos helped the young Stark girl to slip from the horse and she rushed to hug me. Wincing, I hugged her back, softly stroking her hair, while I hoped no one got the wrong idea.

"Roger, I was so worried about you. Are you hurt?", Arya said with a mix of concern and relief.

I nodded, wincing as pain shot through my side. "I've taken a few blows, but I'll be fine. But why are you here? I thought you were riding to the Twins.”

Before she could answer, a young voice answered, “The young lady and her rider encountered our men as they rode in a hurry. They informed us of the situation and we rushed to help all of you.”

Turning my eyes to the rider while separating myself from Arya, I looked at him with gratefulness.

“You have my thanks for your presence and arrival, ser.”

The young rider answered, “I am no ser. My brother is.”

I looked at him puzzled, “Your brother?”

The young rider then seemed to realize that he forgot something, “Oh, sorry. I forgot to introduce myself. Olyvar Frey at your service.”

I looked stunned, realizing what the Twin keep tower sigil meant.

“You’re… You are a member of lord Walder Frey’s family?” I asked. I was uncertain if he was Olyvar from the book or another unnamed member of this Ottoman-like family.

Olyvar nodded, confirming his lineage. "Yes, that's correct. Lord Walder Frey is my father."

I was taken aback by the revelation, not expecting to encounter a member of such a notable (and notorious) house. "I see. Well, Olyvar Frey, your timely arrival was greatly appreciated. We were in dire straits."

Olyvar responded with a nod and a hint of concern in his eyes. "I'm glad we could be of assistance. My brothers and I had been sent after our lord father received messages from Lord Charlton about bandits or sellswords wreaking havoc on his lands."

I nodded in understanding. It seemed that lord Charlton considered that the situation was out of his hands and that he couldn’t solve on his own the situation. I couldn’t blame him because of the unexpectedness of their attack or the fact their whereabouts weren’t known after the first ambush. And no one would have assumed they would be bold to strike again. Their arrival might be coincidental, but I was very grateful as it meant the remaining of our escort was now safe and that Arya was safe. A little voice reminded me that I was also safe now.

I took a quick look at Shagwell that was laying down nearby. I was glad to have defeated him as he wouldn’t threaten anyone anymore. But then I looked at the first sellsword, Barret the Bloodbeard. I knew he was not on the show. Something about him seemed out of place. Then why did he seem so familiar?

I heard the sound of approaching riders and men from behind. Turning around, I saw Harwin, Ser Illifer, and Ser Creighton moving toward us with some of the Charlton men, most of them seemingly exhausted and affected by the fight. I couldn't help but worry about their condition, given the fierce battle we had just endured.

"Lady Arya! Roger!" Harwin called out as they drew nearer.

I greeted them with a mixture of relief and concern. "Harwin, are you all right?"

Harwin's expression turned somber as he answered, "I'm fine, but Jonric and Mors didn't make it. Jallard is hurt. And the men of Lord Charlton have lost six of them."

I nodded, feeling a pang of sorrow for the fallen guards while also thinking of the two men that decided to fly. "May they rest in peace. Hopefully we can tend to Jallard's wounds soon."

I turned to Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton, both of whom had fought valiantly in the battle. "Ser Illifer, Ser Creighton, are you both alright?"

Ser Illifer, ever practical, responded first. "A few scrapes and bruises, but nothing serious. Your moves, Roger, were a blessing for my companion."

Ser Creighton chimed in, expressing his gratitude. "Yes, thank you for the training. It made a difference."

Harwin confirmed their words, his tone appreciative. "Indeed, ser Creighton fooled some of our enemies, tripping them up. He had on one the ground begging to go home to his mom from the way Creighton held him down by the arm."

For a moment, I pictured ser Illifer and Creighton in an MMA cage, making Joffrey and Cersei tap out out in submission. I had to stifle a laugh at the thought.

Ser Ilifer and Ser Creighton turned their glances on Arya, their eyes full of surprise and disbelief. I knew it was because of Harwin calling out Arya when they approached us. It was the very first time they hear her name in the discussion as Harwin and I made it discreet. I observed how their eyes widened, and their expressions turned from puzzlement to realization. It was as if a lightning bolt of understanding had struck them.

"Did you say... Lady Arya, ser?" Ser Creighton asked, his voice trembling with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

I nodded, confirming their suspicions. "Yes, Arya Stark, the youngest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark."

Ser Ilifer's eyes darted back and forth between Arya and me, piecing the puzzle together. "Seven hells... we've been protecting a Stark this whole time."

Their shock was palpable, and they couldn't hide their astonishment at the revelation. Ser Creighton's jaw dropped, and he stammered, "But why is Lady Arya here? I’ve heard she was accompanying her Lord father to King’s Landing."

I furrowed my brows when hearing those words. I guessed they didn’t hear the rumours coming from Darry Castle and while the presence of Lady and of Nymeria was omninous and made the two hedge knights and the Charlton men wary, it seemed that the rumours on the fact the Stark children had direwolf didn’t spread enough outside of the North. Maybe there was suspicion of some of the men, but they didn’t raise the question.

Arya stepped forward, her eyes filled with a mix of vulnerability and determination. "It’s true. I was with my father and my sister going to King’s Landing, but then, there had been an incident with Joffrey on the Trident. My father sent me back to Winterfell after the incident and after the intervention of Roger to defend me from the lies of Joffrey."

Ser Illifer scolded her a bit, “My Lady, you shouldn’t speak bad of the prince.”

Arya protested, “I’m not a lady! And Joffrey is awful and a liar!”

I put a hand on her shoulder, “Calm down, Arya. Ser Illifer doesn’t know what happened there.”

Arya looked at me with frustrated eyes, but assuaged and nodded.

Harwin chimed in, "Aye, it's a long story, but what I told you after the other ambush was true."

Ser Illifer looked at the guard, “Then, why didn’t you tell us her name when we joined you?”

The Stark guard sighed, “After the ambush, I wanted to ensure the lady discretion and safety and I intended to tell you the truth once we have reached the Neck.”

Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton exchanged glances, their initial shock giving way to a deep sense of understanding and acceptance. I guessed they understood the reasons and accepted Harwin’s word on the matter. I was watching them, wondering what was their next move.

Ser Illifer, after a moment of reflection, spoke up, "My lady, we had no idea who you were, but we have sworn to protect you, and that oath still holds true. You have our loyalty and our swords."

Ser Creighton nodded in agreement, his voice filled with conviction, "Lady Arya, you have our loyalty and our swords. We may be penniless and longbound, but we are yours to command."

Arya's eyes welled with gratitude, and she nodded, touched by their unwavering commitment. "Thank you, both of you."

Harwin stood by with a satisfied and relieved expression, knowing that Arya would be still protected by these two men who fought with us twice by now. I was also relieved because I knew how committed they were to their oaths.

Harwin then turned his sight towards Derren and Tom. The guard seemed exhausted and wincing from a hit on his leg while his horse was frantic. The bard seemed well but also relieved and I could imagine why.

“How well do you fare, Derren?”, Harwin asked.

"I've witnessed finer times. But I'll endure,” the Stark guard replied while wincing again.

I then heard Olyvar asking the rider that was nearby Harwin, “Perwyn, how is Emmon?”

The rider shook his head, “He didn’t make it. A bad fall and being dragged by his horse didn’t help.”

Hearing Emmon’s name, I couldn’t help but wonder if that was Genna Lannister’s husband. If it was the case, that would mean that another ripple in the sea of time had occurred alongside with the destruction of some of the Brave Companions. Then it struck me: what would happen when Tywin Lannister found out that the Sellswords he would have hired in canon had killed his goodbrother? I would hopefully be in Winterfell, away from here as "Rains of Castemere" fury was unleashed!

Concerning Perwyn, I thought back to the books from ASOIAF. He was possibly Olyvar’s brother, even though I wasn’t certain. On the other hand, I did know that Olyvar was Roslin’s brother. But beyond the bushy tree of the Frey House, I was very confused by the presence of the Frey men here. While I was aware there were blanks in the events preceding the War of the Five Kings, encountering three of the members of the House that was the most ridiculed in Westeros and among the most vilified in fandom due to the Red Weddings was mind-blowing. Still, me and everyone else was grateful for their arrival as it saved our lives.

While I couldn’t see his face, Olyvar seemed a bit contrite by the news of his brother.

“And what about the bandits?”

“Either dead or in flight. But they won’t get away from our justice.”

While I was relieved that the group of Brave Companions that attacked us were now destroyed, I was half-tempted to comment that the bandits the Frey defeated were sellswords. But I held my tongue as it would not be relevant at the time being and I was concerned it would raise questions that could be problematic for me and the escorts. And I knew better than outright accuse Cersei of sending killers after Arya and me, mainly because I was a nobody to most of Westeros and because it wasn’t my place to announce Arya’s presence, not that I would.

Ser Perwyn turned his attention back to Harwin, the situation demanding his focus. "In light of recent events, we’ll have to bring you to the Twins," he said, a hint of urgency in his voice.

Harwin considered the request for a moment before nodding. "Very well, Ser Perwyn. We shall accompany you to the Twins."

The decision seemed prudent, considering the uncertainty of the road and the recent hostilities. And with two ambushes in a week, we needed a safe place to rest and to resupply before moving further north. I was not very keen to go to the Twins, but I knew that this was a necessity. Even if a dirty old man awaited us there....

A.N.:

1. And here we go! The new chapter with tension, suspense and action.
2. The reasoning behind the return of the Brave Companions was a) narrative purpose (solving their presence and the threat they are currently embodying) and b) more importantly the fact that between discussions with my beta reader and some research and reflections on my own, I had considered that they wouldn't waste all their ambush group in one strike and that if the fight turned to their disadvantage, they would retreat to avoid needless casualties. I considered that in the first ambush, their group was composed of nearly forty men (and three quarters in the direct fight) with a dozen killed and some other hurt (some being captured, other dying of their wounds and the remaing recovering more or less quickly afterwards). The remaining group retreated but between honouring their contract (especially one from the Lannisters/royal crown) and personal vendetta (you can guess who I am referring to), they would hide and abide their time to find a new and last opportunity to strike.
3. Being one of the chapters that have been created before the “Buried reprieve” one, the Charlton men had been added afterwards and I tried to show the shades of possible behaviours in a sudden fight while including them in the initial text.
4. The “sacrifice” instant is something that comes to my mind because outside of the obvious issue of letting a (highborn) girl being killed, I tend to have a mindset that places the needs of others above mine (as long as they don’t contradict my principles or my well-being, of course). And while it is a case of endangering his well-being, the SI still has this mindset that as he is a foreigner in Westeros with no real ties there, his needs and life are not priority in such circumstances. And of course, like in the first chapter, there is the Christian mentality that comes to his mind (but some may call it "Hero Complex", the kind Harry Potter is plagued with for example...).
5. The sellsword called Barret is a "commander" character from the game "Winter is Coming" (I kow he is not officially of the Brave Companions, but being a sellsword, it is an artistic liberty I can afford). Yes indeed, I do not hesitate to include as background characters from the books, show and games. Consider this fanfiction like one attempting to grasp as much as it can from the lore and its extensions while obviously altering the events with the presence of the SI and the impact of his deeds and words. For further details, while he shared his alias with a sellsword character leading the Cat Company, the lack of obvious link between the two characters in the respective fandom pages on them can allow his presence in this story (otherwise, for consistency necessity, it would have been an anonymous sellsword).
   
6. I tried to find a balance in the fighting scenes with the recovering wound of the SI and to find reasonable factors to explain why he can handle this new ambush. Of course, with Shagwell, it was balanced by the fact the fool was "recovering" from the wound Arya had sustained him in the first fight, even though his nasty personality and his desire for revenge brought purpose and adrenaline to assuage a bit the pain, but not to the point he would hold his ground.
7. Concerning the arrival of the Frey, it resulted from a discussion with my beta reader and of the fact I had considered that they would have heard of the first incident and potentially of the presence of people marauding their lands and thus would send some of their men and of their kin (considering the number of sons and of grandsons, it is so easy to imagine that) to handle the issue. And the "cliche" rescue arrival is funny and ironic to imagine with the men of this house considering their canonical deeds (even if two of the Frey depicted are among the nicest ones).
8. The presence of Emmon Frey is partly tied to the canon when he is among the Frey attending the Hand’s Tourney, meaning he may have been at the Twins in the time before the tourney. And while he is mainly in Casterly Rock, considering that he is officially the husband, it is also likely he (regularly) goes visiting his father. And of course, it serves as a narrative pretext for an incoming detour to a famous place of the canon.
9. Teaser: next time, a pampered prince is having a real bad time as he is sulking and fuming…
10. Have a good reading!

Sources:

[1] https://game-of-thrones-winter-is-coming-game.fandom.com/wiki/Barret.

Chapter Text

My chamber felt like a suffocating prison cell as I paced back and forth. The echoes of my father's punishment still felt throughout my body, each bruise a reminder of my failures and of his anger. The pain from that beating surpassed even the memory of the one I took when Father reacted when I showed him the babies I took from that pregnant cat.

I winced as I touched the tender spots on my face, a physical reminder of my disgrace. The Red Keep, once a symbol of my power, now felt like a cage closing in on me. Stripped of my privileges, watched at every step, I seethed with anger and frustration. How dare Father take away my right to bear weapons, to move freely, to be on my own!

The faces of that Northern bitch, Arya Stark, her beast and that damned foreign commoner, Marc, were etched in my mind like scars. The stranger had humiliated me in Darry Castle, siding with the Starks, and now, thanks to his interference, Arya Stark walked free. My reputation tarnished, my authority questioned, and my pride wounded.

My mind burnt with fury as I thought of that little brat, unruly and savage like her beast. A typical northerner. Her parents were weak savages, allowing her to behave like a peasant or a wilding. I remembered her audacity to prevent me from enforcing my will, an insult to my person. I looked at my wrist, remembering the pain I had felt when her beast bit me. It was so humiliating, so painful, so awful. I was so weak and powerless and that cunt could have killed me if she wanted. Instead she humiliated me more by throwing away Lion’s Tooth into the river. Humiliated by a little girl, that was so shameful, even more with uncle Renly mocking me for that. If only that stranger had not prevented the punishment that northern brat should have earned. She should have learned her place.

And the worst was all this occurred before my betrothed. The girl I had hoped to impress and control, had witnessed my failure. How could I speak to her without hearing her wailing and being dull like all women? I couldn’t allow her to see how pathetic I looked. She would pity me and mother always said that pity was for the weak. The loss of Lion's Tooth, the mocking eyes of Arya Stark, and the laughter of that meddling foreigner burned in my mind.

As I paced, Sandor Clegane, my sworn shield, watched silently. His presence did little to soothe my anger, but he was a necessary shadow, a reminder of the consequences of disobedience.

The rumors swirling around the castle only fueled the fire within me. Marc, the insolent commoner, had joined up with the Starks. The thought of him in the service of my father's bannerman, Lord Stark, stoked the fires of my resentment. How dare he defy me, call me a liar, and escape my justice?

My confinement within the Red Keep intensified my frustration. It was the place of power, the place of the Iron Throne, my future throne. And yet, I was like a common prisoner. The walls closed in as I brooded over the humiliation, the loss of control. My hands clenched into fists as I imagined the foreigner smirking at my downfall.

The complex feelings towards my father also played out within me. I craved his approval, his love, yet he constantly denied me. His punishments were harsh, but I yearned for his acknowledgment. The recent beating left me yearning for the warmth of his approval, a twisted desire born from a desperate need to please him.

My thoughts dwelled on my mother. She had been like the lioness, always there to protect me and help me solve any issues.

"Enough of this," I muttered, my voice dripping with frustration. I halted, my eyes narrowing as I glared at the mirror. The prince in the reflection was not the one I aspired to be. The scars, the bruises, they marred the image of the future king.

After my outburst, I took a deep breath and attempted to compose myself. The anger still simmered within me, but I knew that displaying it openly would only further diminish my standing in the eyes of those around me. I straightened my posture, determined to regain control over the situation.

The confines of my chamber became stifling, the need to break free overwhelming. I couldn't endure the imprisonment any longer. "I need air," I muttered irritably.

I felt the glance of the Hound, my sworn shield, observing me with the impassive gaze of a hound. His presence had grown more irritating by the day, a constant reminder of my father's distrust. As I moved toward the door, Sandor's large form shifted, anticipating my departure.

I shot a venomous look in his direction. "Stay put, dog. You're not needed for this stroll."

Sandor's eyes met mine, a glint of defiance burning in them. "King's orders. Can't have you wandering off like a lost pup."

I sneered and bristled at his words. "The king's orders? Your place is by my side, not to question my every move."

"Except for that foreigner, Marc," Sandor muttered under his breath.

My blood boiled at the mention of the insolent commoner. How dared he mention that cursed name! I suddenly remembered the rumours about uncle Jaime and him.

"He called you Gregor, didn't he?" I sneered. "A fitting name for a dog like you."

Sandor's eyes narrowed, the scarred corner of his mouth twitching in irritation. "Don't push it, boy. I've served your family faithfully, without any issues."

I laughed, the sound dripping with disdain. "Faithfully? You couldn't even protect me from that wretched foreigner. A dog, indeed, incapable of loyalty."

Sandor's hand instinctively moved towards the hilt of his sword, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Careful, Your Grace. I have my limits. And I was following your commands with the butcher's boy."

Wary of his gesture, I took a step closer, relishing the tension in the air. "Know your place, dog. You're my sworn shield, not my advisor. Remember that."

His eyes flashed, a storm of hatred brewing within them. "Maybe one day, boy. But not today."

The standoff continued, the Red Keep's walls seemingly closing in on us. I needed to leave this stifling chamber, take a walk, and reassert my dominance.

"Enough," I declared, breaking the tense silence. "Open the door, dog. We're leaving."

Sandor hesitated for a moment, his eyes locked with mine. Then, with a begrudging nod, he opened the door, allowing me to step out into the corridors of the Red Keep. The air outside my chamber was a welcome change, a small victory in the ongoing battle for control.

As we moved through the dimly lit corridors, the cold stone walls seemed to echo the hollowness of my triumph. The bitterness still lingered, the scars on my body a constant reminder of my father's disappointment. I could feel the eyes of the servants darting away from me.

"Look at them scurrying away like rats," I sneered, my disdain evident in every word. "Filthy commoners."

Sandor grunted in agreement, his scarred face impassive. "Aye, Your Grace. Rats indeed."

My mood darkened further as we walked, the memories of the foreigner, Marc, resurfacing like a festering wound. The way he dared to speak, to interfere in my affairs, it was an insult I couldn't let go unanswered. And the Stark girl… that brat wouldn’t escape punishment, Mother had promised me that when we left Darry Castle. If only she could have been brought for punishment. She needed to know her place and a bitch like her should crawl before me, begging for mercy instead of challenging me. Perhaps when I became king, I would ask for her head.

A group of servants crossed our path, their eyes averted, their footsteps hurried. I seized the opportunity to assert my dominance.

"Halt!" I commanded, my voice cutting through the air like a whip. The servants froze, their faces full of fear.

"Do you find my presence so repulsive that you must scuttle away like insects?" I taunted, relishing the discomfort in their eyes.

One of the servants stammered, "N-no, Your Grace. We... we didn't mean to—"

"Silence!" I snapped, my impatience boiling over. "You are dismissed."

As they scurried away, I turned to the Hound. "See how they fear me? As they should."

Sandor nodded, his gaze still fixed straight ahead. "Aye, Your Grace."

The air outside Maegor's Holdfast offered little solace. My mind swirled with thoughts of that lowborn, the humiliation I suffered, and the yearning for revenge. I imagined hunting him like a wild animal as he was, my guards at my side, relentlessly tracking his every move. I relished in picturing him despairing, begging for his life once he was trapped. The only mercy I would give him would be to force him to be my toy and to see him suffering for all the slights he inflicted upon me. I smiled at the idea of him crawling like the bug he was while the Northern bitch he defended would be reduced to nothing. She would be stripped of everything to my pleasure while I played with her and forced her to witness how her savior fared. Imagining her fearful eyes, her body full of bruises, down on the ground or curled into a ball was a pleasant enough thought for me. I relished the perspective of the day when king, I would be able to teach her respect. Perhaps letting her live with beasts as she was one would be a good lesson. But not before she saw me swing a sword that would take the head of her foreign pet.

"What do you plan to do, Your Grace?" Sandor's voice, like gravel, interrupted my thoughts.

A sly smile crept across my face. "I have a few ideas, dog. A game to play for the future."

I paid no heed to his reaction, feeling better, even though there was still a lingering hole to fill and I couldn’t do anything for the time being to my bitter dismay and frustration. I was the prince! Mother always told me I could do anything and father deprived me of that because of a petty peasant and because he cared too much for those barbarians in that wasteland in the North.

As we rounded a corner, we crossed paths with my siblings, Myrcella and Tommen. As we approached them, they stopped walking and Myrcella moved protectively closer to Tommen, holding his hand. My pathetic brother looked at the Hound and me, while my sister shot me a worried look. The sight of their bond irked me. I approached them with a predatory glint in my eyes.

Seeing them reminded me how weak and pathetic they were. I suspected they knew what happened with that lowborn and the Stark brat and her beast. That meant they wouldn’t show the respect they owed to me as the heir to the Iron Throne. Seeing that whining wimp that was my brother suddenly reminded me of Father’s threat of my position as heir. The mere thought of Tommen sitting on the Iron Throne sent a shiver down my spine but also aroused my anger. That whelp was never fit to be a prince. The audacity of their silent solidarity and the thought of Tommen in my place peeved me. I needed to remind them of their place.

"What are you two doing here?" I demanded, my voice cutting through the air.

Myrcella tightened her grip on Tommen's hand, her eyes wary. Neither of them answered, a defiance that stoked the embers of my irritation.

"I'll ask one more time," I threatened, my voice low and menacing. "What. Were. You. Doing?"

Myrcella stayed close to Tommen, her eyes defiant. "We were just taking a walk, Joffrey."

I scoffed. "Taking a walk?"

I looked at them with contempt.

"Taking a walk?" I repeated. "Is that what you call it? Frolicking around like a pair of naive idiots? You forget your place, Myrcella."

Tommen shifted uncomfortably, his gaze fixed on the ground. Myrcella, however, met my gaze, her eyes still defiant.

"We were merely enjoying some fresh air, Joffrey," she retorted, her voice steady. "There's no harm in that.

A dangerous idea formed in my mind. I decided to remind them of their vulnerability

"Tell father about my little stroll, and you'll see what harm means," I threatened, my eyes narrowing at my sister.

She didn't flinch. "If you dare lay a hand on us, father will know. You wouldn't want that, would you?"

Her defiance enraged me. She never dared challenge me before all this mess. Fear crossed my mind as I winced, remembering Father’s blows. But the audacity of Myrcella was too much to accept.

"I should remind you both of your place," I seethed. "I'm the future king, and you will show me the proper respect."

Her face flushed with anger, her grip on Tommen's hand tightening. "You have no right to judge us," she shot back. "You're the one who brings shame upon our family, with your cruelty and arrogance. Everyone now whispers about how you were put at your place by a peasant who gallantly defended Arya against your lies. It was like a knight from a book standing up to you."

Her words sliced through my composure, awakening the lingering ache from Father's punishment. My hand involuntarily moved to the side of my face, fingers tracing the tender skin that still bore the marks of his anger.

The mention of Arya and that wretched incident in Darry Castle ignited a furious flame within me. It felt like a slap in the face. My hand instinctively went to the side of my face, where the marks of father's punishment still throbbed. Myrcella had no right to throw my disgrace back in my face.

"I suggest you watch your tongue, sister," I warned, the tension thick in the air. "You might find yourself in a position far worse than Tommen if you continue with this insolence."

Her response was a measured calmness that further stoked the flames of my anger. "You can't control everything, Joffrey. Not anymore."

The audacity! My fingers twitched, aching to give her a taste of the pain I endured from Father. Tommen, sensing the tension, shuffled uncomfortably at Myrcella's side. Inwardly, I felt glee to see him cower like the craven he was.

"Enough!" I bellowed, unable to contain my rage any longer. My hand shot forward, grabbing Myrcella's long hair and pulling it up as I prepared to deliver a stinging slap across her insolent face. But before my hand could make contact, a sudden force collided with me as Tommen’s voice cried out, “Get away from Myrcella!”

Pushed away, I stumbled backward, strands of hairs in my hand, the ache from yesterday's beating flaring up as I lost my balance. My body hit the cold stone floor of the corridor, the impact sending a jolt of pain through my already battered frame. I felt my head spinning and my sight became blurry.

Just after I fell, something landed on my stomach, cutting off my breath. A small body was on me that began to rain down small and awkward blows on my chest as well as my face. The unhealed bruises flaring up with fresh pain

"Say your sorry!" Tommen's voice quivered with a mix of rage and desperation as I felt the blows on me. "You monster! You won’t hurt my sister again!"

Covering up as best as I could from his strikes, I was further stunned. Little Tommen, the weakling, the one I could always push around. He had knocked me down and was hitting me!

How dare he? How dare he defy me? I couldn’t think or react, I could only try to shield myself while I felt his blows and to my bitter shame, whimpering at the pain he was inflicting on me. I couldn't stop him. The weakness from Father's punishment, the shock of Tommen's defiance, it all overwhelmed me.

"I'm the future king!" I shouted, a desperate attempt to assert my dominance. But my voice lacked the usual confidence, tainted by the pain and humiliation I felt.

He showed no mercy. He kept striking, the rage in his eyes mirroring the anger I had seen in Father's gaze the day before.

"You're no brother of mine!" he yelled, his words punctuating each strike. The pain seared through me, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth.

I felt more blows from his small fists, each one a reminder of my diminished control. Little Tommen, the weakling, was now my assailant, and I, the supposed future king, lay helpless beneath him. The world had shifted, and I, for the first time, felt the sting of true vulnerability.

Suddenly, a booming voice pierced through the chaos. "What's going on here?"

It was Father, his authoritative presence halting the beating. My heart raced as he saw me in this humiliating situation at the hands of my weak brother. Even if a part of me hoped to see that whiny boy being punished for daring to strike at me, I felt crushed by my weakness.

Then, someone strong pulled Tommen off me. It was Ser Arys Oakheart, his grip firm as he separated my raging brother from me. Tommen struggled, but the knight's strength prevailed. I lay there, catching my breath, watching as Tommen was taken away.

I tried to get up, the pain in my body overwhelming. The whispers around me worsened my mood. Rumors would be fueled about the disgraceful spectacle they had witnessed. I wanted to shake off the weakness and vulnerability, but my body rebelled.

Attempting to rise again, I felt a soft hand on my shoulder. Mother. She hugged me, her touch both comforting and infuriating. I noticed a red mark on her face.

"Joffrey, my sweet boy, are you hurt?" she cooed.

I recoiled, wanting Mother’s familiar comfort. Yet I could not afford to look even more weak."I can handle myself, Mother," I spat, pushing her away. "This is nothing."

The attitude of those around me, the corridor filled with judgmental looks, fueled my embarrassment. Father's voice boomed again, demanding an explanation. I shot a glance at Tommen, who clung to Myrcella.

Father’s voice echoed again, this time with a mix of confusion and concern. "What in the seven hells happened here? Tommen, why were you hitting Joffrey?"

"He attacked me, Father! I won't tolerate such insolence!" I cried.

He looked at me with a thunderous look, “Silence, you little shit!”

I recoiled, as if his words slapped me. Father turned his look on Tommen and while angry, it wasn’t as thunderous as with me, but more concerned. That sight infuriated me. Why did my weak brother have the attention I should have?

Tommen hiccupped, trying to explain himself. "I-I saw him hurting Myrcella, Father. I couldn't let him get away with it!"

Father growled, “He did what?”

He sent me a glare that made me cower like a craven. Tommen dared to further challenge me, to humiliate me before Father? My fingers tightened into fists as I struggled to get up, but the pain shot through me, and I winced.

Father's gaze shifted to Myrcella, who was holding her head in pain. "What happened to Myrcella?"

Myrcella, with a shaky voice, answered, "Joffrey... he pulled my hair, Father, and he was about to slap me. Tommen was protecting me."

The revelation sent a wave of disbelief and rage through the room. Mother's shocked expression mirrored my own internal turmoil. The shock of her words hit me like a punch to the gut. Never before my siblings challenged me in such a blatant way. I was reminded too much of that Northerner brat. My mind raced, trying to deny the accusation, but the pain and fear choked me. Father’s eyes narrowed, the disappointment and anger evident.

Though she looked at me with a troubled expression, Mother looked back at Father and protested, "This is nonsense! Joffrey would never..."

Father silenced her with a stern look. "Cersei, let me deal with this. He’s crossed the line again.”

He turned to Myrcella, his eyes turning concerned. This was something I had never seen for years for any of us. I felt my stomach twisting at this sight.

“Myrcella, are you alright?" he asked.

She nodded, tears streaming down her face. Father, for a moment, softened. He hugged both Tommen and Myrcella, comforting them, and my heart broke at the sight. The weaklings, protected and comforted by the man who should have been focused on me. They did nothing to earn his attention and they received it. That was unfair! I was his heir, not a fucking servant.

"Woman, control your son," Father demanded, his voice cutting through the tension.

Mother's eyes burned with defiance, but she wisely kept silent. Father turned to the guards, his gaze landing on ser Meryn Trant. "Bring Joffrey back to his room. He needs to be dealt with."

Mother couldn't hold back any longer. "He needs care, Robert! You can't just..."

"Silence!" Father roared, his patience worn thin. "Our daughter also needs care. Now, do as I say."

“My prince, get up," the knight barked, his tone devoid of sympathy. I was furious and Mother was sending a glare at the man. I winced as I tried to rise, feeling the strain in my body. The Hound loomed over me, offering a hand that felt more like a forceful yank.

I glanced at him and noticed a strange glint in his eye, as if he was holding back a laugh. The realization fuelled my anger, but I dared not show it.

Father led Myrcella and Tommen away, leaving me with Cersei's furious gaze burning into me. The corridor filled with more whispers as Meryn Trant escorted me back to my room, and I seethed with a rage that matched the fiery glow of my father's temper.

As we were moving, sizzling whispers echoed through the corridor. Words like "defeated," "beaten," and "helpless" danced in the air like mocking specters. The news of my humiliation would spread like wildfire, each whisper adding to the burning rage within me. The whispers worsened my mood, taunting me with the reality of my shattered authority. Mother would take care of them and cut their insolent tongues.

Sulking in anger and humiliation, I moved with great pain and difficulty. The ache from father's beating still lingered, the pain amplified by Tommen’s wraith. I couldn't escape the reality of my vulnerability, my facade of invincibility shattered. It was worsened by the fact I was held by my sworn shield and a kingsguard as if I was a damn crippled like that stupid boy that lay unconscious in Winterfell when we departed from that wasteland.

The corridor seemed to close in on me as I moved, brooding in silence. I felt the eyes of the castle walls bearing witness to my defeat. The reminder of the imp’s slap back in Winterfell, that bitch’s strikes, her beast’s bite, Lion’s Tooth being thrown away, that uncouth foreigner defending her and humiliating, father’s anger… All struck in me like lightning and all I felt was pain, shame, weakness and humiliation. I was the prince, the future king, not a whimpering boy wailing in pain! That was Tommen, not me.

As I tried to gather my shattered composure, a sharp pain shot through my head. I could still taste the metallic taste of blood in my mouth, a bitter reminder of my own vulnerability.

Struggling to my feet, I wiped the blood from my nose with the back of my hand. The taste lingered, bitter and mocking. The once-confident voice in my head now wavered, drowned by the echoes of Tommen's accusations. I was the monster, the defeated prince.

We arrived back in my room and I felt dread as I would be once again confined like a criminal. I was the prince, their future king. I should be able to move when I liked, when I wanted! Ser Meryn and the Hound lay me on the bed with no particular regard to my situation. The kingsguard took his leave and closed the doors behind me. Once again, my room became a cage. The taste of my own vulnerability and humiliation lingered, a bitter reminder that even the future king could fall from grace.

In spite of the pain and of the dread that were burdening me, I couldn't help but feel a surge of determination. This setback would not define me. I would rise again, stronger and more formidable than ever. And those who had dared to mock and humiliate me would soon learn the consequences of underestimating a prince, their future king. Arya, Marc, Tommen, Myrcella, even Sandor – they would all feel the weight of my vengeance and would remember their place as they should.

A.N.:

1. And here we are! A new "interlude" that displays a bit on the aftermath of the events in Darry Castle in another direction and some new ripples.
2. This chapter wasn't initially planned, but because of another future chapter that had been created and after a discussion with my beta reader, it was decided to create it, even if the depiction of Joffrey's POV through his mindset (or as close as I can be of his canonica mindset) was something intriguing, challenging and that I loved (as for Cersei).
3. While in canon, it is obvious that Robert has almost threw in the towel any attention and concern on Joffrey, except of course the succession matter (as he would have otherwise abdicated to become a sellsword if we considered his words in the book as sincere desire), the fact that the SI words aloud how Joffrey's actions in the incident on the Trident is akin to what had occured in the past with the Targaryen, it triggers something in Robert's mind as his son almost made a deed as grievous as the ones he cursed the Targaryens for, even more against a daughter of his Hand and (best) friend and brother in all but blood. In short, Joffrey was in hot waters, even more as his deeds were this time denounced and "displayed" in a public way. And while Robert might not like the fact his family has been "tainted" in such a manner, his anger is towards his son considering how well he knew how he behaves.
4. The physical pain of Joffrey was imagined in regards of how Robert would have "unleashed" his punishment and considering how he reacted when Joffrey showed him the cat embryos he took from the pregnant cat when he was younger, the Ruby Ford incident would be a higher level. Concerning the other punishments, I considered how Robert could have retaliated against his "pampered son". The threat on his position of heir was something I think Robert might have done in a certain set of circumstances considering how he let out his fury.
5. Depicting Joffrey's demeanour and mindset was both easy and difficult because I had to avoid a certain redundancy, but also trying to show some shades, notably in regards of his desire to be loved by his "father" and how his sense of self-entitlement would be challenged and where he would put the blame. And of course, considering that he would hide his pain and emotional scars behind the suffering of others and the fact he found pleasure in that suffering and in dominating others, imagining his dark fantasies and trying to keep hold on his situation in spite of the blows he has endured were an obvious take. I hope it is well balanced and not too caricatural on one hand while not making excuses for his mindset and demeanour (understanding someone's mindset and deeds doesn't mean excusing him/her for their deeds, no matter if they are fictional or real persons. Or to say in simple terms: as "forgive but not forget, "explain a thing but not to excuse it").
6. The confrontation between Joffrey and his siblings was partly due to the fact that Joffrey would try to ensure some sense of confidence, power and security in imposing himself on those he considered as weaker than him, and Tommen is an obvious target to him. There is also the fact that Myrcella and Tommen would have noticed to some extent a shift in the people around them and even heard some snippets of whispers tied to what happened. I tried to show both the conflictual and toxic relation of Joffrey with his siblings, the protectiveness of Myrcella for Tommen and the impact of the new set of circumstances.
7. Tommen attacking Joffrey is inspired by a suggestion of my beta reader on a scene from the movie "A Christmas story" where the main character snaps out after a new strike by his bully and tackled the latter down. While Tommen is a meek and gentle boy, like everyone else, he has his own limits and all it needs is both context and a spark to make him snap. In this case, the context post-Darry Castle plays a key role, especially as he would have heard of his brother's punishment by their father (while the canonical incident with the pregnant cat occurs years earlier in a period where Tommen was either unborn or far too young to be aware of what happened). And considering the fact he must share far more strong ties with his sister, he could go out of his shell if someone was harming her in one way or another.
8. I tried to tackle the way Robert and Cersei would have faced the situation. And while Robert is very distant with his "children", that doesn't mean he would have turned his back in such an incident, especially as his "meek" son proved to have backbone and "fury" while his eldest son proved once again to be a disappointment, not to mention it is likely the first time he hears about the bullying of Joffrey against his siblings. I will comment more on Robert's relationship with (his) children in a future chapter, but I would say that between his toxic relation with Cersei, his unresolved grief tied to Lyanna and the physical features of his "children", there are many reasons why he didn't care much for them in canon.
9. Teaser : next time, Marc and his companions arrive at the Crossing...
10. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

The sun was rising to its highest as our group continued to ride toward the Twins. Ser Perwyn Frey and his men led the way, guiding us through the Northern Riverlands. The landscape around us was a mix of rolling hills and fertile farmland, with the shimmering waters of the Green Fork of the Trident in the distance. These last days had been a relief after the second ambush. I was grateful for this peaceful rhythm as it allowed me to relax my troubled mind. I had been once again killed people, and those gruesome images were still hard to forget. It still hurt much and only interacting with Harwin, ser Illifer or ser Creighton had helped me to assuage this trouble while I kept praying, confiding to God my distress and conflicted thoughts, asking for him support.

As we rode, more conversations and interactions with our new companions had increased. Some of the horses carried the bodies of our fallen comrades and of ser Emmon, a grim reminder of the recent ambush. Tom of Sevenstreams, ever the talker, was engaged in a discussion with Derren, while Jallard, who was still recovering from his injuries, was being carefully guided by Tor. Between the Frey and us, some survivors of the Brave Companions that the Frey captured were walking. I wondered how Walder Frey handled justice on his lands, especially for people that attacked lands of him and his bannermen. These ones would no doubt end up worse since they killed one of his sons. Charlton men were keeping an eye on the prisoners and I couldn’t help but wonder what would await them in the Twins. On the one end, they fought hard but two of their men decided to flight and ironically were now in chained with the Brave Companions prisoners. I wasn’t certain they would have a good greeting of Walder Frey or even of their own lord.

On my right, Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton rode alongside me. Since the second ambush, I had continued training with Ser Creighton in the use of aikido and self-defence moves. His curiosity about my techniques had grown, and he was eager to learn. Our interactions were marked by mutual respect, as I shared my martial expertise with him. Our training lessons aroused the intrigue and curiosity of ser Perwyn and his brother Olyvar, even though some of the other Frey's mocked the aikido moves or the fact that an older hedge knight was being trained by a younger peasant.

Harwin, ever the vigilant protector, rode on Arya's left, his watchful eyes never leaving her. The young Stark was riding nearby me, with Nymeria and Lady roaming alongside her. The Frey men accompanying us were somewhat wary of the direwolves, a reaction that brought back memories of Grey Wind's unease during the Red Wedding. And while I knew the Frey had no reason to do any backstabbing moves, I was also aware how much of an opportunist and calculating man Walder Frey could be in addition to his pride as well his nasty lecherous side.

I wasn’t sure how to regard the man. He was not a good man, that was obvious. But he was also a lord who had one of the most strategic keeps in the whole Seven Kingdoms, making him a potential powerful one. His tendency to remarry too many times was dubious due to the growing age gap between his new wives. He could give Henry the VIII a run for his money. Plus those control freak tendencies of his, as they created toxic relations and rivalries within his own family. I hoped not to be alone with the likes of Black Walder or Walder Rivers! It was also on paper, a tragedy in the making as a lord, since to ensure legitimacy to his lineage, a lord has to have many children. If only he truly knew to use the potential he possessed, as he had the tools to become the most powerful man in Westeros with so many children and grandchildren. Even the Habsburg back home would pale in jealousy. But unfortunately, Walder Frey was more like an Ottoman sultan awaiting his succession to be a bloody one.

All I knew was that I needed to prepare myself for the encounter with the man, even though the chances he would speak to me were slim to none. But my cautious-self reminded me that anything was possible.

As we continued our journey, the Twins came into view, and the sight was indeed impressive. The massive stone castles, connected by a wide, arching bridge, stood proudly over the Green Fork of the Trident. The view was far more awe-inspiring than what was portrayed in "Game of Thrones". A marvel of human creation and of engineering that I doubted many would have achieved both in this world and mine. But seeing this impressive and wondrous building also made it impossible not to think of the Red Wedding or Arya's vengeful actions in the show's sixth and seventh seasons.

Harwin, who had been observing my reaction, couldn't help but comment. "Quite a sight, isn't it, Roger?"

I nodded, my gaze still fixed on the imposing structure. "Indeed, Harwin. It's even more remarkable than I imagined."

Tom of the Sevenstreams, who had been quietly strumming his lute, piped up with a knowing grin, "Aye, 'tis a sight to behold, I say. I once sang at a wedding 'round these parts, my cousin Pate of the Blue Ford's. He tied the knot with a granddaughter of Lord Walder, Amerei, if my memory serves right. 'Twas quite the celebration, it was, even though my cousin refused to part with a single coin for my troubles."

Harwin raised an eyebrow and turned to Tom.

"You've been to the Twins before, Tom?"

Tom nodded, his fingers absentmindedly plucking at the lute strings.

"Oh aye, indeed I have. I've strummed my tunes and sung my songs beneath the Frey banner when my cousin wed a Frey lass. The Twins may appear formidable, but they've witnessed their fair share of revelry and music, I can tell you that."

Harwin chuckled and turned back to me. "Seems like Tom here knows his way around these parts. Well, once we're inside, remember to tread carefully. Lord Walder Frey is always a cunning man, and his pride is well-known. Best not to provoke him."

I nodded in acknowledgment of his advice. Plus, I would not want to get into a fight with certain members of his family. "I'll keep that in mind, Harwin. We're guests here, after all."

Curiosity got the better of me. "Have you ever met Lord Frey before, Tom?"

Tom's expression grew contemplative as he reminisced.

"I cannot claim to have crossed paths with the man himself, despite my presence at my cousin's wedding within his keep. However, I have encountered a fair number of his kin during the festivities. They're a diverse bunch, they are. Some are more agreeable than others, but they all possess that unmistakable Frey pride, that's for certain."

I nodded, appreciating to understand the personal perspective of the people on the Frey. I was glad that my knowledge of the books and show and my analytical mind allowed me to have a certain neutrality to regard the family, otherwise I would have a more scathing opinion of them.

"What about you, Harwin?", I asked the northerner guard, intrigued to know if he had the opportunity to see the old lord.

His expression grew contemplative as he reminisced.

"Aye, I've crossed paths with him when Lord Stark joined king Robert to fight the Ironborn in the Greyjoy Rebellion. A very unpleasant man. I’ve heard of how he delayed our lord’s troops during the rebellion against the dragons and only joined our side after the Trident."

I nodded, absorbing the information. Arya, who had been silently observing the Twins, rode closer to us and couldn't help but comment, "It's a strange place, isn't it? The way those two castles stand there, like giants guarding the river."

Tom gave her an appreciative nod.

"Aye, Lady Arya. The Twins hold a storied past, filled with tales both joyous and grim. 'Twould be wise for us to exhibit our finest manners whilst we tread upon these grounds."

Harwin glanced at Arya, his voice tinged with both caution and understanding.

"Well, regardless of the story of the place, we best be on our nicest behaviour while we're here."

I added, "He’s right, Arya. From what has been told, Walder Frey is the kind of man who would regard a flee in his ale as a slight to him. And from what I’ve heard, I am not sure whose worse, him or Tywin Lannister when it comes to pride. I know you do not like it, but please, be as still as a mountain, even when he says words that would be very displeasant. Keep whatever you think of him to yourself until after we leave the Twins. You are lord Stark’s daughter and represent him and the North.”

Arya's brows furrowed, and her grip on her reins tightened. She rode her horse closer to me, her eyes locked onto mine as if trying to read my thoughts. Then, with a tone that was both defiant and resolute, she spoke her mind.

"I get what you're saying, Roger," Arya began, her voice low but unwavering. "But I don't like it. I don't like pretending to be something I'm not. I'm not some delicate lady who can't handle herself. I'm a Stark of Winterfell, just like my father. I won't bow and scrape to some old man just because he's a lord."

Her fiery spirit burned bright, and I could see those traits that made her my favourite character back when I watched the show. Despite her youth, Arya was not easily swayed by tradition or fake political politeness.

I placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, meeting her gaze with mine. "I know, Arya," I said softly. “I would be the last person to tell you to be the good girl. But I also know there are situations where subtlety is necessary. The man may not be a Lannister when it comes to paying debts, but he would remember. And he might use any incident now as a pretext for payback should your family or the Tully's need his support.”

Arya's defiant spirit didn't waver, but she seemed to absorb my words, her gaze flickering with a mix of frustration and understanding. She was a Stark of Winterfell, and her fierce loyalty to her family and her sense of self were things I deeply admired.

"I won't forget who I am, Roger," Arya replied, her voice firm. "But I'll do what's necessary for my family, for Winterfell, and for the North. I'll keep quiet and play the game, but that doesn't mean I'll like it."

I smiled at her, proud of her resolve. "That's the Arya Stark I know," I said. "And I have no doubt that you'll handle this situation with the same strength that you've shown in everything else."

"I've watched and learned from my father," Arya replied, a hint of intrigue in her eyes. "And if anyone pushes the wrong buttons with you or the others, I'll be right there with you, ready to stand my ground."

I chuckled a bit before giving her shoulder another reassuring squeeze and a warm smile. "That's the spirit, Arya."

As we rode closer to the Twins, the massive castles loomed ever larger, casting a shadow over the Green Fork of the Trident. The atmosphere grew tense, and I could see the apprehension in the faces of our group members. The Twins was a place of mystery and danger, and we were stepping into the lion's den. Or with a man like Walder, the snake’s den.

As we continued to ride, we approached the eastern gates of the Twins, and I observed Ser Perwyn announcing our arrival to the guards. The guards, after a brief exchange with the man, opened the gates, allowing us to enter the courtyard. The people in the courtyard watched our arrival with of curiosity and suspicion.

I noticed several women in the courtyard. Some were in good spirits but others seemed...broken. My mind flashed back to when Walder Frey showed Robb the daughters and granddaughters the young Stark could have married. Those same looks of fear were in these women's eyes.

I than remembered that some of these women may been used by those like Black Walder. So many Frey children fathered by a ruthless individual who probably killed his relatives in order to move up the ranks of being the heir to the Twins. If he got any ideas about Arya I'd....

I shook my head and focused on what was ahead. First a meeting with a snake. Then whatever happened next.

Arya, following my lead, mimicked my actions as we dismounted our horses. Ser Perwyn and Olyvar Frey, along with their men, dismounted as well. We awaited further instructions as some men approached Ser Perwyn, clearly interested in our arrival.

Among the men who had approached, two of them were outstanding. One was a plump man, with close-set eyes, a pointed beard, and dark hair in ringlets to his shoulders. He moved with a cane as one of his leg was twisted. The other was an older man with watery eyes and a weasel-like face. Seeing them made me wondered who they were as their physical features triggered some memories. I was certain the older man was a son of lord Walder Frey, perhaps his eldest son, Stevron, but I couldn’t be so certain with the literal army of children and grandchildren the man had.

The two men stopped by ser Perwyn’s side and noticed the prisoners we had with us.

The older man asked, "Perwyn, are these the bandits responsible for the attacks on lord Charlton’s lands?"

Ser Perwyn nodded, his expression serious. "Aye, Stevron. We captured them when they were attacking this group of travellers. We saved them in time and defeated those thugs. And they are truly sellswords as lord Charlton’s message had let imply."

Stevron Frey's watery eyes bore into the prisoners, his weasel-like face twisted with suspicion. Beside him, the plump man's close-set eyes darted from the prisoners to Ser Perwyn and our group, clearly assessing the situation.

"What were they after?" Stevron inquired, his voice edged with suspicion.

Ser Perwyn looked in our direction, “It seemed they were after this group as they had already attacked them at an inn some days ago. We defeated them as they were attacking them for the second time.”

Stevron nodded, his expression guarded. The plump man leaned in slightly, narrowing his eyes as he studied Arya, Harwin, and me.

“Who are they, Perwyn?”, he asked.

His half-brother answered in a steady voice. “These are men of House Stark accompanying Lady Arya back to the North. The rest are men that volunteered to help them after the first ambush, Lothar. Including men of lord Charlton.”

Hearing Lothar’s name, I felt a chill go down my spine. I remembered from the books, that he was the one that suggested using “The Rains of Castamere” as a signal for the Red Wedding to begin. I was not sure but I thought he was the one that stabbed Talisa to death in the show, unless there was another one, which wouldn’t be surprising with this backstabbing clan. Nevertheless, I narrowed my eyes and started to glare at the man, knowing how dangerous he could be.

“Roger, what’s the matter?”, Arya muttered to me.

I looked at her, seeing her concern. “Nothing,” I answered her with some forced reassurance, “Just a strange feeling.”

She looked at me with sceptic eyes, seemingly wanting to know more. I focused my attention on the Frey siblings as I heard Stevron Frey musing, “House Stark, you say?" he mused. "And Lady Arya? The daughter of Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King?"

Ser Perwyn nodded, confirming his half-brother’s inquiry. "Aye, that's correct."

Lothar Frey's close-set eyes darted between Arya and our group, a calculating look on his face. He seemed to be assessing the situation, perhaps considering the implications of having a Stark in their midst.

Stevron's expression remained guarded and intrigued. "And what brings Lady Arya Stark and her companions to the Twins?"

Harwin, ever the diligent protector, stepped forward to answer. "Lady Arya Stark is on her way back to Winterfell. As Ser Perwyn has told you, we have been ambushed by those sellswords twice and owe our lives to your brother, my lord. We were intending to ride to your keep for protection as we noticed we were pursued when they attacked us for the second time.”

Stevron and Lothar exchanged a look, their expressions unreadable. It was clear that they were weighing their options, trying to decide how to handle this unexpected situation.

"Where is Emmon?" Stevron suddenly asked, his gaze narrowing on Ser Perwyn.

Ser Perwyn's face darkened, as he replied, "Emmon is dead."

The news seemed to send shockwaves through the Frey brothers. Stevron's eyes widened, and Lothar's plump face contorted with a mix of surprise and concern.

Stevron cleared his throat, regaining his composure. "Father needs to know everything," he declared, turning his attention back to us.

Ser Perwyn nodded in agreement. "Of course. We'll provide a full report."

Stevron then gestured toward the Twins' entrance and said, "Follow us. We'll take you to see my father."

Harwin nodded, and I shot another reassuring look at Arya. She seemed to be handling the situation well, despite her initial defiance. With a determined nod in return, she signalled her readiness to proceed.

As Stevron, Lothar, Ser Perwyn, Olyvar, and our group began to make our way inside the eastern keep of the Twins, I whispered to Arya, "Stay alert and remember what we discussed. Observe how the others handle this meeting. We're in the snake’s den, but we'll navigate it together."

Arya's fiery spirit hadn't wavered, but she seemed to understand the need for caution and subtlety in this situation. She nodded in response, her gaze steady and focused.

We passed through the gates of the eastern keep, and a few moments later, we found ourselves in the Great Hall of the Twins. The hall was dimly lit, with torches lining the walls and casting flickering shadows. Frey guards were stationed all around, watching us closely. Nymeria and Lady were left behind, much to Arya’s dislike. While I kind of understood why they couldn’t go with us, it also made me wary as it reminded me too much one key event preceding the Red Wedding. Fortunately, Walder Frey was not a fool that would threaten the daughter of the current hand of the king, not to mention the fact that the king was a friend to Eddard Stark. Robert wouldn’t take well to such incident, especially not after what happened in Darry Castle.

The Frey siblings, Stevron and Lothar, took their seats at the head of the hall, and we were placed in the centre, surrounded by Frey men-at-arms. At the head of the hall, seated at the main table, was Lord Walder Frey himself, a wizened and frail figure, his wrinkled skin a testament to his advanced age. To his side was his new wife, Joyeuse Erenford, a pale and fragile-looking young woman.

The sight of the young and frail woman sitting next to the ancient Lord made me look ill at ease, the dire contrast between them reminding me of the unsettling notion of a grandpa marrying his own granddaughter. It was a thought that left a bitter taste in my mouth, not unlike when I had thought of Craster. I felt my stomach churn as I knew the sick wilding bastard craven that I was tempted to qualify of ersatz of Doriot or of Quisling wouldn’t hesitate to bed his own granddaughters once they would be of age. My discomfort didn't go unnoticed by Arya, who glanced at me with a concerned expression once again.

"Roger, what's wrong?" she muttered to me, her voice barely audible.

"Just not well in seeing this young girl by the side of Lord Walder Frey," I replied in a hushed tone, my unease still lingering.

Arya's gaze shifted back to Lord Walder Frey and Joyeuse Erenford, her young face reflecting a mix of curiosity and disgust. She understood the discomfort in witnessing such a taboo pairing.

"I don't understand why someone so young would marry someone so old," Arya whispered, her voice filled with innocence and disbelief. "It's not right."

I nodded in agreement, acknowledging her observation. Harwin, who had been observing our exchange, shot us a warning look, indicating that we should remain silent and composed.

I nodded in response, understanding the need to maintain our composure in this tense situation. We were guests in the Twins, and our safety depended on our ability to navigate this unfamiliar territory carefully. Especially since bread and salt had not been offered yet.

Lord Walder Frey's cloudy eyes fixed upon our group as Ser Perwyn began to speak, reporting the results of his mission to find the bandits that had been illegally operating in their lands. He provided Stevron and Lothar with further details of our encounters with the sellswords and the decision to seek refuge at the Twins.

As I heard once again the man telling what had happened, I couldn't help but notice the diverse and the mixed reactions on the faces of the Frey siblings.

When Ser Perwyn mentioned the death of Emmon Frey in the fight with the bandits, I heard Lord Walder Frey react with both scorn and displeasure. His voice, laced with annoyance and disdain, cut through the air.

"Emmon, dead, you say? Well, that's just typical of the boy. Always causing trouble and making a fool of himself. Couldn't even stay on his horse, could he? Useless, as usual."

Stevron Frey interjected, attempting to defend his deceased brother.

"Father, please, Emmon was a good man. He fought bravely-"

Lord Walder Frey, his voice dripping with derision, interrupted him. "Bravely? Ha! Falling off a horse doesn't make you brave. It makes you a clumsy fool. If he had half the sense the gods gave a goose, he would still be alive."

Lothar Frey, chimed in, his tone more subdued but still carrying a hint of frustration.

"Father, we should show some respect for our fallen kin. Emmon was a member of our family, after all."

Lord Walder Frey's eyes flashed with irritation as he directed his attention towards Lothar. "Respect? Respect is earned, boy, and Emmon did nothing to earn it. He was weak and foolish, just like the rest of you."

The atmosphere in the Great Hall grew tense, with the Frey siblings exchanging glances filled with a mixture of frustration and resignation. Lord Walder Frey's disdain for his own family was well-known, and his reaction to Emmon's death served as another stark reminder of his harsh nature. I couldn’t help but notice how some of his sons there were also reacting, some with scoffs and others with mockery. Seeing the toxic environment of the Twins in full display was both unsettling and unpleasant. Once again, I was comparing the family to Craster with the nasty and toxic atmosphere of both places. I even suspected some to regard this death as a God blessing in regards of their own position in the intricate sucession line of the House as I remembered how the deaths of Stevron and later of Ryman affected the Frey succession line. I couldn’t help but wonder where Emmon’s children would be in such a quagmire.

I looked neutrally at the main table, though inwardly looking with disgust and restrained scorn at the old man. He would surely have the golden medal for managing to push the wrongs buttons in me with ease without even speaking to me. I knew there were people who would dislike their family or disregard them as Stalin would disregard the well-being of his people, though between the two of them, I would rather speak with Stalin in this instant rather than with this old decrepit, heinous and lecherous living corpse. I bet even the White Walkers wouldn’t want him with how nasty he was.

Arya, who had been observing the exchange, clenched her fists in anger but remained silent, knowing that any intervention could put our group in more danger. I looked at her with concern and yet some pride as I knew how difficult it was for her to handle such an atmosphere. I was thinking it reminded her of Joffrey and Cersei, but with physical and age flaws added on.

As ser Perwyn concluded his tale, Stevron leaned forward and asked his father, "What should be done with the captured sellswords, Father?"

Lord Walder Frey's gaze shifted from Stevron to the captured sellswords, his wrinkled face contorted with a mix of anger and vengeful satisfaction. He leaned back in his chair, his voice dripping with malice as he responded to his son's question.

"What should be done with them, you ask? They killed my son, Emmon. They took him from me. They will pay for that."

A chilling silence filled the Great Hall as Lord Walder Frey's words hung in the air. The Frey guards, attentive to their lord's every word, tightened their grips on their weapons, ready to carry out his bidding.

The old lord then added, "We'll make them suffer, Stevron. They will know the consequences of raising arms against House Frey. They will face justice, Frey justice."

His heir nodded, his face mirroring his father's grim determination. "As you command, Father. We shall see to it that they pay for their crimes."

As the guards began to take the captured sellswords away, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions. A part of me understood the Freys' desire for retribution, especially given the loss of their own kin. However, the brutal and vengeful manner in which they planned to deliver justice sent a shiver down my spine. I wasn’t certain how it would unfold, but I couldn’t say I pitied the men. The Brave Companions were a nasty piece of work and them getting a taste of their own medicine was kind of karma.

Another part of me was berating me for such thoughts as making someone suffer wouldn’t solve anything, no matter how justified it seemed. I was also pondering if the Frey were aware of the identity of the company of the captured men. Also, how would Tywin Lannister would react once he found out that men he would hire, had been responsible for the death of his goodbrother? Even if he despised the man and was staunchly against the marriage to his sister when their father agreed to it, I believed he would take the situation as a slight against his family. It might not end in the same manner as when he found out who cut off Jaime’s sword hand, but I doubted it would be pleasant for the Brave Companions.

Lord Walder Frey's gaze shifted to the surviving men of Lord Charlton's escort. The men-in-arms were standing behind in nervous demeanour. The old leecher’s cloudy eyes bore into them with a mixture of anger and disappointment.

"You were tasked with protecting our guests, were you not?" His voice was cold and accusatory. "And yet, you allowed them to be ambushed and half of your men to be slaughtered. And two that were craven to let your charge die if it wasn’t for my sons."

The surviving men of Lord Charlton's escort exchanged nervous glances, their faces etched with guilt and fear. One of them stepped forward, his voice trembling as he spoke. "My lord, we were taken by surprise. The bandits were well-armed and outnumbered us. We fought as best we could, but they were too strong."

Lord Walder Frey's expression hardened, his voice laced with disdain. "Too weak, you mean. In my lands, weakness is not tolerated. You have failed in your duty to your lord and to my house, and for that, you will face the consequences."

The atmosphere in the Great Hall grew even more tense as his words hung in the air. The surviving men of Lord Charlton's escort knew that they were at the mercy of their vengeful lord. The Frey guards, ever obedient to their lord's commands, tightened their grips on their weapons, ready to carry out his bidding.

I felt Arya tensing by my side and I could sympathise with her. I wondered if she was thinking of how her father would have handled the situation.

Lord Walder Frey leaned forward, his voice low and menacing. "You will be cast out, left with nothing. Consider yourselves lucky that you are still alive. I will inform your lord of your failure."

As the men of Lord Charlton's escort were escorted away, their faces filled with a mix of shame and despair, I couldn't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for their plight. While they had failed in their duty, the punishment meted out by Lord Walder Frey was excessively harsh. Yes, from a certain point of view, they had failed. But no one expected the Brave Companions to strike back and lord Charlton couldn’t waste his men to protect our escort when he was also protecting his lands and looking for the men that dared attacked his demesne. But this decision was a stark reminder of the unforgiving nature of the Frey patriarch and the consequences of crossing him. It also reminded me how the Freys valued strength and loyalty above all else, and their harsh treatment of those who fell short of their expectations reflected that. Pictures of the Red Wedding came back in mind, leaving me a nasty taste in the mouth.

Lord Walder Frey turned his cloudy eyes on us, and his gaze lingered for a moment before he spoke, his voice laced with a mocking tone.

"Well, what have we here? Lord Stark's young daughter, I presume?"

Ser Perwyn answered, “Yes, father. She…”

Walder Frey interrupted him with a scathing voice, “Are you lady Stark? I did not ask you.”

He then turned his eyes on Arya. “Come closer, girl,” he said to Arya.

Arya, glanced at Harwin and then at me with a mixture of uncertainty and apprehension. I nodded with an encouraging smile and whispered, "Stay steady. I'll be right behind you."

Harwin nodded with a reassuring smile, though his glance was tense.

Arya took a deep breath and, with Harwin's assistance, moved forward toward the great table. I followed closely behind, keeping a watchful eye on her. Lord Walder Frey assessed Arya with a scrutinizing gaze, his eyes tracing her features. I could see Arya's demeanour shift as she endured the old lord's inspection.

I suddenly remembered Walder saying that Robb could have married one of his daughters whom had not yet "flowered". And then I knew what else was going through the old man’s mind as he looked at the young Stark girl! This was Utt, if he was a Lord!

Walder looked up as he heard several unfamiliar clicking sounds, as Arya rolled ducked down and rolled away. He then saw me, Harwin, Illifer, Creighton and the other members of the escort pointing 357 Magnum revolver's at him. Before he could move, we opened fire! His body jerking with each bullet going through his body before falling over. And thus perished the perverted Lord of the Twins!

I blinked. Walder was still seated, looking at Arya. My imagination had been acting up. But how much I wanted to do Westeros a favour and blow him away!

Finally, Lord Walder Frey spoke again, his voice filled with contempt, "Stark blood, they say. Well, she certainly looks like one of you northerners. A bit wild, though, isn't she?"

Arya's jaw clenched, but she remained silent, not rising to take the bait. I was glad she managed to handle her temper in the current situation, especially with someone as nasty and dislikeable as Walder Frey. It was easy to hear her swearing in her mind, just like she did while she travelled with the Hound.

Lord Walder spoke aloud with contempt, "Speak, girl. Don't just stand there like a mute wolf."

Arya took a moment to compose herself before addressing Lord Walder, her voice steady but laced with a hint of defiance, "I am Arya Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark, Warden of the North. We are here on our journey back to Winterfell."

Lord Walder Frey's wrinkled lips curled into a mocking smile as he leaned back in his chair, clearly revelling in the discomfort of the situation.

"A Stark, indeed. And feisty like her aunt Lyanna from what I’ve heard. Well, let's hope she doesn't meet the same fate.”

I looked at the man with a furious eye while forcing myself to stay calm. It was so cliché and yet so distasteful as the same time. Arya might share some similarities with Lyanna, but she was her own person, especially as she had never known her aunt and couldn’t take her as a role model.

I noticed Harwin tensing and that reminded me that he knew Eddard Stark’s sister and thus wouldn’t take well to these disparaging words of the late Stark lady or her family. I was certain that Eddard Stark wouldn’t appreciate those words, even less when spoken to his youngest daughter. If he was there, I was betting he would have made Walder Frey cower like a weasel trapped in his den.

I looked at Arya, wondering how she would take this foul comment from the old man and praying she wouldn’t unleash her temper as it would make things more difficult. The only positive thing that could happen is that she might not be considered for any betrothal if the events of the War of the Five Kings were to occur in a way similar to cannon. Her face remained impassive despite the provocation. She held her ground, refusing to let his words affect her. I could sense the anger simmering beneath the surface and clenching her fists.

I looked behind me and noticed how unease, somber and tense our other companions were. Ser Creighton couldn’t help but scoff at the blatant disrespect lord Walder Frey was displaying. The Stark guards were on the edge of unleashing their fury.

"You like showing disrespect, well here's some from us espèce de fils de pute!" Walder than saw all of the Stark escort form a line and moon him!

I blinked again and inwardly cursed myself. The reality of how foul people could be in Westeros was on full display. And it was bringing out a juvenile side I had long kept repressed.

Ser Perwyn, who had been at a loss for words when his father began his tirade, stepped forward, attempting to mediate. "Father, Lady Arya is our guest, and she deserves our respect."

Lord Walder Frey waved his hand dismissively, showing little regard for his son's plea. "Respect? Respect is earned, not freely given, and I see no reason to offer it to a Stark."

Arya's clenched jaw tightened more, but she held her ground. Her silence spoke volumes, a testament to her determination and resilience. I could see the fire in her eyes, the same fire I knew fuelled her, throughout her journey in the books and show.

Harwin, ever the loyal protector, took a subtle step closer to Arya, ready to intervene if necessary. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a silent warning to Lord Walder Frey that there were limits to their patience. I found my hand starting to drift to my war hammer as well.

The atmosphere in the hall remained charged, the tension thick enough to be cut through with a knife. It was a delicate balancing act between maintaining decorum and standing up against insults. The Frey guards, loyal to their lord, observed the scene closely, ready to act at his command.

Lord Walder Frey, clearly reveling in the discomfort he had caused, leaned back in his chair once more, a malevolent grin on his face.

"So, Lady Arya Stark, what brings you to my humble abode?"

Harwin finally stepped forward and spoke in a calm but firm tone, determined to prevent Arya from giving in to the lord’s provocations.

"My lord, we seek your hospitality and protection. Your sons saved us from those sellswords and we humbly request your hospitality to rest before resuming our journey to the North."

Walder Frey's cloudy eyes flickered with irritation at Harwin's interruption. He leaned forward, his wrinkled face twisting into a scowl.

"Yes, yes, my son told me that. At least, not all my sons are as foolish. You want my hospitality? Fine. But don't think that means I owe you anything."

I couldn't help but interject, my voice measured but firm.

"We are grateful for your hospitality, my lord. We understand that we are guests in your home and will conduct ourselves accordingly. And for your information, it was not the fall that killed your son Emmon. A crossbow bolt to his chest sadly did him in. He died fighting and not hiding as others would".

What I didn't say aloud but wanted to was "He didn't run and hide in his castle like his father does".

Lord Walder Frey's scowl deepened at my words as he turned his eyes on me.

"Ah, a foreigner with a large mouth. You should learn some respect in my presence, boy," he said in a condescending voice.

I bristled to his words and I was half-tempted to tell him what I thought of his sense of hospitality and to compare him to a wilding beyond the wall with Craster as a reference. And maybe see how far I could send him flying with my hammer while I was at it. Before I was able to respond, Arya spoke up again with much more determination and fervour.

"My lord," Arya said, her voice carrying a steely edge, "Roger is not just a foreigner. He is a trusted friend and ally, and he has saved my life more times than I can count. I stand by his side, and I expect him to be treated with the respect he deserves."

I couldn't have asked for a better defence. Arya was showing her loyalty and solidarity with me, and her words resonated with an unwavering determination. I nodded in gratitude to her, and Lord Walder Frey's scowl deepened further, clearly displeased by Arya's display of defiance. My cautious self was worrying as my intervention and Arya’s defence could irate Walder Frey well enough to get us expelled from the Twins.

Glancing back at the others, I saw Illifer holding his hands in prayer. An odd thought came to me. An old story in the news I saw back home. A wrestler with Alzheimer's reverting back to his wrestling days and dealing with another resident that no one liked. He body slammed the other man and put him in a submission hold, accidentally killing him. Illifer a man in his 60's beating up 90-year-old Walder Frey would be quite a sight to see!

The sound of a bell could be heard, and Illifer rushed Walder Frey. Pulling the pervert out of his chair, Illifer started pounding away on Walder's body. He then bodyslammed Walder through the table! Wait, there was Illifer going up high for an elbow drop to Walder's chest!

I blinked for a third time, trying to shut out my juvenile fantasies. Walder would one day get his, but now was not the time.

The tension in the hall was palpable, with both sides unwilling to back down. It remained to be seen how Lord Walder Frey would react to Arya's spirited defence of me, a foreign commoner in his eyes.

Walder sat in his high-backed chair, his clouded eyes darting between Arya and me, his wrinkled face contorted in a mixture of irritation and annoyance. It was clear that he was not accustomed to having his authority challenged, especially not by a young Stark girl and a foreign commoner.

The tension in the hall was escalating, and I was growing concerned that things might take a turn for the worse. Just as I was considering how to de-escalate the situation, a familiar voice broke through the silence.

Tom of the Sevenstreams, who had been sitting quietly with his lute nearby, stood up and began to strum a soothing melody. His voice, rich and melodic, filled the Great Hall.

"Ah, my lord Walder Frey, your hospitality and the Twins are known far and wide," Tom sang, his eyes fixed on the lord. "Let us not forget the wedding of Pate and Amerei, a joyous celebration, held right within these very walls."

Walder Frey's wrinkled face contorted in surprise as he recognized Tom. His cloudy eyes blinked in disbelief, momentarily distracted from the confrontation with Arya and me.

"Tom of the Sevenstreams!" Walder Frey exclaimed. "What are you doing here, you minstrel?"

Tom continued to play and sing, his words artfully chosen. "I've been on a journey with these fine folks, my lord. They seek refuge under your roof, as they were saved by your kin. They mean no disrespect, and their intentions are pure."

As Tom's voice filled the hall, the tension seemed to ease slightly. Lord Walder Frey's gaze shifted from Tom to us, his expression a mix of irritation and curiosity.

Finally, Lord Walder Frey spoke, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Ah, what a charming pair you two make. A Stark girl with a taste for trouble and a foreigner with a sharp tongue. Well, I suppose I can't deny a Stark's request, especially when it's delivered with such conviction."

Arya's jaw remained clenched, her eyes locked onto the old lord's, unyielding in her stance. I, too, kept my composure, though my heart still raced with tension.

Lord Walder Frey leaned back in his chair once more, his malevolent grin returning. "Very well, you may stay. But don't think for a moment that it changes anything. You're still guests in my home, and you will conduct yourselves accordingly."

Arya nodded, her expression unwavering. "Thank you, Lord Walder. We appreciate your hospitality."

Harwin, standing by Arya's side, added his gratitude as well. "Yes, thank you, my lord. We will be on our best behaviour during our stay."

I simply bowed at Walder, not daring to speak. I liked having my tongue attached to me.

With Lord Walder Frey's begrudging permission granted, a servant stepped forward, his head lowered respectfully.

"If you all would follow me, Lady Arya and bring your companions. I will show you to your chambers."

Arya and Harwin looked at each other before nodding in agreement. We all followed the servant as he led us out of the Great Hall. The eyes of the Frey guards remained fixed on us, their expressions a mix of curiosity and suspicion. It was clear that Lord Walder Frey had not completely let go of his irritation, and we needed to tread carefully during our stay at the Twins.

As we moved through the corridors of the Twins, Harwin couldn't help but voice his concern, his voice low and earnest.

"Lady Arya, Roger, you both need to be careful around Lord Walder. He's a dangerous man, and provoking him further won't do us any favours."

I nodded in agreement, though my frustration still simmered beneath the surface.

"I apologize, Harwin. But I was really about to snap with how disrespectful the man was. And believe me, no matter how old or powerful he is, I would have unleashed a Baratheon-like fury on him. Even an Ironborn, a wildling, or a Dothraki would have more respect than this... man."

Harwin sighed, understanding the difficult position we were in.

"I know, Roger, but we must tread carefully. Our journey is too important, and we can't afford to be expelled from the Twins."

Arya, who had remained mostly silent during our exchange, couldn't contain her frustration any longer.

"Damn him and his disrespect! He's lucky we need his hospitality. Otherwise, I'd show him what a Stark can truly do. He has to be the biggest shit in the Seven Kingdoms!"

We all had to stop ourselves from crashing into each other. Arya had said one of her most savage insults from Game of Thrones! Thankfully, the servant was ahead of us and didn't hear the insult. I was torn between laughing and scolding Arya as if I was her brother.

Once in our chambers, Arya turned to me with a grateful smile.

"Thank you, Roger, for not backing down. I couldn't have asked for a better friend."

I smiled back at her, feeling a deep sense of camaraderie.

"We're in this together, Arya. I've said it once and I'll say it again: No matter what challenges we face, we'll face them side by side."

I then added with a praising voice, “By the way, I am very proud how you have managed to handle yourself. I know it wasn’t easy for you, but you were a real queen in how you hold your ground without yielding to his despicable words.”

Arya's smile grew wider at my words, and she gave a nod of appreciation. "Thank you, Roger. Your support means a lot to me." Her eyes sparkled with gratitude. "And I couldn't have done it without you either. We are always a formidable team, aren't we?"

I couldn't help but chuckle softly at her remark.

"Indeed, Arya, we do. Together, we can face anything that comes our way." I placed a hand on her shoulder, a gesture of friendship.

I noticed her cheeks reddening a bit and a part of me wondered why she blushed that way. I stopped myself from overthinking why she reacted that way, especially as it wasn’t the first time she did that. My thoughts dwelled on what had happened and I wasn’t proud of it. I was furious both at Walder Frey and at myself. It was one thing to imagine the unpleasantness of the man, but experiencing it was worse. I inwardly thanked Arya for intervening on my behalf as otherwise I would have reacted like how she would. And I was deeply glad and happy to have this precious friendship with her. I also made a note to never share with her any juvenile fantasy that came to my mind, considering how mischievous and bold she could be.

All the gold of Casterly Rock and of the Iron Bank combined was unworthy of such bond. All the titles of the Seven Kingdoms were insignificant compared to have a friendship with such a remarkable person whose potential to shine was yet to thrive. In my mind, more than my pledge to help the Starks and the North to survive the incoming storms, more than my desire to help in using my skills and knowledge, helping and supporting Arya was a key matter. And anyone who would dared to harm her, to corrupt her, to soil her would face me and pray that I would be the kind and peaceful person I usually was and not the thundering storm that would crush those who would do wrong, that would abuse or corrupt.

My cautious self and my Christian core principles were whispering in my mind, reminding me of certain lines that should not be crossed. While I acknowledged them, I knew that there might come a moment where I would be like Aang in his avatar state. And should it occur, like it did for Utt, then may those who would wrong the people I cared for never to cross me. If they did, I would be like the son of Roose Bolton or a vengeful Red Viper.

A.N.:

1. And here we are, back to the SI's path with a stop by the Twins. A chapter where both my beta reader and I gave core to it.
2. To create Walder Frey's first dialogue lines, I used another IA called Poe as it proved far more reliable to reproduce (to some extent) the reactions and demeanours of the canonical characters in a very satisfying way. And once this base was done, I rely on both the traditional tool I have been using since the start of this story and my own writing skills to refine the draft and of course the help of my beta reader. While he is without doubt one of the most reviled characters, Walder Frey is also one of those I had the most fun to imagine the demeanour and behaviour because of how excessive he is.
3. I particularly thank my beta reader, @Vampiro60181 , as he was behind the creation of the thoughts passages (in italics) where the SI is imagining different scenarii to punish Walder Frey. Very funny and cathartic to read, especially as it complements well what I had written on the SI's thoughts on Walder Frey, notably the comparisons with Craster. I particularly love the first one that reminds me of "Inglorious Basterds" scene of Hitler's death and the MMA scene of ser Illifer putting down Walder Frey.
4. As it is a stop by the Twins, every canonical reference to the place, notably the most obvious one (through both its book and show version), was a must, especially as it allows some characters to shine in this chapter, notably Tom of the Sevenstreams.
5. I decided that the SI was more a spectator/witness than the "protagonist" in this chapter because of the context. Contrary to Darry Castle, he has no reason to truly interfere, even less as contrary to Darry Castle where he could rely on the personalities of Robert Baratheon and of Ned Stark, he is litteraly in a den full of people that could tear him apart if he made even the slightest misstep. And I found more interesting to show that a SI is first a normal person that doesn't need to play hero or mastermind everytime, especially when the context do not allow him that possibility or does not justify it.
6. This chapter had been created before the inclusion of the Charlton men, so I included them and their penalty afterwards for consistency and to justify their absence afterwards.
7. The conclusion sheds light on how the bond between Arya and Marc had evolved through their journey since Darry Castle, but also how he considers this bond and the mindset he has on it. It is a passage that has been mainly written by my own hand, relying on how I would feel if I was put in this situation while considering how the context and the situation would influence me.
8. Teaser: next time, during the break in the Twins, Marc is looking for some equipment that could protect him from danger...
9. Have a good reading!

Chapter Text

As the rain began to fall lightly over the Twins' courtyard, I moved with ser Creighton, ser Illifer, Tom and Arya. We made our way through the complex structure of the keep. I was aware that Arya was supposed to be spending time with the Frey daughters and granddaughters, but her determination and her higher status within our group allowed her to make her own choices. Besides, she had already noticed the intricate and often toxic family dynamics within the Frey household. Still, I reminded myself that a good portion of Frey women were good people. Then again with nasty shrews like Fair Walda and the one given the nickname “Gatehouse”…. Maybe it was for the best Arya was nowhere near them. And it would be best for me to stay away from most of them as best as I could. Considering the exotic curiosity, I might be for some, I wouldn’t be surprised if they would try to speak to me. And I wasn’t keen to encounter the “Gatehouse” girl as she might want me to open her doors with my key.

Lady and Nymeria were not with us, much to Arya's dismay. The separation from the direwolves was a cause of concern for both of us, but we couldn't risk Walder Frey taking any actions against them. For now, it seemed they were safe and I knew that the chances of Walder Frey turning cloak was not the strongest possibility. An image of Grey Wind’s head attached to Robb Starks head went through my mind. Clenching and unclenching my fist, I had to remind myself that no wedding was taking place here.

As we moved across the courtyard, I couldn't help but feel a little overwhelmed by the confining environment of the Twins and the complex. Plus, the toxic atmosphere of the place. I felt my tolerance restraints being challenged. Sometimes because of empathy for the people I saw broken or cowed in mind. Other times it was irritation on the verge of snapping due to those with foul tempered or sneering Frey men I saw as we walked. And I couldn’t help but think of what happened to lord Charlton’s men, just because of unfortunate circumstances and of two men that let them down. All this situation was challenging, to say the least.

As one, me and the escort drew our weapons and sprang into action! Soon the Twins were on fire as we freed the enslaved and broken Frey women with Roslin Frey at their head. We made it to Winterfell and were given a hero's welcome! Emmanuel Macron walked over and pinned a medal on my chest…

I shook my head clear of yet another fantasy. As much as I wanted to play hero and go wild with my hammer, it was completely unrealistic. Something would have to be done about Walder Frey sometime in the future.

I turned to ser Illifer, who was walking beside me, and asked, "How's your horse faring, ser Illifer? Is it recovering well from the journey?"

The hedge knight responded, "The old girl's holding up, Roger, but she's seen better days. A bit more rest and some proper care would do her good."

I nodded in acknowledgment, making a mental note to ask Harwin to ensure that our remaining horses were well cared for during our stay at the Twins. When we got to Winterfell, it was a guarantee that Illifer’s half-starved horse would regain health from better conditions and care.

Arya, always curious and full of questions, turned to me and asked, "Roger, where are we going now?"

I smiled and answered, "I'm looking for the forge, Arya."

She looked at me with surprise and perplexity, “But why? You already have your hammer,” she said puzzled.

I chuckled at her question before turning serious.

"Not a weapon, Arya," I clarified. "Some armour to protect myself. I've escaped death twice by chance, and I don't want to rely solely on luck to survive. Especially against opponents who are more skilled and experienced than me. I was lucky most of the sellswords did not have armour of their own."

Arya's eyes widened as she processed my words. She knew the importance of being prepared and protected in the dangerous world of Westeros. No doubt she was thinking of the two ambushes we suffered of how close to death we had been. She was fidgeting a bit and I wondered if she was still plagued by her fears of seeing me, Harwin and everyone else in the escort killed.

Ser Illifer chimed in, addressing both Arya and me. "He's right, Lady Arya. Armor can make a world of difference, especially for someone who has not mastered fighting skills or is unaccustomed to the dangers of Westeros. And I could use some new armour myself."

I held back a comment on the fact that being an inexperienced foreigner didn’t necessarily imply I was completely unaware or blind of the dangers, knowing that the old man meant well.

Ser Creighton, who had been following our conversation, added, "And I might find myself some armour there as well. It wouldn't hurt to have some added protection."

I agreed with him, saying, "You're right, ser Creighton. As a knight, armour would be a valuable asset for you. Hope you enjoy our first shopping trip together."

Tom, who had been quietly walking alongside us, now spoke up. " Methinks I could do with a smidgen o' safeguard meself," he said, his tone reflecting his easy-going nature. "Same as ye, I've no desire to leave me fate to chance when next we clash in combat."

I nodded to Tom with a reassuring smile. "Of course, Tom. We'll see if the forge can provide you with something suitable."

As we continued our way through the courtyard, a tall and stout boy with a red face and a round belly rushed past, knocking into Arya without any care. The little Stark girl, furious by the boy's behaviour, called out to the boy, "Look where you're going, bouffon!"

Her use of specific French insults added a humorous touch to the situation, much like Archibald Haddock's colourful language. A part of me was amused by how quickly she reacted and used new words, but another part wondered if it was wise of me to have taught her phrases that could be used as insults. I also knew it was the second time she swore and I dread to imagine how her mother would react to the fact her daughter was even more “improper” than before.

The boy, taken aback by Arya's fiery response, turned to her and sneered, "Who do you think you are, lady? A scrawny Stark girl acting all high and mighty?"

Arya, unyielding, shot back, "I'm no lady and I'll have no one knocking me over without an apology!"

The boy's face reddened even further, and it seemed like the situation was about to escalate. He clenched his fists and prepared to respond to Arya's challenge.

Ser Illifer moved quickly to step between the boy and Arya, creating a physical barrier to prevent any further confrontation. On the other side, Ser Creighton approached the boy, ready to intervene if necessary.

Looking at the overweight boy, another scene from the show went through my mind. Arya holding up Needle and threatening Hot Pie, telling him she “liked killing fat boys”.

I stepped forward as well, raising my voice to prevent the incident from worsening. “Please, stop. No need for a fight.” I looked at Arya with concern and a firm look in my eyes. It was a reminder to her of the importance of keeping a cool head.

The boy grumbled under his breath, "Foreigners with sharp tongues, no respect for their betters."

Arya, being her fierce loyal and protective self, couldn't let the insult slide. "Hey! He's my friend, and you better show some respect."

The Frey boy retorted, not backing down. "Your friend? He doesn't look like any friend of yours, especially if he needs a girl to fight his battles."

Before the Frey brat could end up like the stable boy Arya impaled, I looked at both of them, my gaze firm and commanding. "Enough! Arya, do not let him get to you.”

I then cast a stern and cold gaze upon the boy, “And you, young man, your manners are as poor as those of a wildling. I should bring you to your father and wonder how he would react to the fact his son is not worth more than a barbarian in terms of respect. Especially when it comes to dealing with a lady."

Arya protested, "I'm not a lady!" but I focused my attention on the boy, giving him a stern look. He had a lot to learn about respect and manners.

My mind flashed back to a foreign cartoon from America, “King of the Hill”. Deep down I wanted to make like Hank Hill and say “I should give you the ass kicking your daddy never gave you!” but that would only make things worse.

Just then, a deep voice called out, "What's going on here?"

I turned around and saw a big, broad man of middle height approaching. He had an authoritative air about him, and I couldn't help but think he might be the Frey boy’s father.

"Who are you, my good ser?" I asked, sizing him up.

The man answered, "I am Merrett Frey. What are you doing with my son?"

Hearing his question, I connected the dots, the depths of my memories bringing me back a name as I looked at his son. Walder or Little Walder to be exact. I remembered he canonically went to Winterfell in the books. He was very disrespectful to Hodor and the Reed children if my memory was good enough. No wonder he was not remarkable or pleasant. I also considered the fact he was possibly killed in the last books, though I did not remember the details and they wouldn’t matter in the current situation and even less in the future as it was obvious events wouldn’t go the same way they did in canon.

Then I remembered the name Merrett Frey. One Youtuber called him “the most pathetic character in ASOIAF”. He was also the father of the loosest woman in the Frey family. The one given the nickname “Gatehouse”. I then shuddered as an image of a zombie Catelyn Stark went through my mind. Merrett was the first kill of Lady Stoneheart!

I turned my glance back at Merrett with a firm eye, “Your son? We were preventing him from being beaten up by my friend because of his lack of manners.”

Little Walder scoffed due to the fact he was bigger than Arya. The young Stark’s eyes blazed with defiance and pride at the implication that she could have bested him in a fight.

Merrett, clearly not pleased with his son's behaviour, stepped forward to address the situation.

"Apologies for my son's actions," Merrett said, his voice tinged with annoyance. "Walder, you should know better than to provoke others with your words and actions."

Arya, still brimming with indignation, spoke up. "He ran into me without any regard! I won't stand for such disrespect."

Merrett turned his attention to Arya and gave her a stern look. "I understand your frustration, young lady, but resorting to violence is not the answer, even less for a lady."

I interjected, trying to diffuse the tension and prevent Arya from overreacting. "Indeed, it isn't. However, it's also crucial to treat others with respect. Your son's behaviour was unacceptable, and it's important that he understands the consequences of his actions."

Merrett nodded, acknowledging my point. "You're right. I will have a serious talk with him about his behaviour and ensure he apologizes to you, my lady."

Arya folded her arms, still clearly agitated. "He should apologize to everyone he's treated poorly, not just me. And again, I”M NOT A LADY!"

Merrett sighed and glanced at his son. "Walder, you will apologize to everyone you've offended and show them the respect they deserve. This behaviour will not be tolerated."

Little Walder grumbled in response but didn't argue further. The situation seemed to be settling down, and I hoped a lesson had been learned.

Merrett turned to me and extended his hand. "I appreciate your intervention and handling of the situation. My apologies once again for my son's behaviour."

I shook his hand firmly. "Apologies accepted. Let's hope this incident helps him grow into a more respectful individual."

As Merrett was about to take his son aside, I then added in a very respectful way, “If I may, my good ser, do you know where the forge is in this keep?”

The knight paused for a moment, considering my question. "Aye, I can show you the way," he finally replied. "Follow me."

With that, Merrett led the way through the winding corridors of the keep, with Arya, Illifer, Tom, Creighton and me following closely behind. As we walked, I took the opportunity to engage in friendly conversation with Merrett, hoping to establish a more positive rapport.

"So, ser Merrett, how long have you and your family been residing here in the keep?" I asked, attempting to find common ground.

The knight glanced at me and sighed. "House Frey has been here for generations. We've served the Lord of the Crossing faithfully."

I nodded, even though I knew these facts in one way or another, but hearing it from one of the members of the House Frey was interesting.

"It must be quite an honour to carry on your family's legacy. I imagine it comes with its fair share of responsibilities."

He nodded, a hint of pride in his voice. "Aye, it does. But it also comes with challenges. Keeping the peace among so many different branches of the family can be a difficult task. And then there are the expectations that come with our name."

In my mind I wanted to say “Besides being toll collectors?” but that would have been rude. It was also uncalled for due to Merett’s politeness. And I wasn’t generally the kind of man to be spiteful, even less to those who showed respect regardless of their personal ties and bonds.

We finally arrived at the forge, and Merrett gestured towards it. "Here we are. The blacksmith here is skilled and reliable. If you need anything forged or repaired, he'll take care of it."

I thanked Merrett for his guidance and bid him farewell, expressing my hope that our paths would cross again under more pleasant circumstances. He nodded, and with a polite farewell, he turned to leave, taking his son with him, probably to have a serious conversation with him. I wasn’t sure if he would admonish his behaviour, for the fact he showed disrespect to the lady of a great House or that a commoner reprimanded him. It didn’t matter anymore. I was however glad he wasn’t angry with my part in the incident, though with the rumour mill the place must be, it wouldn’t be long before Lord Walder thought I had shown disrespect to his family.

I turned to Arya and kneeling before her, I offered her a reassuring smile. "Well done for standing up for yourself earlier, Arya. It's important to assert your boundaries, but remember to choose your battles wisely. There is a time for bravery, survival or doing nothing."

Still fiery from the confrontation with Little Walder, the little Stark girl looked at me with a mixture of frustration and appreciation.

"I know, Roger. But he was so disrespectful, and I couldn't just let it slide."

I nodded in understanding.

"Of course, Arya. It’s alright to stand up for yourself when needed, but being cautious is also welcome. Not everyone you meet will be worth your time or your anger. Sometimes it's better to let them be fools and move on.”

I was also grateful she didn’t draw Needle to chase the bully away.

Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton, who had observed the entire exchange, shared a glance. Ser Illifer spoke up.

"He's right, Lady Arya. Some folks aren't worth the trouble. It's best to save your anger for when it really counts."

Tom and Ser Creighton nodded in agreement.

"Aye, Lady Arya, there's strength in choosing your battles wisely," ser Creighton said.

Arya, although still irritated, considered our words. "I suppose you're right. It's just frustrating when people act so foolishly."

With a reassuring smile, I offered her my hand to help her up. "I know it can be frustrating, Arya, but remember you're stronger than you think, and you have friends who will stand by your side."

She took my hand and allowed me to help her up. She seemed to find comfort in my words and the support of her friends. As she stood, she looked at Ser Illifer, Ser Creighton, and Tom, gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Thank you, all of you," she said sincerely. "I'm lucky to have friends like you who understand and support me."

Ser Illifer, ser Creighton and Tom nodded to her words. I smiled at her, appreciating the moment. While I knew that the two hedge knights and Tom wouldn’t regard Arya in the same manner as I did due to their upbringing and status, I also knew that the time spent during the journey made them develop a fondness for her, mainly due to her personality

Looking at the smithy, I then turned to my companions, and asked, "Shall we, gentlemen?" They nodded in agreement, and we made our way into the blacksmith's workshop, Arya walking by our side.

Inside the forge, the clanging of hammers on hot metal could be heard, and the orange glow of the fires surrounded us. The blacksmith, a burly man with arms like tree trunks, looked up from his work and nodded in acknowledgment. I approached him with a friendly smile.

"Greetings, good blacksmith," I began, my voice polite and respectful. "My companions and I are looking to see what armours you may have in stock."

The blacksmith, his brow glistening with sweat from his labour, wiped his hands on a nearby cloth and squinted at us. "Armours, you say? Well, you've come to the right place. We have a selection of armour here that should suit your needs. What kind are you looking for? Plate, mail, or something lighter?"

I glanced at Ser Illifer, silently indicating that he should inspect the available armour first. He was the more experienced warrior of our group, and his choice would be paramount in ensuring he had the best protection. I took a look at the set of armours and noticed that there was a diversity of them, even though some seemed to have colours that weren’t those of the Frey, perhaps from their bannermen but I couldn’t be certain.

Observing the different styles, I noticed some coifs, helmets and even to my surprise a face shield. I didn’t expect to see one in a forge with how Westerosi seemed to work. A part of me wondered if some of those objects were part of the payments some misfortunate people had to pay for not respecting deals with the Frey or if some armours that came from fallen enemies of the House. They could have been hedge knights or bandits as the realm was mostly at peace since the Greyjoy Rebellion. Perhaps the blacksmith reworked those armours in addition to the creation of new ones.

My glance turned to Ser Illifer as the knight strode over to the nearest set of armour, a sturdy-looking suit of mail covered by a green and gold colours. He examined it carefully, running his hand over the links and checking the flexibility. After a few moments, he looked back at the forger and inquired, "How much for this mail? And do you have anything of finer quality?"

The blacksmith grunted, his eyes narrowing in appraisal. "That there is a solid suit of mail, but I do have something finer, just not in stock at the moment. It would have to be custom-made. As for the price, it's not cheap, but quality armour never is. That one would set you back a fair sum, ser."

Ser Illifer nodded in acknowledgment and then gestured for Ser Creighton and me to continue searching for our armour.

Ser Creighton, being near-sighted, leaned in close as he began searching for armour that would fit his build. He shuffled through a few sets of armour, trying them on for size, while the blacksmith patiently waited, his gaze shifting between his work and us.

After a bit of searching, Ser Creighton's face lit up as he found a set of plate armour that seemed to suit his bulky body. He turned to the forger and asked, "How about this one? What's the cost?"

The blacksmith strode over, inspecting the armour. "Aye, that's one of my finer works. It should keep you well protected. As for the price, well, it's not exactly for the frugal. It'll be a good sum, but you won't find better quality."

Ser Creighton nodded, accepting the price, and then Tom’s turn. He surveyed the available options, trying to determine which set would best fit his slim and slightly more modest build. After some consideration, he settled on a set of leather armour. It was lighter than the plate and mail hefted by Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton but more suited to his roving lifestyle.

Tom turned to the forger with a grin, his easy-going demeanour shining through. "How 'bout this bit o' leather armor, mate? It'll hold up in a scrap, won't it? And what's it gonna cost me, eh?" he asked.

The blacksmith examined the leather armour, nodding appreciatively. "A good choice, lad. It's lighter, and it'll give you some protection. As for the price, it won't empty your pockets, but it's not exactly a bargain either. Quality craftsmanship comes at a cost."

Tom nodded, accepting the blacksmith's assessment. "Aye, fair 'nuff, skilled smith. Good work's worth the coin. I'll have it."

As Tom concluded the trade with the man, it was my turn. I'd been carefully considering my own needs and the weight I could carry due to my healing thigh wound. After searching through various armours, I finally came across something that seemed suitable – a brigandine. It was a compromise between protection and manoeuvrability. whose colours were black and yellow. It was like that of a Honeybee. A part of me was amused, considering the fact that buying it would make me even more Baratheon in style with my hammer. I thought back of Eddard's comment on the fact his friend would have appreciated I was bearing said weapon. I inwardly chuckled at this memory, knowing well that I differentiated from Robert. The last thing I needed was to become a depressed drunken wreck who took advantage of his position. To some extent, he reminded me of Henry VIII of England, even though he had never broken with the Faith of the Seven, mainly because he already held a position of protector of the Faith. It made me think upon the fact that the kings of Westeros were very close to rulers of Antiquity or the Muslim ones with how the religious and the political power were tied.

Pondering those reflections, I turned to the blacksmith and inquired, "How much for this brigandine?"

The blacksmith eyed me for a moment before naming the price while mentioning the fact the cost also included the haubert that was with the armour. Hearing the price made me wince slightly, even though I had some savings from my recent work at Darry Castle. I decided it was worth the investment for the added protection in the journey ahead. I then thought of the face shield and a helmet or a coif to protect my head. My eyes focused on a helmet that looked like a Norman one, even if I wondered what it was doing here. I considered buying it, but I considered it would be too much and I did not want to waste our escort’s resources. I felt my stomach churning as I considered the dilemma I was facing: would I be able to buy the face shield and a coif at least?

“Ser?”, the blacksmith asked.

“Ser Roger Bacon…” Arya mumbled loudly.

His question made me snap from my reflections. Ignoring the temptation to correct the man about my status, I asked him, “What about the face shield and this coif?”

The blacksmith considered my request and replied, "A face shield and a coif, you say? Well, I do have a face shield that might suit you, but coifs, they are in more abundance. I could offer you a good price for both, given that you're buying the brigandine and its haubert as well."

I appreciated the offer and negotiated a reasonable price for the two other items. After some haggling, we reached an agreement that felt fair to both parties. I didn't want to empty my coin purse entirely. Still I knew that having these additional pieces of armour would provide extra protection, which was essential for the journey ahead.

"Very well. We'll take these armours. Thank you for your assistance," I said to the man.

The blacksmith nodded, a hint of satisfaction in his eyes. "You've made wise choices. These armours will serve you well on your journey. Let me gather them for you."

He turned and walked to a nearby rack, carefully removing the mail, plate, and brigandine armours that my companions and I had chosen. He then carried them over and set them down before ser Illifer, ser Creighton and me while Arya was observing the transaction.

"Here they are," the blacksmith said, his voice gruff but respectful. "Fine pieces of craftsmanship, if I do say so myself. May they bring you protection and fortune in your travels."

My companions and I examined the armours one last time, ensuring they fit properly and were in good condition. Thankfully away from a blushing Arya. Eager to ensure they fit properly and were in good condition, I carefully strapped on the haubert and then the brigandine, feeling their weight settle on my shoulders. The mail chain and the metal-plated cloth plates offered a reassuring sense of protection, though they also reminded me of the responsibility that came with wearing such armour.

Next came the coif, a mesh hood designed to protect the head and neck. As I slipped it over my head, it hugged my head snugly, leaving only my face exposed. It didn’t feel so confining however, probably because it reminded me a bit of the winter cap I used for cold seasons, though coif covered much more.

Finally, I picked up the face shield and carefully positioned it in front of me. It was made of sturdy steel, with small eye slits that allowed for visibility while still providing adequate protection. As I fastened it to the coif, my field of vision narrowed, and I became acutely aware of the limited perspective the shield offered. It was a stark reminder of the trade-offs that came with wearing full armour.

Taking a few cautious steps, I tested the range of movement, feeling the weight of the armour shift with each stride. It was unfamiliar and slightly cumbersome, but I knew that with time, I would grow accustomed to its presence. The armour felt solid and secure, instilling a newfound sense of confidence within me.

As I completed my trial, I couldn't help but appreciate the craftsmanship and the purpose behind each piece of equipment. Though it was my first time wearing such armour, I could already sense the potential it held to protect me in the face of danger. I knew it would take a bit of time before I felt totally familiar with it, but it was a worthy investment. With a deep breath, I nodded to the blacksmith, acknowledging that I was satisfied with my choice.

Reaching into my coin pouch, I withdrew most of the money I had managed to save from my time in Darry Castle. It was a considerable expense, but I knew that the investment in my protection was worth it. Even if fighting wasn't my priority outside of survival skills, it would serve me well. After all, constant vigilance!

As I handed over the payment, the blacksmith's expression softened slightly, and he offered a parting piece of advice.

"Take care of these armours. They'll be your shield and your second skin.”

I thanked the blacksmith and nodded in agreement. My thigh wound still caused some discomfort, but the prospect of added protection gave me a sense of security.

As we prepared to leave the forge, Tom, Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton joined me in expressing our gratitude to the blacksmith for his assistance and craftsmanship. His work would undoubtedly serve us well on our journey.

The four of us, along with Arya, headed back out into the rainy courtyard of the eastern keep. The rain had lessened, but it still fell sporadically, casting a somber tone over the surroundings. We continued to make our way towards the interiors of the keep.

Arya, who had observed our transaction silently, finally spoke up as we walked.

"So, you all got your armour. It's good to see you're taking your safety seriously."

Ser Illifer, with his pragmatic nature, responded first. "Aye, lass, armour is a hedge knight's best friend on the road. Keeps the sharp ends of swords away from your soft bits."

Ser Creighton chimed in, "Indeed, my lady. And it's a knight's duty to protect those who cannot defend themselves. Armor helps us fulfill that duty."

Though scoffing again for being called a lady, Arya nodded, her lips curving into a half-smile.

Tom grinned and replied to her question, "Well, m'lady, fer me, it's a blend o' bein' handy and lookin' sharp. Practical 'cause, as Ser Illifer mentioned, it's wise to have a bit o' defense while treadin' the road, and style 'cause, why not strut your stuff in style, aye? Plus, ye never know when ye might gotta charm a tavern lass with a bit o' finesse and a dandy suit o' armor."

Arya rolled her eyes at Tom's response but couldn't suppress a chuckle. It was good to see her finding moments of humour after the recent days. She then turned her gaze toward me, her grey eyes locking onto mine.

"And you, Roger, what's your take on the brigandine? Practical reasons, or do you find the style interesting?"

I considered her question for a moment. "A bit of both, Arya. It's practical for someone who's not trained for heavy combat, like Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton. It offers a good balance between protection and mobility. But I must admit, I find the style intriguing too. It suits my abilities and needs. And I was considering the fact it might be bought with the resources I had, not to mention I love mixed or balanced things."

Arya nodded, seemingly satisfied with my response. "Fair enough, Roger. It's important to find armour that suits both your capabilities and your preferences. I'm glad you found something that fits your needs."

We walked through the courtyard under the glances of some of the guards, servants, and members of House Frey. The rain had left a wet coating on the stones beneath our feet, and the air was thick with tension.

"You know, Roger," Arya said, her voice filled with a mix of frustration and curiosity, "I've been thinking about what you said earlier, about choosing battles wisely. I understand the importance of not wasting energy on every little conflict, but sometimes it's hard to let things slide, especially when people are being so disrespectful."

I glanced at Arya, my eyes meeting her grey ones. I understood her fiery nature and the difficulty of holding back when it came to bullies. A part of me wondered if she was thinking back at the incident with Joffrey at the Trident. While I knew she was now more at peace concerning the death of Mycah, I was also aware it would take a lot of time for her to truly grasp what would have made a difference or not for her friend.

"I know it can be difficult," I replied, my tone sympathetic. "I also dislike bullies and disrespect. But I am also aware of the necessity to read the situation and avoid finding myself in a more difficult position."

Arya nodded thoughtfully, her brow furrowed in contemplation. "So, what do you suggest, Roger? How do you find that balance between standing up for what's right and not getting caught up in unnecessary fights?"

I smiled, recognizing the earnestness in her question. "If you want, I can help you to balance your instinct with a reasonable approach," I offered. "It's not easy to find that balance, but your fiery temper reminded me a bit of myself when I was younger, so sharing with you may work."

Arya's cheeks flushed slightly at my words, and she looked away for a moment. I was fondly amused by her reaction, though a tiny part of me was wondering what it meant. I knew it was not a classical reaction from her in regards to the books or show. But there were so many possibilities and I was also aware that outside of Jon, Robb and perhaps her father to some extent, I was the only one that bore attention to her as a person. Plus, I had no issue when it came to be helped by her as I supported her in return.

She looked back at me, her grey eyes still holding that fiery determination but now softened by my offer. "I appreciate that, Roger," she said, her voice laced with gratitude. "It's not easy to find someone who understands the need to stand up but also values the wisdom of restraint. I'd be glad to learn from you. Father would say the same."

I smiled warmly at her. "It's a pleasure, Arya. That's what friends are for."

She let out a small and warm smile, and for a moment, it was just the two of us, sharing a bond that transcended the circumstances of Westeros. Our friendship, forged through trials and challenges, was becoming stronger with each passing day.

As we approached one of the entrances to the corridors inside the eastern keep, I had the feeling that Tom, ser Illifer and ser Creighton were observing the interactions between Arya and I. I could understand them if it was the case. The contrast in status and age and their mindset defined how they might perceive the interactions without considering the alternatives. After all, how many Westerosi south or north of the Wall or even Essosi of any kind would consider the possibility one man could be friends with a woman or a child that was not his without any agenda of any kind or specific intent? And even if I was aware I was determined to help the Starks, the North and Westeros in my own way, being friends with Arya was a bonus with all the plans and advice I had in mind. Even considering my previous fondness for her due to the first book and the show, interacting with her was something precious and heartening. I thought fondly I always felt to some extent more at ease in interacting with women or people not exactly my age, older or younger than me. Unconsciously, the notes of “We were so close” from “Frozen” came to my mind as I thought of how I regarded my bond with Arya.

Those thoughts in mind, I was realizing that the rain had finally stopped as we entered back into the eastern keep. As we made our way towards our rooms, Harwin came to us, his demeanour serious.

Arya greeted him with a nod and a small smile. "Harwin."

He greeted her back with a smile before turning his eyes on us. We greeted him as well, and Ser Illifer, always the practical one, asked, "Harwin, how did the discussion with Lord Walder Frey go?"

Harwin's expression remained serious as he responded, "Lord Walder was willing to offer his assistance for our journey back to Winterfell. He'll be sending some of his men and members of his family to ensure the safety and protection of Lady Arya."

Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton exchanged glances, Tom was pensive while I couldn't help but feel a pang of concern. The events of the previous day had not left a positive impression of most of the Frey family on any of us. I was also aware that the old creepy lich would never admit his own wrongs. I could understand the issue of disrespect and yet I knew that respect went both ways and a part of me was really tempted to teach the weasels not to do to others what they did not want to suffer themselves.

My armour transformed into that of an American football player. I charged down the hallways, back to the Main Hall. Walder barely had time to look up as I flew through the air, and tackled him out of his seat! “Show some respect or shut up!”

Once again, I shook my head clear of my fantasy. I could not wait to leave this place!

Arya's eyes widened in surprise at the news. She turned to me, her voice filled with a mix of emotions. "Roger, what do you think?"

I considered the situation for a moment. "It's a reasonable demand with what he could have asked, "I replied, trying to sound as calm as possible. "With what happened yesterday, Lord Walder Frey could also have let us leave on our own, but we present an opportunity for him to play the hero, especially with how he punished lord Charlton’s men. We also need men that would help us to ensure your safety. However, we should be cautious about who he chooses to send with us."

Arya nodded in agreement, her determination still evident. "I don't trust most of his family, but I suppose we don't have much of a choice. We need the added protection."

Ser Creighton voiced his concerns, looking at Harwin.

"Do you know who he plans to send with us? Some of his family members are not exactly known for their friendly disposition."

Harwin's gaze shifted slightly, his tone carrying a hint of hesitation.

"He mentioned that Ser Perwyn and his brother would be part of the group, along with his great-grandson Walder. They'll be accompanied by a dozen men-at-arms."

I raised an eyebrow at the mention of Walder Frey, but I couldn't help but wince at the name as there were so many of them and one potential I wasn’t eager to have in our group.

"Which Walder is he sending with us?", I asked in a neutral voice.

Harwin's response confirmed my suspicion, "Black Walder."

I couldn't help but feel ill at the news as I was reminding myself what kind of man Black Walder Frey was from my memories of the fandom and books. I knew he was a man with deadly ambitions, a nasty temper, ruthlessness and cunning. He wasn't exactly the kind of companion I would have chosen willingly, but I bet that Lord Walder Frey knew this as a fact like we did.

"Well, this is going to be interesting," I muttered under my breath, my discomfort evident.

Arya gave me a sidelong glance, perhaps sensing my unease. "Roger, you seem to know something about Black Walder. What's the matter?"

I sighed and decided to be honest with her.

"Black Walder Frey is known for being shrewd and not exactly the most trustworthy individual, not to mention certain improper things he did in the past. Not only were they vile, they were also not socially acceptable.”

I glossed over the fact of the man’s tendencies to bed his kin’s wives and his cousins, not wanting to be gross on the matter, especially with a girl as young as Arya. I couldn’t help but think of the fan theory that Black Walder could be Elmar Frey’s true father by blood. If true, Black Walder could have been Arya’s goodfather at one point, if cannon events had played out. I shivered at the idea, especially with the man’s ambition.

Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton exchanged concerned glances again, but didn't voice any further objections. Tom didn’t express anything, though he observed me with intrigued eyes. It was clear that having members of House Frey accompany us was a necessity, given the circumstances.

Arya's expression darkened as she processed the information. "I see," she replied, her voice tinged with disgust. "So, it seems we'll have to keep a close eye on this Walder. We need the added protection, but I won't let him or his family take advantage of us."

I nodded in agreement with her sentiment. "Agreed, Arya. We have to make the best of the situation, but we'll be cautious. We can't afford any more surprises on this journey."

Ser Creighton voiced his concerns, "When would we leave for the North?"

Harwin responded with a hint of hesitation, "In a day or two. Lord Walder wanted us to attend the funerals for his son, even though I wonder if he is not to see you and Lady Arya off as soon as possible."

I inwardly thought that outside of the strained encounter of the previous day, the fact that he was hosting the daughter of the current Hand of the King and warden of the North also played a part. Not to mention that we were going northwards, not southwards, meaning that his classical methods to make deals couldn’t be applied in the same manner. I didn’t express those thoughts as it wasn’t the moment and knowing how the Frey might interpret such words, I would just have added another reason for them to resent me. I wasn't certain about the funerals, but considering the role Emmon had played, I guessed it was comprehensive. A tiny voice told me that it was also Walder Frey playing his little games to emphasize his position and influence in the situation.

Looking at Harwin, I nodded in acknowledgment. With that settled, we continued our way back to the guest rooms the Freys had provided us, each lost in our thoughts about the upcoming journey and the uncertain company we'd be keeping. I was thinking about the remaining distance left in the trip. While it was the least dangerous part of the trip in regards to what Cersei or anyone in the South might be able to do, it didn’t mean it would necessarily go smoother as accidents or unexpected incidents could still occur. But I also thought of what might await me in the North. I knew that I would have to prove my worth as I was still a completely unknown figure whose only presence was due to the fact I helped Arya and that Eddard Stark decided to trust and believe in me in spite of the short span of time.

I wondered if I would have enough time to prevent or delay the incoming incident between Tyrion and Catelyn, but in the current situation, I was very doubtful I would be in time. I chased away this thought as I had to avoid focusing on a potential failure. Otherwise I knew I would fall into self-loathing and frustration for not being able to intervene in one event I could make a difference. All I could do was to consider the time that was now given to me and to help Arya’s family to the best of my abilities, knowledge of her world or not.

A.N.:

1. And here we are! The second act for the Twins halt. An idea mainly inspired by my beta reader's suggestion but with my own personal takes, mainly with the interactions.
2. The visit of the blacksmith was a suggestion of my beta reader while the idea to include ser Illifer, ser Creighton, Tom and Arya were mine, notably because a) the two hedge knights would have a reason to find new equipments, b) Tom may want some protections and can be curious to interact with the stranger with whom he is now a companion while Arya... Well, a lady that does not like lady activities and has no one to really watch her, you can guess the different possibilities in regards of her canonical "stunts". Concerning the equipment, it was the result of a discussion of what could have been purchased in regards of the ressources of both the group and of the SI.
3. As in the previous chapter, references to how the SI feels the environment of the Twins and different echoes to canon, notably in the interactions with the character whose POV is the concluding part of "A Storm of Swords". Once again, the thoughts parts are creations by my beta reader and the very first one is my favorite.
4. I loved having imagined the quarrel between Arya and Little Walder and the ensuing interactions because of how both characters are and how the SI (and by extent me) could react and the discussion of the SI with Merrett afterwards is something I might have done as I am someone who is amicable enough to interact with different kind of people but can be curious (and in a situation like the ones depicted in this fanfic, curiosity would be huge due to the confrontation of the fictive depictions to the reality).
5. The end of the chapter allows to indirectly introduce characters that woul join the mould sooner and considering a man like Walder Frey, it was something that could work. The chosen characters were the result of both the preexisting context and of the discussions between the beta reader and me, notably concerning a certain Walder. I have also edited a bit the end to make it consistent with the incoming chapter as the latter wasn't then created when I implemented this chapter.
6. Teaser: next time, Marc and his companions are moving to attend the funerals of Emmon Frey, encountering different members of the family...
7. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

The sun was softly glowing in the sky over the Green Fork. It was a pleasant return after the rain of the previous day, but as I stood with my companions among the crowd of the Frey’s and their servants, it wasn’t really on my mind. This was because we were to attend the funeral of Ser Emmon. A part of me found it a bit ironic to see the Freys respecting traditional rituals due to what they did in canon. At the same time, it was good to see that in spite of their numerous flaws and their abusive and corrupt mannerisms thanks to the status that came with their position, they can show something decent. A part of me suspected some would relish the death of Emmon as it would move them up in their positions on the succession line, but that wasn’t relevant at the moment.

We were crossing the bridge, the cold waters of the Green Fork flowing beneath us. Harwin, Derren, Jallard, Tor, Arya, and I were making our way towards the Western Keep, flanked by other people—Frey members, servants, men-at-arms, and our other companions, Tom of the Sevenstreams, Ser Illifer, and Ser Creighton. The atmosphere was a dreary one, and the air was thick with the scent of damp earth.

The Western Keep loomed ahead, its towers standing sentinel over the river. Arya, walking beside me, had a furrowed expression on her face. I suspected her discontent was a mix of dislike for being stuck at the Twins, distaste for the Faith of the Seven, and a general aversion to attending a funeral for someone she didn't know. The absence of Nymeria and Lady might have added to her restlessness.

I gently nudged Arya and asked, "What's going on?" My voice stayed low, meant only for her ears.

A small scowl formed on her face. "This is stupid. Why should we play along with their rituals for someone we don't even know?"

I gave her a reassuring look. “I know, Arya. It feels like a mummer's farce. But we have to tread carefully here. The Freys might be flawed, but we don’t want to escalate things. We're guests and they are helping us. A misstep could lead to trouble."

Harwin, walking close by, chimed in, addressing Arya, "He’s right, my lady. We're in their home, and we have to play by their rules."

Arya's scowl deepened, and she shot a glance at me. I could sense her inner struggle between her Stark pride and the distaste for the Freys. I leaned towards her and whispered, "Arya, find other ways to express your frustration. Your gestures and words will be noticed and commented on. Remember their entrenched pride."

She glanced at me, her grey eyes reflecting a mixture of annoyance and acknowledgment. "Easy for you to say. You don’t have to pretend like they’re your allies."

"But I have to play low, otherwise, I would be easily crushed by those people because of my status”, I softly replied. “Remember, whatever you are saying and doing here will be repeated and possibly twisted by others and it will reflect on your family. And there would be people who could find the easy excuse that you are behaving that way because of me, assuming I corrupted you with my foreign and common manners. It would give the Frey or anyone else them another reason to put me down."

I did not tell her that I agreed with her previous insult that Lord Walder was the “biggest shit in the 7 Kingdoms” because while it was technically true, I didn’t need Arya bursting into laughter in front of everyone. I myself would be tempted to share my juvenile fantasies about what I’d like to see happen to Lord Walder. Worse, she might even try to recreate them if pushed too far!

Arya glared at Lord Walder while he was still leering at her like the pervert he was. She suddenly ran into a nearby room. NWA’s “Natural Born Killaz" began to play throughout the fort! Arya came back dressed as the late wrestler New Jack, carrying a cart full of various objects. Walder was promptly smacked in the face with a toaster! This was followed up with a vacuum cleaner to the nuts, a golf club over his back, and yes, the kitchen sink, which crushed his body!

Blinking repeatedly, I cleared my head. Had I fallen so low that I was wanting to get arrested for turning a kid into a delinquent? Looking at Arya again, I resumed our conversation. “And remember that while we may have not known him, ser Emmon lost his life when he rode with his siblings to our aid when we were attacked by the sellswords. Without him, you wouldn’t have any escort left and I would have been killed.”

Harwin, though gruff in his demeanor, nodded in agreement with my words. "He's right, Arya. We owe them for that. Honouring his death is honouring the sacrifice he did in riding to our rescue."

Arya sighed in frustration, but her expression softened slightly as our words sank in. Her gaze shifted from me to the surroundings, taking in the somber atmosphere of the Twins. The air was filled with whispers and murmurs as the crowd moved towards the Western Keep.

After a moment of contemplation, she spoke again, her voice quieter this time. "You're right," she said quietly. It's just frustrating to be here, to be surrounded by these people who have done so much harm. But I won't give them another reason to look down on us or use it against you. I'll find a way to endure this, even if it's not easy."

I nodded, acknowledging her determination. "That's the spirit, Arya. Remember. There is a time where intervening and reacting is relevant and others you need to step aside or to wait."

Harwin acquiesced approvingly at me as I spoke those words. “Wise words, my friend.”

Arya sighed, relenting a bit. "Fine, but I still don't like it."

"Have patience. Consider it a challenge to overcome," I said, offering a small smile. "Like a sewing session you have to endure until you can go out to train yourself in what you love. That would make whatever you’ll do afterward far more rewarding for you."

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a hint of a smile. As we got closer to the entrance of the Western Keep, I gave her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. Harwin shot me a grateful glance, and we entered the Keep. Mentally, we prepared ourselves for the funeral ceremony that awaited us inside.

The corridors of the Western Keep were dimly lit, the torches flickering with an eerie glow. The stone walls seemed to absorb the sounds of our footsteps, creating an eerie silence. One would have thought we were in the tombs of Winterfell instead. The crowd, now moving through the narrow passageways, was a mix of Freys and guests like us, creating a somber procession.

I couldn't help but notice the varied expressions on the faces of those around us. Some wore genuine grief, others perhaps a mere formality. Arya's discontent was noticeable, and I kept a close eye on her as we navigated the maze-like halls.

As we walked, I observed the intricate tapestries adorning the walls, depicting scenes of battles and marriages in the history of House Frey. I had to wonder how many of these battles were exaggerated. As the Frey’s had sworn allegiance to the Targaryeans from the safety of the Twins… Even though I knew Olyvar, Perwyn and certain Frey’s were brave, the history of their family did not look right on those tapestries. If any of them showed Lord Walder, he should be in a chicken suit!

The scent of incense wafted through the air as we neared what seemed to be the central part of the keep. I could sense Arya's restlessness growing, her gaze darting around as if searching for an escape route. The realization struck me that the funeral ceremony was about to begin, and we needed to find our places.

Just as we were about to turn a corner, we heard a familiar voice calling out. "Harwin!" It was Ser Perwyn Frey, flanked by Ser Olyvar and a young woman who I suspected to be his sister by her appearance. But with so many Frey children, it was hard to remember which one she was at the moment.

Harwin halted, and we all turned around to face them. Harwin greeted the Frey brothers with a nod of respect. "Ser Perwyn, Olyvar, my lady" he acknowledged, keeping his tone polite.

Derren, Tor, Jallard, and I followed Harwin's lead, offering our own nods and greetings. The Freys responded in kind, acknowledging our presence. Perwyn then turned his attention to Arya. "My lady, I hope you fare well," he said with a polite bow.

Arya responded with a restrained acknowledgment. Despite previous stress, she maintained a facade of civility. I was grateful she seemed ready to follow the advice of Harwin and me.

Harwin took the lead in the conversation, turning to Perwyn. "How fare your brother and you, ser? And who is this young lady?" he asked, acknowledging the presence of the young beauty with him.

Perwyn answered, preparing us for the events to come. "We are as well as can be expected, preparing for the funerals and the evening service. And this is Lady Roslin," he gestured towards the young woman beside him. "She will sing for the funerals."

Harwin's eyes brightened with appreciation. "Lady Roslin, we are honored to have you perform. Music can bring solace in times of grief."

Roslin acknowledged us with a polite nod, her demeanor carrying a gentle grace that seemed at odds with the solemn occasion. Arya, on the other hand, displayed her discontent, her disapproval evident in the slight downturn of her lips.

I observed Roslin more closely. Despite the sad atmosphere, she carried herself with a certain grace. Her fair face, both cute and pretty, seemed at odds with the somber occasion. Knowing her fate in the canon, I hoped a different path would be available for her, one not marred by the tragedies that awaited her. And I couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her. Being literally trapped in such a place like the Twins could take its toll on someone.

My gaze lingered on her for a moment, and it seemed she noticed. There was a subtle shift in her expression, a small acknowledgment of my observation. I turned my gaze away, uncomfortable and feeling a bit regretful of lacking some polite manners in this field.

Arya shot me a sideways glance, her grey eyes betraying something I never saw in them before. It was as if she didn’t appreciate the glance I had sent on Roslin, though I wasn’t certain why. A part of me was amused but the other was a bit apprehensive of how she could react with how tense she was now.

I then noticed Roslin whispering to Olyvar while stealing glances in my direction. Olyvar responded, gesturing subtly toward me. The exchange didn't go unnoticed by Arya, whose scowl deepened.

Arya decided to address Roslin directly, her tone sharp but controlled. "What are you talking about Lady Roslin?"

Roslin's eyes widened momentarily at Arya's question, caught off guard by the directness of it. She quickly composed herself, her delicate features displaying a mix of surprise and apprehension.

"I... I was merely asking my brother about him," the young woman replied, her voice soft and slightly trembling. "He doesn’t look like one of your guards or your people."

Arya's scowl deepened further, and her tone turned icy. "Curiosity about my friend? Or perhaps something else?"

Roslin's blush deepened, and she glanced nervously at Olyvar and Perwyn before meeting Arya's gaze. "I assure you, Lady Arya, there is nothing more to it. I meant no offense."

Arya held Roslin's gaze for a moment longer before relenting, her expression softening slightly. "See that it stays that way," she warned, her voice laced with a hint of protectiveness. The intensity in her eyes reflected a deeper emotion, perhaps a mixture of possessiveness and concern.

Harwin, sensing the unease in the air, stepped forward and addressed Roslin, "My lady, my apologies for any discomfort caused. We are all adjusting to the company of our new allies."

Roslin nodded, a small but uncertain smile playing on her lips while she sent a glance at Arya. Arya seemed sulking and ready to react again.

"No need for apologies, Harwin," I interjected, standing up. "I know how protective she can be of her friends."

Arya's scowl softened, and a hint of joy flickered in her eyes. Harwin nodded in acknowledgment, and I turned my attention to Perwyn and Olyvar, who had been observing the scene with interest.

Perwyn, ever the peacemaker, spoke up, "These are trying times, and emotions run high. Let's focus on why we are here." Olyvar nodded in agreement.

Roslin, who had been quiet during the exchange, now spoke, "I truly didn't mean to cause any trouble. I was just curious."

I smiled at her. "No harm done, my lady. I am aware I am not like a highborn or the usual smallfolk. Besides, I should be the one apologizing. I was caught by surprise by how pretty you are and it was improper of me to gaze at you.”

Roslin's blush deepened at my words, and she lowered her gaze, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of her dress. "You... you flatter me, ser," she murmured softly. "But I assure you, I am nothing special."

I shook my head gently, wanting to put her at ease. "That is not true, Lady Roslin. Your beauty and talent are evident, and I'm sure you will bring comfort to those who are grieving. And I am no ser, my lady. Only a man trying to find his place in the Seven Kingdoms."

As I spoke, Perwyn and Olyvar Frey exchanged glances, their expressions betraying a mix of curiosity and perhaps a touch of amusement. Perwyn Frey observed the interaction with mild interest, a small smile playing on his lips. Olyvar, his younger brother, seemed to try to maintain a more stoic expression, but there was a subtle glint of approval in his eyes and a failed hidden smirk, perhaps amused by the subtle exchange. Harwin, ever perceptive, nodded appreciatively at my attempt to defuse the tension.

Arya's gaze shifted from Roslin to me, and there was a flicker of something in her grey eyes—curiosity and perhaps a hint of jealousy.

Arya's gaze shifted from Roslin to me, her eyes narrowing slightly, trying to decipher the dynamics at play. "Smooth talker, aren't you?" she remarked, a hint of teasing in her voice.

I chuckled to her words, feeling amusement and relief in how she seemed to take it. I turned to her. "You know me. When I feel a compliment is deserved, I say it. Like for your own strength and skills."

Arya's lips curled into a small smile at my words, and I could see a hint of pride in her eyes. "Thank you," she said, her voice carrying a warmth that made my heart melt.

Harwin spoke up, guiding the conversation back to the matters at hand. "Shall we move forward to join the funeral?"

Perwyn nodded in agreement. I did the same before directing my attention back to Roslin. "Lady Roslin, I hope your performance will bring everyone comfort. Music has a way of healing wounds."

Roslin offered a genuine smile this time, her earlier discomfort fading. "Thank you, ser... uh, I mean, Roger. Your words are kind, and I will do my best."

I acquiesced with a soft and kind glance to her. The mood lightened, and it was evident that Roslin appreciated the reassurance. Our group then walked again through the corridors, following the somber crowd. The stone walls echoed with the muted sounds of footsteps and hushed conversations. We finally joined the courtyard. It was filled with a slow procession of Frey members and servants, which began to stir with activity as we prepared to move.

As we crossed the courtyard, I caught sight of a building that resembled a sept. The sept stood as a solemn reminder of the Faith of the Seven and the funeral rituals that awaited us.

Approaching the sept, we joined the flow of mourners entering the sacred space. The atmosphere inside became hushed, filled only with the soft murmurs of prayers and the occasional sound of sniffles.

As we neared the entrance, a figure approached us. It was a man around my age, a wiry figure with a black beard. He came off as stern and moody, giving me bad vibes. Perwyn greeted him, and Olyvar moved closer to Roslin. The man responded to Perwyn's greeting before his eyes fell on our group.

His piercing gaze locked onto us, and he commented, directing his words to his brother. "Perwyn, is this the group we're accompanying?"

Perwyn answered quickly with a hint of nervousness, "Yes, Walder. We're to join them on their journey to Winterfell."

Hearing the name Walder and the discussion, my heart leaped in my chest as a strong suspicion and an awful realization grew in my mind. Was he Black Walder, the man with an irascible temper, the man who bedded wives and cousins? The man I knew had a deadly ambitiousness with moving up the line of succession. Including how the death of his father was blamed on him by his eldest brother? I wanted to dismiss that thought, but there was no reason to deny he was likely our third Frey companion, the one I dreaded the most.

The man’s expression remained inscrutable, a mixture of scrutiny and perhaps mild disdain as he heard Perwyn’s answer. His gaze lingered on me for a moment, and I couldn't help but feel a distasteful judgment coming from this man.

Observing Black Walder, unease grew within me. I felt Arya's eyes on me. She sensed my unease, her voice barely audible in a whisper. "Roger, what's wrong? You look like you've seen a shadowcat."

I hesitated but knew that hiding the reason for my current trouble wasn’t worth it as she would know. I whispered back, my voice steady but low, while glancing at Black Walder, "I think this is the infamous Black Walder."

Arya's eyes widened in realization and horror. The discussions from the day before about who would join our escort echoed in her memory. She couldn't hide the concern in her eyes, and she spoke, her voice hushed, "Black Walder? The one that will accompany us to Winterfell?"

I nodded but gestured for her to stay calm and discrete. Arya's protective instincts were already kicking in, and I could sense her tension rising again. I sighed a bit as the effort to calm her had been wasted.

Black Walder observed Harwin, Jallard, Derren, and Tor with a curt acknowledgment, but when his gaze fell on Arya and me, there was a noticeable shift in his attitude. Suspicion and curiosity were in his eyes. This was the first time he laid eyes on the foreign commoner who dared to put a hand on a noble lady's shoulder. Thankfully, he did not know about Darry Castle.

"And who is this?" he asked, his voice cold and calculating, his eyes boring into mine.

I took a step forward, maintaining composure despite the scrutiny. "I am Roger, a companion and friend of Lady Arya. We appreciate House Frey's assistance in ensuring a safe journey back to Winterfell."

Arya shot me a quick glance, a concerned look on her face. Black Walder, however, didn't seem satisfied with my answer. "A commoner placing hands on a lady. You should know their place, especially when in the presence of nobility," he remarked, his tone dripping with disdain.

Before I could respond, Arya, always quick-witted and protective, stepped forward. "This “commoner” has proven himself more than capable of defending me. We trust him. And I lo–I mean he’s as worthy as any member of my Household."

Black Walder's eyes narrowed, and a dark shade of red started to appear on his face. Harwyn intervened, attempting to defuse the situation.

"Ser Walder, this man has been instrumental in protecting Lady Arya during our travels. Lord Stark took him in and I always trust his judgment."

The scowl on Black Walder's face softened slightly, though the skepticism lingered. "We'll see about that," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.

Black Walder's gaze lingered on me, the air thick with unspoken tension. Just as it seemed the situation might escalate further, a voice cut through the quiet sept.

"Walder, is that how you treat our guests?"

Black Walder turned around, facing another Frey who was around his age. The newcomer was round shouldered and beer-bellied, with a silky beard and a sardonic smile. For some reasons, it reminded me of something but I did know what. The two men exchanged a tense look before the sardonic Frey continued, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I see you're already making friends. Father's choice for such a delicate mission is quite intriguing."

Black Walder's reaction was immediate. He straightened up, his demeanor shifting from disdain to a mix of discomfort and annoyance. "What business is it of yours, Rhaegar?"

Hearing the name made me stumble as it reminded me of both the name of the most mysterious and controversial key character in the sixth book when I heard its audiobook on Youtube. That name had me thinking of the Silver Creep irritated me, considering how he believed himself to be the Prince Who Was Promised but was in my opinion, the Cretin who was Tarnished. I was also amused in spite of myself, imagining Robert Barahteon’s reaction if he had been in the Twins: all the Frey having a Targaryen name would have to leave the place if they didn’t want to suffer a gruesome fate due to the King’s misplaced anger. Dismissing the thought (and the image of the now identified Rhaegar Frey’s head exploding from Robert’s war hammer smashing it), I focused on the interloper.

At the question of his kin, the latter chuckled. "Just observing, dear Walder. It's amusing how you ended up with this assignment while Edwyn will reap the benefits of your absence."

Black Walder's jaw tensed, clearly angered by the implications. "Mind your own business, Rhaegar."

Walder’s kin smile widened, clearly enjoying the effect his words had on his cousin. "Oh, but it is my business. After all, we're family, aren't we? And family looks out for each other."

Black Walder's gaze hardened, his voice laced with a hint of venom. "I don't need your protection or your meddling, Rhaegar. I can handle myself just fine."

Rhaegar shrugged, seemingly unperturbed by Black Walder's hostility. "Of course, of course. Just offering some friendly advice. You wouldn't want to tarnish our family's reputation any further, would you?"

The tension between the two Freys was thick, and the rest of us watched the exchange with bated breath. It was clear that there was a deeper animosity between them, one that went beyond this particular situation.

Rhaegar then turned his glance on our group, looking directly at Arya and me. I waas uncertain about interacting with the man, as all I could think about was his fate or of his dubious namesake. There was also something about him that made my emotional and juvenile sides want to give the man a hard backhand.

"Lady Arya Stark," Rhaegar acknowledged, nodding towards Arya. "I trust the journey has been safe thus far."

Arya, ever the Stark, responded with a curt nod. "Safe enough."

His behavior reminded me of his insulting words in the sixth book when ser Davos attempted to convince Wyman Manderly to side with Stannis. Meanwhile Rhaegar and two of his brothers were there to bring the bones of ser Wendel and accept the betrothals to the two granddaughters of lord Manderly. I suddenly felt ill, remembering that the fate of the man before me was likely the one that Lothar and Walder Rivers suffered in the show – killed and carved into pies that would be served to people that were responsible for the Red Wedding.

Black Walder and Rhaegar noticed that Arya was tightening her grip on my arm. Black Walder's eyes flickered with a mix of suspicion and annoyance, while Rhaegar's sardonic smile widened, as if he had uncovered a secret.

Rhaegar reacted to Arya’s answer before commenting on our interaction. "Safe enough," he echoed, his gaze lingering on Arya. "It seems our foreign friend here has proven himself quite capable. A commoner defending a lady, quite the tale."

Arya shot Rhaegar a sharp look, her protective instincts kicking in. "Please do not mock my friends”.

Rhaegar's sardonic smile deepened as he observed Arya's reaction. His gaze, sharp and perceptive, seemed to linger on us with a newfound interest.

"I must say, your foreign friend here seems to have sparked more than just a camaraderie. Quite the defender, isn't he?" He drawled, his tone dripping with amusement.

Arya shot a fiery glance in Rhaegar's direction, her cheeks turning a shade redder, her grip on my arm tightening even more. I shot her a reassuring glance, silently urging her not to let Rhaegar's provocations get under her skin. I could feel the tension building, and I couldn't help but brace myself for whatever was about to unfold. I could feel the concerned or tensed glances of Harwin and his men while Perwyn and his siblings were uncertain and on edge.

Poik! Rhaegar let out a yelp, as I gave him a poke in the eyes like that of the Three Stooges. I then started knocking on his forehead like it was a door. “Any manners in there? Hello?”. Meanwhile, Arya started to kick Rhaegar's shins, while I started slapping him across the face.

Damnit! I blinked again bringing myself back to reality. I was this close to laying hands on Rhaegar! The last thing I needed to do was let my juvenile side dictate what I would do.

"Mind your words," Arya retorted, her voice sharp. "Roger is a loyal companion and nothing more."

Rhaegar chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by Arya's defensiveness. "Oh, I'm sure. But one can't deny the chemistry between a valiant defender and a damsel in distress. It's a classic tale, really."

Arya's jaw clenched, and I could sense her frustration. It was clear that Rhaegar was enjoying getting under her skin. I felt she was fuming and close to unleashing her fury. I glanced at Black Walder, who was observing the exchange with a mix of amusement and irritation. I could feel him intending to comment in a scathing way and it was out of question to allow him or that insulting slob to bait us anymore.

“Ça y est, je te botte le cul!” is what I almost roared but stopped myself. Instead, in an annoyed tone I said, "Lady Arya is correct. My loyalty lies with her, and I will do whatever it takes to ensure her safety."

Black Walder's amusement faded, replaced by a new scowl, while Rhaegar's sardonic smile wavered for a moment. His gaze shifts from Arya to you, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Is that so?" he says, his tone laced with a mix of curiosity and challenge. "Loyalty is a rare trait, especially from outsiders. Tell me, Roger, what motivates such devotion?"

I hesitated to answer, but took a breath as I knew I had to hold my ground in this situation. I met his gaze with a steady one.

"I helped lady Arya in an hour of need and she helped me in return by offering me the protection and help of her lord Father. I accepted as I knew I needed to rely on someone and have heard of the honourable reputation of lord Stark. And where I come from, honour and loyalty are not bound by birth or titles. They are earned through actions and character. Lady Arya and her father proved true in their actions and character and they offered me trust, protection and friendship and I returned it in kind."

Harwyn and his men had knowing glances and I suspected they knew I was referring to what happened in Darry Castle, even though the recent ambushes might also be in their minds.

Olyvar and Perwyn exchanged looks, remembering the battle where I fought alongside them to protect Arya. Their expressions carried a silent understanding that my loyalty was not mere words.

Roslin Frey observed me with a thoughtful expression. She seemed intrigued, perhaps finding my stance a deviation from the typical relationships within noble circles, or at least one different from what went on in the Twins. Her eyes lingered on me, a mixture of curiosity and something else.

Black Walder's skepticism persisted, his eyes narrowing further. The tension between us didn't wane, but my response had at least made him pause for a moment.

"Foreign notions of honour," Black Walder finally sneered. "They won't be of much use here. Words are wind."

Rhaegar, however, leaned back slightly, his smile not diminishing. "A foreign commoner with a code of honour. How quaint. Let us hope it continues to serve Lady Arya well."

Arya, though still cautious, seemed to ease a bit. I subtly calmed her down, giving her a reassuring smile.

We then heard a familiar voice cutting through the atmosphere. "What's all this hostility about?"

Turning around, we saw an older Frey with watery grey eyes and looking a bit like Lord Walder Frey approaching us. His presence added a layer of authority to the scene, and the gathering tension seemed to subside slightly.

"Stevron," Rhaegar greeted, his sardonic smile turning into a more neutral expression.

Walder’s main heir acknowledged him with a nod, sent a cautious glance at his grandson before addressing the rest of us. "The ceremony will begin soon. Let us not keep everyone waiting."

The atmosphere shifted as Stevron's authoritative voice redirected everyone’s focus. The impending ceremony demanded attention.

"Indeed," Perwyn concurred, gesturing for everyone to follow Stevron. As we made our way toward the sept, the air remained thick with lingering tension, especially between Black Walder and me. Arya walked close, a silent reassurance at my side. I felt relieved by the arrival of Stevron as it prevented the trouble from increasing, as it could have ended in a rumble, especially as Arya would have unleashed her wolf side.

Still, slapping Rhaegar would almost have been worth it.

The sept loomed before us, its seven-sided structure standing as a solemn witness to countless ceremonies. As we entered, the scent of burning candles and incense filled the air, and the hushed whispers of the gathered crowd created a murmur of anticipation.

Harwin, his men, Arya, and I found places amidst the assembled attendees. The Stark guards, familiar with me, exchanged sympathetic looks, while Arya's discomfort was noticeable. Black Walder, Rhaegar, Stevron, Perwyn, Olyvar, and Roslin moved to find their places, their interactions restrained by the solemnity of the occasion.

The sept's interior, adorned with representations of the Seven, reflected the reverence of the Faith. Stained glass windows bathed the space in a soft, colored glow, adding to the sense of sanctity. I couldn't help but appreciate the craftsmanship, even in the midst of the mournful atmosphere.

My gaze shifted to the background of the sept, where I spotted familiar faces – Ser Illifer, Ser Creighton, and Tom of the Sevenstreams. At least there were a couple more familiar faces in this setting.

Arya, fidgeting beside me, drew my attention. I leaned in and whispered, "Relax. Consider it like a sewing lesson. I’ll give you some new French lessons afterwards."

She shot me a half-amused, half-annoyed look, her lips forming a subtle smirk. Ah Arya Stark, was there a day you could not find mischief?

As the septon continued with the ceremony, the air thick with rituals and prayers, the words of eulogy began to echo through the sept. The septon spoke of Emmon Frey, his life, his deeds, and the legacy he left behind. The gathered crowd listened, a mix of Freys and outsiders, each absorbed in their own thoughts and memories.

As the septon mentioned Emmon's marriage to Lady Genna Lannister, Arya's eyes widened. She leaned closer to me, her eyes narrowing at the mention of the Lannister connection. The septon's words seemed to stir something in her, and she whispered to me, her voice carrying a mix of curiosity and disbelief, "Genna Lannister? Is she related to the Queen and Jaime?"

I nodded, offering a quiet explanation, "From what I’ve heard, she is lord Tywin’s sister and the aunt of the queen and of Jaime Lannister. And if I'm not wrong, she was married to Emmon Frey when her father, lord Tytos, accepted lord Walder Frey's proposal to betroth her to Emmon, even though she was then a child of seven and Emmon not the heir of the Crossing."

"Cersei's aunt?" she whispered incredulously, her voice barely audible amidst the ongoing ceremony. "Betrothed at seven? That's just so wrong."

I nodded in agreement, "Tytos was said to be a weak lord hiding behind laughter and smiles. No one really respected him in the Westerlands or the Seven Kingdoms. But yeah, you're right, it's so wrong."

Harwin hushed us, reminding us of the somber occasion. The eulogy continued, weaving through Emmon Frey's life and his connections to the complex web of noble houses. I could sense Arya’s discomfort lingered and a part of me felt guilty to have told her that information. On instinct, I subtly reached for her hand, offering a reassuring squeeze. She glanced at me, her stormy eyes meeting mine for a brief moment. The tension in her expression softened, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. Her fingers tightened around mine, and I could feel the unspoken gratitude passing between us.

Taking advantage of the moment, I offered silent prayer to God. I prayed for protection for our group, for Arya and me, and for Lady Genna Lannister and her children. I prayed for reassurance and support for the incoming challenges and struggles I knew I would face.

I suddenly noticed Roslin Frey moving forward near the steps of the heart of the sept. Her posture was poised, a prelude to something about to happen. The air brimmed with anticipation.

Suddenly, Roslin's voice echoed through the sept, singing the Song of the Seven. The melodic notes filled the sacred space, carrying the weight of tradition and sorrow. I listened, captivated by her heartfelt rendition, my sensitivity to music making the experience all the more poignant.

The lyrics spoke of the Seven, their virtues, and their watchful eyes over the realm. I silently repeated the verses, moved by the harmony of the song.

“The Father's face is stern and strong,

he sits and judges right from wrong.

He weighs our lives, the short and long,

and loves the little children.

The Mother gives the gift of life,

and watches over every wife.

Her gentle smile ends all strife,

and she loves her little children.

The Warrior stands before the foe,

protecting us where e'er we go.

With sword and shield and spear and bow,

he guards the little children.

The Crone is very wise and old,

and sees our fates as they unfold.

She lifts her lamp of shining gold

to lead the little children.

The Smith, he labors day and night,

to put the world of men to right.

With hammer, plow, and fire bright,

he builds for little children.

The Maiden dances through the sky,

she lives in every lover's sigh.

Her smiles teach the birds to fly,

and gives dreams to little children.

The Seven Gods who made us all,

are listening if we should call.

So close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.

Just close your eyes, you shall not fall,

they see you, little children.”

Beside me, Arya noticed how entranced I was from Rosalin’s singing. Her eyes, always sharp and perceptive, reflected a mix of protectiveness and a hint of childish jealousy. I met her gaze, offering a small smile. A tiny voice within me wondered why I needed to reassure her, though.

As Roslin's singing reached its conclusion, a reverent silence settled over the sept. The lingering echoes of the song hung in the air.

The crowd slowly began to disperse, and Harwin gestured for us to follow him as we made our way toward the exit. Arya and I walked side by side, her silence speaking volumes. Harwin, ever vigilant, kept an eye on us but refrained from intervening.

As we stepped out into the crisp air, I could not help but try and talk to the wonderful singer that was Rosalin. "I want to see Ser Perwyn or his brother," I said to Harwin, my gaze already searching for Roslin amidst the departing crowd.

Harwin, raised an eyebrow but didn't protest. "Don't lose your way, Roger," he remarked, his tone a mix of caution and amusement.

My internal self was blushing and if we had not been surrounded by people leaving the sept I would have rocked the room with a roar of “Not like that you pervert!” but I knew this was Harwin’s way of teasing me.

Arya, ever perceptive, chimed in, "I can accompany you, Roger."

I turned to her, offering a grateful smile. "It's very kind of you, Arya, but this is something I want to do for me."

She frowned slightly, her concern evident. "But—"

Before she could finish, Harwin intervened. "Arya, he'll be back quickly. And you'll still have plenty of time to interact with him. Let him have his moment."

I nodded in agreement, appreciating Harwin's understanding. "Do not worry, I'll be back quickly, and I'll give you those French words to know," I teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

Arya chuckled, a warmth returning to her eyes. "Promise?"

"Promise," I replied, squeezing her hand before turning to navigate the dispersing crowd in search of Roslin Frey.

As I searched among the crowd, I dared not ask anyone about Roslin's whereabouts, given my limited trust in the Freys or the fact that I did not know them well outside of some key characters. Walder Frey was literally the Westerosi lecherous parody of Ramses II without the godlike status. Glances from different Freys followed me as I walked through the sept, some curious, others scornful. No doubt the incident with Little Walder spread through the Twins as well. The sept was nearly empty, and despite my efforts, I saw neither Roslin nor her two brothers.

Sighing, I decided to leave the sept and scanned the courtyard, trying to figure out where Perwyn and Olyvar Frey, Roslin's brothers, could have gone. My eyes caught sight of Tom, ser Illifer, and ser Creighton engaged in conversation with someone else. As I looked around, I saw Perwyn speaking to one of his kin, and I moved towards him, intending to at least speak to him and ask him to give him my praises to Roslin. That would be the wiser move, considering that a commoner speaking to a lady on her own wouldn’t be taken well. Just my relation with Arya was proof enough of how slippery and complex the situation could be.

However, just as I started walking to go to see him, a voice called out.

"Ser Roger," a female voice called from behind.

I turned around to see a young woman approaching me. She had a pinched chinless face, blondish brown hair and brown eyes. It would be a lie if I didn't consider her attractive. She was rather tall with long legs while her dress tended to emphasize on the allure of her shapely figure. However, the fact she knew my name and wanted to speak to me made me wary for a reason. Plus the fact she looked so young. Perhaps still a teenager. I greeted her with a polite nod, "Hello, my lady. May I ask your name?"

The young woman smiled and answered, "Amerei Frey. But you can call me Ami," she added with familiarity.

Unease settled in my stomach as I remembered her reputation as "Gatehouse Ami." A part of me cursed my luck on encountering her, even more considering my total lack of experience in the field of interacting with women of her kind. Especially lolitas or “jailbait”. I was feeling like facing Kaa from “The Jungle Book” and trying to avoid hypnotic-like charm. Unconsciously, Scarlett Johanson's version of “Trust in me” was in my mind.

“What is the pleasure of your presence, Lady Amerei?" I inquired politely, shielding my unease while not desiring to give her into overtures of being too familiar with her.

Amerei Frey smiled, seemingly undeterred by my cautious attitude. "Oh, no need for such formality, Ser Roger," she replied, her voice carrying a hint of playfulness. "I simply wanted to introduce myself and extend a warm welcome to you. I noticed you wandering around the sept, and being unfamiliar faces in these halls, I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to make your acquaintance."

I nodded, appreciative of her cordiality but remaining cautious. The last thing I wanted was to be involved in an affair with a girl that was possibly underage and married. "I appreciate your kind gesture, Lady Amerei. Your hospitality is truly gracious."

Amerei's smile widened, and she took a step closer, her tone becoming more intimate. "You're too kind, Ser Roger. I must say, you have quite the intriguing presence. A foreign commoner accompanying the Hand’s daughter. I thought I'd like to know you better."

The flirtatious and promiscuous undertone in her voice and behavior caught me off guard. Diplomacy became my shield as I answered, "I... I am flattered you want to know me, my lady, but you are aware of my companions and I won't stay long in your grandfather's home. And as you said, I am a commoner, not a knight. I am only Roger."

Ami's smile widened, and she stepped closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Oh, but Roger, there's something intriguing about a commoner who finds himself in the midst of noble company. Especially a foreigner that brings quite an exotic…flavor. It sets you apart, makes you unique. I find the allure of a foreigner's authenticity quite intriguing. There's a certain charm in those who have not been shaped by the constraints of Westeros noble society."

I felt a lump in my throat and my body heat up. I however remained as composed as I could. “I admit that there is always something fascinating to discover what lies outside the walls of high society. And I am flattered and honored by your curiosity…”

I stumbled on my words, uncertain how to say in an honest and skilled way that I had no time for her, not when she was so close that I felt petrified, wary of interfering in her personal space and yet uncertain of how to handle her. I couldn’t think of simple answers and a part of myself berated me for being as inept as in my teen age even though I was now in my thirty-first year of life. I tried to move away, but winced a bit as I felt the pain in the healing wound in my thigh. And it seemed my words and stumbling gave the wrong signals to Amerei as she leaned further towards me.

Amerei's eyes sparkled with a mischievous gleam as she stepped even closer, her fingers lightly trailing over the fabric of my sleeve. The sultry atmosphere seemed to thicken with each passing moment. I winced a bit, partly from the pain in my healing thigh, but also from the discomfort of being so close to Amerei.

"I do find commoners intriguing," she purred, her voice low and suggestive. "Especially one with such... unique qualities." Her gaze lingered on me, and I took a step back, trying to regain some distance. My unease grew stronger as I was reminded that she was for all matters a teenage girl not as old as seventeen and it was obvious what she was trying to do. Just the thought was deeply horrendous, making me nearly hyperventilating. I wasn’t in a lemon fanfiction, for God’s sake!

“Good for you, my lady,” I stammered while trying subtly to move further away from her, “But I have not much time to spend in your company and I wouldn’t want anyone to have ideas on us. I rather take the Black than take your virtue as a maiden or a wife, no matter how beautiful you are.”

Amerei's reaction was swift, her eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing in a mix of amusement and curiosity. She leaned back slightly, giving me a playful yet challenging look. "The Black, you say? Are you so averse to the charms of a Frey maiden, Roger?" Her tone was teasing, and she took another step forward, testing the boundaries.

Damn it! I now remembered how she got the “Gatehouse” name. Multiple groomsmen at a wedding getting it on with her at the same time! I might as well have said something that triggered her inner adult star lust!

It was then that I noticed a mischievous glint in her eyes as they briefly flickered downwards. Panic seized me as I feared she might have discerned the unexpected physical effect she had on me. Her eyes finally locked onto mine as she stepped even closer, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Don't you find the thrill of secrecy enticing, Roger? The forbidden, the hidden desires that no one else knows. It could be our little secret."

The air grew thicker as her proximity intensified. I took a deep breath, trying to maintain composure, but the effect of her flirtations was undeniable. Her fingers continued their playful dance, and I felt her body pressing against mine. I slowly moved backward, creating a bit more space between us, though her persistence remained unwavering. The situation was reaching a critical point, and I knew I needed to put an end to this dangerous dance. Just as I struggled to find the right words to firmly refuse her advances, a female voice called us out.

"Ami, what in the Seven Hells are you doing?"

We both turned to see Roslin Frey, accompanied by a young, short, and large girl accompanying her. Relief nevertheless washed over me at the sight of Roslin, not only because it would put an end to Ami's flirtatious games but also because I had been searching for her.

The much larger girl spoke up, her voice fluttering and squeaky. "Ami, Papa wouldn't be happy to see you behaving like this."

Ami, ever quick with her words, replied nonchalantly, "Oh, hush, Walda. Just having a bit of fun. Roger here is a fascinating man."

Hearing the name of the young girl and considering her physical features, a part of me wondered if she wasn’t Fat Walda, the woman that would have married Roose Bolton in both books and show. I shivered as the pictures of her being wife to Roose Bolton and her gruesome fate in the show crossed my mind. What made the thought even worse was the fact she was obviously a young girl while Roose was at least twice her age!

Roslin, more composed than her sister, observed the situation before turning her attention to me. "Roger, what's going on?"

Taking a deep breath, I replied, "Lady Amerei was very enthusiastic to know me, but I wasn't sure how to handle her enthusiasm without wronging her with words. It would have been improper to answer her enthusiasm as it would have been improper to reject her."

Roslin's brow furrowed, a mix of concern and curiosity in her eyes. Ami shot me a triumphant glance, confident that she had succeeded in putting me in an awkward spot. Fat Walda, on the other hand, seemed unimpressed as she huffed, "Well, Mother won't be pleased if you cause trouble, Ami. Let's go. Father's waiting."

Amerei huffed, probably disappointed she couldn’t achieve what she was looking for, but her eyes lingered on mine for a moment longer before she stepped back, a playful smile still on her lips. "Until next time, perhaps."

I didn’t answer, unwilling to give her wrong impressions and wary of making Roslin and Walda think I was falling for her charms. Damn, that was so embarrassing and humiliating!

As Amerei and her sister departed, I let out a sigh of relief. Roslin lingered for a moment, her gaze lingering on me. "Ser Roger, I hope Ami's actions haven't caused you discomfort."

I looked at her with a guilty look on my face. “Your arrival was welcome, my lady. I just wished I knew how to better handle these kinds of situations as it would have spared me the embarrassment.”

Roslin's expression softened, and she gestured for us to walk a bit apart from the others. “It's not your fault, Roger. Ami can be... persistent, to say the least. You're not the first, and unfortunately, you won't be the last.”

My cheeks flushed. "I appreciate your understanding, Lady Roslin. Your presence did provide a timely escape."

She chuckled lightly, "Well, someone has to keep the peace in my home. And please, call me Roslin."

I chuckled back, feeling relieved and more relaxed, though I hesitated a bit to heed her request.

“Alright, Roslin, as you command,” I finally said.

A pleasant silence occurred as we watched each other, uncertain of what to say. A part of me wanted to tell her about her singing skills, but I wasn’t certain it was the right moment as it could be seen as coming out of the blue. Roslin then seemed to ponder for a moment before asking, "Why are you still there, Roger? Shouldn't you be with Lady Arya and her escort back in the Eastern keep?"

A surge of excitement coursed through me as I felt this was my chance to tell her. Taking a deep breath, I looked straight at her eyes and answered, "I wanted to ask your brother to tell you that I found your voice beautiful when you sang during the ceremony or to tell you myself."

Roslin's eyes widened, and a faint blush colored her cheeks. "Oh, um... thank you, Roger. That's kind of you to say."

I couldn't help but smile, sensing a connection growing. "It's the truth, Roslin. Your voice is captivating. I thought it deserved acknowledgement."

She glanced away for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. "Well, I appreciate the compliment. It's not often I hear such kind words."

"Really? That’s so wrong. Your voice is marvelous to hear, and you have a gift in singing," I said.

Roslin looked at me with surprise, her cheeks now adorned with a deeper blush. "You think so? I've always been taught to sing as part of my ladyship, but I never thought..."

"Just because you have been taught to sing doesn’t mean your voice will be inspired by the Gods. Your voice is a gift by birth, your lessons helped to thrive," I replied.

Roslin's eyes widened. She glanced away for a moment, seemingly caught off guard. "Well, I appreciate the compliment. It's not often I hear such kind words."

I kindly smiled at her, "I say what I feel in the best way. And singing is something I love, even if only as a small passion of mine."

Roslin's expression softened, and she seemed genuinely touched. "Thank you, Roger. I appreciate your kind words."

As our eyes met, I couldn't help but feel a connection growing between us. The awkwardness of the earlier encounter seemed to dissipate, replaced by a shared understanding. For some reason, I felt it was like those cliché first romantic encounters in movies. Sensing the opportunity, I decided to take a bold step.

"Would you like to hear one song I know? It is from my homeland. I hope it is not improper of me to ask this of you," I inquired, a hint of anticipation in my voice.

Roslin's eyes sparkled with curiosity, and she nodded, "I would love to hear it, Roger. And don't worry about impropriety. You might be a commoner, but you behave like a noble. You remind me of Olyvar, in fact.”

Amused and a bit surprised to be compared to her brother, I nevertheless felt encouraged. I offered a nod before expressing a hint of concern, "Would the members of your family nearby hear what I would sing? I do not want to create an awkward situation for you after you saved me from embarrassment with Lady Amerei."

Roslin chuckled, "Fear not, Roger. We are far enough from prying ears. Sing freely."

I nodded appreciatively and took a moment to gather my thoughts. One song, short and rather innocent, came to my mind. Clearing my throat, I began singing:

“With a smile and a song

Life is just a bright sunny day

Your cares fade away

And your heart is young

With a smile and a song

All the world seems to waken anew

Rejoicing with you

As the song is sung

There's no use in grumbling

When the raindrops come tumbling

Remember, you're the one

Who can fill the world with sunshine?

When you smile and you sing

Everything is in tune and it's spring

And life flows along

With a smile and a song”

The melody filled the air, and I couldn't help but notice Roslin's eyes softening as she listened. Her fingers absentmindedly traced the delicate pattern on her gown, caught in the enchantment of the moment.

As I finished the song, there was a moment of silence. Roslin's eyes lingered on me, her expression had transformed, her initial surprise replaced by a genuine warmth. A faint smile played on her lips, and her gaze held a newfound appreciation.

"That was beautiful, Roger. Thank you for sharing it with me,” she remarked, her voice soft.

I couldn't hide my own smile, grateful for the positive reception. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, Roslin. Your presence makes the song even more special."

We stood there for a moment, the air filled with a newfound warmth. However, our brief interlude was interrupted by distant voices approaching. It was Frey men, including Roslin's brothers.

Voices of Perwyn and Olyvar carried through the air, wondering where the singing was coming from. My cheeks flushed with surprise. "Oops. I didn't expect someone else to overhear me."

Roslin, aware of the potential complications, nodded with a subtle frown. "Indeed, quite unexpected."

I nodded, realizing the need to rejoin my companions. "I should probably join the others unless Arya decides to check on me. She has a tendency to do that."

Roslin's gaze flickered, remembering Arya's reaction to her watching me earlier. "Yes, that might be wise. We wouldn't want any unnecessary problems."

I turned to leave, but just before I took my leave, I hesitated. "You go first, or I go first?"

Roslin considered for a moment before answering, "I'll go first. It might raise fewer eyebrows."

I nodded in agreement, respecting her decision. "Fair enough."

As I was about to leave to join the courtyard of the eastern keep and then the bridge, I turned to look at her and asked a bit hesitant, "If it is not improper for me, wouldn't you mind if, in the future, I tried to write to you, my lady? As friends, I mean. I wouldn't want anyone to assume anything or to put you in an embarrassing situation or to make you an outcast in your own family. If it is necessary, I can ask your brothers in due time, as I might want to keep contact with them, and that would raise fewer questions on who is writing to you, especially from a commoner like me."

Roslin's eyes widened at the unexpected request. "I... I wouldn't mind, Roger. As friends. Writing to my brothers would indeed be a good way to maintain contact without raising unnecessary questions. Thank you for considering my situation."

A sense of relief washed over me. "You're most welcome, Roslin. I may be a commoner, but I have a high respect for integrity, especially of a fair maiden like you.”

I could see a blush creeping up Roslin's cheeks, and her gaze softened even further. "Your words are kind, Roger. I appreciate your respect and understanding. But do exercise caution. My father and many in my family wouldn’t appreciate what you are suggesting to me."

I nodded, understanding the delicate nature of our potential correspondence. I was also aware of the ironic foresight I had on her family because of my knowledge, meaning I could imagine easily how the situation could go wrong. If Walder Frey was to hear one of his youngest daughters was interacting with me, he wouldn’t take well and might ask for reparations.

"I shall be discreet, my lady. Fare you well."

As I bent down to kiss her hand softly, Roslin's reaction was a blend of gratitude and a hint of a smile.

"Fare you well, Roger."

The moment lingered briefly before we parted ways, each taking our separate routes to ensure a discreet return to the company. Cautiously, I observed my surroundings before moving across the courtyard to join the bridge and the other keep. I felt so overwhelmed with so many emotions. The solemnity of the funerals, the uneasiness and embarrassment of handling Amerei, the pleasant interaction with Roslin.

A part of me couldn’t help but feel stunned by my boldness in asking her the possibility of writing to her. Fortunatey, interacting first with her brothers in the days to come would make things easier and would help me to determine what kind of messages I would write to her. I knew it couldn’t be by direct means as otherwise, there would be so many issues for both her and me, not to mention the dreary perspective of making the biggest family in the whole Seven Kingdoms a potential enemy of mine. I already had the Lannisters, it wasn’t the moment to reproduce a Stark cliché move.

Perhaps it was the fact the gentleness and soft personality of Roslin was as endearing to me as was Arya’s fiery temper. And to some extent, a person like Roslin was someone I would feel at ease. I knew it would only be friendship, mainly because “Friendship rather than love”, but also because it was common sense. It was already a daring thing for me to ask of a highborn like her to be her friend, but considering she was a highborn woman and I a foreign commoner man, there were far too much hurdles to make even friendship acceptable for people trapped in a status quo mindset for hundreds of years, not to mention the confined atmosphere of the Twins. While I didn’t feel well to let such a kind soul like her in such a place, I knew it would be more than foolish to play knights in shining armor. The last thing I wanted was to become a pathetic and poor parody of the Silver Moron. Besides, my priority was to join Winterfell and to help the North and the Starks. Silently, I prayed to God to watch over Roslin and her kin who wanted to be free of such a dreary place.

A.N.:

1. And here we go! The funeral passage for this mini Frey-arc. The longest chapter I have created for the time being (though, hopefully, it wouldn't be a recurring record to break). A chapter that like some others, has been recently created and included in a preexisting tale in the making. However, this one like the next one have the advantage not to create conundrums in the consistency of the chapters that have already been created.
2. It is one of those chapters where I thoroughly discussed in a meticulous and vigilant manner the frame and content to with my beta reader to be certain the idea doesn't jump the shark or create a situation I felt would be inconsistent, over-the-top or blockbuster-like situation (in the sense that the spectacular and the action supplant the story instead of serving it), allowing (hopefully) to find a reasonable approach to the idea. Just because an idea is endearing or fun doesn't mean it can work in the story if there is no reflection on how and why it should be present.
3. Emmon's funerals occupy only a part of this chapter, partly because while a far more official and formal situation than the burials of "A Buried Reprieve" chapter, it could have been redundant to depict the ceremony, though it serves to depict the atmosphere, the song and of course background information.
4. More than the funeral themselves, this chapter was the opportunity to encounter other Frey, including Black Walder as he would be a journey companion. Imagining those encounters were fun as it gave depth on the different characters, not to mention the SI's own thoughts and interactions with those characters, not to mention how those characters regard him or his bond with Arya. The interactions with Rhaegar Frey were to some extent fun to imagine, mainly because his name was a reminder of another key character. And as you would have noticed by the end of this chapter, the SI (I) does not bear Rhaegar Targaryen in his heart and that will be something that will be tackled in other chapters, notably on political comments.
5. I take profit of this chapter to add that this story has zero intent to bash any character, but that the SI (I) is as anyone biased due to his perspective and would not mince his words on certain characters' actions. The way I see it is that if the negative perspective on someone of the story is from a character's perspective, it is a "normal" thing as it shows the biases of a character on another, but if the general narration tend to depict in a bad light a character and to belittle it, then it is bashing. To use a common example in the fanfic realm, a character badmouthing on Dumbledore is not the same thing as the story tending to depict Dumbledore as a "cunning bastard" or even worse.
6. Imagining the passage with Amerei was to some extent gleeful, perhaps because I tend to be a bit sadistic with my characters, including myself (though, that may be because I tend to be far more demanding of myself). The idea was from my beta reader and I found it interesting enough to develop it, notably due to the SI's personal preferences and demeanour and the depictions on Amerei's tastes. And I found interesting to tackle a situation where a male character is not immediately going on high because a female character is showing interest to him or because he is finding a female character attrative (the famous cliche quote of "thinking with your c***k). In short, being the total opposite side to Theon/Robert/Tyrion/... and of course the social issue of such situations as a smallfolk refusing a lady could be problematic (Joseph's story in the Book of Genesis came to my mind when depicting the scene as Joseph refused the advances of the steward's wife, resulting in him being thrown into prison because the woman accused him of attempting what she did to him).
7. The interactions with Roslin were interesting to imagine. While she is one of the key maidens for the House Frey, a middle ground situation was decided for the chapter, especially as her initial introduction can be "justified" with the presence of her brothers. In fact, the two interactions can work in the sense they are "coincidence" (even with the SI's intent in the second case). It allows to depict the SI's romantic side (in the sense of a Disney princess or a Jane Austen maiden character like Eleanor from "Sense and Sensibility") and his lucidity on the situation, even if he doesn't let it cutting himself off any interaction. You can have your personal interpretations on how those interaction could result in or not. And on Roslin's side, she is a lady but considering the environment in which she had been raised and what I have read on her, notably the takes that have been made on her motives in other fanfictions, (cautious) curiosity would be something she would have as the SI doesn't embody anything specific as he is neither really smallfolk nor highborn.
8. Teaser: next time, Marc and his companions attend the feast that will conclude their presence in the Twins...
9. Have a good reading !

Chapter Text

As I waited in the room the Freys had given me, I decided to pass the time by warming up. All while making sure I did not put too much pressure on my wounded leg. The wait was a bit boring, even though I knew this would be the last night I would be in this horrible place. I stopped myself from singing to stop my boredom as I was aware the Frey would take me for a lunatic or a fool. Westeros was no Disney movie. I was also walking the halls where the Red Wedding would have occurred, which was having me on edge at times.

Taking out my war hammer, I started swinging. All while wishing I had gone to speak to Harwin, his men, Tom, ser Creighton, ser Illifer, ser Perwyn, Olyvar, Arya or Roslin. I felt my heart beat faster at the thought of my dear friend and of the young Frey lady.

But I wanted some time on my own, even more as I had heard servants speaking of a feast that Walder Frey would be holding tonight to celebrate the soon to be departure of my companions for Winterfell. Though, the feast was also likely to honour the memory of ser Emmon, though the fact we were to leave tomorrow might be the reason why it was presented that way.

Thinking of the incoming feast, I felt torn apart. As much as I was curious to see how a Westerosi feast would go, it was held in a place that brought nasty images to my mind. Talisa being stabbed, Robb being shot before the final blow by Roose Bolton…

The images of the Red Wedding were flashing in my mind as I thought of the incoming feast. I knew it was foolish to linger on it as this awful event wouldn’t likely occur, but knowing whom I was feasting with…

I wasn’t certain to attend it, but the thought of leaving Arya on her own in a place she hated… especially if it was with Lord Walder Frey. And as a friend, I couldn’t leave her on her own. Sure, Harwin would be there but I was not ditching her.

The knock at the door resonated through the guest room, disrupting my contemplation. I put my hammer on the bed and turned around, adjusting the makeshift bandage on my healing thigh. Quickly I called out, "Enter."

The door creaked open, revealing a young servant who cautiously stepped into the room. He had an expression of boredom on his face. I acknowledged his presence with a nod, prompting him to share his news.

"The feast is about to begin, Ser Roger," the servant informed me, though a bit uncertain on how to speak to me.

I nodded to his words, but stopped myself from telling him not to call me ser. It was a nit-picking detail in the instant, especially as I thought of my companions.

"Have Lady Arya and her escort already left for the feast?" I inquired.

The servant's eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by my inquiry. He seemed to hesitate, but responded nevertheless.

"They have. The festivities are about to begin."

"Thank you," I said, acknowledging the information. "You may go."

The servant hesitated, as if unsure whether to offer some assistance. "Do you need help finding your way to the main hall, Ser?"

I offered a reassuring smile. "No need. I'll manage. Enjoy the feast."

The man nodded, appreciating the dismissal, and left the room. As the door closed, I steadied myself, taking a deep breath to alleviate the apprehension that had settled over me. I left the room, closing the door behind me. Moving through the corridors, I descended the stairs of the keep, encountering various servants and maids along the way.

"Greetings," I said, offering a polite nod to the household staff. I continued toward the main corridor, where the atmosphere changed as Frey men and other servants eyed me with glances that I chose to ignore. I knew I was a curiosity and those who had interacted with me must have discussed me with their kin.

I felt some dread when thinking of Amerei, considering her flirting yesterday. Would ser Merrett confront me as Amerei was his daughter or would he consider that I wasn’t responsible for his daughter’s… looseness? It wasn’t only ser Merrett I was concerned about, there was also the old lord, considering the number of people he might have interacted with or the rumours he had heard. And if he heard anything about my interactions with Arya, notably from Black Walder or Rhaegar… I couldn’t imagine what would cross his mind, especially for an old petty lecher like him. I took a deep breath to chase away the worry that was plaguing me. Hoping for the best, but preparing for the worst tonight.

As I rounded a corner to join the main corridor, a scene unfolded before me. Joyeuse Errenford and Black Walder Frey stood in close proximity, and it was evident that the latter was making unwelcome advances. A part of me suspected Lord Walder Frey to have tasked his great-grandson to accompany Arya and our escort due to suspicions about Black Walder's intentions towards his recent wife. Especially as I remembered the rumours tied to the affairs the man had with some of his great-grandfather’s wives or that some of Walder’s children might have been fathered by his great-grandson.

Trying to look casual, I approached them with a polite nod. "Lady Frey, Ser Walder," I greeted.

Joyeuse's reaction to my arrival was a mix of surprise and relief, perhaps grateful for a distraction from her uncomfortable situation. She quickly moved away from Black Walder, clearly relieved for the interruption. Looking into her eyes, I was reminded of the helpless look her TV counterpart had, when Catelyn Stark had a knife to her throat. It was worse here because this was an actual 15-year-old girl instead of a 23-year-old actress playing a younger role. Though perhaps more 17 if all characters were two years older than their book counterparts, which I couldn’t be certain.

Black Walder, on the other hand, shifted his gaze from the young woman to me, a look of annoyance on his face, obviously irritated by the interruption and even more with my presence. Was he so bold that he would have tried to satisfy himself with Joyeuse in the hall?

"What are you doing here?" he demanded, his tone sharp and accusatory, clearly irritated at having his advances interrupted. Not that I would have allowed him to abuse the young wife of Lord Walder.

"I was joining the feast your great-grandfather is holding for the incoming departure of Lady Arya's escort," I replied with a firm voice. "Considering that I am part of the group, as you will be, it is proper for me to attend it."

His reaction was swift. "Decided to grace us with your presence, have you?" he commented, his eyes narrowing. "And addressing Lady Arya with such titles, when she isn't even by your side. Quite rude for a foreign commoner to be proper to a lady who isn’t around.”

I held my ground, not allowing his tone to unnerve me. "I speak of Lady Arya in the way that fits the situation, Ser Walder," I answered.

Joyeuse observed our exchange, her eyes flickering between us. Black Walder, undeterred, retorted, "It's not about circumstance, it's about respect. Something you, as a foreign commoner, might struggle to understand with how you interact with lady Stark. A foreign commoner and a Stark." His words carried a mocking tone, and I sensed a veiled threat. As well as once again trying to imply something inappropriate between me and the young Stark heiress.

I held my ground, my concern growing as the situation seemed to teeter on the edge. "Instead of seeking the straw that is in my eye, you should try to look for the shaft that is in your own, ser," I countered, my words laced with a hint of disdain.

Joyeuse's eyes widened at my response, and Black Walder's face darkened with anger, his eyes narrowing further. The tension in the air was growing as the three of us stood there. I braced myself for whatever might come next, hoping that the delicate balance wouldn't tip into chaos.

“You dare to speak to me like that?" Black Walder seethed, his voice dripping with venom. "You, an outsider, a mere commoner?"

I tried to maintain my composure, refusing to back down. "Respect is earned through actions, not inherited through bloodlines, ser Walder."

Black Walder's eyes flickered with a mix of anger and indignation. He took a step forward, closing the distance between us.

"Outsider or not, you would do well to learn your place," he sneered, his hand inching towards the hilt of his sword. The atmosphere grew heavier. I found myself wishing I’d brought my hammer with me. Black Walder was throwing Guest Rights out the window, but this was one of the nastiest Freys I was talking to. I started to bring my hands up for a fight.

For a moment, my mind flashed back to Christoph Dettinger, a boxer who was filmed punching police officers in riot gear during the Yellow Vests Protests. But it was unlikely my fists could do much against whatever armour Black Walder had padding his body.

But before a fight could break out, we heard the voice of Lothar Frey calling out to us. We turned around to see Lothar approaching, his calculating eyes surveying the scene.

"What's going on here?" he inquired, his eyes shifting between Black Walder and me.

Black Walder scowled, "This foreigner decided to meddle in Frey affairs. Thinks his status allows him to show disrespect."

Lothar looked at me, and with a raised eyebrow, he addressed me directly. "Is that true?"

Lowering my fists, I took a deep breath, focusing on answering carefully and truthfully. "With all due respect, my lord, I was joining the feast your lord father is holding for Lady Arya and her escort, of which I am a part. I happened to stumble upon Ser Walder, who was discussing with your stepmother. He was displeased that I interrupted their conversation, and that's why we were quarreling."

Lothar's gaze shifted to Joyeuse. "And what is your account of the situation, my lady?"

Joyeuse took a moment to compose herself before speaking. "My lord, ser Roger merely stumbled upon our conversation, and I welcomed the interruption as Ser Walder was making unwelcome advances."

I almost heard Black Walder muttering, “Not a knight.”

Internally I agreed with him in spite of myself, but remained silent as the time wasn’t right to make corrections. I observed Lothar's expression hardening as he turned his attention back to Black Walder. "Is this true?"

Black Walder scowled, clearly unhappy with Joyeuse's revelation. "She's exaggerating. We were just having a private conversation."

Lothar silenced him with a stern look. "Enough. We will discuss this later. Right now, we have a feast to attend, and Father is waiting."

He turned to Joyeuse. "Thank you for sharing your perspective, Lady Frey. My father is awaiting you in the hall."

Joyeuse nodded in acknowledgment, a subtle relief visible on her face. "I'll go to him immediately, my lord," she replied before turning to me with a grateful smile. "Thank you, ser."

I nodded in a respectful manner to the young woman. As Joyeuse left, Lothar then shifted his gaze back to Black Walder, a stern expression on his face. "Ser Walder, remember that Lord Walder has extended his hospitality to all members of Lady Arya's escort, including our foreign guest here. I suggest you join the feast and put this matter to rest."

Black Walder scowled but ultimately obeyed, turning on his heel and leaving in the direction of the feast. Lothar watched him go before turning his eyes back to me.

Lothar looked at me. "You've been lucky this time. You can thank the Seven you’re a guest of my father, otherwise you would have to deal with dire consequences."

I couldn't help but agree to his words, even if agreeing with him was peculiar. Being on my own with the man who would be one of the masterminds of the Red Wedding in the books and possibly in the show was unnerving.

Noticing Lothar’s continuing glance on me, I asked as steady as I could, “Is there anything else, my lord?”

I restrained myself to comment on the fact we both needed to join the main hall as I doubted he would have appreciated those words.

Lothar's calculating eyes lingered on me for a moment before he spoke. "I would like to have a word with you, Roger."

Wary and uncertain, my mind raced as I once again considered his role in the notorious Red Wedding. "What do you mean, my lord? As the steward of the Crossing, you could have summoned me anytime in the last three days."

Lothar's expression remained composed, and he nodded slightly. "Aye, it’s true. Yet as a steward, I bear responsibilities of greater importance than tending to the affairs of a lowborn such as yourself.”

I acquiesced briskly, agreeing with his reasoning even if the cultural biases he displayed made me cringed. He then looked at me with a calculating eye that made me shiver.

“But are you merely a lowborn? Gossip swirls 'bout you in recent days, and your demeanour and conduct do not befit that of a mere peasant. Furthermore, the fact that my stepmother and others address you as "ser" does raise the question of your true station in life, does it not?”

I nodded to his words, though it felt weird from the fact that other people believed me to be a knight. How could such confusion have occurred? Even considering that the blacksmith was the one that assumed I was a knight because of ser Illifer and ser Creighton’s presence, I doubted his sole word would have been enough.

“I’ve noticed that fact when speaking to people of your household and even some of your kins, my lord. And I admit my manners and the way I speak are not usual for people of the smallfolk, even for foreigners. But in regards to your realms traditions and laws, I am no knight. My homeland does have knights however and I know my mother’s side used to be well-off.”

I disliked lying or exaggerating in such a blatant manner, but even a calculating man like Lothar might not believe that a well-educated commoner can exist, considering that the sole place of advanced knowledge in Westeros is the Citadel. But allowing suggestive truth could be useful, especially to confuse the people around me on who I am and my intentions.

Lothar's calculating eyes lingered on me for a moment before he spoke. "Interesting. It's not every day that we encounter a foreigner with such refined manners and a tangled web of stories.

Lothar's gaze remained fixed on me, his lips curling into a faint smile and his eyes still calculating.

"Your words intrigue me, Roger. A well-educated commoner from a foreign land, you say? That is quite the tale. That makes your presence in the service of the Starks even more impressive in regards to your… unique circumstances."

I offered a nod while watching him with vigilance. "Circumstances and opportunities can open gates that generally remain closed or narrowly opened, my lord."

Lothar raised an eyebrow, his curiosity evident. "Indeed. But let's get to the heart of the matter. We've recently heard intriguing tales from Darry Castle about a peasant challenging the royal family and winning against the heir to the Iron Throne. A bold move, I must say."

I acquiesced to his words. "And since Lady Arya arrived in your father’s keep, and the fact I am obviously a foreigner, you and likely others had guessed I must be this commoner?"

Lothar's lips curved into a faint smile. "You catch on quickly. So, Roger, are you that man?"

I met his gaze squarely. "I am this man. But what do you want to know? You’ve heard the story, and I can imagine it is a wild one considering it is not very usual to see someone from the smallfolk challenging a member of the royal family that’s a member of the Lannister Household. Especially one that succeeds in that endeavour and leaves unscathed."

Lothar's curiosity deepened, and he asked a crucial question, "What drove you to challenge Prince Joffrey?"

Taking a moment to gather my thoughts, I responded, "I did what was right, my lord. Lady Arya was accused of wrongdoing in an incident and the way her tale and the prince’s story clashed with each other too strongly let me know there was something wrong. She was on her own against someone whose position allowed him to stand over her and crush her even when he was in the wrong. I couldn’t let this injustice occur, even more as I believe that lords and knights have a duty and are therefore accountable for their actions."

Lothar listened intently, his gaze unwavering. "A sense of justice, then," he mused. "A noble cause indeed, but a dangerous one to undertake. Challenging the prince and his family is no small feat, especially for someone of common birth."

I nodded, acknowledging the risks involved. "I was aware of the dangers, my lord, but I couldn't stand by and watch a child suffer. Lady Arya deserved a fair trial, and I believed it was the right thing to do. Prince Joffrey had accused her and her now dead friend of beating him with sticks!"

Lothar's calculating eyes bore into mine as he processed my response. "Idealism in the face of danger. Admirable, but how did you manage to succeed against such odds? The prince and his family are not known for their willingness to yield."

I paused, considering how much I should reveal, while finding it a bit ironic, considering his own family’s reputation.

"Element of surprise, logic, and facts," I finally replied. "I intervened when it was obvious everyone would assume in one way or another that the prince’s tale was true. My intervention and the fact I introduced myself as a foreign commoner were a total surprise and a curiosity for the people present in the hall. The king agreed to listen to me, probably because he was intrigued and amused."

Lothar's eyes sparkled with interest. "Go on."

"I compared both tales, emphasizing the holes and inconsistencies in the prince’s story and the implications of his actions regarding Lady Arya’s tale. But because I knew my words alone would not be enough, I asked the king to allow truthful and honourable men to check the prince’s body for wounds. It would prove if he bore the injuries he claimed. There were no cuts, bruises or any other marks. And that settled the issue, proving Lady Arya’s innocence."

Lothar nodded, absorbing the details. "Not an easy feat. And after that, what did you do?"

"I was about to take my leave for my safety, but lady Arya convinced me to ask for her father’s protection. I accepted, and that’s why I am riding with her back to Winterfell," I explained, remembering with some fondness my real first interaction with Arya.

Lothar leaned back, contemplating my story. "An intriguing turn of events indeed. You've displayed quite a bit of courage and resourcefulness in your actions, Roger. And I suspect there's much more beneath the surface.”

I didn’t answer, feeling that the man was far too observant to deny or confirm his word, even though staying silent would be interpreted as confirmation. Lothar and I locked eyes, and I could sense the wheels turning in his head as he continued to dissect the enigma I was for him.

Finally, I broke the silence. "Is there anything else you want to know?" I asked.

Lothar's expression softened, and a subtle smile played on his lips. "For now, I believe I've satisfied my curiosity, Roger. Let us join for the feast."

Relief washed over me, though a lingering concern remained. How would Lothar use whatever he had learned from me, especially in relation to his father? The intricacies of the Frey family were a tangled web, and I couldn't help but feel like a pawn in their game.

Crossing through the main corridor, we approached the doors of the hall where other of Lothar’s kin were moving inside. A part of me was relieved to the fact the feast had not begun yet or at least that I would not be so late to attend it. But I was also wary, aware of how Walder Frey was picky and proud and would not hesitate to single me out due to my status.

The guards let us pass, and I went from a quiet hall into a loud room. The aroma of roasted meats and spiced wine filled the air as people were seated along the long tables, revelling in the festivities.

I scanned the hall, searching for familiar faces. Arya, Harwin, and the others must be here somewhere. I moved slowly, checking the tables, my eyes catching glances from curious onlookers. Many of the people were similar and yet distinct and unfamiliar. The dubious cliché “they’re all alike” came to my mind when surveying the Frey that were seated.

As I slowly walked within the hall, glances followed me, including those from the main table where Walder Frey sat. I met the old lord's gaze briefly, sensing his disapproval. I couldn't help but notice Joyeuse Erenford’s presence by his side, her eyes assessing me with a mixture of curiosity and something else akin to gratefulness, but I couldn’t be so sure.

As I made my way through the hall, a familiar face approached. Perwyn Frey walked towards me. A part of me was elated as I was aware he was now part of Arya’s escort. I greeted him with a nod, “Ser Perwyn.”

He responded with a faint smile.

"Roger, good to see you made it," he said, his voice friendly. "Lady Arya and your companions are at the table by the dais. Follow me; I'll take you there."

As he guided me toward the table where Arya and our companions were seated, the feeling of Walder Frey's disapproval lingered in the air. I forced myself not to look at him or to react in any manner as I didn’t want to attract further attention or give a reason for the man or one of his kin to harass me. As we approached three tables that were near the middle of the hall, Perwyn gestured toward them, "There they are, Roger."

I nodded and approached the area, my eyes scanning the different tables, taking in the familiar and unfamiliar faces. At a close table on the right, I noticed Black Walder sitting nearby Harwin and his men. Olyvar was facing them. One a pale, slender man, with a constipated look, was seated on the opposite side of the table near Jallard and was looking with a hateful glare Black Walder, while a younger man with pimples was facing the slender man. I couldn’t help but wonder who the man glaring at Black Walder was, reminding me of something I had read both in the books and fandom. Finally, a portly man of great appetites with a broad and fleshy face was standing at the center of the table, facing Harwin.

Black Walder's eyes suddenly met mine and turned into a bitter glare. His move caused the other men to turn around and look at me. Harwin, Olyvar, Jallard, Tor, and Derren at the table saluted me, easing some of the tension. I did the same back to them with a smile. The three other Freys looked at me with curiosity, condescension or indifference. The slender man was giving a cold smile as he sent back a glance on Black Walder who was scoffing and looking at me with bitterness. There was obviously some feud between these two men. So many Frey’s to try and remember. It was possible that the slender man might be Walder’s eldest brother, Edwyn. His eyes didn’t give me better vibes than Black Walder.

Looking around I spotted at a table on the left Amerei and her husband Pate of the Blue Fork, sitting with Tom, Ser Illifer, and Ser Creighton. As much as I wanted to greet them, I was wary of interacting with Amerei again. The last thing I needed was her flirtatious behaviour. Something told me the presence of her husband would not deter her. I averted my gaze, not wanting to attract her attention, and preferred to look at the table that Perwyn had indicated to me.

I found Arya, fidgeting and looking bored. She was surrounded by children and ladies around her age or a bit older. Among them, I recognized Little Walder, Fat Walda and Roslin who were seated by Arya’s side. I also noticed a hooded maiden, wondering why she was hiding her face. The other teens or children were not known to me, even though one of the young women was quite nubile.

Emotions welled up as I observed Arya. I was glad to be here in spite of my reservations. Seeing her bored, fidgeting and glaring at the people around her also reminded me of the fact I needed Roslin's presence to catch her attention, and I couldn't help but remember our conversation after Emmon’s funeral. I was wondering if asking her if she agreed to me sending her messages in the future had been a good idea. A part of me wondered if the presence of the young boys nearby Arya wasn’t a subtle way of Walder Frey to test the waters with Arya. I inwardly scoffed, considering the way Arya was acting in the books and show at this age, not to mention how her previous interaction with Little Walder went.

I was reflecting upon where to sit. I wasn’t eager to be at the same table as Black Walder or to be near Amerei. But while sitting with Arya was tempting, it would not be proper. And if I tried to help her deal with her boredom in the same way she did in the books during the feast of Winterfell, it would mean big issues with the Freys as her actions might be regarded as a slight.

Perwyn, noticing my hesitation, asked, "What are you doing, Roger?"

Turning my glance towards the Frey knight, I replied, “I do not know where to sit, ser Perwyn. I want to keep company with lady Arya as I know her enough to see she is bored and possibly ready for mischief, but I know that would be improper. I am not very eager to sit near ser Walder as we just had a new disagreement and dealing with his mood is the last thing needed now.”

I hesitated to go on as talking about Amerei’s flirtations towards me curiosity on me would be a bit problematic to mention. Plus, it was something one would not talk about at a feast. A part of me berated me for not doing it as it would influence Perwyn but factually speaking, the table of ser Illifer and ser Creigton was ironically the less problematic on both protocol and personal levels.

Perwyn listened attentively to my concerns, his brow furrowing slightly. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke in a low voice, "I understand your dilemma, Roger. Given the circumstances, perhaps it would be best for you to sit at a neutral table where you can engage in conversation without there being any undue tension, especially with my father."

He gestured towards the table where Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton were seated with Amerei and her husband. "That table seems to offer a more congenial atmosphere. You can interact with familiar faces and avoid any potential misunderstandings."

Perwyn's suggestion seemed reasonable, and I nodded in agreement, even with my reluctance due to Amerei’s presence.

“Thank you for your advice, ser Perwyn. I would like a little service from you.”

The young knight frowned a bit with intrigue, but acquiesced. “What kind of service?”

“Can you relay a message for your sister, Lady Roslin? Tell her… Tell her to keep an eye on Arya to prevent her from doing something that could irate your father. Tell her not to engage Arya in lady’s discussions, she doesn’t like them at all. It would be wise if the conversation is about some of Arya’s interests, like horse riding or the North. If Arya wishes to discuss what I had shared with her since our departure from Darry Castle, I have no objection.”

Perwyn nodded thoughtfully. “I understand, Roger. I'll convey your message to Roslin. She's already become quite attentive to Arya's moods.”

I nodded approvingly and glad that Roslin had already noticed in her few interactions how Arya was behaving. A part of me was however wondering if her situation didn’t contribute to this careful attention as she was in interaction with such a diversity of characters in such a confined place.

Perwyn's curiosity then got the better of him, and he asked, "How do you know so much about Lady Arya's interests and preferences?"

I chuckled. "When you spend a fortnight interacting with her, you get a sense of what she enjoys. Not everyone follows the conventional standards of noble conversations. I suppose I'm just an unconventional companion."

Perwyn gave a wry smile, acknowledging my response. "Fair enough. Well, I'll see to it right away. You go ahead and join your companions. I'll make sure the message reaches Roslin."

With a nod of gratitude, I made my way toward the table where Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton were seated. As I approached, Tom noticed my arrival.

"Hark, goodly Roger! Pray tell, how fares the eve for thee?"

"Hello, Tom. The evening is unfolding as it should. How about for you and our friends here?" I greeted, acknowledging the others at the table.

Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton turned towards me, offering nods of acknowledgment. Pate of the Blue Fork, who hadn't met me before, turned his gaze towards me.

"Good evening, ser," I greeted Pate.

"Evening, Roger. I've heard about you traveling with the Stark party, aren't you?" Pate responded.

"Yes, that's right," I replied, maintaining a friendly tone.

As I settled into the conversation, I couldn't help but feel Amerei's eyes on me. I stopped myself from visibly shuddering. With a polite nod, I greeted her, "Greetings, my lady."

She answered me with a playful smile displaying a subtle smirk and a hint of something more, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. It seemed that she might still have an interest in me which made me nervous, even more now that I would be near her during the feast. A part of me could only hope that the presence of her husband would have her act like a more proper lady of Westeros. “Act” being the key word….

She seized the opportunity to show me the seat by her side, a sultry smile playing on her lips as she gestured to the empty space.

"Why don't you join me, Ser Roger? We didn’t finish our discussion. I’ve found it quite... intriguing and interesting," she said with a gesture and a smile that carried a mix of friendliness and something more suggestive.

I took a deep breath, not really wanting to be near her but also not eager to create an incident. I was also baffled by her audacity with her husband nearby. Either he didn’t notice or worse, he didn’t care. I couldn’t be certain, considering he was only mentioned in the books and nothing more. It felt like a sketch comedy of a horny wife and her oblivious husband.

"You honour me with your request, my lady," I finally answered, choosing my words carefully, "but I couldn't accept it unless your husband sees no inconvenience with my presence."

I glanced at Ser Pate, seeking his opinion on the matter. His expression showed a mix of curiosity and mild approval. And something else. Something that reminded me or Perdo Pascal’s performance as Prince Oberyn Martell.

Meanwhile, Amerei's eyes lingered on me, her playful smile turning into a more determined one. I couldn’t help but wonder if she wouldn’t use her skills to persuade her husband.

Tom, noticing the exchange, chimed in with a friendly gesture. "Come on, Roger, my man! Why tarriest thou yonder akin to a lonesome weirwood? Thou hast not graced our presence to abide there."

Ser Illifer and Ser Creighton also showed signs of welcoming my presence. Pate, after a brief exchange of glances with Tom and the others, nodded. "No inconvenience at all, Roger. You're welcome to join us. Take a seat."

I slowly took the seat by the right side of Amerei. As I took the seat, I subtly glanced at Arya’s table, ensuring she was comfortable and enjoying the feast. I noticed Roslin trying to entertain her, meaning her brother had delivered my message. I hoped it would be enough or that Arya wouldn’t take offense that I hadn't joined her table, otherwise I could imagine how everything could go wrong. As I settled, Pate resumed his conversation with his cousin, ser Illifer and ser Creighton. I tried to hear what they were saying, but that meant looking in the face of Amerei and I wasn’t eager to interact with her. A part of me wondered what were the chances to be once again in her vicinity in one day. It was as if someone was playing a prank on me. I dismissed the thought while observing around me while sensing Amerei’s gaze on me.

My own eyes stopped on the high table and I couldn’t help but glare at Walder Frey. He looked like a creepy mommy ogling everyone. Occasionally he would show a lecherous grin when he glanced at certain directions which made me sick and disgusted. Thank God I did not worship deities as the Seven and others of this world, because I would call them bastards. For them to let such a man grow so old he could become a horny zombie without problem, unless there was some kind of Loki figure in this reality.

I suddenly heard Amerei calling me out, distracting me from my thoughts. "Ser Roger," her voice purred, cutting through the ambient noise of the feast.

I turned to her, ready for trouble. "Yes, my lady?" I responded with a polite nod.

Amerei, with a teasing smile, commented on my demeanour. "Ser Roger, you seem rather lost in thought. Is the feast not to your liking, or are your musings on something more interesting?"

"I was just reflecting on the lively atmosphere of the feast, my lady," I replied, choosing my words carefully. "It's quite different from what I'm accustomed to, but that's part of the experience, isn't it?"

Amerei's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Indeed, Ser Roger. The Twins have a unique way of celebrating. You'll find that our feasts are filled with surprises and, at times, hidden delights."

"I'll keep that in mind, my lady," I said, trying to keep the conversation light.

"I noticed you inspecting your goblet," Amerei continued, her gaze lingering on the cup in my hand. "Are you not planning to partake in the merriment? The wine and ale are flowing freely tonight."

"I do not know if I want to drink anything, my lady," I finally answered, maintaining a neutral tone.

Amerei's reaction was swift, a mix of surprise and curiosity. "Oh? Not a fan of the drinks we offer, Ser Roger?"

"I am not very fond of ale or of any alcohol," I admitted, keeping my response honest. "It’s generally too strong for my taste."

Amerei's eyes narrowed slightly, and a playful smile danced on her lips. "Well, you're in luck, Ser Roger. There's a variety of drinks available. I could have a servant fetch you something more to your liking. What do you say?"

I hesitated for a moment, not wanting to trouble anyone for my preferences. "Well, unless there is another drink served for this feast that could be drunk with a lesser flavor, I will be content with tiny sips of this cup."

Amerei, undeterred, signalled a passing servant. "Garret! Bring us some mead, please."

The servant, obedient to her command, scurried off to fulfill the request. I looked at Amerei, slightly taken aback. "It’s so kind of you, my lady, but you didn’t need to do it."

She responded with a playful smile. "Nonsense, Ser Roger. We're here to enjoy the feast together. A man should have a drink to his liking."

I felt a mix of gratitude and discomfort. Was she trying to get me drunk? "Well, thank you, my lady. But please, I am not ser. I thought you knew I am a commoner."

Amerei's face was a blend of amusement and something more. "Oh, I know, Roger. But tonight, let's indulge in a bit of formality. It adds to the excitement, don't you think?"

I couldn't help but chuckle softly. "If you insist, my lady. I appreciate the gesture, though."

As the servant returned with a filled goblet of mead, Amerei's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Here you go, Roger. A drink more suited to your taste. Enjoy."

I raised the goblet in thanks, taking a sip. The mead, with its sweeter notes, was a welcome change from the strong ales and wines. Amerei Looked at me with a satisfied smile.

"It’s quite delightful, my lady. You have a good taste in choosing drinks," I remarked, trying to be courteous. Though I had to wonder if she knew her alcohol in order to get many would-be lovers drunk.

Amerei leaned in, her tone teasing. "I have many talents, Ser Roger. Some hidden, some not so much."

“A certain three groomsmen would agree,” I thought to myself. I let out a nervous chuckle. "I'm sure you do, my lady."

I quickly took a new sip of the mead, feeling the warmth spread through me. Sensing the need to break the silence, I turned to Amerei, "Is there anything else you want, my lady?"

Amerei's eyes held a glint of intrigue, and she flashed a playful smile. "Actually, Roger, there is something I desire."

“Please don’t let her say what I know she's going to say!” went through my mind. "What might that be, my lady?"

"I want to hear a tale from you," she declared, her expression expectant.

“Whew!” A pause followed as I considered her request. I couldn't deny the peculiar allure of storytelling in such a setting. I took another sip of mead, gathering my thoughts.

"Well, my lady, let me think," I said, trying to recall a tale that might interest her. After a moment, I settled on one. "Allow me to share with you the story of Marie Walewska."

Amerei's eyes lit up with curiosity. "Marie Walewska? Pray, do tell."

I leaned back in my chair, setting my mead aside, and began to weave the tale of Marie Walewska.

“Marie Walewska was a young noblewoman whose land had been torn apart by their neighbours during her youth. She was married to a man who was three to four times her age when her part in the great story began. When she was around twenty, a powerful man that would be both revered and hated named Napoleon, rode in her land, fighting a war against one of his enemies and one of those who took part of her land. The period was also a moment of strife and chaos, notably when one man named Napoleon rose, becoming a formidable leader and commander both revered and hated. When she was around her twenties, Marie first encountered Napoleon as he had joined the former capital of her land, Warsaw. Her striking beauty caught his attention and he desired to meet her again, though she first refused. But because Napoleon was now a hope for her countrymen to see their country to rise again, she was pushed by everyone, including her own husband, to see him again and even more.

As they finally encountered again, Napoleon and Marie embarked on a passionate love in spite of the fact the emperor was married to a woman named Josephine for whom he had great affection while Marie was also doing her duty to advocate the interest of her countrymen to see their land restored. Their love resulted in a son that would be named Alexander and would be acknowledged by Marie’s husband as his own. But as with many great love stories, challenges arose. Napoleon's political ambitions and the pressures of his empire took precedence over his affection for Marie. He was forced to make difficult decisions, and their relationship came to an end. In the meantime, her old husband died of age, making her a widow and allowing her independence.

However, Marie's loyalty to Napoleon remained unwavering. Even after his first exile, she visited him with their son, Alexandre, showing her commitment and enduring love. And when Napoleon faced his final exile, Marie remarried to a distant cousin of her love, and they had another child. Tragically, Marie died at a young age due to childbirth complications.

Marie Walewska's story is a testament to the strength of love and the sacrifices made in the pursuit of it. She risked her reputation, her standing in society, and even her own happiness for the love she had for Napoleon and her country.

Her legacy lives on, not only as a woman who loved deeply but also as someone who fought for the restoration of her homeland. Some people say that love is the death of duty and duty is the death of love. But when duty is fuelled by the love you have for your country, is it the case?”

As I continued my tale of Marie Walewska, Amerei Frey listened with a mix of fascination and mischief in her eyes. The atmosphere in the room became charged with the tension of our previous encounter, and I couldn't help but sense Amerei's lingering interest (and lust).

Amerei's eyes sparkled as I recounted Marie's unwavering loyalty to Napoleon, even in the face of adversity. The mention of Napoleon's exile seemed to intrigue her further. I noticed her fingers idly playing with a lock of her hair, a subtle sign of her restless curiosity.

I took a breath as I ended my tale of Marie Walewska, looking at Amerei, both expectant and apprehensive. Her eyes, still holding that mischievous glint, met mine. The air seemed charged with anticipation, and I couldn't shake off the feeling that this moment held more significance than a mere exchange of stories.

Amerei's hand, adorned with delicate rings, reached for her goblet, and she took a slow sip, her eyes never leaving mine. That mischievous smile played on her lips, and she leaned back, as if savouring the lingering echoes of the tale.

"That was quite the story, Ser Roger," she remarked, her voice carrying a subtle undertone. "Love, sacrifice, and the struggles of duty—all the elements of a captivating tale. You have a way with words."

I acknowledged her words with a modest smile. "I'm glad you found it intriguing, my lady. History often creates the most fascinating narratives."

Amerei's fingers idly traced the rim of her goblet, and her gaze became more intense. "Indeed, history is full of…passion. I wonder, Ser Roger, do you think love can truly coexist with duty? Or is it destined to be a force that disrupts the order of things?"

Her question, laced with subtle provocation, caught me off guard. I hesitated for a moment, choosing my words carefully. "It's a delicate balance, my lady. Love has the power to inspire great deeds, but duty demands its sacrifices. Whether they can peacefully coexist depends on the hearts entwined in the struggle."

Amerei's eyes sparkled with satisfaction, as if my response had confirmed some suspicion of hers. She leaned in, her tone teasing. "Ah, the wisdom of a foreign commoner. I find your perspective rather…intoxicating, Ser Roger."

Before I could respond, she changed the topic, steering the conversation into more personal waters. "Tell me, Ser Roger, have you ever experienced a love like that? A love that defies conventions and obligations?"

The question lingered in the air, and I felt so hot, it was amazing I was not sweating. I glanced around the feasting hall, searching for a way to escape to. There was none.

"Well, my lady," I began cautiously, "I can’t really say I have the chance or the privilege to have known it. I am both a bit of a romantic fool and a pragmatic man.”

Amerei's eyes sparkled with curiosity, and she leaned in slightly, her voice a playful tease. "Ah, a romantic fool and a pragmatic man, all in one. How intriguing."

I seized the opportunity to eat a bit of my meal, observing the feasting hall. My eyes swept across the gathered nobility, catching glimpses of familiar faces and unfamiliar alliances forming. In the midst of the revelry, my gaze found Arya and Roslin's table. Arya's eyes met mine. There was a hint of playfulness in her eyes. I sent her a smile in return. Her reaction was subtle, a small quirk of the lips, acknowledging the unspoken connection between us.

Roslin, too, looked in my direction, her eyes holding a mix of curiosity and something deeper. I raised my goblet once more, a silent gesture of affection, and a smile lingered on my face.

Arya's reaction to my smile was a raised eyebrow and a playful smirk and something else I couldn’t really pinpoint. She glanced at Roslin and then back at me, as if deciphering the unspoken dynamics at play.

As the mead continued to flow, I felt a light-heartedness settling in. But amidst the festivities, I suddenly felt a subtle, unexpected sensation—a foot stroking my leg under the table.

I tried to ignore it, not wanting to entertain Amerei's advances, and took another sip of mead. However, the foot persisted, its movements becoming bolder. And then some slender fingers groped me between my legs! I jolted slightly at the unexpected touch and accidentally spilled my goblet to my side.

I turned around to look at Amerei to see if she was alright. But as I turned my eyes on her, I noticed with horror that, in my abrupt movement, I had accidentally spilled mead on the front of her dress which was now stained with ale, while droplets fell on the table and her meal.

"My lady, I'm sorry, I didn't mean..." I trailed off as I noticed how the ale made her dress wet, clinging to her body in a way that couldn't go unnoticed. I quickly turned my gaze away, not wanting to be improper. Amerei noticed my reaction as her surprise and outrage suddenly turned into an even more devious smirk as if she had decided to turn the incident to her advantage.

One thing that did not exist in Westeros (or any part of Planetos) was bras. And by pure accident, I had done the equivalent of entering Amerei Frey into a wet t-shirt contest! Made even worse that she might only be 17!

With a sultry voice, she spoke, "Oh, Roger, you seem to have a talent for making things interesting." Her eyes lingered on my face, gauging my discomfort, and then deliberately travelled down to her chest, emphasized by the wet dress clinging to her bust.

Trying to maintain my composure, I averted my eyes, my cheeks flushing at the awkward situation. I could feel the atmosphere growing heavier, and the others at the table seemed to have noticed the shift. Amerei, however, leaned closer, her wet dress now making a show of her curves.

"You know, Roger," she purred, her voice dripping with innuendo, "some accidents can lead to interesting outcomes." Her fingers lightly tracing the wet fabric on her chest suggestively.*

I tried to maintain my composure, feeling the eyes of the feasting hall on us. "My lady, it was truly unintentional. I apologize for any discomfort I may have caused."

Amerei, however, seemed to revel in the discomfort she was causing. "No need to apologize, Ser Roger," she said, her smirk widening. "Accidents can be quite revealing, don't you think?" She leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing against my ear. "And I do enjoy a bit of revelation."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, acutely aware of the growing boldness in her advances. "My lady, we can’t… Your husband…" I tried to protest while sending a glance at Ser Pate at her side.

Amerei, undeterred, leaned in further, seeking to make me look at herself and her chest in a seductive way. "Oh, Ser Roger, Pate is busy with his discussions. A little distraction won't hurt, will it?" Her hand trailed down her wet dress, intentionally drawing attention to her curves.

I was stunned by her boldness and audacity. Trying to gather my thoughts, I stammered, "Lady Amerei, I must insist. I cannot entertain such advances, especially given your marital status."

Amerei spoke back with a devious smile. "Oh, my husband is quite accustomed to such matters. In fact, he has peculiar tastes of his own." She glanced at me, gauging my reaction.

I was taken aback by her revelation, unsure of how to respond. The revelation about Ser Pate's peculiar tastes left me momentarily stunned. I ended up looking at him. He had a look in his eyes similar to his wife! Wait, now I know why I was reminded of Pedro Pascal.

“Because of course, there are swingers in the Frey family.” A voice that strangely sounded like Catelyn Stark went through my head. As I struggled to process the information, Amerei continued to play her game.

With a suggestive tone, she whispered, "You see, Roger, in our marriage, we appreciate the freedom to explore desires. It adds spice to the mundane. You can say I am his Marie whatever her name. You can be my Napoleon."

All I could feel was disbelief! And the gall of her to distort my tale so much to justify her flirtations! I was suddenly remembering the passage from Mayo-Lek Youtube video on the worst Disneytoon scenes in his opinion with the discussion scene between Mulan and the princess in the Mulan sequel. Amerei was using the same reasoning to distort my tale as the princess did with Mulan’s explanation on the fact her duty was in fact her heart’s duty.

Distraught and stunned, I also found myself torn between my light-heartedness and the need to hold my ground and not to fall to easy seduction. Cersei’s words on a woman’s weapon crossed my mind and the revulsion increased.

Amerei, however, was not done with her seductive moves. She leaned even closer, her lips almost brushing against my ear.

"Tell me, Roger, have you never been tempted to cross the boundaries of duty and indulge in forbidden pleasures?"

I tried to maintain a firm stance, "My lady, I am here as a guest. I cannot engage in such conversations or actions."

Looking around the room, I saw Lord Walder Frey grinning at me. Because of course he would, that bastard! I bet he would have allowed his granddaughter to be seated nearby me to enjoy the show.

Amerei, undeterred, continued her advances. She reached for one of my hands, attempting to bring it to her chest. "Indulgence, Roger, can be a sweet escape from the burdens of duty. Why resist the allure of desire when it beckons so invitingly?"

“Because you're underage and I’m not doing this!” Now it was a combo of my voice and Catelyn’s in my head.

I pulled my hand away, firm in my resolve. "Lady Amerei, I cannot participate in such activities. I appreciate your boldness, but I must insist on maintaining propriety."

“Is this how Alicent Hightower felt when she was worried about her friend's reputation?” I almost said that outloud.

Amerei's reaction was a sultry laugh, and she leaned back, a wicked glint in her eyes. "Oh, Roger, you're a hard one to crack. But the night is young, and I do enjoy a challenge."

Just before I could stand up, I saw movement at another table. A familiar voice called out, and it wasn't Amerei's. It was Roslin's voice, exclaiming, "Lady Arya, no!"

Startled, I turned my glance towards Arya's table just in time to witness a splash by my side. A bit of the splash landed on me, and I quickly turned back, only to find food dripping off Amerei's face. The audible gasps and hushed whispers spread through the hall as the attention of everyone at the table and nearby turned toward us.

Glancing at Arya's table, I could see her expression, a mix of defiance and satisfaction. Her bond with me and her protective instincts had led her to take matters into her own hands.

“As your adopted sister, it’s her duty to protect you from harpies.” Now a voice that sounded like Ned Stark spoke in my head. And while I silently agreed, all I could feel was worry with what could come next.

Amerei, on the other hand, reacted with shock and outrage. She wiped the food off her face, her eyes narrowing at Arya. The atmosphere grew even heavier, and the attention of the Freys intensified. Pate, who had been engrossed in discussions, noticed the commotion and turned towards us, his expression puzzled.

"What in the name of the Seven is going on here?" he exclaimed as he looked at his wife’s state.

Ser Illifer, ser Creighton, and Tom exchanged surprised glances, unsure of how to react to the sudden turn of events. The hall seemed to freeze for a moment, with all eyes fixed on our table.

A quick glance around the hall revealed a variety of emotional displays from my other companions and of the Freys, ranging from disapproval to amusement. Harwin and his men looked surprised, amused but concerned as they looked at the commotion. Quick glances and whispers rose among the Frey, and I suspected that outrage or mockery were among the strongest feelings spreading throughout the room.

Amerei, recovering from the initial shock, directed her fury at Arya. "You little wretch! How dare you!" she hissed, her attempts to maintain her composure failing.

I inwardly shook my head, torn apart by the relief of the distraction but nervous about an obviously irate Amerei or Walder Frey that could consider it as a slight, no matter if it was “only” his most promiscuous granddaughter.

"Leave Roger alone, you silly harlot," Arya retorted, with a defiant glare.

Roslin, attempting to calm Arya down, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder, but the young girl's fiery spirit remained. "Arya, please, let's not cause trouble."

But Arya didn’t relent, glaring with defiance at Amerei. The latter’s angry glance turned into a malicious smirk.

"Oh, the little wolf bares her teeth. How cute! Are you jealous?" She taunted the young girl.

I was appalled by Amerei’s behaviour, even if a part of me remembered that with such an environment as the Twins, it should not be a real surprise. I shook that thought from my head as it sounded cliché, even if it was true.

Arya, not one to back down, shot back, “Jealous of you? No way! I ain't some dumb fool who's crying 'cause there's some food on her face!”

Amerei's face contorted with anger and suddenly, she grabbed a handful of her own meal and, with a mischievous and vindictive grin, launched it in Arya's direction. Reacting quickly, Arya swiftly ducked, and instead, the food intended for her found an unintended target: Elmar Frey.

I heard Fat Walda shout in a shocked voice, “Amarei!”

Elmar, clearly offended, shot Amerei a resentful look before retaliating. His own serving of food was flung back at Amerei, but the aim was off, causing it to land on Pate and Tom.

Pate, now adorned with a new garnish of food, scowled and joined the fray by hurling his own meal toward Elmar. Tom, not one to be left out, threw a handful of food at the boy, only to inadvertently hit a different Frey boy nearby. The hall erupted into chaos as a full-blown food fight ensued, with various Frey members and our party becoming unwilling participants.

Caught in the midst of the pandemonium, I tried to dodge the flying food, not wanting to be part of such a madness. I was stunned by the absurdity of the situation. Of all the situations I could have expected in the Twins, a food fight was not one of them! That Arya reacted in that manner was something I could have predicted, but that some of the Frey, especially among the adult ones, would fall at this level of silliness was mind-blowing. A part of me was wondering if I wasn’t in some kind of parodic version of Westeros with how absurd the situation was.

Initially, I tried to step aside, my intention to remain an observer in this spectacle. However, the stress, the mead-induced lightheartedness, and the infectious energy of the food battle finally broke through my restraint. With a grin, I joined the fray, grabbing a handful of food and letting loose. The hall echoed with laughter and the clatter of food, turning a tense quarrel into a chaotic, albeit amusing, food fight.

It helped that I scored several hits on Rhaegar. He deserved it! Sadly, I missed Black Walder. He in turn, got egg on my face.

Suddenly, Walder Frey’s cut through the turmoil from his place. "Enough of this nonsense! What in the name of the Seven is happening here?"

As the chaos subsided, I turned my attention to the High Table. Walder Frey's narrowed and annoyed eyes were fixed in our direction, and silence fell over the hall. Stevron and Lothar were observing with impassive glances while Joyeuse was stunned and uncertain. A slightly one eyed Joyeuse, as half her face had what looked like mashed potatoes covering it.

Amerei cut the silence as she complained and pointed a finger at Arya, "She started it by throwing food at me without any cause! I demand retribution!"

Arya scoffed, "Retribution? You were practically sitting on Roger's lap and enjoying every moment of it. I just thought you needed a wake-up call."

After a long, silent moment, Walder Frey's stern expression broke into a grin. "Well, well. It seems the North knows how to entertain. A food fight at the Twins! Who would have thought?" He chuckled, his amusement echoing through the hall.

The tension eased, replaced by a mixture of confusion and relief. The Freys, unsure of how to react, exchanged glances. Amerei, still fuming, was taken aback by her grandfather's unexpected response.

Walder Frey leaned forward, addressing the whole hall, "Let this be a lesson to all of you. Feasts are meant for joy and merriment, not for bickering. Now, let us resume the festivities. And you, Stark, clean yourself up. We wouldn't want a mess in the feast that is bestowed in your honour."

Arya, somewhat taken aback by Walder Frey's response, shot a defiant look at Amerei. She seemed ready to deny it, but I sent her a glance and shook my head. Having noticed my glance and another from Harwin, she complied with the order. She wiped the remaining food off her clothes and face as best she could, not without revealing a mischievous smirk that hinted at her satisfaction with the outcome.

I couldn’t help but shake my head at her antics. I was relieved that Walder Frey seemed amused by the situation, though the unease lingered. The incident had taken an unexpected turn, and the reactions of the Freys were unpredictable. I also felt deeply exhausted and torn apart. A part of me had been entertained by what happened, but the other was feeling guilty, even more as I should have been far more restrained and upstanding than now. A part of me considered that Ned would be disappointed by the situation, both in regards to Arya and for my own failures. Then again, if Catelyn had caught someone flirting with her husband…

I then glanced at my table and saw Amerei composing herself as best she could, her face a mix of resentment and restrained anger. It was obvious she was still visibly upset and humiliated. Pate, noticing her state, leaned over and whispered something in her ear, which elicited a brief but genuine smile from her. A part of me wondered how much she would want to take revenge on Arya. Thank Heavens that we were leaving the Twins tomorrow as otherwise the place would likely become a ticking bomb. I noticed Tom exchanging amused glances with my other companions, seemingly finding humor in the absurdity of the whole ordeal. I noticed that ser Pate was doing the same, including giving me those same looks his wife had been…

Looking around, I saw that everyone was trying to resume the feast as if there had been no incident, though Black Walder was sending dark scowls which made me sigh as his presence in the rest of the journey would likely be a pain. The feast gradually regained its jovial atmosphere, with music, laughter, and conversation filling the hall once more. I inwardly prayed that I would get through this event without any more incidents. I couldn’t wait to resume the journey to Winterfell and to be as far away from the Twins as possible.

I looked once again at Arya’s table and saw Roslin's gaze lingering on me. There was a silent exchange, with the lingering tension from the earlier chaos seeming to vanish. The young woman seemed relieved but a bit concerned and wary and I couldn’t blame her. I raised my goblet to Lady Roslin, who had caught my glance. Her reaction was subtle yet unmistakable, a look of relief. I answered her unspoken curiosity with a soft and respectful smile. She turned away her gaze, glancing at Arya, a subtle shift in her expression revealing a hint of amusement, sympathy and concern. I could imagine that seeing Arya throwing food at Amerei was something so unexpected, so unladylike and yet something Roslin had always wanted to do. A part of me was wondering if she was wary of facing Arya’s wrath, considering how Arya faced her the previous day, but I dismissed the thought, not desiring to overthink the matter.

Another part of me wondered if my idea of writing to her in the future was really a sane thing to do. It felt like a Disney princess fantasy of mine, especially in regards to my situation. My logical side reasoned that at least, if it didn’t bear fruit in any manner, at least I could remember with a certain fondness our short encounter and exchange.

I chased away those thoughts, feeling tired and uncertain to attend the feast anymore. Washing away the stains of food was a priority but with the imminent departure for Winterfell, it was foolish. And staying near Amerei was not something I wanted. But could I leave Arya on her own, even with Harwin and his men’s presence? My protective side was firmer than ever in spite of the cautiousness and exhaustion. Holding up a sigh, I stayed seated and resumed eating, but keeping on my own for the remaining part of the feast, unwilling to partake with anyone. Please let sanity return during the journey…

A.N.:

1. And here we are! The penultimate of the chapters I have created recently and added to those that I have already created for the story as a whole. A peculiar chapter as it was a mix of both "answers" to (indirect) suggestions through comments and to an idea of my beta reader on which I will comment further below. However, this chapter allows me to make further references to the canon and how it affects the SI. I warn you the other notes are numerous and for some a bit dense.
2. This chapter is the opportunity to develop two "artistic liberties" suggested by my beta reader that I had discussed with him when imagining this chapter (and others for one of those liberties): Black Walder's advances to Joyeuse Erenford and ser Pate's sexual preferences. In the first case, it was tied to what Black Walder did in the past and the fact he had bedded previous wives to his great-grandfather and that gave the reason why Walder Frey sent him as part of the escort to accompany Arya to Winterfell. Concerning Pate, it was far easier because he was only a mentionned character in the books and considering Amerei's personality and tendencies, the possibility he is either exhausted or "turned" by her proclivities wasn't to dismiss. And this idea advanced by my beta reader reminded me a bit of a passage of a movie called "Le Retour du Héros", a French movie with Jean Dujardin (I won't developp the subject further as it would need a whole paragraph to speak of the movie and then of the specific passage in question).
3. The discussion with Lothar Frey was inspired by one of the suggestions made in comments and I found it interesting and fascinating to imagine such a discussion as it draws a blurred line on the nature of the discussion and on the intents of the character.
4. The spatial disposition of the feast was made before the comments on how it could be lay out were made. In fact, I took inspiration of my memory of the two scenes of feasts in "Game of Thrones", notably the obvious ones that doesn't need to be mentionned. I however knew that common sense would prevent the SI to sit at Arya's table and with the incident depicted at the start of the chapter, partaking to a feast nearby the man that was about to break guest rights before of anger issues would not be a good idea. I had however included little mentions of how Walder Frey could have organized the seating disposal, mainly for Arya.
5. I have checked which "non-alcoholic" drink could have been used in a medieval feast, considering I am very cautious in alcoholic consumption (in real life, I generally drink only in parties and very usually only a third to a half of a glass, mainly champaign or fruity flavour wines) and found mead and considered it would be good to include this peculiar drink, especially as it served in two occurences for the part with Amerei Frey.
6. That brings the return of Amerei Frey. I decided to bring her back because I think that her husband would likely spend time with at least ser Illifer and ser Creighton and possibly with Tom even with their peculiar relation (after all, he didn't pay Tom when he played for his wedding). And I found fun to imagine all the trouble and misery of the SI (meaning myself) to handle such a character after his previous interaction with her. The interactions with her played out in a way I find good and entertaining (though if I was really in such situation, I wouldn't claim that) as it started at a neutral and fair level before derailing in a more awkward and one-sided flirting moment, enhanced by the classical foot flirting and drink accident.
7. Concerning the references, a word on both the tale on Marie Walewska and on the Mayo-Lek's video as it would give more background on their presence in this chapter :

_ Marie Walewska's story is for me one of the most fascinating part of the Napoleonic period, notably due to the complexity and the emotional ties that were behind it. The fact she did it first by duty because her relation with Napoleon could mean the ressurection of Poland is a classical story of how women could be used for political means (the Boleyn sisters being another example), but the fact that she developped a love story with Napoleon in addition to her initial purpose is something I find interesting and IMO, one exception to Aemon Targaryen's words on love and duty or rather an example of how both can have blurred lines for at least one person.

_ Mayo-Lek is a French Youtuber who made videos where he expressed his personal opinion and analysis on every animated movies from Disney Animation Studios, Disney Toons and Pixar (and some others in specials) with a humourous yet grounded tone. To some extent, he takes his inspiration from "The Nostalgia Crictics" which he is fan of. Here is the link to his video on the worst scenes of Disney Toons movies for him:

and the precise moment where he spoke of the "Mulan II" scene mentionned in the chapter is n°3 at 15:44 in the video. A fair warning, the video is only in French and there is only automatic subtitles outside of French subtitles.

8. The food battle is the beta reader's idea and one I have struggled and reflected upon a lot as I wasn't sure it would exactly fit the context. It was one where I had discussed a lot with my beta reader to determine the logic, the consistency, the reasoning and how it could work and be justified. Part of the reason I decided to include it was the unexpectedness of the situation, the fact it is a total reversal of the Twins feast in regards of the canon, the fact it is so absurd that even any SI would be taken by surpris by the situation. The start of the fight was the easier as I took inspiration of Arya throwing food at Sansa in Winterfell feast as the spark of the final part of the chapter with in addition how Amerei (like any other Frey that has observed it) would observe Arya's demeanour and the peculiar nature of a feast in ambiance. The end was more difficult because of Walder Frey's demeanour. It was the beta reader's suggestion that brings me to imagine this final and unexpected reaction. And I personally like to think that he must have not known such absurd fun for so many years. In my mind, Walder Frey is a bit like Simeon Lee of "Hercule Poirot's Christmas" and the scene depicted in this chapter is akin to a scene of "Tintin: Flight 714 to Sidney" when Calculus retrieved the bill Haddock hid in Mr. Carreidas's hat, leading the man first to seemingly exploding into anger before unexpectedly exploding into a big laugh. That's being said, there will be a little mention in the next chapter that reminds that this occurence is a fortunate one considering the character's personality as the whole incident could have gone wrong.
9. Teaser: A wolf girl gets a very strange dream...
10. Have a good reading !
11. I wish you a Happy New Year 2024 !