Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

1 A butler's normal day

At Winterfell, mornings started early even for northern standards.
The apprentices of the breadmaking master were heating the ovens at 3:30, the perfect temperature for the breadmaster to begin cooking at 4 a.m. Servants ate breakfast first, to have the strength to serve the Stark family through the day. That was always the way here, even if southerners or other clans did it differently.

And for the chief butler, today would be a busy day.

"Teela," called the raven-haired butler. Four-and-ten years old, a head and a half shorter than most men in Stark service, yet carrying an authority second only to the family he served.

"M'lord," stammered a little girl with a burn on her cheek.

The teen sighed.

"How many times, Teela? I am no lord. Call me Sebastian if you prefer, but in front of others you may refer to me as chief butler," he corrected her gently.

"Yes, M—"
The chief butler turned his masked face toward her. Even with the white mask hiding his expression, she felt the pressure radiating from him.

"Sir Sebastian?" she squeaked in mild panic.

"I'm not a sir, but sure. Improvement will come, just like the winter," he resigned himself.

He continued, handing her a simple list, the smart girl could thankfully read:

"Teela, check with the smiths and ask if they have enough coal. Check the kitchen as well. Talk with the stablekeeper and see if the babies are all right."

The girl looked a bit smitten by Sebastian's presence.

*Clap Clap*.

"Go, girl. Go," he ordered, and she ran straight toward the stables.

"This girl… she was supposed to do it in that order, not the opposite," he murmured.

"But you didn't tell her that, did you?" asked another teen with a cocky grin.

"No, I didn't, Theon. I am not infallible."

"Yes, yes, you're human and all that," Theon replied, entirely done with this conversation already.

"Most people would wish for a pleasant morning instead of interrupting one," Sebastian said smoothly.

"You should have woken me up," Theon grumbled, clearly irritated.

"You didn't ask."

"I did."

"Nope. After your… nightly affairs, you passed me in the hall and asked me to wake you up the next day."

Sebastian paused and then continued

"And I would, after today. Semantics, my Ironborn future lord. They can be the rise or the ruin of whole kingdoms," Sebastian finished.

Theon imagined the bastard smiling behind that mask. He would've challenged for a 'friendly spar' once or twice, but he knew he'd lose.

"When are you leaving?" he asked, not bothering with subtlety.

"Next week. I'm making the last of my preparations. Will you keep them safe?" Sebastian asked coldly.

Theon smirked at him. Sebastian only scoffed.

"If you'll excuse me, I still have preparations to finish. Your breakfast is in the kitchen."
Sebastian left.

Theon wandered into the kitchen and found it waiting for him: muffins, still warm with faint steam rising, and a… caffe? coffee? He still couldn't pronounce it well. A Dornish delicacy made with milk. On the surface floated a tiny foam squid. 

Annoyed and amused, Theon could only stare at his breakfast and eat it while it was still hot.

"Cheeky fucker," he muttered, with a mix of resentment, embarrassment, and happiness.

Ned Stark's morning had been a good one. He woke beside his wife, a beautiful woman with pale skin, unblemished, her face soft in sleep, her body warm beneath the furs. A part of him wanted to remain there, and his "fella" wholeheartedly agreed. But the day had to start, and as Lord of Winterfell, he had an example to set.

He dressed, tucked the furs closer around his wife to keep her warm, and left the bedroom.

Outside waited a teen clad in an elegant self made suit (as he called it), raven haired and wearing a white mask that obscured his face. He bowed.

"A pleasant night, my lord?" he asked with the professionalism of a maester and the wickedness of a southern snake.

Ned did not answer.

"So, am I to expect a new wolf blessing your lands soon?" Sebastian added, not quite done with his teasing.

Ned Stark snorted. Sebastian understood the unspoken order perfectly.

"Very well. The kitchens have enough coal, the smiths need more, the horses are in good health, taxes have been halved for those who suffered worst in the snowstorm, and the evacuation teams of soldiers are already on their way. We have enough food, though more never hurts. I recommend allocating extra coin for my travels so I can return with supplies. Maester Luwin brought your correspondence; it's on your desk. All unimportant matters have been summarized in an adjacent parchment and only need your signature."

Sebastian paused, voice turning mischievous.
"And I also have pleasant news."

"What?" Ned asked, already pleased with the earlier report.

Sebastian jumped, breaking a piece of the ceiling, and dragged someone down with him.

A shivering child, no more than four or six, trembling not from cold but terror. His pants were no longer soaked with melted snow, but with a warm yellow liquid dripping onto the floor.

"I caught a naughty little bird," Sebastian said cheerfully.

Ned stood there contemplating and finally said.

"You have my blessing. Handle it" The Lord of Winterfell order.

"Yes my Lord" Sebastian bowed.

Marryn's life had been hard. His mother, a whore in a brothel, birthed him and tossed him into the filth to die. He was rescued by a group of children who took care of each other. He grew up a beggar in the streets of King's Landing, begging to survive one more day.

Until they found him.

They cleaned him, fed him, taught him to read. And then he finally met him.

A bald man, perfumed — la, la… he couldn't recall the name. He smiled a kind smile, the kind the baker woman gave him when his stomach roared and she slipped him stale bread.

"From now on," the stranger said softly,
"you will be my little bird."
Marryn's eyes widened as the man continued:

"Worry not, my little friend, for I seek no love from children. I only want you to read something for me, and pass on a message. A little bit of work, for a great deal of kindness. Isn't that a bargain?"

His words wove around Marryn like strings.

"Go north. Your little brothers and sisters will guide you."

And so he went.

He traveled outside the city for the first time. The air was strange.

"Different, aye?" the teen beside him said.

"What…?"

"King's Landing is full of shit and piss. Gets into the lungs. This—" the teen inhaled deeply "—this is air worth breathing. Come on. The road north is long."

 Snow surprised Marryn — no, Sparrow, his new name.

"Bury it. Forget it. Live, my little Sparrow," he whispered, repeating Lord Varys' kindness.

Snow was cold, white, beautiful, and deadly. Beautiful only as long as they found a tavern to sleep before nightfall.

"We're here," the teen said as Winterfell came into view.
"You'll apprentice under the baker. Remember Lord Varys' orders. Contact me if anything happens."

"Okay," Sparrow said. At the end of their journey, he realized he didn't know the teen's name.

"What's your name?" he asked.

The teen chuckled.

"Just call me Pigeon."

And so, Sebastian's journey began toward King's Landing, with a cute but terrified little Sparrow… and a stubbornly defiant Pigeon.

"Dumb waaays to die," sang an always cheerful Sebastian, much to the growing dread of his travel companions.

2 king’s landing

Jon Arryn looked at the dashing teen leading the small group before him. Back straight, clean, and dressed far too well for the road. His attire alone looked like it cost half a fortune,stitched with intricacies better suited for a royal ball than day to day use.

But the most intriguing part, or lack thereof, was the white mask hiding his face.

A burn? A bastard? Old wounds? Jon wondered. 

He has Ned's trust, so I'll give him the benefit of doubt.

"Welcome to the Red Keep, Sebastian," Jon greeted the stranger.

"Greetings, Lord Arryn, Hand of the King and benefactor of my lord," Sebastian replied, bowing slightly.

"I received Ned's letter a few moons ago. He seems to hold you in quite high esteem."

The aura around the masked teen brightened almost visibly.

"Your words fill me with pride, Lord Arryn," he answered with earnest glee.

"Oh, among ourselves, please call me Jon. News from the north travels slowly to King's Landing, but eventually it does. I had been… skeptical, until I asked Ned. Magnificent work, young man."

"Thank you, Lord Arryn."

"Please, I insist, call me Jon."

"I would, my lord, if I were speaking to him right now. Circumstances matter, my lord. A chat with Jon Arryn would be delightful, but at the moment, I must address the Hand of the King. Of course, I mean no disrespect, my lord."

Jon Arryn, Defender of the Vale, Warden of the East, head of House Arryn, and Hand of the King, raised an eyebrow, then smiled.

"I quite like you and I'm glad Lord Stark has you by his side, kid," he said, his affable expression slipping into the noble, stern presence befitting his station.

"AND HERE ENTERS, SEBASTIAN PHANTOMHIVE, HEAD BUTLER OF HOUSE STARK!" the herald announced.

Most of the court was present. The Baratheon brothers were absent, one at Dragonstone, and the other courting his fiancée… or her brother. Sword-swallowers, the lot of them.

"KID! COME! COME!" boomed a familiar, boisterous voice.

There, fat, bearded, and slightly older, sat King Robert Baratheon himself. Around him, countless swords formed his chair and a silent warning to his enemies,or potential enemies.

Sebastian stepped into the throne room and knelt.

"HAHAHAHA!" Robert roared.

His grin softened just enough to show memory.

"Who would've thought the scrawny little rat I found in the those wretched Islands would grow up into a well-mannered butler?" he mocked with fondness, still laughing.

He lifted his wineskin to drink

*tuck*

or at least tried to.

 He froze, staring at the wineskin now hanging from a fork inches above his hand.

The Kingsguard drew their blades immediately.

Robert's grin widened.

"GUARDS, STOP!" he barked.

"But my King, the disrespect…" Jaime began, but Robert waved him off, laughing even harder, remembering the same insolence, in another land, in another time, with better men by his side.

"Out of your girly knives, ehh.What do you have to say for yourself, brat?" he asked, voice deeper, posture heavier.

Sebastian tilted his head, utterly unapologetic,even through the mask, showing more spine than almost all the supposed 'nobles' that robert met in his life.

"My hand slipped, my King," he said innocently, like a squire dropping his training sword by mistake.

He raised a hand.

"As a token of apology, I brought gifts. In fact, they're the whole purpose of my trip."

"Didnt miss me ehh? Sure, gifts let's see them." said Robert

In a slight of hands, he extracted a bottle out of his jacket, along with two cups filled with ice. He poured both, stepping toward the king. The guards attempted to intercept him, but Robert shooed them away, his nose already detecting alcohol from several paces.

Robert grabbed his cup and downed it instantly.

Sebastian did the same, tilting his mask just enough to reveal a hint of his face.

"AHHH—THAT IS THE GOOD SHIT!" Robert laughed, snatching the bottle for himself.

"You still sing brat?" he asked, the memory finally surfacing.

On a beautifully decorated balcony of the Red Keep, the King sat drinking his new obsession: vodka on the rocks. Before him, the sea shimmered. Guarding him were Ser Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer.

In a small chair beside him sat Sebastian.

"Beautiful, aye?" Robert asked.

"It is indeed quite beautiful, my King," Sebastian answered politely.

"Not so disrespectful now, eh little brat?" Robert grumbled.

Sebastian only shrugged.

"Any suggestions, my King?"

Robert leaned back, staring at the sea, the memories, the cold wind of old battles, the strange boy beside him.

"Something about the sea. And adventure."

"Very well. Something from the past, then." Sebastian paused.

 "Before I begin, my King,have you heard of Valhalla?"

"Should I?" Robert frowned.

"Far, far away, there was a tribe made for battle, drinking, and fucking."

Robert perked up immediately.

Sebastian continued.

"Valhalla, the hall of heroes. They believed only a warrior's death was honorable. At their last breath, their spirits were taken by female warriors on winged horses. Then they would feast, drink, fight and fuck until the final war, Ragnarok, the twilight of the gods."

Robert was enthralled. Ser Barristan considered it a children's tale, though a fascinating one. Jaime… would rather be anywhere else.

Sebastian stomped the floor rhythmically and began to sing, deeper than expected:

"Ships on vigor of the waves are skimming
Barren summits to the verdant plains
Each horizon is a new beginning
Rise and reign—"

The trio stared out at the waves.

"Far from the fjords and the ice-cold currents
Ravens soar over new frontiers…"

Their blood stirred.adventure, battle, freedom. A ship, the sea, and no responsibilities.

"Oh-ho-oh The echoes of eternity

Oh-ho-oh Valhalla calling me

Oh-ho-oh To pluck the strings of destiny

Oh-ho-oh

Valhalla calling me

Valhalla calling me..."

And at the end of it all,death.

GLORIOUS DEATH.
A WARRIOR'S END.

Cersei Lannister loved being Queen,the attention, the power, the wine. What she hated with every fiber of her being? Her husband.

At first, Robert hadn't been so… unbearable. Crude, loud, drunk, but at least handsome and tolerable in bed. Then he grew fat… and more insufferable. Thank the gods their "marital duties" had been fulfilled long ago, or she would have truly considered renaming King's Landing to Queen's Landing.

She glanced at Jaime, who seemed completely lost in thought.

"What has you so spaced out, Jaime?" she asked, only half interested.

Jaime sighed.
"Our new guest, the northern bard."

"The disrespectful northern rat, you mean. The one whose pay is so low he has to beg for coins with stupid little songs?" Cersei smirked, thrilled by the idea of someone humiliating himself before Robert. She wasnt there, but her ladies told her what happened.

Jaime sighed again.

"You don't understand. The way he talked to the King,as if they'd known each other for years. And the show on the balcony… He's better than any bard I've ever heard. For a moment, I wanted to steal a ship and set sail. It was that good."

Cersei barely cared. Still, a northern butler familiar with Robert? That was a message worth sending to the old Lion.

But for now, she turned to her brother, voice shifting into a purr.

"A ship…"

"Yes?" Jaime said, oblivious for a second.

"My, my… and you would steal the Queen of all Westeros…?" she whispered.

Jaime finally caught on.

Valhalla be damned, he thought, giving in to lust.

Fiercer than ever, Cersei celebrated internally.

3 Strak’s loyal dog

Red Keep
Unnamed and humble office

"You have made quite the first impression, young Sebastian," expressed the effeminate man.

"I seek to please, Master of Whispers," replied Sebastian.

"Varys will suffice, if you prefer. Or don't. My little birds chirped about your preferences when naming allies," said Varys, alluding to Sebastian's first conversation with the Hand.

"Or foes," replied Sebastian.

Varys only smiled.

"It has come to my attention that a black dog hunted a few of my birds," said Varys.

"Were they important?" asked Sebastian with nonchalance.

"Not particularly, no. But imagine my happiness when my little birds returned, safe and sound. Not many men or women are particularly kind to little woodland critters," implied Varys.

"And what would I gain by harming such adorable little birds?" asked Sebastian.

"Nothing at all. But spite has always been a staple among lesser men," continued the Spider.

Sebastian tilted his head in a reproachful way.

"The fox is known not merely for being a fox, but for being old. And it seems you are both," said Sebastian.

"Wise words, my friend. Wise words. For despite your youth, excellence recognizes excellence," replied the Spider, reminding the dog that despite their differences, they were the same.

For the Hand of the King, every day was an uphill battle. Dealing with the Small Council and ruling the kingdom while Robert engulfed himself in wine and whores was no small task.

Especially these days, thought Lord Arryn, painfully aware of each indiscretion born of the King. Some of the women even harbored fantasies of queenhood, how delusional. A few coins were enough to send them away.

And today, the respectful young lad had made quite the impression.

The thought of most of the court was to dismiss him as a disrespectful and boisterous Northerner, which conveniently hid all the traps set in that extremely short interaction.

Robert respected the boy. There was no doubt about it. He had raised him, and Jon Arryn could recognize the respect shown from Robert to a fellow warrior, despite the age gap ,perhaps even a shared past.

Robert's bastard? thought Jon, but he immediately dismissed the idea as unlikely.

The second matter was the "gifts" brought to the King. The North wished to export a new beverage, vodka, along with ice. Who would have thought ice could be sold? Yet the young butler had found a way to transport it with minimal thaw. It would be a massive success in the South, and a new stream of commerce for the North.

A masterful stroke. Wine orders had dropped, vodka orders had risen, and now smallfolk gossip revolved around the new Northern drink, the King's favorite. The cream of the crop was Sebastian's little show atop the King's balcony.

Now the smallfolk whispered of the "Prince of the Sea," of "Valhalla" (whatever that meant), or of the "Masked Bard," with imitators appearing by the dozen, none with quite the same success.

The King liked him. The Small Council recognized him. The lords underestimated him. And the smallfolk loved him.

All in a single day.

In a brightly lit living room, the King, his family, and several masters shared dinner, something uncommon, but ordered by the King himself. Their Northern guest would depart the next day.

And, as always, peace was never an option.

"I heard you attacked the King," said Cersei while delighting herself with the chicken on her plate.

"He should have been hanged, his head put on a spike for such disrespect." She glanced at Robert, who looked back at her with annoyance and scoffed.

"None of your business, woman," replied an irritated Robert.

Expecting that response, she continued.

"I received a letter from their grandfather. He fears such a… savage could harm his daughter or his grandchildren." She gestured toward her children, each uncomfortable at the table, instinctively recognizing their parents' quarrel.

Sebastian glanced at Varys opposite him. Varys gave a small shrug. Nothing unusual.

"My sincere apologies, my queen," Sebastian offered.

Cersei looked disgusted at being addressed. Sebastian pretended not to notice.

"I wished to wait until today to present my gifts, for the children, and for Your Grace."

That caught Cersei's attention, though she did not reply. That would be beneath her.

"Perhaps bringing the gifts now would be wonderful," weaved the Spider.

"I confess I am slightly envious of what they might be."

Sebastian nodded to a nearby guard.

"For my lady," he said, indicating a small chest.

"An assortment of beautifully crafted amber jewelry. The books record that amber exists thanks to fossilized tree sap from thousands of years ago. May this jewelry grant you eternal beauty, my queen."

Cersei accepted it coolly.

"For Crown Prince Joffrey, the warrior, a sword."

Joffrey frowned at the seemingly common gift.

"Not just any sword. It was forged from metal extracted from a rock that fell from the skies. Light, sharp, requiring little maintenance, fit to serve as a fine weapon for Your Future Majesty."

Joffrey smiled, pleased by both blade and praise.

"And for Princess Myrcella and Prince Tommen," Sebastian said, opening two cases.

Inside lay wooden instruments, similar to lutes, exquisitely crafted.

The children's eyes shone with wonder, unsure of their purpose. Joffrey and Cersei cared little, absorbed in their own gifts.

"Is that a new instrument, young Sebastian?" guessed Varys.

"Indeed, Master Varys. Made from a small weirwood tree by my own hands. They will not rot, and they exist to bring you joy throughout your lives," Sebastian explained sincerely.

Myrcella beamed. Tommen looked puzzled.

"Hey, lad," Robert said, "you going to play it or what?"

"Of course, Your Majesty. Enjoy the show, along with a Northern delicacy I brought."

Sebastian signaled the servants. Ice cream and chilled water were served.

"Eat slowly," he said, ostensibly to the children.

He opened his case, took out his weirwood violin and bow, and began to play.

"I present to you: Canon in D."

Wonder filled the room as he played, while children and adults alike delighted in the strange frozen dessert.

Unnamed room

"You're leaving, brat," said Robert later.

Sebastian nodded.

"Too soon," Robert muttered.

"Lord Stark needs me," Sebastian replied.

"Why now? Why you? And why Ned?" Robert pressed.

Sebastian considered the question. No servants. No birds. No guards.

He removed his mask and smiled, handsome, sharp-featured, red eyes like polished rubies, a face reminiscent of distant Yi Ti.

"Lord Stark is honorable to a fault, naive and arrogant in his own ways. I am none of those. For while wolf must have honor, the dog lives and dies by it's loyalty."

They stared at each other until Robert broke into a genuine smile. He raised a hand and ruffled Sebastian's hair, much to the butler's annoyance.

"Glad to hear it. Keep yourself sharp,and.... visit…, for Myrcella's sake." lied the King.

"Not for your queen?" Sebastian jabbed lightly. "Rumors of her patience and magnanimity reach even the North."

"HAHAHAHA!" Robert's boisterous laughter filled the room.

Sebastian smirked.

"See you, old man. And gain more weight, soon your belly will grow another belly."

Robert playfully tried to smack him, but sebastian evaded and left quickly

4 the lesson

Margaery Tyrell had always loved roses.
She enjoyed the fine wines her grandmother had introduced her to—she needs to learn tolerance, the sooner the better, Lady Olenna had said.

 Her days passed peacefully, studying with the maesters and absorbing every lesson her grandmother chose to impart.

Today, however, her lesson involved a northern servant from House Stark.

The Starks. Honorable to a fault, lacking finesse but never virtue, her grandmother had taught.

Margaery continued her stroll through the gardens, and then she slipped.

She landed on the stone path with practiced precision, her knee scraped just enough to sting, not enough to scar. Her eyes brimmed with tears, trembling and ready to spill.

Nothing happened.

No one rushed to her aid.

She lifted her gaze and fixed it on the northern servant. He was a teenager, perhaps six or seven years older than she was. A black "suit" or so it's calld, framed his figure neatly, white gloves covered his hands, and a white mask hid his face entirely. Despite the lack of visible expression, he radiated amusement.

For Margaery, this reaction was wholly unfamiliar.

A faint chuckle reached her ears, and irritation threatened to break through her composure, but her grandmother's teachings held firm.

"Mommmyyy," she cried inconsolably. Appropriate, yes. Humiliating, also yes.

Use all your weapons; sweet poison is common in love and war, Lady Olenna often said.

At last, the servant approached, his stride measured and regal, more fitting for the heir of a wealthy merchant than a mere servant of the North.

"My apologies, my lady," he said calmly. "It seems you require assistance. Would you like me to help you?"

That was new.

Most men rushed in uninvited, fled for other servants, or panicked outright. This one had offered her a choice.

"Yesss…" she sobbed softly.

He guided her to a nearby table and quietly ordered water, clean white cloth, and her caretaker. He cleaned her wound with practiced ease while Margaery observed him carefully.

"Why…" she whimpered, tears streaking her cheeks, "why did you laugh at me?"

"My apologies, my lady," he replied evenly. "You reminded me of myself, once."

"Why?" she pressed.

He chuckled again.

"Women, children, and the elderly are often ignored or dismissed. My mother taught me to use that to my advantage."

Marjorie stared at him, tears still clinging to her lashes, inwardly unsettled.

"My mother brought me to a house of red courtesans," he continued without embarrassment. "There, I learned how to speak, how to apply makeup, how to smile, how to charm a client, and how to read those around me. It was… enlightening."

Margaery recoiled internally, though her face remained composed.

"Makeup, my lord?" she asked softly. "Is that not reserved for women?"

 Both of them aware that the ruse was over.

"Of course not," he replied. "Even now, her lessons serve me well in aiding my liege, Lord Eddard Stark. Would you like to see?"

Curiosity won out. She nodded.

"Watch carefully, my lady."

He walked behind a tree that blocked her view for only a few seconds.

When he emerged, Margaery froze.

Where once stood a noble-looking young man, now appeared a breathtaking woman. Tall, poised, her black hair swept into an elegant bun. She wore a striking red dress that revealed one shoulder,tasteful, alluring,and finely detailed red gloves adorned her hands. Only the mask remained unchanged.

"Impressed?" came a deep, feminine voice.

Margaery's cheeks flushed. "My… my lady…"

"That will be enough," an older voice cut in.

Lady Olenna Tyrell entered the garden with the bearing of a queen. She gestured for Margaery to sit and regarded the stranger with sharp amusement.

"Lady Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thorns," the woman in red said with a graceful bow. "It is my honor to meet you."

"Not mine," Olenna replied dryly. "And stand straight, I am no sheath-swirler."

"Thorny as ever," the woman smiled. "I am Sébastienne."

"And why have you come from the north, red prostitute," Olenna asked, "besides troubling my granddaughter and wasting my time?"

"I was reminiscing, my lady," Sébastienne replied, hiding her already hidden smile, behind a decorative fan. "And I came to discuss trade."

Silence followed.

"A waste of my time," Olenna declared, turning to leave.

"Lady Olenna...-" she said "-, your ring."

Margaery noticed it immediately. Her grandmother's largest ring was gone.

They watched as Sébastienne retrieved it, slipped something out of the ring into her wine, and drank slowly. While she drank, her mask lifted just enough to reveal a glimpse of her face.

'Poison' thought the kid, dreading the fact that their guest would die. 

'But why would he poiso…' her thought came to an abrupt end due to Lady Olenna who recovered fast.

"Keep it," she said sharply. "Payment for whatever sword-swallower or sheath-swirlers you meet on the road."

"How delightful" she replied,

"but... it would be improper of me to receive without giving something in return" Sébastienne murmured, kneeling beside Margaery. She removed one glove, revealing pale hands with crimson polished nails. Dipping a finger into the remnants of the poisoned wine, the red polish darkened subtly, nearly imperceptible.

She produced a small bottle of red polish and offered it to Margaery.

Understanding dawned. Margaery looked to her grandmother, who nodded.

"My thanks for the gift," Margaery said quietly.

"Think nothing of it, child," Sébastienne replied. "More will come from the North."

She departed at her leisure, like a cat who knew she owned the room.

"We will talk later," Olenna said at last, with a controlled but predatory smile forming.

Lady Olenna's Chambers

"What did you learn today?" Olenna asked to her protegee.

"He came for trade. He knew I was lying from the beginning. He unsettled me deliberately, to draw your attention. He stole your ring, poisoned his wine to show his immunity, and gave me that gift."

Olenna smiled.

"You knew I would fail," Margaery realized. "You wanted information."

Lady Olenna nodded and said. "I lied to you. Lies come from allies and enemies alike. From butlers who cross-dress on a whim, and from yourself. You must do better. To lie, to no get lied and all in between" she taught

"And my…?"

"More confidence, child."

"My safety was assured," Margaery said slowly. "He came in the name of House Stark."

"Good girl," Olenna replied. "The polish was a surprise, but a welcome one. What comes next?"

"An alliance."

"Not yet," Olenna said. 

"First, we trade. Alliances come later. Seeds have been planted, and coin will follow."

She smiled to herself.

The dog may be cleverer than the wolves, she thought.

But is he loyal?

Only time will tell.

5 the wolf and the bear

Lord Eddard Stark had long been held as the measure of what a man ought to be: strong, honorable, unyielding. Many cubs on Bear Island idolized him, and more than a few women would have given everything to warm his bed.

Yet rumors of his supposed corruption, of siring a bastard, never truly faded. Some claimed the child had been born of a dornish woman. He did not have the red hair of the Tully's kin, but he looked uncannily like a younger Eddard Stark. Another rumor whispered that the Stark butler himself was that bastard, the first of them.

To all such talk, Maege Mormont had only one response.

"Pui." She spat.

"If his 'sullied honor' is a bastard, then he may as well be Baelor the Blessed," Maege growled whenever the subject arose. "Eddard Stark is a great man who at least took responsibility. Not like those fuckers who leave their bastards to suffer and die."

Lady Mormont and now, head of her house, she had said it often enough that no one dared contradict her.

And now that same Lord Stark was coming for Jorah's head.

Her nephew had fucked everything up trying to please that Hightower bitch of a wife. Maege could not have cared less about petty rumors or southern gossip, but dealing in slaves? That was unforgivable. Worse still, the fool had fled, taking with him what little coin House Mormont possessed.

That fucker.

Maege frowned and took a steadying breath.

Knock. Knock.

"Come in."

A girl of perhaps twelve entered, carrying a cup of tea. Maege took it and drank.

"Feeling better, Mother?" Dacey asked, concern plain on her face.

"No," Maege replied bluntly. "But we have guests to receive."

Doubts, questions, accusations, none of that mattered. She would not shrink from them. Fear belonged to Jorah, not to her.

"Bring your sisters. Let's go," Maege ordered. Pregnant or not, she would show no weakness.

And so the She-Bear went to meet her guests.

_ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lord Eddard Stark rode at the front. Behind him, astride a black mare, was a young man dressed so finely he looked like a knight from some girl's fairy tale.

Definitely not Ned's, Maege mused.

"Lady Maege," Stark greeted.

"Lord Eddard," she replied curtly, without fear.

"I suppose you know why I am here," Ned said grimly.

"Aye. I do," Maege answered, meeting his eyes and caging her fury. "Sadly, the fucker ran off with his Hightower whore."

She gestured toward the hall. "Come. We may not have much, but you are welcome."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ 

The Solar of House Mormont

In the solar, Maege sat across from Ned Stark and the masked youth.

"How—" Ned began.

"Bad," Maege cut in without hesitation. "The fucker stole every penny this house had. If I had catched him first, I'd have cut off his balls and sent him swimming with the fishes."

Ned closed his eyes briefly. Then he made his decision.

"Sebastian."

"Yes, my lord," the young man replied, drawing Maege's curiosity.

"We will use that plan."

"But, my lord—" Sebastian began.

"Sebastian," Ned interrupted calmly, "winters are hard. The Starks endure because we do not stand alone."

Silence settled over the room.

"Yes, my lord," Sebastian said at last, bowing.

"I will arrange everything for tomorrow," he added, then withdrew, leaving them alone.

Lady Mormont and Lord Stark relaxed a little, sharing vodka between them.

Gulp.

"Ahhh!" Maege exhaled. "This shit is good."

"Aye," Ned agreed, drinking deeply.

She smirked. "That your bastard?"

Ned spat his drink.

Cough. Cough.

Maege laughed "Easy. I know he's not. Too fancy to be born of you."

Ned rolled his eyes, smiling despite himself. "No. Just a talented lad I picked up along the way."

She took another drink. "Drinking with you brings back memories."

Maege smiled.
"I still remember that stupid lad who challenged me to a drinking contest. Poor sod lost to a She-Bear."

"Aye," Ned said softly, remembering a time when his only worries were training, laughter, and living. His father, his brother, and himself, happy, unburdened, long before lordship weighed on him.

Especially the paperwork, he thought.

"For a better future, my lady," he said.

"For a better future, my lord."

They clinked their cups and drank deep into the night.

_ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ ___ _ _ __ _ _ 

The next day, Ned gestured toward the table.

"Sebastian, show us the plan."

"Yes, my lord."

Sebastian unrolled a parchment filled with calculations and trade projections.

"Bear Island is poor—" Maege did not flinch "—but during my travels, I brought back some ideas. As you know, the Starks and the Cerwyns began producing vodka. The North's favorite."

"We received complaints," Ned added. "So I asked Sebastian to find an alternative."

"Rum, my lady," Sebastian said, producing a bottle and two cups. "Sugarcane works best, but I found another option more suitable here. Beets."

They drank. Maege considered.

"The soil here is useless for much else," Sebastian continued. "Beets grow easily. They could provide food,and rum. The Bear's Paw. Strong. Earthy."

He poured again.

Maege and Ned exchanged a look.

"A food source and an alcohol producer," Maege said slowly. "This could work. But—" she added, "—such investments cost money."

"Ten thousand gold coins," Ned said without blinking.
"No interest," he added, to Sebastian's visible disappointment.

Lady Maege studied him for a long moment. Ned Stark's word was as good as coin, even better, in truth.

At last, she shoved her chair back with a scrape of wood on stone and went down on one knee, more a warrior's drop than a lady's courtesy.

"House Mormont will not forget this," she said gruffly. "You have our gratitude, my lord."

Then she grinned, sharp and sudden.
"Pick one."

Ned leaned back, a small smirk hidden behind his cup.

Silence followed, until Sebastian realized the words were meant for him.

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I'd offer Dacey," Maege laughed, "but any other will do. Pick one."

Understanding struck.

A heartbeat later, the dutiful butler fled the room like a deer chased by a bear, laughter and clinking cups echoing behind him.

_ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ 

Later that evening, Sebastian sulked.

"Lord Stark, that was not funny."

"Aye," Ned replied, amused. "But you should start thinking about it."

"Why?" Sebastian asked, genuinely confused.

"Because that was not the only marriage proposal I received after your visit south."

Sebastian groaned.

Ned Stark laughed.

6 a butler’s day off

Winterfell

In the kitchens, the young butler started his day boiling some water in the new "metallic abomination," as Lady Catelyn sweetly called it, or the "fucking waste of good metal," as Ser Cassel had expressed. It was a fully functional metal stove, made from Sebastian's drawings and designs. It had been made, and remade, until this one finally hit the mark. The rest of the servants in the kitchens were not as good as Sebastian while using it, so they preferred the classic method for cooking.

A woman with a strict expression, bony face, and sharp eyes entered the kitchen. Her skirt, abnormally crisp, showed how much starch she added daily to her clothes.

"Pleasant morning, Septa Mordane." said Sebastian without looking

"It seems that one of your gods took pity on you and you woke up alive. Such a shame," expressed Sebastian while polishing some silver forks.

"It was a lovely and pleasant morning until your presence ruined it" expressed with nonchalance septa Mordane

"Such a shame. Thought that the dog would have remained where it belonged, at King's Landing, among the natural odors that reigned there. Such a pity," Septa Mordane lamented.

While both of them stared at each other, a boiling whistle sounded in the kitchen.

"Some tea?" Sebastian offered, setting bread and strawberry jam beside the cup.

"It would suffice," Septa Mordane said.

She drank in silence. The kitchen filled with the sound of boiling water and clinking silver.

"I kept your shirts ironed and starched, to give to the homeless. A pity-" she mused "-you came back"

Sebastian said nothing.

When she left, the cup was empty. The plate as well.

She did not look back.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

At the living room table sat Lord Eddard Stark, along with his wife, three children, and his ward. Also at the table were the head butler and new steward of House Stark, and Septa Mordane to oversee Sansa and Arya's table manners.

"The reports say that our ventures have been successful so far, my lord," expressed Sebastian while cutting a small piece of steak and adding some mashed potatoes on top. Gravy sauce fell unrepentant over his plate. He opened his mouth and savored the delicious flavors and juices of his meal.

And in front of him sat little Arya, brown-haired and filled with overwhelming curiosity about what lay beneath the butler's face. A stern look from Lady Catelyn and Septa Mordane was not enough to hide that curiosity.

"Good," expressed Lord Eddard while sipping a little water to accompany the meal.

"Your accomplishments have been heard far and wide, Sebastian. Vayon has sent a letter detailing how proud he is of you as the new steward," expressed Ned, to the discomfort of Lady Catelyn.

"I thank you, my lord, but I must ask. How is he faring in the North?" Sebastian thanked and asked.

"Much better thanks to you. The rum we sent has been well received, and the repairs have been going smoothly. We still have time until this new 'King Beyond the Wall' can make his move," responded Lord Stark gravely.

"Any news from Maester Ludwig about this so called 'king'?" asked Sebastian.

"No. The reports only say that wildlings have been keeping to themselves until now. A party has been sent to check, but until then, we know nothing," expressed Lord Stark while now sipping a glass of wine. A glass per week at the end of lunch,nothing more, nothing less.

Sebastian nodded while adding more vegetables to Jon, Theon, and Rob's plates. As a small mercy, he added some gravy on top, to the happiness of the three, completely aware that no vegetables eaten meant no dessert after lunch.

_ _ _ __ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ __ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ __ 

Lord Stark's Solar

Knock knock.

"Come in," said Lord Stark absentmindedly.

Sebastian entered the solar and bowed.

"My lord."

"Yes?"

"Do you remember what we talked about at Bear Island?" Sebastian metaphorically tiptoed around the question.

Lord Eddard thought for a moment until he finally remembered.

"Your days off. What of it?" he said, recalling that conversation in particular, and frankly, the kid deserved it.

"I wanted to invite Jon and Theon to come on a camping trip, but—" expressed Sebastian.

Frankly, Ned didn't have to think much about what was happening.

"Rob also wants to go with you," Ned finished the sentence.

"That is quite troubling," a headache brewing in Ned's mind. Jon and Theon's well being was more than guaranteed, but Rob wanting to go would be a big no from Lady Catelyn.

"As you may see, I find myself in quite the dilemma with the Lady, especially now with her pregnancy ongoing, and her lovely opinions of us three," said Sebastian, now sitting opposite Ned's chair.

Lord Stark stopped contemplating and finally said, "I think I know what to do," a small plan brewing in his eyes as he went to confront his pregnant lady.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"My lord, I must say that I am impressed," said Sebastian while walking alongside Lord Stark.

The snowy terrain made it a little hard to navigate, but they had some wood bark tied to their feet, making it easier to traverse.

Sebastian continued, "How did you convince Lady Catelyn?" Ned's answer was silence.

Sebastian smiled beneath the mask and finally said, "You three—if you don't walk faster, we will leave you behind!"

Theon accelerated his steps, Rob walked faster, and Jon kept walking last, unsure about the purpose of this trip. Part of him was overjoyed at camping with his brothers and father; another part was terrified, having overheard servants talk about how some lords leave their bastards to die in the wild, like animals.

His lord father's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Lads, the snow varies depending on how cold it is. It can be powder on top, or crusty and easy enough to cut," he explained, to the attentive looks of the four of them.

"You can also tell how cold it is by the sound the snow makes when you step on it. Now, we need to take advantage of the sun to make our camp." 

Ned kept on explaining "First, you need to recognize the terrain, and search for places with old trees, so we can use them for fuel and other purposes."

"Theon, Sebastian, and I will cut the trees. You two cut the branches." Ned ordered

They started, and in a while, with the efficiency of an adult, two teens, and two kids, they had quite a pile of firewood available.

The boys were tired but happy, enjoying the experience.

"Okay, we have enough firewood for now." He took out a shovel and gave it to Theon.

"You all start shoveling. Try to cut the snow with a knife and grab it in cubes, it's easier." ned imparted his wisdom

"Father, why do we have to dig out the snow?" Rob asked. Jon was thinking the same, and Rob realized it and asked in Jon's place.

"We need to dig until we reach the ground. Then we burn firewood to dry it so we can sleep there. If we don't, we'll shiver all night, at risk of dying," Ned explained, to their surprised looks.

They kept digging in a wide circle, then added firewood.

"Who wants to light the fire?" Sebastian asked, cutting Ned off.

Jon, Theon, and Rob's eyes lit up.

"Me!" said Rob and Theon, while Jon's eyes showed longing.

"Each of you grab some dry cotton and strike sparks with this stone. Once you have a spark, blow gently to feed it, then pass it to the branches. Lord Ned and I will keep cutting trees."

Theon rushed first, while Jon and Rob competed to see who was faster.

Ned and Sebastian walked away, chopping more wood.

"You're smiling" said Sebastian.

"Mmm?" asked Ned, totally engrossed.

"Happy, m'lord?"

Ned glanced at the boys' failed attempts and smiled.

"Aye-" he said "You too, it seems."

Sebastian nodded, looked at the sky, and walked back.

"It's getting late, Lord Ned. I'll start the fire."

"Ned," corrected Lord Stark, amused.

"Lord Ned," Sebastian replied with a thumbs-up. 

Ned laughed as Sebastian won the unofficial fire competition, much to the collective groans and annoyance from the boys.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ 

Now with the ground thawed and dry, and full of little burnt-out charcoal, they added some thick branches over it to serve as beds. They grabbed a long skin and used it as a barrier along the snow trench, protecting each other from the cold.

"Hungry?" Ned asked.

Theon and Rob shook their heads, lying, unwilling to show weakness to Lord Stark/lord father. Jon wanted to agree, but kept silent after the other two answered.

"Yes, Lord Ned, I am hungry and thirsty. I'll start cooking right away," said Sebastian, completely aware that lying was pointless.

"If you need water, grab the snow and thaw it in the pot," he said, while extracting a metal sheet and lining it over the fire. He grabbed some frozen meat, let it thaw slightly beside the flames, and started cutting it into fillets. He added salt and finally looked up.

"My, my. I thought you lot weren't hungry," he said with schadenfreude, taking his time savoring the unwilling expressions of the three. Lord Ned was outside, chopping more wood.

"Jon, would you be so kind as to open my backpack? I brought some snacks to eat," Sebastian asked, and Jon did so.

He grabbed the bag.

"Jon, grab the cheese and let it thaw beside the fire. Don't let it sit too long or it will melt. Rob, Theon, you two can have the jerky. Divide the portions, one for each of us, and take this—" Sebastian said, grabbing a cup of warm water, "—for you to drink, and for Lord Ned."

Theon and Rob grabbed it and went to give some water to Ned. He received it with gusto and shared the snacks with the two of them. Jon kept watch over the fire and the cheese, careful not to let it burn.

"Liking this trip?" Sebastian asked, adding more salt to the fillets.

"Yes, a lot, lor—" Jon answered.

"Call me Sebs, Jon," Sebastian replied warmly, to the boy's surprise. His eyes were like dams, unwilling to let the water out. Alas, a tear finally escaped, and Jon quickly wiped it away.

"I will, Sebs," he smiled.

Sebastian, amused but aware, changed the subject.

"Okay, grab the other bag. There's a mix for bread there. You see this sheet? Grab a piece of the dough—" Sebs explained, "—flatten it with your hands, and you can cook it over the sheet or over the ashes. Once it's done, cut it open, grab a piece of the melted cheese, and spread it inside."

Sebastian then started cooking the fillets on the remaining area of the metal sheet. Sizzling sounds accompanied them as the aroma spread throughout their refuge.

"That smells amazing," Theon said, as he, Rob, and Ned gathered near the fire.

"Jon, is it done?" Sebastian asked, and Jon nodded.

Sebastian grabbed the opened bread filled with cheese and added the cooked fillets with a bit of butter, two for each of them. They sat around the campfire, enjoying the food, the quiet, and the peace.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ 

The kids burped, filled to the brim with deliciousness, while Sebastian washed their utensils in the snow. Ned, also full but alert, finally spoke.

"Kids—" he said. "Me, Theon, and Sebastian will take turns sleeping. Rob and Jon will sleep through the night."

Rob and Jon wanted to protest, while Sebastian and Theon exchanged a look and nodded to each other.

"I'll take the third turn. Theon, you should take the second," Sebastian said, absolutely confident in his experience. Theon, unaware of the trap, simply nodded.

Satisfied, Ned took first watch, while Theon, Jon, and Rob prepared to sleep. They tried to stay awake, but tiredness and the warmth of their camp overwhelmed them. Their collective snoring was quite amusing.

"Not gonna sleep, Sebastian?" Ned asked quietly, adding more firewood.

Sebastian shook his head. "Not tired, Lord Ned," he said matter-of-factly.

Ned nodded and kept talking.

"How are Rob and Jon doing?" he asked.

"Rob is doing quite well. He'll remember this trip for many moons to come,talking, eating, sharing with his father and brothers. And Jon… Jon is much better. I had to discipline some servants along the way, but he's doing better. He smiles more, laughs more, and he's thrilled to share an adventure with his brothers and his old man. I'm quite happy for him," Sebastian said warmly.

"And Theon?" Ned asked gravely.

"He's much better, my lord. It finally started to click in that thick skull of his that, while circumstances aren't the best, he is family," Sebastian answered, amused.

"Aye. While Jon Arryn was not my father by blood, he behaved like one. I can only hope that Theon can also understand it," Ned said.

"And you, Sebastian? How are you?" Ned asked. 

Sebastian saw it coming a mille away, yet still was moved by his words.

"I am progressing, my lord," he said, delicately taking his mask off.

A beautiful visage looked back at Ned, showing a foreign handsomeness that could take the breath of men and women alike.

"I can endure for five minutes, give or take," he said, smiling, ruby eyes meeting Ned's.

"Glad to hear it, lad," Ned replied, ruffling his hair, to Sebastian's annoyance and warmth.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ 

The next day, Ned was up quite early, going to chop more wood. Theon slept deeply while Sebastian quietly woke the children. They rubbed their eyes, and when they tried to speak, Sebastian placed a finger against his mask.

Shhhh.

The kids were confused until Sebastian showed them an inkwell with three brushes, then tilted his head toward Theon, still asleep. Understanding dawned, and mischievous smiles spread across their faces. Sebastian drew a little, then left the kids to draw to their hearts' content while he started cooking breakfast.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The alluring smell of fresh bread woke Theon. He stirred and finally opened his eyes, looking at everyone taking their places to eat.

"Mmmmmm… why didn't you wake me up?" a groggy Theon asked, while Rob and Jon struggled not to laugh.

"What? Why are you laughing?" he asked, met by Ned's stoic face, the kids laughing on the ground, and Sebastian's small chuckle.

Finally, Sebastian used his knife as a mirror to show him the canvas.

"WHAT?! WHO DID THIS?! I'LL KILL YOU, YOU BRATS!" Theon roared, chasing Rob and Jon through the snow as they laughed. Just as he was about to catch them, Sebastian's voice rang out.

"Okay, okay, okay boys. One for all and all for one," he said, holding up more ink and brushes. "In fact, I'll start first."

He dipped the brush and added whiskers to his mask.

Theon smiled, while Rob and Jon shuddered. Soon, they were painting each other's faces as Ned watched, amused, at least for a while.

"My lord, a leader should set the example, right?" Sebastian said.

"Fuck," Ned muttered, resigning himself to his fate, to the children's absolute delight.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ 

No one had ever dared insult Lord Stark so openly. His face bore wolves, a bear, a squid, and whiskers.

Theon's face suffered the worst of it, crude drawings, childish symbols, and a few foreign words written across his brow that made Sebastian choke on his bread.

Puto el que lea, it read, but Sebastian refused to translate.

Robb and Jon had fared little better.

Sebastian swapped his doodled mask for a spare one, much to the resentment of the other four. They finished breakfast and headed back toward the castle.

7 needle and thread

Winterfell

In a small, cozy room lit by candles, four girls sat on different chairs, each trying to complete some needlework under the teachings of Septa Mordane—or at least three of them tried.

"Why do I need to learn this?" Arya asked, still puzzled by the repetitive, tedious, and boring task at hand.

"Arya, a lady must learn restraint, hard work, and ladylike activities. It will be good for you, and remember this so that we may find you suitable marriage candidates in the future," Septa Mordane replied sternly.

The other girls mocked her with small shushes, and Arya finally snapped.

"I don't care!" she shouted, throwing her messy attempts at the other three girls, who started screaming. Arya ran away to the family crypt—a place that offered peace, quiet, and distance from those mean girls. She arrived red-faced, sweaty, and out of breath. When she sat down to rest, she heard a voice beside her.

"Hello there, Lady Arya," Sebastian said, a mischievous look not hidden even behind his mask.

Arya yelped until she realized who it was.

"Sebastian," she grumbled.

Sebastian, for his part, sat on the floor, not caring in the slightest if his suit got dirty. He looked at her and waited. Arya tried to ignore him until she finally shouted,

"Stop that!"

"Stop what, my lady?" Sebastian asked, his tone more serious now.

"I… I don't like it when… when you get silent. It feels— it feels like you're ignoring me," Arya finally admitted.

"I didn't know that, Arya. My apologies. I won't do it again," Sebastian said, tapping two fingers lightly against her head.

Arya blinked, surprised.

"You apologized? For real?" she asked, baffled.

"Yes, Arya. I did something wrong without meaning to, and I apologized," Sebastian replied.

"And now," he continued, "would you mind telling me what happened? Septa Mordane and the servants are looking for you."

Arya sighed. "The Septa wants me to do needlework because that's what a proper lady should do. And I tried—I really did—but the other girls mocked me, and I—" She finally shouted, "—needlework is stupid and useless! I'd rather learn the sword or explore!"

Sebastian nodded, and once she calmed down, he began to speak.

"From what I see, I can break this down into several points. Will you hear me out, my lady?" he asked. Arya nodded.

"Good. First of all—and I quote—'sucking at something is the first step toward being sort of good at something.'" Arya looked at him in surprise; Sebastian was always so proper. He noticed her expression but continued. "This applies to most things and most people. Your frustration is perfectly normal when trying something new and not getting immediate results. Keep trying, and you'll eventually get better at it."

"Second," he added, lowering his voice, "Sansa, Jeyne, and Beth weren't very good at needlework at your age either."

Arya stared at him, flabbergasted.

"In fact," Sebastian said, pulling an old handkerchief from his jacket, "these were theirs." The cloth was full of crooked stitches and messy shapes. "This emaciated wolf is Sansa's, this crooked tree is Jeyne's, and these are supposed to be small wolves—though they hardly look like it."

"But they told me their needlework was better than mine at my age! They said I had the hands of an old man!" Arya protested.

"Lies, my dear Arya," Sebastian replied calmly. "They only said that to make you feel bad. They're decent now, but they worked hard to get there. Mocking you is their way of showing off and unloading their frustrations. Here—keep these. If anyone tries to take them from you, they'll answer to me."

Arya smiled mischievously.

"And last but not least," Sebastian said firmly, "needlework is not useless."

"Pardon?" Arya asked, confused.

"I said needlework is not useless. Would you like me to show you why?" He stood and offered his hand.

She accepted.

Arya followed the butler, puzzled by the whole ordeal. They walked toward the inner ward, and she couldn't help but ask,

"Where are we going? What are we doing?"

"The inner ward," Sebastian replied. "To teach you."

"Teach me what?"

"The importance of needlework on the battlefield."

Arya frowned but kept following.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

They arrived at a large yard filled with targets set at varying distances for archery practice. Arya gazed longingly at an old bow and a bundle of arrows, daydreaming about the day she'd be old enough to practice.

"Arya," Sebastian called.

"Mmm?" she murmured.

Sebastian removed his black jacket, rolled up his sleeves, and took something from his pocket. To Arya, it looked like a knife with a strange design—a hole at the top and an oddly shaped blade.

"This is a kunai," he explained. "Similar to a knife, but made for throwing."

He hurled it toward a target. It struck dead center, astonishing Arya.

"The hole allows a rope or thread to be tied," Sebastian continued. "For example—" He tugged sharply, and the kunai snapped back into his hand. "Do you see it now?"

Arya spotted a thin metallic thread trailing from the blade.

"This thread serves many purposes: traps, offense, defense, even first aid—just like the thread used in needlework."

Before Arya could respond, Sebastian cut his own arm, opening a long, ugly wound.

Arya panicked and looked around for help, but Sebastian remained calm.

"For example, I'm bleeding," he said evenly. "First, we stop the bleeding. We need cloth, preferably clean. Here, use the kunai and cut my jacket."

He pressed the kunai into her trembling hands.

"Wake up!" he shouted, snapping her out of her stupor.

She obeyed, cutting a rough strip from the fabric.

"Now apply pressure."

She did, holding it tight until the bleeding slowed.

"Good. Now we clean the wound. There's always a fire nearby—melt some snow, clean it gently, then boil the water."

She followed his instructions carefully.

"Now sterilize your needle and thread in the boiling water. Normally, we'd wait twenty minutes. This is an emergency—we'll wait two."

She threaded the needle and handed it to him, watching in awe as Sebastian stitched his arm closed.

"In two or three weeks, once it scabs, the thread must be removed," he said calmly.

Arya stared at him, realization dawning.

"This is why needlework is important, Arya. It can save your life in a pinch or on the battlefield. Infections from cuts and untreated scratches cause more deaths than a sword ever could. Or else, who do you think taught me this?" he asked.

Arya, unsure, stayed silent.

"My father did. My mother taught me how to throw a kunai, while my father taught me first aid on battlefields or in enemy territory," he explained, to Arya's surprise.

"I thought you were… you were… like Jon…the servants, I heard…" she stuttered.

"And-" he interrupted "- Does it matter?" he asked.

He continued despite her surprise.

"We may not be related by blood, but I would have been fortunate to have a little sister like you," he said, ruffling her hair with his uninjured arm.

"How about a bet, little sister?" he asked jokingly. Arya looked at him with intrigue.

"Make a handkerchief for me. Use this symbol—" he showed her a small handkerchief marked with a simple design, "—and I'll teach you how to do this."

He produced four kunai, one in each hand, and threw them all at once. Every single one hit the mark, and Arya's face shone with longing.

He retrieved the kunai, slipped them back into his pockets, and escorted her to the needle room.

As they walked, Arya now more confident, asked, "And what was that symbol?"

"A paper fan," Sebastian replied.

"And why do you want me to use that?"

"Just like the Baratheons with their stags, or the Starks with their wolves, my family, my clan, used a paper fan as its symbol. A fan can make a fire burn brighter, wilder and stronger."

"Here, you can have my handkerchief until you can copy your own" he handed her his hankerchief

Arya stared at it in amazement.

8 Ripples

Casterly Rock

Tywin Lannister sat in his solar, the scratching of his quill the only sound against the backdrop of a storm colliding with the cliffs of the Rock. He did not look up when the heavy oak door creaked open. He knew the rhythm of the footsteps.

"Tywin."

"Kevan," the Warden of the West replied, a simple motion of his head indicating the seat opposite him.

Tywin rose with the grace of a predator, grabbing a bottle from the sideboard. He poured two cups. One for himself, one for his brother.

Kevan took a sip and flinched, his throat burning. "Ah... I still cannot get used to the flavor. But I suppose I can see the appeal."

Tywin drank his own in a single, practiced motion, his expression as unmoving as stone. Without a word, he slid a sheet of paper across the desk. Kevan picked it up, his brow furrowing. It looked like the vellum of the Maesters, but the texture was slightly worse.

"It comes from the North," Tywin stated.

Kevan's eyes widened as the implications struck home. "But... the Citadel? The Maesters?"

"They have kept silent," Tywin said, savoring the lingering heat of the northern spirit. "A deal was struck behind the curtains, of that I am certain. The content of that deal eludes me for now, but the result is clear."

"Ice from the Umbers, rum from the Mormonts, vodka from the Starks... and now this?" Kevan looked at the paper again. "Where is this being made?"

"Karstark territory," Tywin replied. "Our remaining spies in the North confirm it. They will be in full operation within three years."

"Remains?" Kevan caught the word. "This isn't the Stark way. Ned Stark is honorable to a fault. Sabotaging a spy network... this is madness."

Tywin nodded. "It is not the Stark way. It's that Stark's butler. I found the truth by looking at the new 'black spots' in our reports. Sebastian Phantomhive."

"The Bard?"

"Indeed. The cunning Bard. Every disappearance of a Lannister agent coincides with his visits to the Northern houses. Every new industry appears in his wake."

Kevan leaned forward, his voice a whisper. "We should send Tyrion to probe."

Tywin nodded

"The industries are in their infancy," Tywin said, his eyes narrowing. "And this Phantomhive... his information is a mix of absolute truth and perfect lies. Tyrion will go for he will observe. Then, we decide: recruit, threaten, or negotiate. It would be a shame to kill the goose."

"Which one?" Kevan asked.

"Janei and the Stark's first son," Tywin replied coldly. Kevan sighed, a sound of deep weariness.

"You know they will reject it, Tywin."

Tywin didn't blink. "Don't overstate the obvious. Tyrion needs an official reason to visit the North. While he is there, he will offer the hand of Joy Hill to this... Butler."

Kevan stood up, his face reddening. "She... she is Gerion's last memento! You would give her to a servant?"

"She is a bastard," Tywin said, his voice uncompromising. "And a cheap price to pay for such a man's alliance. My reach is long, Kevan, and I have found that the 'Phantomhive' name is a ghost, a fabrication. To a man with no past, a name like Lannister, even a bastard one, will be an offer he cannot refuse."

Kevan lowered his gaze, defeated by his brother's cold logic. "And if it fails?"

"Then Joffrey and the Stark girl will make a lovely couple," Tywin concluded. "The Starks would never refuse a royal proposal from 'their dear King.' " 

Tywin finally added 

"For soon enough, the North will hear the Lion roar" 

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ 

Highgarden

In the heart of the reach, the unofficial Queen of Westeros let out a sharp, dry laugh.

"What has you so amused, Grandmother?" Margaery asked, watching as Olenna Tyrell fanned herself.

"Oh dear, your favorite sheath-swirler has done it again," Olenna chuckled, watching the red roses bloom in Margaery's cheeks. Olenna took a breath, her eyes turning sharp. "I've known a great number of clever men, Margaery. I've outlived them all. Do you know how?-"

Margaery waited, knowing the answer was coming.

"-I ignored themall. It's that simple, my child. But your cross-dressing friend has made himself a very dangerous enemy of the Lannisters with these little Northern 'innovations.' Now tell me, what will happen to us when they clash?"

Margaery tilted her head, absorbing her grandmother's wisdom. "Nothing?"

"Nothing at all," Olenna smiled. "Our coffers grow fat, our relations with the North strengthen, and Loras and Renly have secured the Stormlands. The Lannisters can snarl all they like, but they cannot touch us."

"But Grandma... what if war comes?"

"As for that-" Olenna said, looking out over the endless fields of grain, "-we shall see. Anyone with an ounce of brain knows that bread is a must for any man. Let them fight. We will be the ones who feed the survivors."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Dorne

Across Westeros, the "Alcoholic Revolution" was in full swing. Vodka, rum, and ice were the new gold. In the sweltering heat of Sunspear, ice had become the ultimate status symbol.

"Ahhhh... perfection," Oberyn Martell sighed, swirling a glass of vodka over crystal-clear ice.

"I am glad you enjoy it," Doran replied, watching the sunset with his brother.

"It seems the Northerners aren't as frigid as I thought. They actually know how to live. Cheers to that," the Red Viper said, already pouring his fourth glass.

"The situation in the North has become... unique," Doran said after a long silence.

"The Starks' new warden? What of him?" Oberyn asked, his curiosity piqued. "The tales of his songs have reached even here. I admit, I want to see the face behind the mask. Perhaps a song, a fuck, and a new friend are in order."

Doran nodded gravely. "The north industries bloom and a new player has entered the board."

"Do you think Lord Stark is this new player?" oberyn asked

The two brothers shared a look, then laughed. The idea of Ned Stark orchestrating a continental economic takeover was too absurd to consider.

"I see three paths," Doran mused. "A Lannister trap to conquer the North from within. A Tyrell ploy,though those flowers are usually as dim as they are pretty unlike their Queen. Or... someone truly loyal to the Starks."

"And you want me to find out?" Oberyn asked with a smirk.

"I do."

"And you'll let your brother's balls freeze in the North? How heartless, Doran," Oberyn sighed, though his eyes sparkled. "I have business in Braavos first, then Winterfell. Being your brother is exhausting."

Oberyn stood, snatching the bottle and the remaining ice as he walked away.

"Bring the other one," Doran ordered the servants completely aware and done with his brother's antics. Another bottle of "Northern Fire" and a fresh bowl of ice were brought forth for even the Prince of Dorne wasn't immune to the charm of a perfect butler's work.

9 Siblings (sighs) part 1

Winterfell

Arya sat in her bedroom, trying to copy the Uchiha symbol through her needlework. At her side lay a pile of failed attempts. Her effort was commendable, but to her it was not good enough.

I need to do this. I need to…

Her thoughts were interrupted by Sansa's voice.

"What are you doing?" she asked her sister.

"What do you care?" Arya replied, trying to hide Sebastian's handkerchief.

Sansa noticed the failed attempts, and her attention narrowed on the thing Arya was trying to conceal.

"Does this involve a secret from our mother?" she asked, fully aware of Arya's weaknesses.

At Arya's flinch, Sansa seized the moment of confusion and snatched it away.

"HEY! GIVE THAT BACK!" Arya shouted indignantly.

"It looks like a sigil. Are you trying to replicate it?" Sansa said, smirking. "Is this from your SeCrEt BoYfRiEnD?"

She mocked her while engraving the details of the symbol into her mind; she would search for it later in Maester Ludwig's library. She walked toward the window to annoy Arya even more. She had no intention of throwing it away, but Arya didn't know that.

"STOP, PLEASE! IT IS NOT MINE! THIS IS FROM SEBASTIAN! PLEASE, PLEASE, DON'T THROW IT AWAY!" Arya pleaded, her eyes overwhelmed with tears.

"Sebastian's?" Sansa asked, surprised, for she had never connected him to a family last name.

Is this the Phantomhive symbol? she wondered, when Arya's sobs interrupted her thoughts.

She gave the handkerchief one last glance, memorizing its details, and left it on the table. She opened the door, checked both sides to make sure no one was watching, and ran back to her room, leaving a small Arya crying from frustration.

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ __ __ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Arya avoided Sansa like the plague for a week, until one morning she appeared in the kitchen while Sebastian was making breakfast and Arya kept him company, happily relishing a freshly made sandwich cookie.

"My lady, pleasant morning," Sebastian greeted, as Arya retreated into herself.

"Sebastian, pleasant morning," Sansa replied, casting a smug look at little Arya.

"Would you like a sandwich cookie?" he asked, placing a small plate full of them in front of her, along with some tea.

"I would be delighted," she said, sipping her tea slow enough to annoy Arya, while Sebastian coaxed Arya back into cheer by shaping a few sandwich cookies into little wolves, much to her delight.

"Sebastian," Sansa began, "I've never heard much about the Phantomhive family. Could you tell me more? Where are you from?" she asked innocently, to Arya's growing dread.

"Mmm," Sebastian hummed. "To tell you the truth, the Phantomhive family is a lie, my lady. I did have a family name, but when I came here, I changed it. To start fresh."

"And what was your family name and symbol?" Sansa asked.

"The Uchiha clan, my lady. Our symbol was a paper fan," he answered, noticing how Arya's face began to pale.

"Here, Sebastian," Sansa said, smiling smugly at Arya. "I made this for you."

She handed him a handkerchief bearing his family's symbol, beautifully embroidered, without a single imperfection.

Sansa took one last smug look at Arya, but her reaction wasn't the usual anger or annoyance. She looked devastated 

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!" Arya screamed. "IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE MY CHALLENGE! No, no, he… he will never teach me… i..I...I HATE YOU!"

She cried inconsolably.

Sansa moved to approach her, to explain herself and help, but Sebastian stopped her and shook his head. He sighed, crouched beside Arya, and pulled her into a hug.

At first, Arya struggled, but then, to Sansa's surprise, a beautiful sound began to grow.

Sebastian held the inconsolable girl and sang softly:

"If I could begin to be
Half of what you think of me
I could do about anything
I could even learn how to love"

The sound filled Sansa's eyes with melancholy, happiness, and calm.

Sebastian hummed the next part of the song, and rather than worsening her sorrow, it brought serenity.

Arya's sobbing eased, though she still clung to him as if afraid to let go.

Sebastian continued:

"Look at you go—"

He pulled back just enough to lift her under the arms, swinging her gently across the room like a child's toy.

"-I just adore you-"

Arya giggled in the air.
"-I wish that I knew
What makes you think I'm so special"

The only trace of unhappiness left were her wet cheeks, her eyes slowly drifting shut as sleep crept in.

"If I could begin to be
Half of what you think of me
I could do about anything
I could even learn how to love-"

Sebastian hugged her once more as she delicately closed her eyes, then shifted her into a careful princess carry.

"-Love like you
Love me like you"

To Sansa's amazement, Arya was already asleep. Sebastian asked for silence, carrying her away so she could rest undisturbed.

Sansa had never seen Arya cling to someone like that, not even their parents.

By the time she understood what had happened, Sebastian was long gone, surely on his way to leave Arya with Catelyn, the septa, or in her bedroom.

Guilt and confusion overwhelmed her as sleep eluded her all night.

It was my fault. She thought drowning on her own in guilt, and for once, she was right.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

In the central region of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, rich, fertile, and populous, commoners and smallfolk shared the finest entertainment they knew.

Gossip.

And this one was particularly juicy.

"You hear'd?" one man asked.

"What the fuck are you talkin' about?" the other replied, taking a swig of beer.

"Yu remember the Stark's bastar'?" he said, lowering his voice just enough to ensure everyone could still hear.

"What 'bout it?"

"Ma frien' of ma frien' says there wasn't just one. They were two."

He had drawn the attention of the entire tavern.

"You serious?" the man asked, intrigued by northern scandals, and what Lord Tully might think of them.

"Aye' The fancy, masked one? That fucker? That's the other," he said. "If not, why don't he show his face?"

The tavern reached the same conclusion together. After all, what was more believable than a conclusion you reached yourself? 

Now that they knew that the wolf had two bastards, how does lord tully would react?

They kept drinking. Before long, the second man slid a single gold dragon across the table.

_ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ 

A/N: Sorry for the angst, I really enjoy writing sibling rivalry

10 Siblings (sighs) part 2

Sansa did not sleep all night. Confusion and guilt corroded her, though she did not quite understand why. After all, she had always treated Arya like that, pushing her to be more like a lady. This time, however, Arya had not reacted as Sansa expected.

 In the end, she went to the kitchens to speak with Sebastian, certain he would blame her.

"Sebastian, I am sorr—" she tried to apologize, but he stopped her.

"Muffin?" he asked.

Sansa mechanically nodded as she munched on the delicious treat. Sebastian brought her some tea to go with it.

"Better?" he asked.

She nodded.

"My mother taught me that important conversations must never be held on an empty stomach," he said calmly. "So now, what did you want to talk about?"

And so she explained: the sigil, the competition she had imagined in her own mind, the guilt and confusion at Arya's reaction, and Sebastian's supposed promise. Sebastian listened carefully, then finally explained.

"We had an agreement with Arya. If she gave her all to embroidery, I would teach her a skill I learned from my mother. When you arrived with the handkerchief, she thought our agreement was now void."

"But… why?" Sansa asked, confused.

"Why not?" Sebastian replied, then continued. "When we are children, promises matter because children remember. For her, it meant that something she worked so hard for had suddenly become meaningless. Do you understand now?"

Sansa nodded, calmer now.

"How can I… make things right?" she murmured.

"An apology is a must," he said, a hint of mischief radiating from him. "But first—"

"—First, we go fishing," he finished, much to Sansa's confusion.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Sebastian carried Arya while Septa Mordane and Sansa trailed behind them.

"I still cannot believe you kidnapped us against my will to go 'fishing,'" Septa Mordane complained.

"What a shame," Sebastian replied lightly, "but I asked for my lord's permission, and the ladies still require a chaperone."

"We are here," he said, and Arya finally saw the frozen lake.

"What are we doing, Sebastian?" she asked. She had been promised an adventure, though she had not been told which one would be.

"Fishing, my lady. It may not seem like it, but there are fish swimming beneath us," he explained, cutting a circle in the ice deep enough to reach the water.

"Why is she here?" Arya whispered, glancing at Sansa.

Sebastian only smiled.

"Septa."

"Butler."

They locked eyes. After a long moment, Sebastian spoke.

"I once chose discretion when it was not required of me. I said then that I would remember it."

He let the words linger.

"Consider it remembered."

Septa Mordane huffed. "What?"

"Five minutes," he said. "You may watch us from afar. I respect your professionalism."

"Really?" she asked, skeptical that such a small favor was being repaid.

He nodded, and she stepped away.

Sebastian retrieved three fishing rods, explained how to set the bait, and they waited.

Uncomfortable with the silence, Sansa finally asked, "Why are we doing this?"

"For several reasons," he replied. "For you, Lady Sansa, you need to learn how to fish. It is expected when you visit the Riverlands to see your grandfather. After all, the Tully sigil is a leaping trout."

He then turned to Arya.

"For you, Lady Arya, to teach the basics of fishing: bait, catching, cleaning, and cooking."

"Are we going to eat it?" Arya asked, eyes sparkling.

"But of course, my lady. And the final reason for fishing is—"

The girls leaned closer.

"—because I am terrible at it," Sebastian sighed.

"Eh?" they said in unison.

"Is that truly so hard to process?" he asked.

Sansa recovered first and nodded.

"Fishing frustrates me because I yearn for control. I like things I can control. But with fishing, all you can do is set the bait and wait. Will the fish bite? Will it escape? Are there even fish to catch? I have no control over any of it. Just like gardening."

He continued gently, "Just as Lady Sansa is better at embroidery than Lady Arya, and Lady Arya is more athletic despite her age. Just as Jon is the better swordsman, while Robb is the better strategist. We all have strengths and weaknesses."

He looked at Arya. "Lady Sansa did not know about our agreement. And do not worry, I only wanted you to try embroidery. I would have taught you regardless."

Then he turned to Sansa. "And Lady Sansa, I believe you owe Arya something."

Sansa approached Arya, who flinched slightly.

"I am so sorry, Arya," she said softly. "What I did was wrong… Will… will you forgive me?"

Arya looked at her, expecting an elaborate joke. When nothing followed, she hesitated.

"I… I forgive you," she said at last. "But promise you won't do it again."

She glanced at Sebastian, who gave a discreet thumbs up.

Sansa agreed, relief washing over her, and silence settled once more.

"We should return to fishing," Sebastian said as Septa Mordane came back into view.

Two hours later

"Well," Sebastian said lightly, "that was… an experience."

"You dragged us from a warm, cozy castle to fish," Septa Mordane snapped, "and you did not catch a single thing?"

She turned and began her way back toward the castle as the girls laughed.

Sebastian chuckled. 

"Lady Sansa, would you like to know Arya's arrangement?"

Sansa nodded.

Sebastian produced four kunai and hurled them into the water, to Sansa's confusion and Arya's delight. He tugged the wire, and four fish emerged, each pierced cleanly through the belly.

"But, but you said you were bad at fishing!" Sansa protested as Arya placed the fish in the basket.

"I said I was bad at fishing," Sebastian replied calmly, "not at catching fish. Wording, my lady. They are the rise or ruin of entire kingdoms."

They returned to the castle beneath Septa Mordane's stunned gaze,for she never realized when Sebastian had cached anything at all, while Arya followed him to the kitchen. For she wanted to learn to gut, prepare and finally eat her fish and show off in front of her older siblings.

11 Mutual spite

Winterfell

"May I help you?" asked Sebastian to his 'guest.'

tuk, tuk the halfman kicked softly at the so called metallic monstrosity.

"Indeed, my friend, you can. Know that my only intent is curiosity for this 'thing' over here," he said, looking at the metallic stove.

"And my intent will be to chop you up and cook you there if you keep kicking my stove," said Sebastian, shielding his precious appliance.

"You shouldn't. Lion's meat is quite chewy. Wouldn't recommend it."

"I have my means. One of them is to cover the meat with leaves and cook it in warm water for hours. The results… are… magnificent," Sebastian said, slowly closing the distance between himself and the halfman.

"But—" Sebastian added with a shrug, "—you look quite skinny. I would need to get you fatter," he muttered.

"Oh please, remember the rule: never eat a sick animal's meat. I would give you indigestion."

The halfman finally looked around and noticed that Sebastian now held a strange sandwich, filled with what looked like potatoes, though he wasn't entirely sure.

"Oh, I insist. Come to my room, please," said Sebastian.

The halfman, now unsure whether the joke continued or not, tried to back away slowly.

"I have a new prototype for a drink there, which I must sample. It's called tequila."

The halfman quickened his pace and said,
"What are we waiting for, my friend? This lion needs to get fatter."

"And juicier," added Sebastian.

They both chuckled.

"Tyrion Lannister, but you already knew that," said the halfman.

"Sebastian Phantomhive. Same."

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _

"Fuck, this is good!" said Tyrion, sucking his own thumb.

"How do you call this marvelous food?" he asked.

"Burger with fries," replied Sebastian, watching him intently.

"And now, why are you here, Tyrion Lannister?" Sebastian asked.

They shared a brief moment.

Tyrion took a sip of his tequila and said, "Well, you see, I have brought quite the honor for the Starks. A marriage proposal involving my cousin, Janei Lannister and Rob Stark."

Sebastian tilted his head.

"I haven't insulted your intelligence, Lord Lannister—" Sebastian whispered loudly, "—do not insult mine."

"So much for good food and friendly banter," complained Tyrion.

"Perhaps after dessert," Sebastian offered.

Tyrion nodded and sighed.

"You have made quite the impression in the south, and we Lannisters have an offer that you can't refuse."

"That I can't, or shouldn't?"

"Whichever you prefer."

"Let me guess, money, women, land, threats?" Sebastian continued. "A few of them, or all of them?"

"Whichever you like best, my friend. Though I would really recommend the money and the whores. We will be best friends by then," Tyrion smiled.

"And the threat?" asked Sebastian.

"There are not many people I have met who have seen me as a man before, and I would be truly sad to bury a potential friend," said Tyrion.

"But I will share a drink with your grave and whore in your place. I hope you feel honored with her moans, wherever you are by then" he laughed.

"My, my. Feisty, eh? I must have really pissed off Daddy Dearest. Let me guess, his little sheep started disappearing, and the old lion can't hear the mehh from here."

Tyrion shrugged.

"I am just a messenger. After all, Lord Tywin would never care if an imp died along the way."

"Or he knows you may be the only one with an ounce of brain among his sons. After all, I met the Queen and the Kingslayer" said Sebastian, serving more tequila.

Tyrion laughed out loud, nearly spilling his drink.

"While I must agree with you about my sister—" Tyrion lowered his voice, "—my brother is out of bounds."

"Was that threat from Tyrion, or the Lannisters?"

"Take your pick. Or don't, and surprise yourself."

They stared at each other for a moment until Tyrion raised an eyebrow and said,
"I would love your gaze on me if you were a pretty whore to fuck, but you are not."

"If you wish…" Sebastian removed his jacket, obscuring his body for a brief moment. When the cloth fell, a beauty stood before Tyrion.

puhhh Tyrion spat his drink as the woman opened her fan to shield herself, then flicked it sharply, splashing him with his own spit and liquor.

"What… how…?"

"Surprised, my lord?" Sébastienne asked, bowing slowly and allowing a brief glimpse of her breasts. "But remember, mine is thicker and larger than yours," she added in the most macho voice possible.

She left the room with the absoluteness of a queen, leaving Tyrion in utter dismay and confusion.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Winterfell
Solar

"Lord Eddard Stark."

"Lord Tyrion."

"I must say, my lord, your reputation precedes you."

Lord Stark nodded slightly before finally asking,
"What does a Lannister want from the North?"

"From the North, my lord? Oh no. My father, Lord Tywin Lannister, felt that the alliances between our houses may be a little shaky as of late. So he sent me to make things right. You see, my lovely cousin Janei would make a wonderful bride for the young wolf, Robb," Tyrion said.

Lord Stark closed his eyes and regarded the halfman before him.

"No."

"Pardon, my lord?"

"You will go back-" Lord Eddard said dripping cold from each word "-and tell Lord Tywin, word for word, that House Stark will not accept this proposal. Did I make myself clear?" Lord Stark said with finality, making Tyrion sit straighter.

"Very well, my lord, but I advise you to think of thi—"
Tyrion caught the look in Eddard's grey eyes, like prey before a wolf, and shut up.

"Anything else?" Eddard asked.

"Yes, my lord. I wished to fulfill a small dream of mine and visit the Wall. May I have your permission?" Tyrion asked, more subdued.

Lord Eddard nodded. "Speak with Sebastian. He will arrange everything. Also, leave your guards at Winterfell."

"But—"

"Such disrespect must be repaid with the same decorum. For while Lannisters value many things, paying one's debts is your legacy. Now in front of me is a debt and a Lannister. Dismissed."

A confused Tyrion left the solar, puzzled by this politically astute Lord Eddard Stark.After all, Lord Stark was famed for being honorable, yet Tyrion suspected now that someone had been sharpening the Lord of Winterfell in how to survive the game.

12 Lady in the clouds

Winterfell
Lady Sansa entered what had become her safest place in the whole castle. The kitchens. One could only wonder why the first noble daughter of one, if not the noblest house in the whole Westeros, second only to the princess, would like to go there.

"Sebastian," she greeted courtly.
"Lady Sansa," he greeted, in a perfect stance.

"I…" she blinked, and now stood before her a cup of tea with some ham and cheese sandwiches. She could only sigh and enjoy the peaceful quiet of the kitchens, the flavorful tea, the slight chewiness of the freshly made bread, and the delicious ham and cheese. It did not help that there were many, and they were as delicious as they were addictive.

She pushed the plate at the curious glance of Sebastian.

"Is it not to your liking, my lady?" he asked.

"No, Sebastian, it's delicious, just…" she mumbled while looking at her belly.

"Pregnant, my lady? Oh my, that's quite the scandal, tell me more," he instructed while he grabbed her hand for more details.

Sansa's cheeks mirrored her hair, and she fumbled, only to see the amusement in Sebastian's demeanor.

"Sebastian!" she reacted.
"Lady Sansa!" he mirrored.

They chuckled, as worry left Sansa's shoulders after a good laugh.

"Better, my lady?" he asked.
She sighed and nodded.

"What did you want to talk about, my lady?" he asked, in a slightly more serious tone.

"I… Sebastian, would… would you lie to me?" she asked, expecting an answer which she would not receive.

"Yes, my lady, I would lie to you," Sebastian said, agreeing wholeheartedly.

"Pardon?!" Lady Sansa asked, confused.

"You asked if I would lie to you, I said yes, because if it means protecting you or the Starks as a whole, I would lie to you, my lady—" Sebastian continued. "—remember, my lady, think and ask the right questions, and I will answer those," Sebastian explained.

Lady Sansa took a deep breath and explained.

"I have heard rumours that concern me, Sebastian. From the servants at the house and smallfolk that I overhear." Sebastian nodded.

"They call me the lady in the clouds, I… I tried asking for some clarification because whenever I hear it, it feels insulting. But they keep denying my requests. I did not want to ask mother or the septa for… for…"

"You don't want anybody punished, right? For in your mind it would be your fault," ended Sebastian, while Sansa nodded.

"I asked Arya, you know? We are not close, but things between us have been much better. She said… she said that even if she told me, I would not believe her. So, Sebastian—" Sansa tried to pose as she had previously seen her mother do whenever she needed to order a peasant or a servant "—Sebastian Phantomive, what does that insult mean, and why do people call me like that?" Sansa asked.

Sebastian put a hand on his chin in a thinking pose.

Silence stretched on the room

"Chin slightly down," he said softly.
"Pardon?"

"Chin slightly down. From what I see, it seems that you copied your mother's mannerisms at the smallfolk. It can be useful for common people and smallfolk, but be wary. It will be considered an insult for houses of the same status," he taught gently, while Sansa corrected herself, giving a small thank you on the way.

"And yes, Sansa, I can explain. Are you ready to hear it?" he asked.
"Yes," she said with finality.

"Have you ever heard of the carriage problem?" he asked.
"No?" she denied, puzzled about the direction of this conversation.

"A carriage full of food goes at high speed to the soldiers' aid. On the way, a group of children lies on the road, unable to move. You have two options: keeping the direction, killing them but assuring the soldiers' survival and potentially victory, or you change the course, saving the children while condemning the soldiers due to a destroyed carriage along with the food?" he asked, a difficult question demanding a difficult answer.

Sansa, confused, finally said,
"I would save the kids," replied Sansa, keeping the teachings of the Seven at heart.

"And the soldiers would die of hunger, you would be blamed, the enemy would win, and all the soldiers, including you and the kids, would be dead," he explained, a hypothetical scenario.

"But, but, killing children is wrong, I would be a monster to choose that, and I am not a monster!" she said.

"True, killing children is monstrous, but war waits for no one, and hard choices must be made regardless. You see, Sansa, life is full of difficult choices, especially for you, my dear. You will be a lady of a house, married away to another family, and you will be expected to defend yourself, your children, your husband, and your underlings. For if your dear husband goes to war, you must remain helping him, providing him food, water, deals, logistics win wars and hard choices will be your bread and butter," explained Sebastian to a mortified Sansa.

Sebastian sighed and clapped once, to take Sansa out of her thoughts.

"These are not decisions which you must take now. But maybe in the future. The reason they call you the lady in the clouds is that you are obsessed with knights, chivalry, marrying your husband, and having a lot of children. It's not wrong, but that is not the complete picture. And—" Sebastian paused, noticing Sansa's expression"—we should leave it here, Lady Sansa. I am not mocking you, I just advise you to give your attention to a wider variety of books, besides the ones encouraged by your mother," explained Sebastian, while closing the door of the kitchen, leaving a bewildered and confused Sansa outside.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

The kitchens were silent again.

An uncomfortable Sebastian sat on a chair, mumbling to himself.

"She wouldn't do it… and I... I would. Maybe that's why I am such a monster, eh?" he chuckled self-deprecatingly while he kept cooking.

"How many times had Lord Stark stopped me?" he asked.
"Too many to count," he replied to himself

13 Family, Duty, Honor

Winterfell

Solar

Lady Catelyn Stark nee Tully entered her husband's office, being one of the few people allowed to do it freely. She entered and saw Ned's eyes brighten at seeing her face..

'focus' she reminded herself.

"Lord Stark" she said.

Ned's eyes dimmed, though his expression betrayed nothing.

"How may I help you Cat?" he tried to defuse.

"Ned, have you ever thought about what would have been? if we weren't together? If all that never happened, happened?" she asked vaguely.

Ned was surprised by her words, a million thoughts swirled on his head and finally answered with the truth.

"Sometimes Cat" he sighed, for he knew that he may be many things but he was never meant to be a lord.

She nodded and continued.

"At first, I also wondered what if, what if I married Brandon? What would my life be like? And then-" she paused, recomposing herself "-then we had rob. And I never ever thought of the 'what ifs' ever again" she looked at him in the eyes, love overflowing from her, for her family, for her dear husband and she could see a small smile on her husband's face. 

what a beautiful smile she let herself enjoy for a moment and then continued.

"And then… and then you brought jon" she said, feeling how the warm room felt cold, she pushed anyway.

"I tolerated, the Seven know that I endured and then-" now her words were laced with ice "-you brought them here" she looked at her husband's face, tired for what he saw coming.

"The Greyjoy kid I could understand and just barely, but the masked kid? another bastard? I confronted you then, I told you that Jon's existence was a risk, that true born children had been killed for less. I would have been okay if you fostered him far away from my sight. And then you brought two new problems at our door" she said, voice tired, as they had been having the same argument for years.

"Cat…"

"No Ned, let me finish. You told me that Sebastian wasn't your son, a poor boy who did not know how to speak or write the common tongue. And then… then he started working, he learned faster than normal kids, self-assigning himself as our butler, then he became our warden, Jon Poole resigned willingly to leave the kid the post. The negotiations, the deals, the money, the prestige, the small folk's love, half of the houses in the north had met him and had benefitted themselves for the things that he brought forth. The other half is waiting patiently for his visit."

She paused

"Now, look at me in the eyes and tell me-" she asked with tears in her eyes, aware that Ned's defences lowered whenever she cried "-Is he your son?".

"No" answered Ned, in the same way that he answered those years before

"Then prove it, let me see his face" she pleaded.

Ned shook his face "It's not my place to ask him that" he sighed, aware of the implications that Sebastian had with his own face.

Catelyn looked disappointed, knowing that a denial would be everything she would receive as an answer.

She got up, and looked him in the eyes.

"A letter from my family" she passed him a letter.

Ned looked at the letter and read it in silence.

Ned's brows creased.

"This is not true" he said

"Does it matter?" she asked and they both knew that in fact, it didn't.

Ned looked at her, and couldn't ask her, to deny the claims, for he had not been able to provide evidence for her, that sebastian was not his bastard.

Catelyn looked at her husband and said

"Put him on a leash" with venom on her mouth and leaving the room leaving ned alone in the solar

knock knock

"Come in" 

Master ludwig entered the solar with letters on his hand

'By the old gods' ned thought

_ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ 

Lord Stark,

I hear whispers and smell southern nonsense riding on them.

The boy has brought coin, grain, and work where there was little. Any lord who fears that should look to his own hall before questioning another man's worth.

If that is not enough, then we are all fools.

— Maege Mormont

_ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _

Lord Stark,

Rumor speaks of your warden taking a bride of Gerion Lannister's blood.

If false, it should be crushed. If true, it proves the danger of allowing a man of uncertain birth and face to grow unchecked.

Either way, the North should not be made to wonder.

— Rickard Karstark

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lord Stark,

If the butler's is not your blood, then his choice of bride is poor judgment.

If he is, then the rumors were inevitable.

Either way, this union weakens the north.

— Barbrey Dustin

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ 

Ned ,

Either your man is wedding a lion's kin or someone wants us thinking he is.

Both are problems.

Decide which it is, and deal with it.

— Greatjon Umber

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lord Stark,

Masks are useful things. They allow men to be more than they seem.

Or less.

Stability is maintained when every man knows his place and face. I trust Winterfell will ensure this continues to be so.

— Roose Bolton

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Catelyn got back to her room and dried her tears.She looked at herself in the mirror, a beautiful red haired woman looked back, but all she could feel about her reflection was disgust.

"Family, Duty, Honor" she repeated while confirming in her mind that her silence was needed for the leash to be put on Sebastian's neck. For while useful, Rob needed a capable subordinate, not a dividing factor

14 On a leash or unleashed?

Teela’s life had always been a series of ups and downs. She lived in a small village in the North with her mother and two brothers. She had a happy and sweet childhood… until it happened, a cold summer.

Her mother was asleep, exhausted from her work as a needleworker, weaving rugs for noble houses. Teela was cold, her brothers were shivering, and she did not want to wake her tired mother. So she brought some burning coal inside to warm her family against the biting chill.

Her brothers told her they both had headaches. She told them they should get some sleep, that tomorrow they would be fine.

Time passed. She remained awake to finish her chores, but a thought kept trying to surface in her mind,a warning, perhaps. Then the headache again. She looked at her family, sleeping peacefully, and then she saw it: the coal still burning in the middle of the house.

Panic overwhelmed her senses. Tales of witch’s coal that had killed entire families rushed through her mind, and she knew she had to do something. Her feet felt like lead and her thoughts began to drift, her body urging her to sleep. Maybe tomorrow everything would be all right. She comforted herself

No! she thought, mustering her will.

She stumbled toward the coal, a burning piece grazing her face and jolting her body into motion. She crawled, and crawled, and finally reached the door and pushed it open.

“Ahhh.” x4

Her family, and she herself, took a deep breath of fresh air.

They were safe. She was burned, but they were safe.

And now, that same dread, that same wrongness assaulted her once more, full force.

Clap. Clap.

“Teela, are you there?” Sebastian asked with concern.

She blinked out of her thoughts and looked at the butler.

“Is something wrong, Teela?” he asked.

“Why are you sad, my lord?” she asked, unsure why she said it, only that she did.

Sebastian took a moment to compose himself.

“Sad? I am not sad, Teela. Now we need to go, the chores won’t complete themselves,” he said, as a bewildered and confused Teela followed him.

Arya had always been a perceptive girl. She liked to play, she liked adventure, and she loved her family.

Like Sebs, she thought. Though he was not her blood brother, she had always seen him as a caring older brother. He taught her things, explained her and even spoiled her from time to time

After that fishing trip, which she loved and still longed to repeat raw fish included, she began her training with the kunai. He gifted her a wooden one, balanced to weigh the same as a metal blade. Every day she practiced her katas, performed her exercises, and whenever possible trained her aim secretly in her room, careful not to be caught by her mother.

She also grew much better at embroidery, knowing she had to do it perfectly so that one day she could stitch wounds.

Everything felt perfect.

Until it didn’t.

Winterfell felt different, as if something was happening that no one could quite see.

Teela, the girl with the burned face, was given more and more responsibilities. The cook began using Sebastian’s favored metal stove. The food was good… but it lacked something, and…

“Good morning, Lady Arya,” Sebastian said.

“Sebs!” She ran forward and hugged him, and Sebastian laughed.

“I prepared your favorite,” he said, pointing to the table.

“Is that?! But, it’s not my nameday yet!” she shouted happily.

“So? I knew you would enjoy Bruce Mom’s cake, little one,” he said conspiratorially.

“Thank you!” She hugged him tightly.

“Alright, little pup, let go of me and I’ll give you this,” he said, handing her a fork.

She dug in eagerly, delighted by the cake, yet confused by Sebastian’s reaction.

He looked almost…

sad.

Knock. Knock.

“Come in,” she said.

“M’lady, Lord Stark summons you to his solar,” Teela announced.

Catelyn furrowed her brows for this was not usual.

She made her way to the solar, skirts brushing softly against the stone floors. As she reached for the door, it opened from the other side. 

For a brief moment, she and Sebastian faced one another.

She could feel the smugness coming from him, masked or not.

Once inside, voices rosed. 

Catelyn argued. 

She even shouted. 

But Eddard answered with finality.

“He will not learn to rule by hiding behind his mother’s skirts.”

And there wasn’t anything she could do about it.

She left the solar with stiff steps, her hands clenched tight, regret settling heavily in her chest.

Catelyn found herself in the glass gardens. She needed to breathe.

This… this was not supposed to happen. My boy, he is taking him away from me, she thought, dread pooling in her chest.

She paced the garden, trying, and failing, to calm herself.

She tried to wrap her head around it. She knew there had always been a possibility, but she had dismissed it. She had seen the butler’s loyalty firsthand, and it reminded her how many minor nobles and smallfolk would follow Ned without question.

This is his revenge, she thought, aware that she herself had fanned the flames to diminish Sebastian’s prestige. She knew, of course she knew, that Sebastian wasn’t Ned’s, but she had played that card to keep him leashed. The Riverlands deserved that success, and it would have humbled the butler.

He was smallfolk and they were nobles. While she appreciated the knowledge he imparted to her children, they were growing too close for her comfort.

He knew. He wants revenge. That’s why he’s taking Robb from me, she thought, but there was nothing she could do about it.

Flashback

Winterfell — Solar

“Knock knock,” Sebastian said.

Lord Stark sighed as Sebastian shrugged.

“You told me not to knock. You never said I couldn’t say knock knock,” Sebastian explained cheekily.

“Report,” Lord Stark ordered.

“The Old Gods festival was a great success, especially during the cold summer. Suicides dropped thanks to the festivities, and old, but still edible food was used, avoiding waste. Our ‘paw patrol’ has been implemented successfully, eliminating most of the rats through our ‘pawed protectors.’The kids loved it. Also, the peat from the Reeds has been a massive success among the smallfolk, reducing the need to cut more trees or import coal from the Karstarks, and—”

Sebastian paused, eyeing the pile of letters.

“—would you mind telling me what has you so worried, my lord?” he asked.

Ned Stark passed him a letter from the Tullys. Sebastian read it.

Silence stretched.

“They’re desperate” Sebastian grunted.

“Indeed,” Lord Stark replied.

“What do you plan to do, my lord? I would suggest a series of unfortunate events. Something amusing, like a lion dying while shitting, just to see if he really shits gold” Sebastian paused “Sadly, I’m sure you will disagree,” Sebastian offered, easing Ned’s headache and earning a faint smile.

Ned shook his head.

“If only it were that easy. No, your presence is needed here Sebastian. I will send a letter to Jon Arryn, explaining my recent movements as a way to strengthen and defend the North from a new King-beyond-the-Wall and how you acted on my will. Also that the steward marriage rumors are false.”

“Will they believe it?” Sebastian asked.

Ned shook his head.

“No. But it will buy us legitimacy. And Robert knows I do not jest about defending the North. Sadly, it will mean more marriage proposals for you,” Ned added with a chuckle, Sebastian shivered.

“And the rumors about ‘Sebastian Snow’?” Sebastian asked, knowing he could not show his face to just anyone.

Ned answered with silence.

“So you’ll let your honor be tainted once more, to protect a lowly servant?” Sebastian chuckled. Ned did not.

 He just nodded.

“You are too kind for your own good, my lord, but I—” Sebastian paused, removing his mask. “—I refuse.”

Ned frowned but motioned for him to continue.

“These greedy fuckers are too problematic. The changes were too good, too fast, that’s why they’re rattled. My presence will only bring you more trouble. The best outcome would be for Lady Catelyn to defend me, but we both know that won’t happen. With all due respect, my lord.”

Ned said nothing.

“So I need to leave. Not immediately, but when the time comes. It will let the North breathe again while I deal with our enemies far from my greatest weakness,” Sebastian said calmly, though his red eyes were cold as ice.

“There is no nee—” Ned began.

“But there is need, my lord,” Sebastian interrupted softly. “I quit.”

Ned closed his eyes and thought, then he got interrupted by sebastian’s voice.

“I still think your decision not to implement a spy network was a mistake,” Sebastian said quietly. “Had we known sooner, this trap could have been avoided.”

“Aye,” Ned agreed.

“What will you do now?” Ned asked.

“I… I would like to travel, my lord. To see things. And after that, who knows?” Sebastian said, then brightened slightly. “Lord Ned, would it be possible to take the children with me?”

“We could visit other major houses, forge alliances. And while I said I would quit, I never said when. I could do so on my way back.”

Ned considered, then nodded, knowing perfectly well that the kids safety would be guaranteed.

He stood, removed a key from around his neck, and opened a small locked cabinet. He took two glasses, uncorked the wine, poured, and handed one to Sebastian, who chuckled.

“You do know I’m still underage, right?”

“Aye,” Ned replied.

“When I came of age, my father brought me here, opened that same cabinet, and shared a drink with me. Robb and Jon are not of age yet, and when your six-and-ten nameday comes, you may not be here.”

Sebastian looked at the glass, then at the man before him, and smiled. A deep smile. A genuine one. One that has become quite rare these days.

He drank, accepting Ned’s kindness and the words left unspoken.

Before five minutes passed, Sebastian put the mask back on, still sad, but more resolved than ever. 

Ned stored the wine in the cabinet and ruffled Sebastian’s hair.

“Take care of them,” he said softly. “And of yourself.” 

“Yes, My Lord” accepted Sebastian

15 The rusty axe

On their travels, the group uncovered more of the Barrowlands, an area of extensive plains stretching as far as the eye could see.Their progress being aided by horses they had acquired in a nearby town. At first, amazement bubbled out of them, but excitement died by the seventy eighth barrow they passed.

Theon groaned loudly.
“When the fuck are we going to get there?” he asked impatiently.

“Define there, for there are a lot of theres out there,” Sebastian replied.

Three voices groaned in response.

“We are almost there, young lords,” Ser Cassel finally said, ordering the whole group to slow down.

“Theon,” Sebastian said.

“Mmmhh?” Theon answered absentmindedly.

“When we get there, I would appreciate the melodious sound of your silence,” Sebastian said dryly.

“Jon—” Sebastian said as the smaller lad instinctively diminished his presence. “—straighten your back, look them in the eyes, and show a Stark’s pride. We are with you.”
A touched Jon noticed most of the soldiers’ and his brothers’ heads nodding along.

“Robb,” Sebastian said, while Robb tried to maintain his composure.

“Tell me, Sebastian.”

“While I am in charge of our group, you are our official leader in front of Lady Dustin. Do as Maester Ludwig and I taught you. You will do great,” Sebastian said, encouraging a sheepish but grateful Robb.

“Just like the Cerwyns?” Robb asked, searching for a point of reference.

“Not even close” Sebastian denied, while Ser Cassel chuckled at the young lord’s nervousness.

They finally reached their destination: Barrowtown.

Barrowtown had a solemn air to it. All the Barrowlands did, but here you could almost taste it in the air. Quiet yet cautious people moved through streets lined with grey houses built from scavenged stone, their steep roofs designed to shed snow and weather. A small group of knights received them.

“Welcome to Barrowtown, young lord. Lady Dustin is waiting for you. Please, follow me,” one said, offering his regards plainly but respectfully as he guided them toward the heart of the town. There, larger than all the rest, stood the greatest barrow, and atop it, a castle walking the thin line between majestic and solemn.

As they approached, they saw a stern black-haired woman and a serious looming teen.

“My future lord, Barrowlands receives you as guests,” she welcomed them dryly.

“I am Lady Dustin, and you may call me as such. Here—” she said with a glint of pride, “—is my nephew, Domeric Bolton.”

The word Bolton sent a chill through the whole group. Sebastian stealthily stepped on Robb’s foot, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“You have my thanks, Lady Dustin, for your warm welcome” Robb recited, embarrassed when his memorized greeting did not go exactly as planned.

Lady Dustin squinted slightly, inwardly amused.

“You must all be tired from your travels. The soldiers may stay at the barracks, and Domeric will show you to your rooms,” she added, graceful and stern, making all the men straighten their backs in near unison.

“Hope you had a pleasant morning,” Sebastian said to a slightly sleepy group.

“Mmmhh… remind me again why we’re waking up so fucking early,” Theon complained, while Jon and Robb inwardly agreed.

“To tend the horses, of course. They aren’t familiar with the stablehands here,” Sebastian replied. Jon and Robb exchanged a confused look fot they hadn’t needed such consideration at the Cerwyns.

They reached the stables, where Domeric was tending to his horse. The group tensed slightly, except for Sebastian.

“Dom!”

“Sebs!”

They shared a manly handshake amid the others’ confused looks.

“What, did you think that because I am a Bolton I would be a skin-flaying monster?” Domeric asked, noticing the boys’ discomfort.

“And you—” he added, turning to Sebastian’s smug expression, “—ah, why do I even bother? You pull this sort of shit far too often for my liking.” Domeric sighed as the group slowly recovered.

“You, you know each other?” Theon asked.

Domeric and Sebastian shared a look and nodded.

“Yes, I’ve known this bastard for quite some time now,” Domeric said unintentionally, making Jon flinch. The group stiffened again, and Domeric quickly realized his mistake.

“Oh. My bad. For what it’s worth, I don’t really care about that. Hell, I’d gladly welcome a Snow into my family for I’ve always wanted a sibling,” Domeric added, glancing enviously at Robb.

The tension finally eased.

“Robb,” Robb said, shaking Domeric’s hand.

“Dom.” added Domeric

“I knew it. I knew that Sebs was planning something,” Jon added. The boys glanced toward the culprit, who was sitting on a stool, cup of tea in hand, chin held high. They all tacitly decided to ignore him

“So, you like horses? Up for a race?” Theon asked, pointedly ignoring Sebastian.

“I’m in,” Domeric said.

“Not this time, but Jon will participate,” Robb said, earning a surprised but grateful look from the shy Jon.

They led the horses out into a moderately open field beyond Barrowtown. Taking their positions, they raced off, while Sebastian and Robb remained behind.

“Who do you think will win?” Robb asked.

“Dom will,” Sebastian said matter of factly.

“Mmmhh… you sure?”

“He loves horses like family and has more experience on this terrain than Theon and Jon combined.”

Robb nodded, considering the explanation.

“So, you knew each other” Robb said, watching the race with an expressionless face.

“You sound like one of Theon’s girls” Sebastian teased, earning a laugh from Robb.

“I met him during my travels to King’s Landing. Good lad. Quiet, likes horses and plays the harp.”

“Quiet? Are we talking about the same guy who confronted us this morning?” Robb asked doubtfully.

Sebastian shrugged. “I told him I would visit with my friends”

Robb raised his brows, doubt etched on his face just like his father’s.

“Friends?” 

Robb pressed. “I’ve been meaning to ask… lately you’ve stopped being so—”

“So ‘stick-up-my-ass’?” Sebastian supplied.

“Well, yes” Robb admitted. “Are you dying?”

“No. There’s simply no one nearby to impress, and… well…my days at Winterfell are almost over, Robb.” said sheepishly Sebastian

“What? Why? Is Mother making trouble again?” said Robb, aware of some of his mother’s dislike for Sebastian.

“No. Just stupid old politics. The South has been whining about our new enterprises and, too avoid problems, I’m leaving the North.” informed Sebastian

“But why should they care? We’re so far away.” asked Robb

“To preserve the ‘balance.’ The North has always been held back by cold and scarcity. With our recent advances, that balance is shifting, and I am the convenient scapegoat.” Sebastian explained

“Why isn’t Father stopping this?” asked a puzzled Robb.

“Because I asked him not to, my future lord. Me leaving is better than the South pushing harder. Besides, why do you think we’re on this trip?”

Robb closed his eyes briefly. “To make alliances.”

“Aye. And for you to see the world before leading the North. And most importantly—” Sebastian leaned closer, “—to get you and Jon some southern girls.”

Robb’s cheeks reddened at the thought of marriage and finally said.

“Wait, what about Theon?” he asked.

“Theon will learn that being a prick and sticking his little prick in every hole has consequences,” Sebastian said cheerfully.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Ever notice soldiers who can’t stop scratching their crotches?” Sebastian added without pity and before he could explain further, he was interrupted.

“They’re coming back… and it seems that Domeric won” Robb declared

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _  _ _ _

Barrowtown

Afternoon-Dustin’s Solar

“Heard of your marriage, Sebastian Snow…” She slowly sipped her tea. “You have my condolences,” she began, sharing the table with the guest seated across from her.

“Did you really thought about me being a Snow? or marriage?” asked sebastian.

She scoffed

“Does it matter? I am not that gullible. But the smallfolk…?”

Sebastian met her gaze, took a sip of his own cup, and grimaced.
“Just because you add leaves and hot water doesn’t make it tea.”

She nodded, taking another measured sip.
“Good tea is for guests, not annoyances.”

“You wound me, my lady,” he replied.

She scoffed again.
“I would need more than a few truths to correct a misbehaving lap dog. Now, apart from the obvious stunt of this morning—” she fixed him with her deep, penetrating eyes, “—why are you here?”

Sebastian, well aware of the woman’s temperament, finally confessed.
“I am quitting, my lady.”

She inclined her head once.
“The best outcome would have been for the lady to deny the claims of a Snow and arrange a marriage with a northern girl. But… here we are. What exactly are you planning?” she asked.

“Fosterage.”

“Groundbreaking.”

“Lady Sansa,” Sebastian replied, and that earned him her full attention.

“Why?”

“I thought you would ask how, my lady.”

She scoffed again.
“Don’t patronize me. The fact that you suggest it means you have the means. Now answer my question.”

Sebastian chuckled softly before explaining.
“Just as my lady said, what should have been a sound move turned into a childish contest over who is less wrong.”

“Spite? How original. But spite alone will not move me so easily,” she said sternly.

Sebastian sighed.
“Sansa is a clever girl, but she needs some distance from her mother’s teachings.”

“And it would allow me to properly educate the trout’s daughter?” Lady Dustin asked coolly.

“Satisfaction comes from the strangest places, my lady.”

“How coincidental, just as my nephew was visiting for fosterage, you sly boy.”

He shrugged.
“Good coincidences don’t happen often. Unless we go looking for them.”

“A good lap dog until the end, eh?”

“I aim to please, my lady.”

They finished their tea, and Sebastian left Lady Dustin alone with the proposal—and her thoughts.

16 Whispers and preparations

The cold had teeth that day. The road north was little more than a scar across the frozen earth. Horses trudged on with stubborn endurance, hooves breaking the thin crust of snow with dull, rhythmic cracks. Somewhere among the group a child coughed, a small, human sound swallowed quickly by the vast silence of the North.Tyrion pulled his cloak tighter, already weary of the journey, the cold, and the company.

"You wouldn't have, hypothetically, a hidden stash of whores, wine and good food? Would you?" asked Tyrion, unamused about the answer that he would be given.

"I am afraid not, Lord Lannister—" answered Yoren with a little schadenfreude

"—and even if we did, Lord Stark gave us explicit orders about it. Sobriety may give some sense to a confused cat."

"Fuck," said Tyrion, now completely done with his expedition, and wanting to go back to the comfort of the south.

"Yea, my lord, fuck," chuckled Yoren at his side.

"At least stop calling me Lord . My father is Lord Lannister, not me," Tyrion said.

"Not yet," interrupted Yoren to Tyrion's surprise. The little cat's ears would have gone up now if he had some.

"You… seem quite informed about the happenings of the south, wouldn't you think?" Tyrion fished. Yoren did not blink and ousted Tyrion immediately.

"Ask away if you want, no need to beat around the bush. This is the North," explained Yoren.

"Mmmmhh… you are still more charming for a northerner than your Lord Stark. Seriously, he gives the chills." Tyrion laughed it away but Yoren did not. He looked into Tyrion's eyes like a beast eyeing his prey.

"Yeahh… I can see the familiarity. Scary northerners…" confessed Tyrion, to which Yoren laughed.

"Aye, cold is harsh, so we need to be harsher to survive it, especially up there," Yoren joked. Tyrion scoffed lightly.

"You remind me of a cheeky fellow," Tyrion said.

"Sebastian?" Yoren added.

Tyrion spat on the floor at hearing that name. Yoren's smile widened even more.

"Did he pull a sebastieenee out of you?" and with that question, Tyrion's pretenses of politeness dropped. Indignation filled his face at his previous experience.

"DID… does he do it… often?" Tyrion tried to politely ask.

Yoren shrugged.

"Last I heard from Benjen, he pulled a sebastienne on a bunch of drunkards that harassed some maids. He showed them the Throngler, and that scared them away,"

Yoren recounted with mirth in his eyes.Tyrion looked confused at that.

"Throngler?" he asked doubtfully.

"Aye… he warned them, next time they pulled that shit, he would push the Throngler so deep that the dead god's drowned priests would envy them due to how deep IT would be pushed," and that woke Tyrion up.

"Funny that you mentioned it, drowned god, ironborn? Their activities seem to have decreased quite a lot. Heard any rumor about them?" he changed the subject while Yoren opened his whisky skin and took a sip.

"What if I did?" Yoren replied while looking at the shine beside Tyrion's waist, near his purse.

Tyrion squinted in response."A man of culture, I see," replied Tyrion while examining his purse in his hands. Gold.

Yoren laughed so hard that his horse was a little startled by him.Tyrion looked at him, then at their entourage made of kids, the old, and all the people whom the crow recruited.

"I admit that my jokes are a sight to behold, but what has made you laugh so hard, my friend?"Yoren composed himself and looked Tyrion in the eyes.

"It's not gold what I seek, little lord — it's steel," explained Yoren, while looking at the dagger at Tyrion's waist.

"My, my, and what would you need steel for, my friend? For I am sure that Lord Stark must have given you plenty already," Tyrion asked, puzzled by the request.

"It seems that not even gold can buy news from beyond," Yoren muttered.

"For a northerner, you sure love beating around the bush," countered Tyrion.

"Wildlings, little lord. They seem to have a new king. And we need any help we can get," explained Yoren, while looking at their entourage.

"We are short of people, you see."Tyrion opened his eyes, and really looked at their entourage. He had seen the crows recruiting, but he had never seen so many people before.

Made a mistake, thought Tyrion while reassessing his options.I need information, the North's new riches, the Iron Islands' scavengers gone, and now the wildlings. There must be a connection Tyrion calculated in his mind.

"Then we have a deal, Yoren?" he replied, with a smile often used by the sand sellers in the desert.

"Ha, not my call, little lord. For that, you will have to talk with the Lord Commander."

"Wonderful," replied a faux-excited Tyrion."Can you at least give me a taste? For a fellow drinking buddy?" Tyrion threw his wine skin, his favorite, into Yoren's hands. Yoren caught it. He took a sip and smiled.

"Aye, so you want rumors? The drowned god is dead, or so the they say."And that, that woke Tyrion up.

"Makes sense. Dead gods tend to be bad sailors," and they both laughed at the absurdity.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Lord Commander's office.

The cold seeped into the room like an old wound refusing to heal. There, the Lord Commander sipped his glass of water, refusing to take a sip of alcohol until the storm passed. In front of him, the Wall's First Steward Bowen Marsh sat, copying the Lord Commander.

"How is it?" asked Jeor.

"Better, Lord Commander. Poole's help has been crucial in gathering resources across the North. The new money flux has been a blessing for the Night's Watch, the trainees are getting better, but we need more steel. Any news from Benjen?" Jeor Mormont nodded carefully.

"The wildling clans are fighting among themselves. Alfyn is dead, may his soul rot under the Old Gods' watch. And some survivors are getting desperate to cross the Wall," he explained.

"A new king? Is it Mance Rayder?" asked Bowen.

"No, this is not Mance's way. If it were him, he would have allied them or fought Alfyn and won his clan. Not this time, no." The Lord Commander looked at Bowen, and finally said,"The wildlings, from Benjen's findings, they are getting settled. They are building a village for this King and their allied clans." explained Jeor.

"Lord Commander, that is not possible. The wildlings, their ways—" Bowen said

"Aye, but evidence points to the opposite. The more violent clans are getting exterminated, and the less violent are gathering in this settlement. From Benjen's findings, and with the help of Myrish glasses, he could see how they built a ring of timber palisades, smoke rising in steady columns. Not a camp, no, a village..." Jeor drank more water to recompose himself. "Their humongous door even has a motif… a single leaf."

17 In mud we learn

The northern group advanced toward their verdant destiny, now less bothered by the northern chill. They had left Barrowton a few moons ago, sending ravens to Winterfell to share news of their well-being. They kept their winter clothes on the small caravan and bought new ones suited to the damp and swampy climate. Of course, the complaints never ceased to come.

“Why don’t we go faster and get the hell out of this fucking swamp?” groaned Theon, voicing aloud Robb’s and Jon’s complaints. Dom, now part of their group, responded.

“For an Ironborn, you sure like to complain. Isn’t the Iron Islands more watery and damp than this?”

“I am not complaining. I am just deeply offended by the disgusting quantity of mud on this road. In the Iron Islands it is damp and it rains, but at least we can walk without bathing in mud at every step. Isn’t this the King’s Road or something? Lovely road, worthy of a king,” he went on.

“Theon, Theon, Theon… the fact that we are using the King’s Road is much, much better than the alternatives. You would be swimming in mud by now if you did. Think about it — the chosen one of the Drowned Mud God. My, my, the bards would sing about you for ages, your name carved in the history books,” mocked Sebastian to an angry Theon.

“Theon the mud eater,” said Robb in a low voice.

“Theon Mudjoy?” whispered Jon while discussing an appropriate title with Robb.

“More like Theon the drowned in dirt,” added Domeric loudly.

Then the unexpected happened — a handful of mud struck Theon’s face.

Silence spread like shattered glass. The two brothers tried to keep their laughter from spilling out. Domeric did not have such reservations.

“Hahahaha!” His melodious laugh broke the tension, and soon laughter overcame the group.

“You little shits!” said Theon, quickly dismounting his horse and throwing mud at Domeric’s face. Domeric evaded, and it struck Robb instead.

“You like it! Hahaha!” Robb and Jon shared a look. They also dismounted their horses and threw mud toward Theon, only for him to dodge and point toward Domeric. Domeric tried to dodge like before, but a third mudball appeared, redirecting the previous two squarely into his head.

He cleaned his face and looked at an unassuming Sebastian, now standing beside Ser Cassel and the other veterans in their group, while the children literally played in the mud. Domeric sighed, knowing full well that Sebastian had started it all. Even then, fighting him was a lost cause, so he dismounted his horse and joined the most absurd but enjoyable mudfight alongside Jon, Robb, Theon, and several squires of similar age.

Meanwhile, Sebastian and some of the older generation calmly began preparing camp, knowing full well that the lads would end tired, hungry, and thoroughly coated in mud. Amid the chaos, Jon felt a quiet thread of dread creep in as Sebastian spoke with Ser Cassel — and Ser Cassel smiled.

“Whooo…” Theon wheezed, out of breath but unwilling to yield. “Who the fuck thought it was a marvelous idea…” He tried to recompose himself. He failed.

“To train in the middle of the fucking mud, after all of that…” he finally said, breathless but no less angry.

“I…” Domeric wheezed beside him. “I have to agree with Mudjoy on that…”

“Oh shut up, muddy leech…”

“Wanna go again?...” Dom proposed, out of breath but unbroken, while Robb and Jon wisely stepped aside toward Ser Cassel.

“Ladies, please behave,” cut in Sebastian, enjoying every second of their suffering.

Domeric and Theon shared a look of realization.

THIS FUCKER x2, they both thought.

They were tired, hungry, and filthy. Domeric extended his hand, and Theon took it.

“Are you coming or not?” they called, and Robb, Jon, and the other boys followed with changes of clothes. They made their way to the Fever River to clean themselves, muttering complaints and plans for revenge while veterans patrolled the area.

Sebastian moved to follow, but Ser Cassel’s words stopped him.

“Was it necessary? We are now one day behind and will have to camp for the night,” he asked, not reproachfully, but out of curiosity.

“The children had energy to spare. A mudfight was all they needed to spend it. The training afterward was a bonus. Now they will sleep like logs tonight, and they will groan in pain tomorrow,” said Sebastian.

“Children, eh? I am certain I saw a child throwing that first mudball at Greyjoy’s face,” Ser Cassel added.

“No idea what you are talking about, Ser Cassel. Now off I go to ensure a fire, so that my lords do not freeze through stupidity.” Sebastian followed their trail, gathering branches along the way.

.
.
.

After a while, they returned in much better spirits, though Sebastian now wore unusual clothes and carried a chilling aura around him.

Recognizing their culprit at last, the children seized him and threw him into the freezing water, leaving him drenched like a wet rat.

Of course, Sebastian promised revenge.

As expected, the boys slept like logs. But the early bird always catches the worm.

“Wake up, everyone! How are you feeling?” said Sebastian, delight evident in his voice.

Robb recognized that delight immediately but kept quiet. Groans followed from the tents as the boys woke.

“The food is ready for you to break fast. You are all growing, and growing bodies require nourishment. I have prepared something wonderful.”

He continued speaking as a rich smell drifted through the camp.

“I present to you a vast selection of grey worms for my early birds, accompanied by snail stew, frog legs, and my favorite — bear offal inside its stomach, also known as haggis. I caught a bear today only for you so that you may enjoy it.”

The reaction was immediate. Some gagged. One stableboy ran and vomited. Another vomited while running.

Jon, ever observant, spoke carefully.

“But… didn’t you say you caught a bear? Can’t we eat it?”

Sebastian slowly turned his head toward him and replied in a cheerful tone.

“I would, if I could, Jon. Sadly, some children played in the mud, trained, then slept so soundly they neglected their watch. Ser Cassel and our guards took their turns protecting you all. A portion of the bear goes to Ser Cassel. The rest I am smoking for the journey. So now, will you eat, or will you go hungry? I even gathered those worms, snails, and frogs myself. Would you be so mean as to despise my food? So cruel as to despise my effort?”

Sebastian’s gentle pressure worked. The eldest among them, Domeric and Theon, wisely said nothing and ate the haggis. The quantities were limited, and they would rather eat bear than be seen eating frogs, snails, or worms.

The rest followed. The slowest among them were left with worms and snails.

And so their small group learned a lesson that any maester might never teach, but the veterans knew it by heart:

Never mess with the cook.

18 From Reeds and Memories

The group advanced along a small, unnamed road beside the Kingsroad. The odors worsened, the water thickened, and their movements grew slower. The fog grew so dense that the path became nearly impossible to traverse.

"Where are we going? Couldn't we have just stayed on the Kingsroad?" Robb asked, just as they had to fish him out of quicksand for the third time.

"Have I ever told you about the Mist Killers?" Sebastian asked, evading the question as he guided the group through the wild, uncharted marsh.

"Should we care?" Domeric asked. Despite his natural patience, the road was eating away at his nerves faster than expected. Sebastian continued, unbothered.

"They lived in lands shrouded in fog. They trained their ears to track, to hunt, and to kill." Robb, Jon, Jojen, and Meera listened intently.

"Larynx, spine, lungs, liver, jugular, subclavian artery, kidneys, heart, eyes... they liked to recite the names of the organs to unnerve their victims and make the kill easier. They would scream 'Liver!' just to strike at the spine. They were feared and respected in equal measure, for their lands provided the perfect terrain for their way of life."

Sebastian stopped moving completely. Jojen and Meera tensed, adrenaline surging through them like racing horses, their lips a breath away from blowing toxic darts at the intruders.

Hiss. The sound of darts cut through the air toward the entourage's necks. Sebastian flicked a few rocks with casual precision, redirecting the darts into the bark of a nearby tree.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Jojen and Meera Reed, son and daughter of Howland Reed. We are a caravan from House Stark. I believe Lord Stark has already informed you of our visit," Sebastian explained to no one in particular, signaling his group to keep their weapons hidden.

"Jojen, Meera, head back and let everyone know our guests have arrived," a gruff voice commanded to everyone's surprise. The rustle of leaves grew distant as the children left at their father's order.

A man dropped from the trees, standing on the swamp as easily as if it were solid ground. He was short, clad in bronze scales and leathers that shifted color to match the marsh, a silhouette that could easily vanish into the background. His eyes were his most striking feature, a mossy, wise green that belonged more to an elder than a man of his years.

"Lord Howland Reed, Lord of Greywater Watch and Head of House Reed," Sebastian announced.

"Sebastian," Lord Reed offered politely in return.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Jon pov

Our travels had been wonderful. We had been on the road for quite some time, visiting towns and meeting new people. We met Domeric Bolton who, despite my brother's lingering reservations, I feel we can trust him. We met Lady Dustin, a scary lady I must say, but even if she reminded me of Lady Catelyn, she had a hidden warmth whenever she looked into my eyes, as if remembering someone dear. Or maybe I was wrong. It isn't right for me to expect anything from a Lady. I am a bastard, and a bastard must know his place. To belong... who am I kidding? Family is a luxury that will never be mine. Maybe someday I can join Uncle Benjen at the Wall, take the Black, and be surrounded by brothers fighting for a common cause. Maybe…

*Tuck*. I felt two fingers strike my forehead.

"Pardon?" I asked, still dazed and unaware of my surroundings.

"You are brooding again, Jon," Sebastian said, kneeling beside me. In these past months, Theon, Domeric, and Sebastian had all grown much taller.

Tuck.

"Do I need to do it a third time?" Sebastian asked. I shook my head and followed him into the Great Hall. It was illuminated by glowing rocks rather than candles. They reduced the risk of fire, kept the air dry, and provided better light than any wax could, or so I was told.

"Do you like them?" a voice asked beside me. It was Meera. She was younger than I was but much livelier, reminding me of Arya in a way that suited her perfectly. A boy as tall as I was, though he looked younger, stood protectively beside her.

"Jon Snow." 

"Lord Jojen."

We shared a look and nodded. They were quiet folk. I felt a strange familiarity with them because I had grown up much the same way with Arya.

"Jojen, you are being bothersome again," Meera said with more bark than bite. Jojen looked at her as if she were a minor annoyance and took his seat.

"We should go, Jon. Dinner is ready," Meera said, grabbing my hand and leading me to the table.

When we were seated, Lord Howland and his wife gave us formal greetings. "Welcome. I am Howland, and this is my wife, Jyana. These are my children, Jojen and Meera. Tonight we feast for our guests and for ourselves."

Sebastian opened the serving lids, revealing something delicious, a massive roasted pork with fresh bread, vegetables, and juices. My eyes widened at the feast for I had always believed the rumors that Crannogmen ate only frogs.

"Not anymore," Meera whispered beside me.

"Pardon?" I asked, startled.

"Not anymore, Jon. The Crannogmen of old did, but that changed years ago. We only do it now to honor the Old Gods or for survival," she explained. I began to doubt myself, had I spoken my thoughts aloud?

"No, you're just that easy to read" Jojen said from my other side. I looked at the rest of the table; the adults were all watching me while Lady Jyana hid her laughter. My face must have turned as red as a tomato from embarrassment as the hall was filled with the sound of laughter.

'By the old gods'

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Lord Howland and Sebastian stood upside down atop one of the highest towers of the floating castle. They watched the sunrise as the light began to dispel the morning chill.

"Have you been well?" Howland asked. Sebastian nodded and pulled away his mask.

"You don't know how grateful I am for this. I can only last five minutes before the visions and the rage take hold..." Howland placed a hand on Sebastian's shoulder.

"The Old Gods give us their blessings, it is true; but what you did had consequences," Howland explained, his tone understanding rather than reproachful.

"What would you have done in my place? I've seen it, I've lived it, children drowned in his name, people dying for a lost cause. And him," Sebastian said, murder flashing in his eyes. His three tomoe spun rapidly as he recalled a face.

"I don't know what I would have done, truly. Perhaps nothing, for the swamps are my home and those islands are not my concern. Perhaps I would have acted. But—" he paused, retrieving a new mask from behind him to hand to Sebastian. "—Killing a god has consequences. The storms took place in their stead, and that man still lives."

Sebastian took the new mask and tossed the old one into the sky. His eyes spun violently, shifting into mismatched patterns: one with three rapiers spinning toward the center, the other with the blades facing outward.

'All for One: Amaterasu.'

Black flames erupted in midair, devouring the old mask until nothing but ash remained.

"How long will this one last?" Sebastian asked.

"Hard to say. Less than the one before, something is weakening the magic of old" Howland replied.

Sebastian nodded.

"I left something with Lord Stark that can stop me. He is a good man, and he will hesitate. If... if I cannot find another way, I beg you..." 

Sebastian smiled brightly towards the man.

 "...Please, Kill Me."

19 Roads and encounters

Riverlands- In an unnamed road 

The wolves, the krakens, and the crocodiles kept on their way through the Riverlands, finally free from the influence of Walder Frey.

"AAAAAAAAAA!" screamed Meera in frustration, while Jojen and Domeric held her back.

"LET ME GO! I WANT TO KILL THAT PIG!" she exclaimed.

Domeric sighed and responded.

"Believe me, dear, if I could, I would have shoved a lance into his Y#ll%w t%#th c%rp$ f%ndl%r, w%#s%l f%c%d, m%ldy—"

The group stopped in their tracks while a gallant Domeric recited the worst profanities with a smile. Meera looked at the group, silently asking if this was usual, while Sebastian sipped some tea on the side, enjoying the show. She was now flabbergasted by both things happening, while Theon shrugged at Sebastian's shenanigans.

"—C%rr%%n-h%#rt%d t%ll th%%f, gr%y-g%mm%d daughter-haggler."

Domeric took a moment to recompose himself while Ser Cassel warned Robb and Jon with a menacing look, forbidding them from using the new flowery vocabulary they had just heard.

"Now I feel much better," said Domeric while asking Sebastian for some tea. Sebastian passed him some tea to quench Domeric's thirst while Jojen finally asked,

"Wait, where did you get tea in the middle of nowhere?"

Sebastian shrugged in response, while the rest of the group ignored the question.

The silence finally broke when a confused Robb asked a question.

"Are we going to visit my grandfather, Lord Hoster Tully?"

They were in all purposes on the Riverlands, and House Tully was the logical choice.For while the intention for this trip had been made clear for him, the path they would take had not been known to him.

"I am afraid not, Robb. We are heading to King's Landing, bearing a letter for the king," replied Sebastian, as Robb accepted grimly.

"But—" continued Sebastian while Robb looked expectantly.

"—on our return, you will reunite with Lady Catelyn to see your grandfather in the Riverlands," explained Sebastian, while Robb's face showed his happiness with a big smile.

"So, we are going to see a king… and you never thought of, I don't know, telling us" asked Theon pointedly.

"Well, for starters, you never asked. You were all too busy awing yourselves in complete bliss and ignorance," Sebastian answered while looking at the group of heirs as if they were no more than a bunch of fools. A mask was no impediment to his contempt.

"Can I punch him?" asked Jojen in a loud whisper.

"We already tried and failed…" answered Jon, while Theon, Domeric, and Meera ground their teeth in annoyance. Robb was just happy at the idea of finally meeting his grandfather for the first time at the end of their journey.

"How about…"

And the group of heirs once again isolated themselves from the main group, planning, scheming, and deciding on revenge against Sebastian.

"Oh yes, nothing better than watching the struggle of such a hardworking group of heirs in a cause in common… only to repeatedly trip and tumble down into the fiery pit of failure—" expressed menacingly Sebastian.

"—Good luck!" he finally said merrily.

The group now had to restrain Jojen and Theon, with the whole group falling into nearby mud by accident while Sebastian released his hands from the hidden hand sign.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

"Ser Cassel, please check on the boys," Sebastian asked politely of the knight, who offered a grunt in response.

Sebastian left the camp, feeling how the sounds of wood clashing diminished with each step.

He reached a small clearing, trees surrounding it and small animals interacting with each other, as if survival was merely a suggestion. In the middle of everything, Jojen slept by a tree while Meera watched over him.

"Hello, Meera," interrupted Sebastian.

Meera finally realized they were not alone. She looked at him, then pointed to a nearby tree, far enough to talk without interrupting Jojen's nap.

"How is he?" asked Sebastian.

"He is just tired," replied Meera, while Sebastian nodded.

"I thought you would ask me about the small mud field that appeared out of nowhere" said a nonchalant Sebastian.

Meera, surprised, opened her eyes wide before sighing.

"Father?" she asked, to which Sebastian assented.

"There is a reason why Lord Howland Reed would send his heirs with me to the dangers of the south. Now, would you please answer my question?" Sebastian said, referring to Jojen.

"He… he has always been more sensitive than most of us. Father says that Jojen will surpass him in due time, but the burden will be much heavier," Meera shared, remembering her father's words about how they could trust this man.

"We are far from nature. The swamps are ours, they always have been, but not here. It makes us more tired than usual, especially Jojen" explained Meera.

Sebastian took a moment to think.

"Your flow is not optimal. Where I come from, we gather an energy based on both our spirits and our bodies, mixing them to do miracles similar to magic. It's not the same, but I think we could try something…"

Sebastian stood up, grabbed a leaf, and placed it on his forehead, or where his forehead would be.

"Breathe in and out. Feel the energy flowing through your veins. Focus it on the middle of your forehead and make the leaf stick there," he said while giving a leaf to Meera.

Her face scrunched her face in confusion at the order

Sebastian openly ignored her.

"I've had exchanges with Lord Reed about the mystical before" explained Sebastian patiently.

"Jojen here is more sensitive than you are, but I am sure you will feel the same as we continue south. Where I come from, it's called chakra overflow. The body does not regulate how much energy it releases, causing exhaustion. From what I learned about magic from Lord Howland, you both replenished it constantly while being in the swamp surrounded by it. You both need to restrain it. Practice, and once he wakes up, I will teach him too," explained Sebastian.

For while magic was not chakra, in his experience they shared some principles.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

Eastern Continent — Essos
Braavos — Market of Silks

In a small secluded section, away from prying eyes, lay a crying little girl with violet eyes, pale skin, and long pale silver-gold hair.

She had been sick from the water she consumed, and when she recovered a little, her brother had sold some jewelry to buy her a dress, to Ser Willem's disagreement.

They had been walking among the silks in the middle of a crowd, when the girl got separated from them.

Lost, she wandered until a boy of roughly the same age took her hand and led her to his hiding place.

A small ruined building, where some curtains served as a roof, and inside there was a small but clean room.

"Drink," he said while offering her something that smelled like freshly squeezed lemons and sugar.

She took a sip and marveled at the flavor dancing on her palate, much better than the juices the servants usually prepared.

Now calmer, she looked at the boy in question. A small boy, maybe a year older than her, lean and fair skinned, short and unkempt dark-colored hair, and more importantly on his face a small bandage covered both his eyes.

Daenerys's eyes started to get teary.

"Yo… your eyes… does… does it hurt?" she asked, trying to stop the tears from falling.

The boy panicked slightly, unused to such a reaction. He sighed while trying to coax the girl.

"Not anymore… thanks… thanks for asking," he replied, for it had been a lifetime since someone asked him that.

Then he did what he remembered from advice he had heard a lifetime ago.

First you eat, then you talk.

He offered her the only thing fresh at hand, a tomato.

'Sasuke's favorite' he remembered fondly, about the small kid who hated his guts no matter what he did.

Daenerys was flabbergasted, but unaware of much of Braavosi culture, she took the tomato and took a bite.

"Juicy," she smiled.

The boy beside her finally asked.

"You got separated from your group. Where do you live?"

To which an oblivious Daenerys said,

"The House with the Red Door."

He discretly sniffed the air.

The boy looked at her and realized where it was, for he had mapped out the whole city before.

"Come on, I will take you there," he said.

And just as promised, he left her at the house. He knocked, and when someone opened the door, the boy beside her had mysteriously disappeared.

"But-where-the boy-" she asked in bewilderment while Viserys shouted at her for leaving on her own. Meanwhile all she could think about was how she never shared names with the mysterious boy.

_ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _

20 Changes

Winterfell

The chill ran outside like a spear, but the walls of Winterfell stood tall, defending against the cold. In one of the rooms were two girls practicing needlework in their own terms, one of them perfecting her design while the other was starting a direwolf, or at least she was trying. The smaller of the two finally spoke.

"This still… feels weird," Arya finally said, keeping her would-be direwolf on the table beside her.

Sansa nodded with elegance, copied from her mother's mannerisms, or what she thought those were.

"Indeed. But it serves our purpose" replied Sansa, while listening to the fading sound of the septa's steps. Now finally alone, Sansa left her embroidery on the table and took a book out of her robes, while Arya threaded her needle, preparing herself to close the fake wound made in the leather.

Arya placed the needle lightly on top of the leather, adding just enough pressure to pierce it, not enough to rip. It was tedious work, but she relished the hard work and the potential payoff. Alas, she was just a girl.

"What are you reading?" she finally asked.

Sansa looked at her, slightly annoyed but also slightly happy to share her little secret.

"You are too young to know," she replied.

An unamused Arya stood up and postured herself to run. She smirked.

"How fast until I scream and the septa catches you reading from a restricted book?" she said, to which Sansa huffed and finally relented.

"Where have you learned such a scummy behavior?" she asked with disdain and disgust.

"I learned from the best, most worst scum" Arya said while looking Sansa up and down, and then checking on the embroidery on the table.

Sansa sighed.

"I already said sorry for that time," Sansa said, embarrassed to remember such childish behavior she once had.

"Apologies are like hollowed trees, unless you back them up with actions," Arya said with all seriousness, while Sansa laughed at her sister.

"It seems I am not the only one reading restricted books," Sansa added, to which Arya, now showing a red face, chose to shut up.

Sansa continued.

"This is a book by Maester Lumen about King Jaehaerys I."

Arya looked confused.

"And?" Arya asked.

"And," Sansa smiled.

"What does the book say?" asked Arya.

"Words," replied Sansa.

The room grew silent and both sisters laughed at the absurdity.

"You sound like him," Arya said. Then she grabbed her leather and Sansa kept reading her book. For the Septa would eventually come back and time was worth mor than gold for them both and perhaps, only perhaps, this fake sisters' time could someday be a real sisters' time.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Catelyn

Lady Catelyn Stark, née Tully, was seated in her garden. In her eyes it always paled in comparison to her mother's garden in the Riverlands, but there was such an intoxicating beauty in a garden in the middle of the storm.

She sometimes remembered the excitement that Ned had when she showed him the glass gardens, for he had been so happy to have chosen and planted the flowers himself. Except, except the flowers that had been planted were weeds. She laughed then, confused, happy, and deeply charmed at seeing such a gruff man doing the impossible for her.

"My lady," a gruff and deep voice resounded in the gardens.

"My lord." She smiled at him, and she could see how his eyes were just for her alone.

"It seems my lord has caught up on my actions," she continued, to which Ned could only sigh.

"Was it necessary?" he asked, for what she knew of him, he never liked ruthless southern politics.

"Indeed it was, my lord—" she said while she made him sit beside her. Not for long, for she now sat gracefully on top of him. "—Indeed."

She didn't need to look behind her to know how the usually stoic and stern Lord Stark now had a slight red tint on his ears. He hugged her from behind, and she relaxed.

"Wasn't there any other way, my lady? The boy had the bearings to be Robb's right hand," he said, to which she sighed.

"He came to me," she said, reminiscing about the conversation with the boy.

"He understood his position and told me… he told me the truth about his birth."
Ned's breath stopped.

"Someone would have discovered it, Ned, and sown discord. And so we had to act," Catelyn said.

"Rumours about the northern Tully bitch must be circulating among your bannermen. Sweet boy Sebastian was against the plan. 'It will be hard on you, my lady,' he said. But the south doesn't take kindly to the idea of a strong North. It never had, and it never will-" she paused a moment to refresh herself with some water of a nearby glass

"-We needed time, you see, and while the Tully witch will banish the poor servant, the servant will sever most of his ties with the only home he has known, while secretly being our hand in the south.

We needed you to believe that everything that happened was truly happening. And now the North will breathe much easier."

She explained this while Ned could only give his silence.

"My apologies. I have no excuse, my lady," he said in that dutiful northern tone he had.

"It was and is my duty, my lord. For by the time it all happens, Robb will have come of age, a new Lady Stark will be chosen, and we will both be enjoying our time guarding them and teaching the new generation. I hope the Seven hear my plea for our future," she said while squeezing his hands and enjoying his warmth.

Ned sighed.

"So the Starks will now have a master of whispers," Ned mused at the conversation he had once shared with Sebastian.

"Indeed they will, my lord. The times are changing and Sebastian's presence will keep us informed and aware of any southern change. Especially now more than ever with the wildlings' recent activities," she said.

"When did both of you…" Ned asked doubtfully.

She laughed, like the breath of spring clashing with the outside cold.

"A woman is always blessed by the Mother and the Crone, Ned. I admit that some dislike still persists, but the way he acted, the little gestures for our children, the hidden teachings, the tender care whenever I was expecting our babies. You always had good eyes for choosing your northern men. This was not an exception," she explained.

"We can keep the rest of the conversation in your solar, but for now, let me enjoy my husband's hug," she pleaded, to which he wholeheartedly agreed.

Indeed, family, duty, honor, she mused, while bathing in the scent of her dear husband.

21 The wolves and the den of snakes

Robert

His Royal ass sat upon the throne, waiting eagerly for his guests. He did not receive many good visits, most were small lordlings pleading for favors or something of the sort. No, this time he would receive the sons of his dear brother in all except blood. Warriors of the North, or at least they would be in the future.

Varys had been sharing some of their adventures along the way, for in each inn and town they passed, the smallfolk had adored them. They had helped reconstruct a mill belonging to an old couple beside the river, they had taken care of a band of robbers famous for their impunity on the roads, and they had exchanged a cart of food in a poor town for some bracelets a little girl had made.

The southern snakes around him tried to poison his ears. "A united North they present themselves," they said, "a political maneuver," or "a bunch of barbarians not knowing their place." But Robert knew better. They were like him once, a bunch of kids finally away from their mothers' skirts, eager to carve names for themselves. And so, he would receive them as such.

Of course, their safety was more than assured thanks to the scrawny little rat accompanying them. After the last disrespect to his royal belly, Robert had started training again to show the brat he was still a warrior king... and maybe finally fight someone worth the trouble.

And his nameday coincides with his visit, he thought, grinning. Maybe I can take him for his first experience to my favorite brothel.

_ _ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The group, composed of the wolves, the krakens, and the crocodiles, advanced toward King's Landing. They could see caravans of people coming and going, yet respectful enough, or perhaps afraid enough, to clear the way. Then, like a knight riding in a joust, the smell collided with them.

"So it was true. You can smell the shit from five miles away," said Jon. He looked less like a resentful bastard now and more like a boy in growth, aware and awake to the world around him. A Stark in all but name.

"I was hoping the rumors were lies," Robb said from his horse, riding with a sense of Northern duty that mirrored his father's.

"Rumors, lies... how many people have you asked who gave you the exact same answer?" Theon asked in a restrained but friendly voice.

"They were smallfolk answering to a young lord," Domeric added gallantly. His wavy hair had grown longer, flowing in a way that recalled a knight from a children's tale. "Half of them were scared to death, and the other half just wanted to say 'Yes, sir' and bag some coin."

"Can't smell it," Meera said, her hunter's outfit contrasting deeply with her emerald eyes.

"We have smelled worse—" Jojen added, his eyes losing focus for a second. "—and Theon, you should walk to the left."

The Greyjoy looked at him, nodded, and stepped left, narrowly avoiding a small pile of human waste in the road.

"Disgusting," Theon muttered, tossing a penny toward Jojen. Jojen caught it without looking. The group watched them in intrigue until Jojen shrugged.

"A penny for each time I help him avoid stepping on shit," he said, as the group recalled the horrible luck that tended to haunt Theon on their travels.

"Ladies and gentlemen, our guide has come," Sebastian said, walking ahead to meet him.

The man rode a grey stallion, Honor the songs called him, and looked like a prince out of a fairy tale. He was a more mature version of Domeric, with lustrous blond hair.

"Greetings, young lords. The King awaits you in the Red Keep. My name is Jaime Lannister of the Kingsguard, and I have come to escort you." Ser Jaime smiled with a charm that seemed to enchant everything around them.

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Robb

The group entered the throne room in order of importance: Robb and Theon first, Domeric third, Jon fourth, and Jojen and Meera fifth and sixth. They paid their respects with impeccable decorum. Robb hid his nervousness by recalling tales his father shared about Robert Baratheon, the Warrior King, his friend, and their campaigns.

The courtroom felt slightly empty. Nobles in stag adorned clothes surrounded the throne, while three blond children, two boys and a girl, stood at the front. When Robb looked up, he finally saw the King in all his... well, his majesty. He could see the ghost of the warrior Robert once was, but he couldn't help thinking that Ser Jaime looked more like a king than the King himself.

Robb's eyes drifted to the side where the Kingsguard stood. He recognized an older knight. Ser Barristan Selmy, Robb thought, trying to keep his giddiness in check. They had all grown up on his stories thanks to Old Nan.

Suddenly, his nose was invaded by the pungent smell of flowers and roses. A bald man in expensive clothes smiled and nodded in his direction.

"Welcome to King's Landing! I am Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. These are my children: Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella Baratheon," the King announced with a boisterous laugh.

Then, he said something that shocked Robb. "And where is the masked rat?"

Robb froze. 

Did something happen? he thought

"Here, your gallant, heroic, magnificent King," Sebastian expressed with wholehearted reverence.

"Quit with your bootlicking-" growled the King "-I already dismissed the usual bootlickers to receive a friend's sons" Robert said, explaining the emptiness of the room.

"Oh, but that is so hard, my King, for your brilliance dazzles my eyes—"

Robb's eyes widened as the King rose from his throne and threw a wine glass at Sebastian. Sebastian simply side-stepped it and began reciting exaggerated poems about the King while the rest of the court ignored them entirely. Only Robb's group looked confused, the royal children simply sat nearby at a table filled with snacks. To Robb's bewilderment, this interaction seemed quite common.

_ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ 

In a private room, finally alone, King Robert drank beside Sebastian. Peace and quiet at last. But the King was not stupid.

"What did you want?" he asked, munching on fermented bread and cheese. It was a delight alongside Sebastian's homemade beer.

"The kids were nervous. I just provided entertainment," Sebastian explained while eating.

"Yes, yes, and I am the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms," Robert humored. Sebastian looked him up and down with unusual seriousness.

"And it seems my Queen is to give birth soon. Congratulations are in order."

Robert laughed, hearty and happy. Then, he let silence fill the room. It was a comfortable silence, the kind a warrior needs when laying an ambush.

"What do you think about joining Joffrey with Sansa?" Robert asked.

Sebastian pondered for a moment. "I wouldn't advise it, my lord."

Sebastian had voiced exactly what was roaming Robert's mind.

"Why?" the King asked. It looked good on paper, even Jon Arryn agreed it was wise.

"Would you rob a daughter from her family without being able to guarantee her safety?" Sebastian asked. Like a lance, he struck the heart of the problem.

Robert sighed. It was the truth. He had dismissed the southern snakes today just to protect the Northern kids. But for how long? Joffrey would be King one day, but he was more Lannister than Baratheon.

"So, you would rather me be robbed of my dear daughter?" Robert asked.

Sebastian shrugged for he knew that Robert already knew the answer to that.

 Robert knew his daughter would be safe in the North, perhaps a little cold, but safe. 

His eyes focused once more.

"What have you come south for, Bastian?"

The boy froze like a marble statue. He removed his mask, looked Robert in the eyes, and confessed. "I think my time will come, my King. I am just making my farewells."

Robert drank deeply to soften the blow. "Are they coming back?" he asked, knowing the burden on Bastian's shoulders.

"Indeed. They come in waves, and the mask is barely restraining it. I am uniting the North and helping the Starks however I can."

Robert looked into his eyes.

 "What do you need from me?" He was no longer Robert the king, or the whoremonger Robert.

 He was just Robert.

"Would you legitimize Jon Snow?" Bastian asked

Robert sighed. 

"I could, yes. But we both know how that could disrupt the North. In the future, maybe... but I would need Ned's approval." 

He paused. 

"For you, I would gladly legitimize you. Erase the 'Pyke' and make you Bastian Greyjoy.-" he mused "-You could take those pustulous islands off my back. But you don't want that, do you?"

Bastian shook his head. 

"I need to kill him first, Robert. You know that."

"Aye. But the old gods and the new would curse you for kinslaying."

Bastian deactivated his Sharingan. The rubies in his eyes faded to a blue as soft as a summer sky, perfect 'smiling eyes' though they held a flicker of unadulterated rage. "Mayhaps. But we both know that Euron Greyjoy must die."

Silence overwhelmed the room, Robert sighed.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not, but that is the future," Robert said, laughing to cut the tension. "For now, I think I can help you with the Snow issue."

22 The falcon and the stag

Jon Arryn

The Hand of the King had been busy ruling the kingdom. He had also been tasked with arranging a nameday for Ned’s servant, which deeply perplexed Jon. By now he was more than half certain the boy was Robert’s, yet even then the king had shown more love and care for this particular bastard than for the others.

And now, now his king had called him to “watch the birds” with him, a flimsy excuse Robert had used since he was a boy whenever he wished to speak with Jon about matters of deep importance. From a common crystal , which Robert once believed to be a precious jewel, to boasting about the first time he had shared a bed with a woman, to speaking about his parents’ passing, and lastly to share his sadness for Lyanna.

The door opened, cutting his thoughts short.

“Enter, Jon. And Barristan, make sure we are alone,” ordered King Robert to the two men.

Both men greeted each other in passing.

Jon entered a simple room: two chairs facing a small inner garden and a polished silver mirror. A room meant for ladies to check their attire, observe the gardens, and watch the birds. 

Inside was Robert.

A Robert who looked, surprisingly…

“Are you sober, my king?” he asked doubtfully.

Robert rolled his eyes at him.

“Unfortunately. We better speak faster or I will throw that rose out of the vase and drown myself in its water—” Robert pointed for Jon to sit in front of him. “—so, you read Ned’s letter?”

Jon nodded.

“A king beyond the Wall and a possible new settlement for the wildlings. Yes, deeply disturbing news indeed.”

“What do you say? Rally my men to conquer those wildlings? Ram my hammer against a skull once again for my kingdom?” offered a boisterous Robert.

Jon sighed.

“I am afraid that—”

“‘We can’t do it, Robert, this is your kingdom.’ Yes, I figured it. But none of the snakes around here will help Ned up there. A bunch of flowery words and a big go fuck yourself will be all that they will give him” Robert said, and Jon could do little but agree.

Tensions were high. Political unrest was rising. They were signs that summer was finally ending, which would bring hunger and famine to the kingdoms.

Jon looked at the king, then looked at himself in the mirror. Stress lines had begun to appear on his face, his hair was white as snow, and his sharp falcon eyes were losing their sharpness.

He observed the king. Long ago were the days when a boisterous stag ran wildly trying to catch a falcon, only to fall and be helped by a young wolf.

Jon took a deep breath and kept his eyes on Robert’s eyes. He had raised that boy, and he would be damned if he did not realize it.

“You have a plan, dare I say,” added Jon, his falcon-like eyes searching deeply into Robert’s.

The crowned stag met his gaze. Defiance, with a twinkle of mischief, adorned Robert’s face.

“Let’s send Selmy. We need a just cause. What better way than to give the kingdom something to unite once again? A common foe. In five years we will have war once again, and we will finally tie all the loose ends the previous one left,” said Robert, bloodlust colliding with the heartfelt duty of helping a friend.

Jon took a moment to think.

Silence and contemplation filled the room.

“I noticed how your semblance recovers every time young Sebastian comes to visit. Welcome back Robert, and I will gladly follow your orders, my King” the old falcon offered.

Robert laughed, a warrior’s laugh.

“But” said Jon, already contemplating the logistics that it would all entail.

“We will need to bring some men from the Vale and some from the Stormlands. Ser Barristan’s absence will cause problems in your court, my king,” Jon added, to which Robert agreed.

“Anything else?” Robert asked, now a little restless. The serious talk had happened and his throat itched with desire. Desire for a golden, bubbly, cold and refreshing liquid.

“Is Sebastian your bastard?” Jon finally asked, voicing a question whose answer had been quite perplexing to him. The rumors of him being a Snow were not plausible, but perhaps a Baratheon whose blood ran thin.

Robert laughed, a few tears escaping his eyes.

“No—” Robert said, trying to contain his laughter at Jon’s confusion. “—remember the little kid in the Iron Islands? The leader of the thieves?”

The puzzle was finally completed in Jon’s mind.

The kid. The leader of an orphan group in the Iron Islands, whose sabotage of ships and knowledge of the terrain had helped immensely during the Greyjoy rebellions.

How could he forget them?

Thanks to them, Quelon Greyjoy, previous self proclaimed King of the Iron Islands, had died. Most of his sons were dead, except young Theon, now Ned’s ward, and Asha, still a small girl living on the islands. Victarion and Euron’s whereabouts were unknown.

“Any news about the Iron Islands?” Jon asked, perplexed that he had forgotten them for a second.

“From what the brat told me, Aeron Greyjoy rules alongside the Harlaws from the shadows. They are keeping everything in check until the herald of their god appears once again, the girl grows up, or Ned’s little ward returns,” Robert said.

“Drowned God herald?” Jon said with a small laugh. Incredulity toward fanatics had always been necessary for a man like him.

Robert frowned.

“Their belief in the Drowned God died during the rebellion. The madman priest Aeron Greyjoy is now obsessed with the god who defeated the Drowned God, the God of Storms,” added Robert.

Jon felt a headache forming. Fanatics were never to his liking. At least they had been keeping to themselves, and Lord Harlaw had been one of the few houses in the Iron Islands opposed to the Greyjoy rebellion.

“That explains young Sebastian. I am just wondering why you never told me about him,” Jon asked.

Robert frowned, confusion in his eyes.

“I thought Ned had told you in his letters,” Robert said.

So this mysterious young man had simply been the result of miscommunication.

Alas.

“So that is why you were so adamant about his nameday being celebrated?” Jon asked with a plain look on his face.

“Aye. The kid will hate it, hahahaha!” Robert laughed.

“And the visits to the brothels?” Jon asked.

“I need to show him the ropes. After all, he will finally be a man. What better way to celebrate it than by finally becoming one?” Robert explained with a smile, ignoring Jon’s increasing irritation.

“Go, my king. Your Hand needs to clean the shit you left,” Jon said dryly, with a spark of both annoyance and mischief.

Robert practically ran from the room to drink and whore once again

23 Lucky number 15

Domeric

“Oh! Alice, was a special lass, born bereft of thumb!!!”

If anyone had ever asked how their trip to King's Landing would have been.

“Lost a digit tending flock, now feeling awfully glum”

This, this would not have been his first option, nor the second.

“Oh! Alice, with three fingers, a copper in her glass!”

He could see Robert I Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm of Westeros. Drunk, with a cup in his hand, a big titted maid on the other, in a brothel full of other stags, some lions, and their group.

“Had two fingers less than most”

But the most impactful and best thing for him to see was Seb's.

“She’ll shove them up your arse, hey!”

Seething rage boiling inside him, but pretending to not feel a thing.

He could see it clearly as day, as he politely rejected the line of whores that the Master of Coin had provided for his nameday. Not that it mattered, for their services were offered and accepted by the men around, taking each one of them deeper into the brothel.

Domeric laughed, for while he had tasted a woman thanks to a maid in Dreadfort, he could not, for the Old Gods, lose such a sight. Theon had not been so patient, for he called dibs for the one with the fattest ass. Meera was present, beside Sebastian, looking with more curiosity than anything at all the women around her, unaccustomed and curious at seeing prostitutes working. Jojen had already excused himself, clearly uncomfortable about everything, but Domeric could swear that it was more about the horrible stories that Sebastian had provided.

STD? he called them Domeric mused, while still having no idea about their meaning.

He looked beside him, and could see Jon and Robb trying but failing to keep themselves stoic. They had been allowed some wine by Sebastian but were absolutely forbidden to get a go with the whores around them. But they were lordlings, so they had to remain at the party.

Plain torture Domeric laughed.

“What is so funny, sugar?” a blond woman said, refilling his glass while cupping her breasts to give him a better view.

“I love the view, sweetheart, but I think my friend over there needs you more than me,” he said, pointing to Sebastian.

“I tried, sugar, he didn’t want me. Is he ugly behind that mask? Do you think he thinks me ugly? Do you think I am ugly?” she said, with tears blooming in her eyes.

Women Domeric thought, while he discreetly passed her a copper star while murmuring in her ear.

“Try again with my friend, if you make it, a silver stag will be waiting for you,” he said.

The tears were quickly wiped from her eyes, and a smile bloomed on her face.

She nodded, while she walked into Sebastian’s position, where she ‘accidentally fell’ with her head suspiciously pointing toward his crotch.

Of course, he evaded, and her face only met hard wood, not the one she was after.

He looked up, and he could see someone new had come. Jon Arryn, taking with him Robb, Jon and Meera back to the Red Keep.

Domeric watched as Sebastian didn't even look at the girl who had fallen at his feet. Instead, he looked at the King.

“Your Grace,” the butler said, his voice like cracking ice.

“The next time you wish to celebrate my birth, I would prefer a simple assassination attempt. It would be less messy.”

Sebastian seethed with venom, to which Robert laughed.

“Wine, women and spectacle, what a gorgeous night,” Domeric said to himself while enjoying his wine.

Robb

At the end of the night, the King used his authority to trap Sebastian with five whores in a large room. One of them quickly left, calling more of them to Sebastian’s room. From the talk among the servants, fifteen people were in the room not including Sebastian, with laughter, awws and whispers getting out of the room.

Or so Robb had heard, trying to catch the whispers among the servants.

“Is it true? What do you think?” Robb asked.

Jon shrugged.

“Does it matter?” he asked.

Robb doubled down.

“And how many do you think you would be able to handle?” Robb asked his brother.

Jon’s face reddened like ripe tomatoes, but he quickly answered.

“More than you, my Lord” he added with certainty.

They looked at each other, and then laughed.

“At least the wine tasted good. Dornish red? Delicious,” said Robb, recounting his experience.

“An experience that I am sure should remain hidden from your mother. The poor bastard would be accused of ‘corrupting Winterfel’s heir’ ” Jon added with a smile.

Robb got silent, thinking, and Jon asked.

“Robb, are you alright?”

“Yeah, just… it’s the first time I’ve heard you joking about her. You always seemed…”

“Afraid?” Jon asked.

Robb nodded.

“I was, I am still. But the trip… Winterfell is my home, but to talk, to have seen new things, met new people. Your mother doesn’t like me, but Lord Stark, you, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon, and Sebs. You are family. And while Winterfell is my home, there is still a lot of world to see” Jon confessed, eyes glinting for new experiences.

Robb looked at Jon, unaware of the currents hidden beneath the calm sea, and hugged him.

Jon hugged him back. It took a moment before disgust overpowered the room. They separated immediately, making sounds of gagging and laughing.

“So you want to see the world, Jon Snow? When I get to be Lord, I will appoint you somewhere to trade in my name. But with one condition,” Robb said with a grandiose opening.

Jon looked confused.

“Cut your girly hair, dear brother, for I am afraid that slavers will confuse you with a pretty maiden,” Robb said seriously.

“Fuck you, my Lord,” Jon rolled his eyes while extending his arm.

“Fuck you too, Jon,” Robb said while clasping Jon’s forearm with his, a promise being made among children eager to become men.

Petyr Baelish

Petyr Baelish was in his office smiling with fatherly affection. He was caressing the hair of one of his workers. It felt soft to the touch, and it slid between his fingers. The golden hair fell from the prostitute’s head beautifully, except for the bandage covering the girl’s nose.

“I’ve heard rumours, my dear, but would you kindly shed some light about our dear guests?” he asked, while the girl purred in his arms. Some kindness here and there made them easier to control.

“Sure… he rejected me once, sir. The next time I fell, as you order us to do with difficult clients. I—”

She could feel how the Master of Coin was grabbing her hair aggressively with each word she muttered. She stopped and he let her continue. She understoo, he wanted information. He did not care about her.

“We followed the king’s command. We entered his room and he…”

Petyr caressed her neck, murmuring, almost purring.

“He… he treated my wound, ser” the girl said, shying away, but there was nowhere to go.

“He talked with us, sir. He told us that he did not want our services, but respected our work. He gave each of us a stag, m’lord,” she said with fanfare.

“He taught us about combinations of herbs to remove skin impurities. He even showed us concoctions to have beautiful hair. He invited more of us to listen, and ten more came to the room to listen. It was enli—enli…”

“Enlightening?” Petyr added.

“Yes, yes. He even washed my hair as an apology for the fall. He knew where I was headed but evaded anyway. He cured my nose, gave me some creams, washed my hair as a demonstration. And we all received money for our time,” she said with happiness in her voice.

“And you received more?” Petyr asked, and the girl paled in fear.

“He… he gave me a golden dragon. It was a gift, he said. As an apology, m’lord. It’s more than I make in three years. I didn’t want to hide it fro—”

“Shhhhhh, you can keep it, sweetheart,” he purred in her ear, to which she blushed deeply.

“Tell the others they can also keep their gifts,” he added to the girl’s delight.

“Go,” he said, and the girl happily ran to share the good news.

Now alone, Petyr laughed. His small probe had been detected and deflected.

“How amusing,” said to himself the Master of Coin with mirth. For while the services he provided had been rejected before, this approach had been highly creative.

“And maybe lucrative,” Petyr said, while reflecting on the potential economic value of creams and lotions for the highborn women.

24 Double Gloves

Jojen

They followed their way to Highgarden by using the Rose Road. They passed through the Kingswood, where Jojen could finally breathe easier thanks to nature and the lack of human odors that besieged the capital. Jojen would not, if not for life or death, go back to King’s Landing once again. He felt sick most of the time, corruption and decay filling the air, along with fire and ashes.

 It felt wrong in so many ways, with the only respite near the godswood, a small tinder in the sea of darkness that was the Red Keep.

For his ‘training’ with Sebastian, he had been channeling more of himself into his body.

 It was a new experience, how he, who was always attuned with nature, had never made such a deep introspection into himself. 

And it worked wonders, allowing him to keep himself grounded during his green dreams. He even, on occasions, could now stir the sight into mundane things.

How the weather would be in a few minutes, what they were having for breakfast, and other menial things. His father’s words had been correct. To trust the enigma that was Sebastian.

The mask was the obvious one, but Jojen could see much deeper. What about his hands? He always used gloves. Whenever they bathed in rivers, he never went with them. He had heard how he could butcher an entire bear easily, but now he avoided butchering anything at all costs. He had seen his body tense at the sight of blood. He disliked black birds, his hands twitching at the sight of them. He offered advice and counsel, but never shared much of himself.

‘A thought for another time,’ Jojen mused, while resting his head on a nearby tree. 

They had set camp in the Kingswood while Ser Barristan Selmy checked their surroundings for bandits.

‘Ser Barristan the Bold,’ he giggled slightly, for what children had never heard of the legendary knight who was pivotal in ending the ‘War of the Ninepenny Kings’. Where Ser Barristan the Bold slew Maelys I Blackfyre in single combat, ending the Blackfyre male line.

‘Mother always said that her brother was better knight’ he remembered, for his late uncle had been the Sword of the Morning himself. She grew both happy and sad when talking about him, as if remembering him took a small piece of herself each time. 

Jojen had always wondered about the sword. According to his mother, language was too clumsy a tool to describe a blade forged from a real fallen star

*tip tap*

“Anything you need, Mee?” he asked to no one in particular.

“Huff, I still can’t catch you.” Meera dropped from a nearby tree with a thud.

“Whenever you are near, I can hear water smiling and dancing with you” he said, trying but failing to explain the feeling.

“Stupid greenseers with their stupid logic—” she said with a smile and some bite in her words.
“—be useful and tell me what we are eating for supper.”

“So, I am just useful when I see what we are eating?” Jojen said, falsely hurt.

Meera nodded.

“You are still green, my esteemed greenseer, so unless you dream a stash of treasure, even you have to admit you are kind of useless,” she added with a smirk.

“For now,” he reproached.

“Only time will tell, and…”

“Stew, with freshly made bread,” he said.

She punched him in the arm.

“See? Useful! Come on!” she added with a smile, to which he rolled his eyes.

He got up and followed her to the nearby camp.

“You think they are still at it?” Meera asked.

“Mmmm… probably. After all, who could pass an opportunity to impress Ser Barristan the Bold?” Jojen said.

“But, isn’t it kind of useless? They can sharpen the hedge knights’ tools, clean their mail, and tend to their horses, but I can bet you a penny that Ser Barristan would not care. After all, why would you start doing all of that only when in his presence?” she said, to which he had to agree.

“As true as it may be, it doesn’t hurt to try and impress your hero. Even Dom is wholeheartedly cleaning mail, and the rest as well” Jojen said, for he could understand but not follow.

“And you, don’t you want to become a squire yourself? Ser Jojen Reed, can you imagine?” she asked.

He sighed, for Jojen had always been more pragmatic.

“I am afraid that the Andals do not tolerate magic in their lands. A knight greenseer? I could imagine groups of the Seven roaring for my head, as if I were a Blackfyre heir,” Jojen shuddered, for the thought annoyed and scared him.

“You have a point, but remember mother’s teachings. The best place to hide something is at plain sight” she added knowingly, to which Jojen had to agree.

They got to their camp, following the smell of homemade food.

“Is the food ready?” she asked a nearby boy. He blushed, but another voice answered.

“Yes, but we are waiting for Ser Barristan to come back,” Sebastian said while mixing the stew with a wooden spoon.

“But why…” Meera wanted to ask, but was interrupted by Jojen beside her. He motioned with his head to a bunch of boys and teens, looking into the far distance, waiting for their idol to come back.

_ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _

Ser Barristan Selmy

“I like your style, Ser. I can see that this is not the first time you have had to deal with this” said Sebastian.

“I am afraid not, young Sebastian. At least this way they will sleep properly” Ser Barristan Selmy said, painfully aware of the effect he had on young pages and squires. Make them run until their legs gave out, and then to sleep. It had been a better approach than having a bunch of kids unwilling to sleep, fantasizing of one day being knights themselves.

“You are too kind, Ser, for in this way if a battle or a war arrives in their lives, they can be more prepared and maybe keep their lives intact” Sebastian added.

Barristan observed him like a hawk and nodded.

‘Not many realise,’ he thought.

“Indeed, young friend. A tourney, as flashy or glorious as it can be, will never be a fight. To fight ten men, get tired, and fight many more. To fail to learn it means death” Ser Barristan added.

“And you, not going to sleep?” Ser Barristan asked.

Sebastian shook his head.

“We are in the middle of the woods, Ser, and I’ve had ample experience in them. I will keep an eye out so my little lordlings can rest easily” he said.

“And how do you plan on doing that?” Barristan asked, seeing how the light reached a point and then there was only darkness. 

Sebastian showed him his gloved fingers, and Ser Barristan squinted his eyes to see.

Small threads were around young Sebastian’s fingers.

“I left some traps and warnings along the way, Ser. If someone or something comes, I will be the first to know” Sebastian explained.

“Constant vigilance, a good habit to have,” Ser Barristan shared.

“Indeed, Ser, indeed” and they both kept quiet, waiting for the sunrise to finally come.

_ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  _ _ _ _ _ 

Red Jack

Red Jack had been terrorizing the Kingswood since he was little. He could still remember the smiling knight, sowing chaos in his wake, only to die at the hands of that knight.

But Jack survived, for their small group was left behind for their protection, only for it to be proven a correct decision when their older brothers had died in battle. So Jack learned from their mistakes. He learned to listen to the trees, to follow paths and scents, to detect prey.

He liked good targets, not the flashy way that the smiling knight had done in his golden years, no. Small families, lone travelers, some rope tied into parts of the woods, easy traps for the ones not paying attention to the road.

It worked every time.

For Red Jack, nothing was more enjoyable than watching his prey’s eyes lose that small sliver of hope. 

He liked to be quick and efficient at hunting, and this prey looked quite good.

 It had a mask and strange clothes, maybe a lost lordling, waiting for him to rip apart his intestines. He could even savor the taste of fresh meat on his tongue.

“You know? I don’t like killing” the prey said.

Red Jack looked confused, for it seemed his prey was alone.

“But thanks to that fucker, all the visions that I sealed away are now back to hunt me,” the prey kept talking.

‘Crazy fuck,’ thought Jack, for he had found some of those, nothing that a good swing of his knife could not fix.

“I can still see her, you know? Grandma Momo... her takoyaki was once a bliss. Then. Then she was just a mess of blood on a dirty floor. Eyeless, with her intestines and organs out on the floor, a macabre display for all to see. Grandma Momo, grandpa Satoru, old and young, rich and poor. A massacre indeed.”

The prey now looked at him, and his hair stood up. Fear overwhelmed his senses. He had felt it before, like standing in front of the smiling knight.

“The itch is getting worse, like hands clawing their way, ripping my throat. It’s getting worse. 

And…and I crave for blood.”

Red Jack tried to run, with every cell of his body. He tried to scream, to run away as fast and as far as he could.

Then pain.

“Ple…” a small needle pierced his throat, his screams drowned in a sea of silence.

“Shhh, we don’t have much time, Red Jack. I have seen your work, what you did to those poor girls” the masked monster said.

Jack tried to grab his sword, but two small kitchen knives ripped through his arms, pinning him to the tree.

“We only have a little while alone” the devil purred while Red Jack begged uselessly for his life.

He took some gloves, and used them on top of the other ones.

“Double gloves for messy work” the monster said.

“You know how painful it will be for you, Red Jack. You can’t… imagine….” The devil took off his mask, and two red eyes met his.

“And I, for one, can’t wait to watch.” 

_ _ _ _ _ _  _  _ 

Bonus

“Where is Sebastian?” Theon asked.

“Said he went for some berries for dessert,” said Robb.

“Sweet,” replied Theon