Westeros, The North
Winterfell
298 AC
The preparations for the welcoming feast goes on swimmingly without any error or delay. Aerion, not planning on attending, spends the time sneaking in the shadows, watching, listening, and observing all who are now guests of Winterfell. It is fascinating what information people reveal about themselves when they do not think that anyone is listening. And even if they know someone is listening, depending on their view of that person they may not stop themselves from revealing valuable information, or better yet revealing information that they believe to be inconsequential.
Already Aerion has a detailed understanding of the King's party beyond the King himself. He knows who is susceptible to bribes, who is truly loyal to the King, who answers to someone else, and even whose loyalty is split.
It is how he finds himself here, in the baggage train looking for a very specific dagger. A dagger which at any other time would have been near impossible to find within his limited amount of time but is truly easy to find for Aerion can practically taste the magic coming from the weapon. With his quarry found and obtained, Aerion places the fabricated evidence where he told the guards it would be and exits the room with the hood of his cloak covering his face.
"Once again thank you for your help, gentlemen. Remember, the letter is to be given to the queen once you reach the Riverlands and not a moment before." Aerion whispers as he places five gold dragons in each of their hands. "Do this properly and not only will she appreciate your service, but there shall also be another five gold dragons for you." he tells them, his voice deep and raspy as if suffering from disuse.
"Thank you, m'lord." the guards say as they pocket their bribe.
With his business done Aerion soundlessly leaves the hallway and begins to make his way towards his next objective.
After two turns he removes his fake beard, a flame sparking to life in his hand and quickly burning it away into ashes that are thrown outside of a window. After three more turns his cloak is removed and neatly folded with the dagger placed inside before being handed off to a member of the rangers that is dressed as a servant. And finally, as he enters the family wing of Winterfell his hair is untied and allowed to flow freely from his head down to his upper back.
With his disguise shed, Larence walks in step with him and hands him his sword belt.
"Tycho Nestoris is in The Continental." Larence tells him as he ties his belt around his waist.
"I see." says Aerion, a frown marring his features. Tycho Nestoris, a representative of the Iron Bank that Robb and Aerion have done business with numerous times. Yet from what he can remember neither Robb nor he have any business that currently needs to be discussed with the Iron Bank in person. Either there is an unprecedented development that requires their immediate attention, or he is here for another purpose. With the King here, and the crown's debt to the Iron Bank, Aerion cannot rule out such a possibility.
Dismissing his speculations, Aerion turns his attention to the matter at hand. "Tell Tycho that I shall join him within the hour." Aerion tells Larence.
Before Larence can respond, Arya's voice cuts their conversation short. "There you are!" she exclaims as she races down the hallway and envelops Aerion in a hug, the fresh smell of soap clinging to her like a second skin and her still damp hair wetting his clothes.
"Little Wolf." greets Aerion with a fond smile, the frown disappearing from his face as if it were never there as he picks her up. "Causing trouble per usual I see." he comments with a chuckle.
Not too far behind is Septa Mordane who finally catches up to Arya, her breath labored.
"Lady Arya, you must prepare for the feast." says the septa in between breaths.
"I don't want your help." Arya snarls. "Jon will do it, you can go back to Sansa."
"My lady, that is not proper." sighs the septa. "Come, my lady." she says as she reaches out to take her from Aerion.
"That will not be necessary, septa." Aerion says as he steps back. "I am perfectly capable of preparing her for the feast."
With a frown Septa Mordane brings her hands back.
Now that Aerion has spoken the situation has become somewhat troublesome. In Winterfell, Lord Eddard Stark is the supreme authority. His command is final regardless of who may object. However, that does not mean that all those in Winterfell serve in harmony. Like the Red Keep in the South there are factions that have formed around those in power, Lord Stark, Lady Stark, and the Heir. Generally, the Lady's authority supersedes the Heir; however, things are different in Winterfell for a myriad of reasons.
First and foremost, while Lady Stark is well respected amongst the people of Winterfell, she is not accepted. As far as many of the northerners are concerned, she is a respectable Lady and worthy of being the Lady of Winterfell, but she is not and never will be of the North. That sentiment is extended to the servants she brought along with her, of which includes Septa Mordane. No servant of Winterfell appreciates being told how to do their duty, especially not by a southerner who knows nothing of the North's customs and traditions.
Second, Robb, unlike most heirs, has an established powerbase independent of Lord Stark and Lady Stark. The Rangers are not merely warriors/hunters that serve as law enforcement within the Stark lands; no, The Rangers are a powerbase independent of the current Lord and Lady of House Stark. It is an unspoken truth that any man who joins The Rangers also brings their family along with them where they settle in Wintertown.
This has caused Winterfell to be filled with men and women who, according to the law are loyal to the Lord of Winterfell, in spirit are in truth loyal to the Lady of Winterfell, or the Heir. And while Winterfell is not the Red Keep with its cutthroat politics, it is only natural for different groups loyal to different people inhabiting the same space to occasionally clash.
Aerion, as Lord Commander of the Rangers, can only be commanded by Robb or Lord Stark and as such cannot be ordered to hand Arya over by Septa Mordane. By that same token Septa Mordane's sole duty is to educate and tend to the daughters of Lady Stark and cannot be commanded by Aerion to do otherwise.
"No need to trouble yourself with Arya, Septa. I am sure that Sansa wishes her hair to be tied in a complex braid in order to impress the Royal family, a venture that will take up much of your time no doubt." Aerion says.
With a frown Septa Mordane looks at Aerion before turning her eyes to Arya before sighing in resignation. She understands that Aerion speaks the truth, the longer she spends attempting to make Arya behave the less time she has to prepare Sansa; and with the royal family present as long as Arya is presentable then all is well.
"Very well." says the Septa. "However, Lady Arya needs to convene with the rest of the family within the hour." she says before walking away towards Sansa's chambers.
Watching the septa walk away, Arya cannot help but regard her with a triumphant smirk before sticking her tongue out at her.
With a fond smile on his lips Aerion carries Arya to her chambers where her clothes are already set out on the bed, a beautiful blue dress with silver and white accents.
"Why can't it be a black dress?" Arya asks with a frown.
"Do you not like blue?" Aerion asks her.
"Well, it's not that I don't like blue…" Arya answers, her voice so soft and quiet that were he anyone else Aerion would not have heard her. "I just want to match you." she adds.
"Do you wish to hear a secret?" Aerion asks with a faux whisper as he leans towards Arya. "Blue is one of my favorite colors." he tells hers.
"But you never wear it." responds Arya.
"Aye, but that is simply because I more often than not don the uniform of The Rangers." he tells her. "So, do me a favor and wear it for the both of us."
"Sure." she says excitedly as she turns towards the dress.
As she works on dressing herself, Aerion begins to look for jewelry to match the dress. "Do not forget to dry your hair" he tells her absentmindedly.
Looking through her jewelry box, a gift from Lady Stark for one of Arya's past namedays, Aerion is able to find a set worthy of being worn before the royal family, simple enough to Arya's taste, and all the while honoring House Stark.
Satisfied with his choice, Aerion turns to Arya, just as she finishes.
"Will you be at the feast?" she asks Aerion.
"No." he answers as he begins to tie her hair into a braid while adding silver hairpins in the shape of snowflakes to it. "It is best that I do not attend."
"Why? Because you're a bastard?" Arya asks despite knowing the answer. "That's so stupid." she says with a frown.
"Perhaps." Aerion replies, "However, it is the way things are. Besides, I have matters to attend to." he adds as he finishes her braid.
"Lord Commander duties?" she asks with a grin.
"Aye." replies Aerion. "Lord Commander duties."
"Awww. I wish I could join." she pouts.
"Perhaps when you are of age." he tells her. "Though I make no promises." Aerion says while putting on the silver moonshaped earrings to her ear.
"I'll make Robb command you to allow me to join." Arya says.
"You may do so if you wish." chuckles Aerion as he puts in place the final piece, a silver wolf shaped necklace around her neck.
"Perfect." compliments Aerion as he takes a step back to admire the completed look. "As beautiful as a Winter Princess." he says, drawing a frown from Arya.
"Why would I ever want to be a princess? They're so stupid" she says.
"Not all princesses." Aerion replies. "Princess Nymeria certainly was not."
"Hmmm, I guess that's true." she answers.
"Now go. It would not do to be late." Aerion urges.
With a smile on her face, Arya gives her brother one last hug before setting out with a skip in her step and her head held high.
Watching her leave Aerion cannot help but think of the coming dangers that threaten her and all he holds dear. For perhaps the hundredth time he vows to do all in his power to annihilate all who dare to threaten House Stark and the North.
…
…
…
Westeros, The North
Wintertown
298 AC
Wintertown has become something of a bustling and active town since the founding of The Rangers. In previous years the town was barren during the summer years, only becoming active during the months leading up to winter and reaching capacity during the winter. Now, however, it is quite busy with the rangers bringing their families to live in the town. Old buildings were refurbished or torn down depending on their state and new buildings were erected to facilitate the lively population.
Among the new buildings erected is The Continental, an establishment closer to the hotels in Aerion's memories as opposed to the inns that are the standard of this world. It is an ambitious project, undertaken to help facilitate the explosion in traffic that Wintertown has seen during this summer; for with the significant increase in population the town has also seen an increase in visits from merchants.
The building is three stories tall, capable of housing hundreds while providing warmth, three meals a day, servants to see to all of the guests' needs, and guaranteed protection from The Rangers of House Stark. It is a physical representation of the changes that the new generation of House Stark has already brought to the North.
As a representative of the Iron Bank of Braavos, Tycho Nestoris has travelled far and wide, and has borne witness to many of this world's marvels, man-made or otherwise. This Continental is certainly the first of its kind and its success as a business is more proof that the two eldest boys of House Stark, the heir and the bastard, will not be any common lordlings; for already their business ventures have proven more promising than any other Westerosi nobility, House Lannister included.
Before Tycho's mind can delve deeper into the thought of House Stark's latest businesses, he feels the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and the beating of his heart increase.
Danger. That is what Tycho's body tells him as his breath becomes visible despite the warmth within the private lounge provided to him by The Continental. Danger is near. Flee.
With shaky hands Tycho lifts his cup and takes a sip of his tea, the drink's scalding heat already doing wonders to calm his body. Unfortunately this is one of the drawbacks of conducting business with the Stark boys, the bastard has an air of danger about him that puts his nerves on edge. Regardless of how calm his mind may be, his body always reacts as if he were facing a predator.
As soon as the thought crosses Tycho's mind, the door to the lounge opens and the Black Bastard of House Stark saunters in with the predatory grace of a wolf. Enveloped by his furred cloak that blends in with the shadows, Jon Snow appears before Tycho as if he is a creature of darkness. Had he no faith in the security provided by The Rangers, Tycho would think that an intruder with ill intent has made his way into his lounge. It is only when he steps fully into the room that Tycho is able to see Jon Snow's visage.
As always, Jon's skin is a shade paler than any other northman that Tycho has ever laid eyes on, it is somewhat reminiscent of those of Valyrian descent now that Tycho gives it a deeper thought. His dark hair, a stark contrast to his brother's vibrant red, flows from his head to his upper back like silk, and his facial features, per usual, are unnaturally and unnervingly pretty. Though he does not agree with it, Tycho understands the claim others make when they say that the bastard bears the same visage of plain faced Eddard Stark for they attribute the softness of his to his youth when Tycho sees that that softness are features inherited from his mother. In truth the boy does look to be a prettier, younger Eddard Stark.
Though as the boy takes a seat before him and he focuses on the boy's face, Tycho continues to find more differences between him and his father than he previously thought were there. Clearly his mother's features are coming in as the boy slowly passes into manhood.
"Tycho." greets Jon Snow as he makes himself comfortable in his seat.
"Jon, my friend." answers Tycho with a smile. "It is good to see you." he says, meaning every word. It is rare to find enlightened and educated people among the barbarians of Westeros. Tycho cherishes every one he has the pleasure of interacting with.
"I would say the same were it not for the inopportune timing of this visit." Jon tells him.
"Ah, I see." sighs Tycho in understanding. "Unfortunately my friend, the Bank has business with the King and what better time to conduct said business than when he is in the presence of the reasonable guiding hand of the Honorable Eddard Stark." Tycho says, watching with some fascination as a slight frown grows on Jon's face only to disappear as quickly as it appeared. The boy's mastery over his expression is always a sight to behold. Few men possess as much mastery over themselves as this boy who sits before him. He would thrive in the treacherous politics in the south with such control. Still, even with such control over himself, Tycho saw the slip regardless of how brief it may have been.
Despite the boy making a name for himself and his best attempts he still cannot escape the long shadow cast by his father, and Tycho is not generous enough to let him forget; especially not when it has given him the upper hand in negotiations a few times already.
"Is this in regard to the crown's debt?" Jon asks.
"Come now, you know I cannot divulge such information." Tycho tells him.
"I see." is Jon's answer, and truly Tycho believes that he does see indeed. Whatever information he sought by asking that question, despite knowing that Tycho cannot divulge that information, he has received it. It reminds him that he is not the sole master participating in this conversation, for the boy before him is as capable as he.
"One day you will tell me how you do it." Tycho says with a self-deprecating chuckle for he has done nothing but confirm what the boy already knows. Outplayed by a boy of ten and four. The boy's ability to gather information defies all logic, it is perhaps on par with The Spider. Many a time the Iron Bank has purchased valuable knowledge from him.
"Not likely." Jon tells him as he stands. Removing his right hand from the cover of his cloak, Jon places a stack of paper before him. "Before deciding to meet with the king, it would be in your best interest to read these." Jon says as he begins to walk away, not bothering to wait for Tycho's response with one of his ever loyal rangers following a step behind.
It is only now, with the ranger standing in his line of sight, that Tycho realises that he never noticed his presence. And as he watches the Bastard of House Stark leave Tycho cannot help but think of the world's ignorance. That boy is one of the most dangerous men in Westeros and no one seems wise to that fact.
…
…
…
As he steps out of The Continental, Aerion cannot help the frown that grows on his face. In every version of events he has borne witness to not once has Tycho Nestoris visited Winterfell during the king's visit, further proof that his skill in navigating the Weirwood network is not great enough to allow him to see every possible outcome. His mind can only process so much after all, especially considering his young age, lack of formal training, and the fact that the more divergent events he witnesses the more strain it places on his psyche and his magic.
"Be proud of yourself" says Ambrosius through his mind "Out of the countless versions of you we have seen through the weirwood network few learn to control their magic to warg, much less accomplish as much as you have at the tender age of ten and four." he tells Aerion.
"Ten and four is merely two years removed from my majority. The Young Dragon had conquered Dorne by then." Aerion retorts.
"Are you comparing yourself to the Young Dragon?" laughs Ambrosius, causing Aerion's face to flush red in shame.
"The Young Dragon is not half the man that you are." he elaborates upon sensing Aerion's thought. "He was born and raised a prince, with all the resources and training that it entails. You were raised a bastard, a well trained and educated one, but a bastard still with no resources to make use of. And with nothing but your intelligence you taught yourself the higher mysteries, and aye you may have had my help but give my coin to that bastard prince peacocking around Winterfell and he would still be the same wretch no matter how long you give him. So raise your head boy, for you cast a shadow longer than most lords and the sun has merely begun to shine upon you."
Ambrosius' words have their intended effect for Aerion's posture imperceptibly straightens. The effect is slight and only those keen of eye would notice, but the difference will show itself in the years to come.
Before Aerion can reply, a familiar voice calls out to him.
"Jon?"
Hearing his uncle's voice, a genuine smile forms on Aerion's face as he turns towards him.
"Uncle Benjen." he calls out.
"What are you doing here boy? Should you not be at the feast?" Benjen calls out.
Benjen, like most Starks, possesses a long face, dark hair, and gray eyes, though his tend closer to blue with laughter in them as opposed to the more standard severe gray found in Stark men.
"I had other matters to attend to." Aerion tells him as he's pulled into a hug by his uncle.
"How have you been?" Benjen asks as they separate, not bothering to ask what such matters entail. Ever since finding him limping through the snow by his lonesome after escaping his captures, Benjen has become something of an enabler to him; supporting him in all endeavors and rarely asking him for details that Aerion is not willing to divulge.
Rather than answer his uncle, Aerion's eyes turn towards the figure behind him.
Standing a few steps back and around the same height as his uncle is a man no older than twenty and five years of age with long black hair tied back into a braid with the sides shaved off showing his eagle tattoos on both sides of his head. His eyes are the exact same grey as Aerion's lordly uncle, and his well groomed, yet short, beard accentuates his severe beauty. Had Aerion not known any better he would have named the man a Stark.
However, none of those features are what draws Aerion's attention to the man, rather it is the sense of danger that the man evokes from within him, a sense of danger that only five others have made him feel.
"Uncle, who is that man?" asks Aerion with a frown.
"That is Eivor." says Benjen as he steps back to introduce the two to each other. "Eivor, that is one of my nephews, Jon."
"Jon." greets Eivor as he extends his hand in greeting. "Your uncle speaks much of you, and proudly at that too." he says.
"Eiver Wolf-Kissed?" asks Aerion as he and Eivor clasps forearms.
"Aye. It seems that my reputation reaches as far as the hallowed halls of Winterfell" replies Eivor as he pulls back his fur cloak and tunic to showcase the wolfbite scar on his neck.
"Well met, Wolf-Kissed. It is not everyday that one meets the blade that conquered every Wildling clan beyond the wall and carved a kingdom out of them" says Aerion with a nod.
"I conquered nothing." Eivor says with a slight shake of his head. "I merely follow my brother and King in his conquests."
"Are you not the blade that your brother wields most often in his conquests?" Aerion asks rhetorically. "You and I are one in that regard." he tells Eivor, removing the frown from the older man's face.
Before Eivor can answer, a raven's caw draws the group's attention to the sky where they find two ravens circling and flying around each other in an elaborate dance before swooping down and settling on the shoulders of their respective partners.
"It seems that your raven has garnered Synin's approval." says Eivor with a smile. "I believe you and I shall get along well."
"Aye, on that we are of the same mind." Aerion agrees before turning to his uncle. "You have come at a busy time uncle." he tells Benjen
"So I see." answers Benjen as he ruffles Aerion's hair. "I did not expect to find the entire southern court here when I set off from the Wall."
"In truth it feels as if the King has brought the entire south with him when he travelled north." Aerion says as they begin to make their way to Winterfell.
"How is he?" asks Benjen "The King"
"Loud. Fat and nothing like the stories." Aerion tells him in the Old Tongue, causing Benjen and Eivor to chuckle.
"Kingship has a way of changing men." is Benjen's reply. "They say the Mad King was a promising young heir before he became the Mad King."
"Said Mad King was also held captive and subjected to gods know what torture for moons before he became. This drunk that haunts our halls has no such excuse." Aerion scoffs.
Grabbing his nephew by the shoulder, Benjen regards him with a frown and pursed lips. "Is there something that I should know?" he asks.
For a moment Aerion says nothing, merely looking into Benjen's eyes as if searching for something before eventually turning his gaze to Eivor for a moment before he grabs the both and drags them into an isolated alley with a pair of Rangers standing outside to deter any from approaching
"The King wants father to be his new hand." says Aerion, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Aye, I wager that is why he ventured this far north." answers Benjen, his features smoothing over. "It is expected considering the brotherhood that Ned has forged with him throughout their fostering and the war."
"Perhaps, but that does not change the fact that father cannot accept under any circumstance." Aerion says, causing the frown to return to Benjen's face.
"Jon. What have you seen?" Benjen demands.
"Death. If father goes south, regardless of how many men he brings, or how careful he is, he will die. Whether through poison, an assassin's blade, or treason; should father travel below the Neck then he will not survive to see the year's end." Aerion tells him.
For a moment Benjen does not answer, merely staring at his nephew with wide eyes and his mouth slightly apart.
"You are sure of this?" asks Benjen
"I have seen it. Multiple times." Aerion says. "Robb and I are at our wits ends for we can do nothing but plead to him."
"You worry for naught. Ned is not one to accept the position, especially with the coming winter." reassures Benjen.
"Perhaps. Yet, for reasons beyond my knowledge or understanding, in every vision I receive father always accepts; and not only does he accept but he also brings Sansa and Arya with him." Aerion counters.
Hearing his nieces being mentioned, Benjen's previously worried gaze turns sharp and dangerous. This is no longer the good natured uncle who messes up Aerion's hair and believes in him, but rather the First Ranger of the Night's Watch. This is the man who hunted down Aerion's captors after finding him wandering aimlessly and deliriously in the snow before going beyond the Wall and exterminating the warriors of the clan of the Wildlings who had crossed into the North despite them not being personally involved. This is a man who does not abide by his brother's belief of honor and is closer to the old King of Winters in thought.
"What happens to the girls?" he asks, his voice as cold as the Wall he ranges beyond.
"The prince is a cruel boy uncle. As sane as any of us yet as cruel as the Mad King himself." is all Aerion says.
"Fucking Baratheons." swears Benjen. "Brutes the lot of them. Good for nothing except waging war." he says as he paces back and forth.
"It seems your house is cursed with unworthy allies." remarks Eivor as he crosses his arms and leans on the wall across from Aerion.
"An unfortunate consequence of dealing with the South." replies Aerion.
"So? What do you plan to do about it?" Eivor asks.
"What else but plead and pray? I am naught but a bastard boy with no influence on his Lord Father's decisions." Aerion says as Benjen turns to him.
"You may have others fooled, boy, but I know your character. You would not leave anything to chance." Benjen says. "Now speak. What scheme have you concocted and how can I help?" he asks, causing Aerion to regard him with a devious grin.
…
…
…
Westeros, The North
Winterfell
298 AC
The morning in Winterfell begins like all other mornings. Wintertown comes alive first as the thousands of smallfolk which call it home rise before the sun and begin their day. Winterfell follows close behind as other than the sound of servants and guards milling about, the clash of wood and steel can also be heard in the training yard.
As Lord Commander of the Rangers Aerion has long been awake. Training by his lonesome before others enter the training yard. By the time the training yard becomes full he has long completed his physical exercises and is working through his drills with a freshly warmed up Robb.
Despite their young age, Aerion and Robb have outgrown Ser Rodrick's lessons some two years past. There is naught the greybeard can teach them. They have each defeated him in spars some number of times and the only thing stopping them from completely trouncing the northern knight is their young bodies and somewhat lacking physical strength.
As such the two of them have taken to training outside of the knight's supervision, allowing him to focus entirely on Winterfell's guards and Bran who has started his training this year. Still, that does not mean that they have nothing else to learn, for while Ser Rodrick may no longer have anything to teach them, the same cannot be said for Ambrosius.
The spirit trapped within the coin is a peerless warrior and general the likes of which no mortal can compare to and as such is an endless font of knowledge for them. It is he who devised their current training regiment, a regiment so brutal that by the time he and Robb are finished Aerion feels as if he will keel over anytime, causing he and his brother to lay down on the ground, staring at the sky and gulping for air as if they were fishes out of water.
It is in this way that Prince Joffrey finds them as he prances into the training yard with his ever loyal hound shadowing him and his hand resting on the hilt of a dagger at his waist.
"Is this how the Heir of Winterfell comports himself?" he demands as he sneers down his nose at Robb before regarding Aerion with naked disgust. "Rolling around in the mud with bastards and commoners." he says, causing Robb to frown and drawing some attention to himself.
"I am glad to see you in the training yard, my prince." Robb responds as he and Aerion help themselves up. "Though I thought to see you here with the rising of the sun."
"A prince comes and goes as he pleases." answers Joffrey. "Espescially when he does not require as much training as his lessers." he says oblivious to the growing silence.
"Certainly, your grace." Robb says with a nod before regarding Joffrey with a questioning glance. "Though would you indulge me in a spar? I wish to see the warrior forged of the Blood of the Demon of the Trident and the training of the greatest warrior of the realm." he adds with excitement.
It takes much of Aerion's self-control to stop himself from gagging. Robb clearly has not the disposition for subterfuge and manipulation, for anyone with a modicum of wit and sense would be able to tell that it is an act. Such blatantly false flattery would only work on a dimwitted fool or one blinded by their own perceived notion of greatness.
"Hmph. If you wish to be defeated before your future subjects, then so be it." Joffrey replies as he makes his way to the weapons rack and takes a longsword in hand
As Robb and Joffrey face each other Ser Rodrick approaches the two of them while every one else gives them a wide berth.
With everyone's attention on Robb and Joffrey, Aerion slips unseen behind the crowd.
"Remember, the realm between worlds is a world in its own right. It has its own laws and logic which must not be broken under any circumstance." Ambrosius tells Aerion.
"You tell me this every time. I know this by heart." Aerion replies as he regards the ring in his hand with a frown. It is a simple thing, an unassuming band of bronze with scripts of the old tongue inscribed on it.
It is Aerion's first and only magically forged item. An item created through an accident that almost had dire consequences were it not for Ambrosius' timely intervention. A simple ring forged with a single piece of bronze, paste of the tears of Winterfell's heart tree, water from the hot springs beneath Winterfell, Aerion's blood, and sung into existence with the Old Tongue. It has one singular function, yet that singular function is a magic that is beyond even Aerion's current ability to comprehend.
"Ready?" asks Ambrosius
"It matters not whether I am ready or not, I must do this." responds Aerion as he slips the ring into his middle finger and seemingly vanishes from the world; unseen and unheard by all.
…
…
…
The first thing that Robb learns of the "Crown Prince"s combat ability is that he has none beyond poorly trained basics.
The boy comes at him with a wild swing that a blind man would see coming and with such poor edge alignment that even if Robb were to allow himself to be struck the damage would be minimal. Yet despite this Robb does not allow himself to be struck for that would be violating Ser Rodrick's very first lesson to him and Jon; spar as if it were a battle and his life is truly in danger.
As such he slips the cunt's slash and retaliates with a slash of his own that would have opened the boy from neck to groin were he not padded and were their swords not blunted.
Robb hears Ser Rodrick give the point to him but pays the knight no mind, opting instead to mimic Theon's smug and infuriating grin.
"I thank our prince for giving the point to me." he says, his voice loud and clear enough to be heard by all in the training yard and drawing a chuckle from the northmen, his Rangers laughing loudest of all and not bothering to hide said laughter.
The prince's face reddens and his eyes narrow before the boy quickly catches himself.
"Enjoy your short lived victory Stark, for it shall be your last point this spar." says Joffrey, his voice sounding higher pitched than usual.
"We shall see." is all Robb replies before launching himself at the bastard Lannister.
The boy does well to last seven seconds before he trips on his own feet and Robb purposefully disengages.
"Get up, my prince." Robb tells him as he circles the fallen boy as if he were prey. "I will not have the songs say that I defeated you whilst you were unprepared."
With a snarl Joffrey springs to his feet and for a second his unoccupied hand reaches for the dagger at his waist before he seemingly changes his mind and charges Robb with his sword. With an effortless grace born of countless hours of practice, Robb parries the prince's sword before retaliating with a riposte that nicks him in the neck and sends him tumbling to the ground in shock while grasping his neck.
When he brings his hand up the prince looks at it as if expecting to see blood, only for there to be none.
"That is enough." says Ser Rodrick from his position at the edge of the sparring circle. "The round goes to Lord Robb."
"Would you like to go another round, my prince?" asks Ser Rodrick as Joffrey stumbles to his feet.
"This is stupid." sneers Joffrey. "This is a game for children."
Theon Greyjoy suddenly barks out a laugh. "You are children," he says derisively.
"Robb may be a child," Joffrey says. "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."
"You got more swats than you gave, Joff," Robb replies, earning a chuckle from the surrounding laughter. "Are you afraid?"
Joffrey looks at him. "Oh, terrified," he says. "You're so much older." And some of the Lannister men laugh.
Ser Rodrik thoughtfully regards the two of them while tugging at his white whiskers. "What are you suggesting?" he asks the prince.
For a moment Joffrey says nothing, his facial expression seemingly cycling through countless emotions before he responds with a sneer.
"Live steel." he says with a dangerous grin.
"Please, you do not possess the skill for it." retorts Robb with derision as he approaches the Lannister prince. "Had we used live steel earlier I'd have opened you up from neck to groin. I would not trust you with a butter knife, much less a live sword."
"Still, it was an interesting, if somewhat disappointing, bout." says Robb as he extends his hand towards Joffrey for a handshake.
Rather than shake Robb's offered hand Joffrey regards him with a frown .
"What a disappointment. Son of the Demon of the Trident and nephew to the Kingslayer and still such a disappointment" mutters Robb, his words heard by Joffrey and no one else.
With his piece said he too turns around, giving his back to Joffrey and begins to make his way to his side of the training yard.
Another one of Ser Rodrick's lessons, never turn your back to an enemy. It is a lesson that Robb has learned the hard way even before Ser Rodrick uttered those words to him, and still in this moment he breaks it. For Jon has asked him to place his trust in him and there is none that Robb trusts more than Jon.
So he continues on as if nothing were amiss even as he hears the shouts of fear and shock of all those in the training yard. He does not flinch even as he sees the shock turn to rage on his Rangers' face as they drop their practice swords and draw live steel. Nor does he even think of turning around when he sees the look of fear on his mother's face as she watches on from a window in the covered bridge between the armory and the Great Keep where one would have a view of the whole yard.
And so he does not know exactly what is happening behind him as he is violently pushed aside and hears a cry of pain from a voice that he knows all too well.
It is only then that he turns around, and what he witnesses fills him with more rage than he has ever felt in his short life.
There, standing between him and Joffrey, he finds Jon holding the left side of his face as blood seeps between his fingers while the bastard prince stares in shock with a bloodied dagger in his hand.
Before Robb properly processes what has happened his body moves and in two bounding steps he has Joffrey by the throat in one hand while the other winds up for a punch with only one thought going through his mind, to cave the boy's face in until not even his mother will recognise him.
As the first punch breaks Joffrey's nose, Robb is faintly aware of the Hound racing towards him with a snarl and his sword drawn. Still he does not care, for Jon is beside him and none may touch him without his brother's permission.
And so with the sound of clashing steel and howling wolves serving as a backdrop, Robb proceeds to beat the cunt of a prince's face in.
Many try to reach him to force him to stop, but none are able to bypass his Rangers and so he continues unobstructed.
It is not until the fifth punch that his father commands the Rangers to stand down and personally separates Robb from Joffrey that he drops the boy and stops.
He is faintly aware of his father speaking to him but Robb cannot hear him. His ears are ringing and his eyes seek only one person, his brother.
He finds him easily enough, sword in hand dripping with blood as he stands over the Hound who cradles his arm where a stump is gushing blood where his right hand should be.
With a shaky breath Robb makes his way to Jon and with no warning envelops him in a hug, causing his brother to flinch in pain.
"Careful." Jon says with a raspy breath. "I think the bastard broke some of my ribs."
Perhaps it is delirium, or his rushing blood, or the absurdity of the situation, but Robb cannot help the laughter the spews from him.
He's caved the heir to the throne's face in while his brother disarmed one of the most dangerous men in the world with only broken ribs as a consequence. Truly they are mad the two of them; Jon for devising this scheme, and he for agreeing to it.
"Come brother. Let us get you to the maester." Robb says as Jon leans into his frame for support.
With everyone's attention on the unconscious prince and defusing the tension between the northmen and the southerners, Robb and Jon are peacefully escorted to Maester Luwin by a group of Rangers led by Larence Snow.
...
AN: Surprise!!! I'm back!!! I wish I could tell you guys where I've been, but life's been kicking my ass and to write everything that's happened to me lately would probably be an entire chapter; so we're not gonna talk about that.
Instead let's talk about the story and this chapter. First of all this story is not dropped and will never be. I will write this story out even if I have to crawl chapter by chapter to finish it.
Second, in this chapter we get a lot of plot relevant details and some foreshadowing for future story beats. I wonder how many you guys will notice. I've been loving you guys' analysis and discussions and I hope my long absence hasn't killed any interest you guys had.
As usual, tell me what you guys think and don't forget to comment.