Tyta

Tyta was glad she had ridden south with Ned. Well, she certainly was not enjoying her time in the capital, and she would much rather be in the North where at the very least she could trust a greeting called in passing to not be some kind of veiled play for power, but still, it was good she had come. Her honourable lord of a husband would have fared ill in this nest of vipers, and rather worse when Tyta considered that the chief among them stood clad in red at Robert's other side. Cersei is plotting something. Tyta did not know what it was, but she knew she had to watch for it. Cersei, she told herself, was just the same as the other girls of the Crossing – mean, vicious, always seeking to tear down others. I must be ready.

"No, Artos," she said absently as Artos tried to climb halfway up a cupboard to retrieve some bauble of a toy that Ella had been seemingly trying to reach from where her bottom was solidly planted on the floor. Tyta got to her feet and pulled the toy down for the two, wondering how Jon was faring so far away. She had wanted to bring him, Seven knew she did, but…

Jon.

There it was. That was Cersei's plot, Tyta was certain. She knew she was pushing the court's sense of propriety riding south, and with Artos and Ella at that, and that was why she had not brought Jon with her, even though as far as she cared Jon was as much hers as Artos and it hurt to not have him with her. But Cersei's machinations had something to do with Ned's bastard, that much Tyta was certain. A small smirk flitted across her face. Perhaps she would try to put a wedge between her and Ned, or treat the court to the spectacle of the Starks arguing – no doubt all in good intention of honesty and fairness to Lady Stark. Ignorant little lion. Tyta almost looked forward to it.

"Ned," she said as her husband entered the room, shrugging his brocaded tunic from his shoulders before the door had quite closed. Tyta rose to take it from him, seeing the sheen of sweat on his brow. "Seven, Ned, whatever is the matter?"

"I don't know how Robert lives here," said Ned, sitting down with the air of a man who had not slept in days. "Vipers, all of them – foul, of a mind only for ill. Lord- what is his name- it must have been one of the Lannisport Lannisters, he had not the curled hair – he pestered me for half the day about ships and defending ports from the ironmen, all the while knowing the North has no fleet, only to turn on me and make some crude jape about wolves and squids."

"I suspect the King asks himself much the same question, and I doubt he quite knows how to live here, either" said Tyta. "I am sure you acquitted yourself well, Ned. This is not your sort of battle. The problem is they all know it just as well as we do."

Ned blew out a long breath. "What do you suggest? I can hardly continue as I have done. Brandon will be made a farce at this rate." A small smile came to his face as Artos toddled over, raising his arms, and Tyta had to smile in turn as Ned picked the boy up with a happy look that took all the weariness away in a heartbeat.

"I have a plan," said Tyta. "Cersei has been plotting, and I am fairly sure it will be to discredit us somehow using knowledge of Jon as a point of attack. You do best when you prepare, so let us prepare for it."

It was only a matter of days before Cersei put her plan into action. Tyta and Ned found themselves in the midst of a pack of lords and ladies of the court – and some Tyta rather thought Cersei might have summoned for the express purpose of humiliation – when Cersei, very loftily, asked Ned where his other son was and inquired as to the bastard's welfare. All very politely, of course, and in a casually curious sort of voice, but Tyta knew the daggers lying in wait, and so did Ned.

"Jon?" said Ned, his voice a perfect picture of polite, confused surprise. "What of him?"

"So you do have a bastard," said Cersei almost gleefully. Ned raised his eyebrows.

"Aye," he said. "He is at Winterfell, no doubt playing with Robb, my brother's heir. He will make a good sword for my nephew, and I am proud of the boy. We do not abandon our children, where I come from. I did not bring him at Brandon's request. The Lord Paramount did not want to separate his heir from his greatest friend. Boys at that age must have playmates."

"What kind of company our King keeps," said Cersei, to the muttering of the crowd. "A man who so rejoices in his baseborn son, with a wife who hardly knows the meaning of propriety! A poison upon on the King's conscience!"

"Do forgive me, Your Grace," said Ned very politely, as if he had not heard the insult. "But I was foster-brother to His Grace before you were wed, and he had already had a bastard child of his own – a little girl, Mya Stone-" – an explosion of whispers like angry bees –"-and I do believe he had at least one more I did not meet. I certainly have no part in our King's conscience, save that which he gives me. If you think me such a danger to His Grace, I would suggest you speak to him about it, not me. I do all at His Grace's command." Then Ned pushed his shoulders back, his face darkening to a grim countenance. "And I would thank Your Grace to keep from uttering such insults to my wife's name. Lady Tyta has given me two children in as many years, and has never been aught but the best wife I could ever have dreamed of. I cannot countenance insult to her person."

That shut Cersei up, because Ned had responded precisely as she would have – a polite reminder to a political opponent and spectators that Ned had been close to the King for years longer than they had been, then rebutting his opponent's slander by reminding the crowd that Tyta had done everything any lord might wish for his wife to do. Tyta's smile was tight, but it was a true one when she caught Cersei's eye and raised an eyebrow at the fuming Queen. Let her try again. Tyta was ready to handle any politicking Cersei might attempt to come up with.

And it might be to Tyta's benefit to spread a few rumours she had heard here and there. They were horrifically improper and unpleasant, but all the better to discredit Cersei. The blonde woman was a foul thing, and thought herself a powerful lioness. Tyta rather thought it was time to pull the lionness's claws. No one hurts Ned.

Cersei

Her heart was pounding in her chest. It was impossibly hard to keep her face calm, but somehow, somehow, she just ever so barely managed, staring flinty-eyed at the impudent little chit that had dared to speak up. The girl – a Fossoway, maybe, not that Cersei really cared – let out a quiet meep and vanished into the court, but Cersei knew it wasn't enough as she turned away. Not when it's been said. How can they know? How do they know? What if- Her hands were clenched so tightly she could feel her nails drawing blood.

Her babies. Jaime. Robert would kill them all, she knew he would. She had to stop the rumours, stop them at once. But how? Who had told the court?

And that was when she realized, and a cold hand clutched her insides, as cold and icy as the face of Tyta Stark from where that bitch was standing exchanging pleasantries with Robert. I know you know, said the wolf bitch's eyes. Cersei understood the threat.

And I will return it.

Tyta

It was quiet for weeks. Or perhaps more correctly, Cersei was quiet for weeks. Tyta knew the woman was plotting again; she could hardly not be, not after Tyta had made certain Barbrey Dustin loudly talked to her maid about how utterly, revoltingly perverted the southern court was. Barbrey was a hard woman – and Tyta didn't think she would ever forgive Ned for not bringing back her husband – but despite all that, they were, if not friends, at the very least allies. Tyta knew it strained at the court's sensibilities to have her come south in the first place, so at the very least she had made certain she was not the only lady from the North here. Barbrey had been the only choice, the only lady who did not have a husband to keep her home or children to worry for. It had been a long and ugly silence all the way down the Neck, but eventually they had started talking. She is hard, but I can work with that. And Tyta knew it was a good thing. Barbrey had been delighted to start the rumours.

In any case, Ned had left not long after the rumours had begun to spread, along with the King and all his commanders and soldiers and knights. The Greyjoys had been making dangerous inroads, and none of the lords had any patience for it. Cersei, thought Tyta, will not fight me, not when our houses fight the ironmen together. If there was one single person besides herself – and perhaps her brother – that Cersei respected even a little, it was Tywin Lannister. She would know better than to start a court war with the Starks while lions and direwolves fought side by side. And Tyta had no interest in being in King's Landing for a single day beyond the end of the war. Cersei could rail against them all she wanted while they were safe, at home.

Tyta refused to consider that the war might go otherwise. She simply refused.

The news supported her refusal. First a raven to say that the combined forces under King Robert had pushed the Greyjoys further and further back, another declaring a siege of Pyke, and at last, after a harrowing fortnight, Balon Greyjoy's capitulation was sent to court in a triumphant procession of black-winged birds sent ahead of the returning armies. Ned is coming home. That meant soon they would leave this stinking, festering capital, and Artos and Ella and all the others would be together and safe again. Tyta thought back to the day, so long ago it seemed now, that direwolves had come to the Twins. She would never forget it, not if she lived to see the end of time. It had been the most frightening day of her life, the day she had thought her big mouth had finally brought home the repercussions her family had always promised the girl that never listened. But it was also the day everything changed, the day she was set on a path to learning what it meant to have more than one real friend, to love, to finally learn that not all brothers were horrid men (even if Brandon did ever have a temper.) It was the day that set her on a road to her new home, a home that was more her home than the Crossing had ever been.

I will never regret telling Lythene to stop.

Tyta raised her head. She was standing in the courtyard of the Red Keep now, thinking back to that day; Ella and Artos were beside her, fidgeting in their silks. Artos had a smudge of dirt on his brow. Ella had muddied hands. Tyta couldn't quite find it within her to care then, even if certainly Artos should have known better than to be playing at mud-cakes with Ella just then. She shifted Ella in her arms as the first thunder of hooves became audible, a low rumbling as the armies gathered about the city and their commanders rode to the Keep. The horns greeted them, high and victorious, and Tyta smiled to see Ned beside the King as they rode in. He looked tired, but hale. That was all that mattered, even if she could see a new scar peeking from his collar and even if she was certain there were more she could not see then. Ned was alive, and well, and they could go home-

"Mama," said Ella, "Who dat?"

Who is that indeed, Tyta thought blankly as Ned dismounted and pulled a boy from his saddle. The boy couldn't have been more than eight, nine perhaps, pale-faced and decidedly tear-stained. Ned led him forward as the King swept by his courtiers, ignoring his Queen and all the others. Tyta said nothing, waiting for Ned to explain. He certainly had quite a lot to explain at that

"This is Theon," said Ned as conversation and shouting filled the courtyard, wincing when the boy flinched at being brought forward. "Balon Greyjoy's only remaining son. Robert asked that I take him as my ward, Tyta. He wouldn't hear of any other answer."

"We'll discuss this later, Ned," said Tyta, eyeing the pale child. "In the meantime, this boy is frightened and probably utterly bewildered at what is happening to him and his family. He needs a solid meal and sleep before he collapses." She put her hand forward. "Come along, Theon. I don't suppose you like barley stew?"

"Not really," said the boy very quietly. His eyes were fixed firmly on the flagstones, matted hair falling over his forehead to hide his face.

"Neither do I," Tyta assured. She waited until he looked up to wink. "But I think there are some sugar cakes to be had right after." Theon Greyjoy was a child. And hungry children quite definitely liked cakes. Theon was no exception, eyes lighting up just a little bit. He hesitantly took Tyta's hand. "Let's go get us some not-so-good barley stew and we can wash it down with sugar cakes and sweets, shall we?"

Ned spent hours that day – with the King, she assumed, and his Hand, discussing the end of the war and all the rest – before returning to speak with her when the stars had already emerged and the sun was long gone. "-the boy?"

"He's quite asleep," said Tyta. "Honestly, Ned. The boy has just lost his brothers, his father, and his home, and I doubt anyone told him much of why. You might have tried to calm him down a little before he worked himself up like this. To him you're no different from the other warriors that broke into his little world and tore it apart."

"Am I different?" Ned replied quietly, his eyes fixed on the boy.

"You shall have to be," Tyta said. "He is a boy. Certainly his father thought himself stronger than he is, and the consequences of that shall remain with Theon Greyjoy for the rest of his life. He must know that even if his father is lost to him that he has a home, that he has, if not a father, then a man who does just as well. This is hardly the same as Jon, Ned, but as far as I am concerned it must be no different." She smiled. "What is one more boy to run around Winterfell, Ned? I think you will do well enough. Think on how you would hope Artos would be treated in Theon's place, and go from there. Now, I can see you need your bed just as badly as the boy. It's time to rest."