Author's Note: The wheels are turning.

Birdy: And it's back.

Kaizer-Kid: Those are some really great observations and I cannot confirm nor deny any of them. You'll just have to see where I go with this and I know that sounds pretty vague, but that's literally all I can.

Guest: That question will not be answered in this chapter, but another. It is all going to come together in the grand scheme of things. There's a lot of foreshadowing, hints I'm dropping here and there.

magicdownunder: He only scratched the surface. Roberts canonically has about like 12 bastard children. Steffon is a determined one, but I think some are too far from his reach to really find. I didn't even know Robert had canon twins until now. That's a crazy coincidence.

kill3rdarren: I'm glad you like it. I see Robb as playful before the war *kinda* hardens him and he has to be all serious all the time because none of his decisions are momentous yet. She's still childish herself. Haha! I can't imagine she'll ever get the chance to do that because Catelyn would not accept that, ever. She was considered unruly, and now you get to see just how regular she can get without putting on airs. I heavily considered that, but I still think Robert would die anyway. If Daenerys knew he was roaming the free cities like he wants to do. Kill Bill sirens will be going off. That's true, I'm going to consider that! I think that's why Margaery has always been hard to write because you really don't see many sides of her personality. I mean, she's really cute with Sansa and playful, she knew how to stay in Joffrey's good graces, but with all her scheming to become queen you don't know what she likes and what her hobbies are? I halfway don't know if she really cares for Tommen or is just pretending to. But what you do know is that she is fiercely protective of Loras. So I'm going to try to give her some depth while trying to keep her canon, which is pretty hard. Thank you though! I like your suggestions.

ImpSlapFury: I actually like Catelyn, even though I hate her reasons and treatment as far as Jon, but I totally understand why. I just don't condone it. She's politically savvy and most of her advice to Robb was what he needed to hear and what he should've followed. She messed up with a lot of things, but you knew the main reasoning was because she was a distraught mother and sudden widow. I think she has earned some good points with the way she moved politically. Hopefully they can make him see the light instead of going into it.

I totally agree with you! I hate what has become of Dorne and I'm still upset that Arianne isn't there. I'll probably cry about that forever.

STEFFON

Today was the first day Hand's Tourney. Steffon wanted to skip it, he wasn't in the mood for jousting, but he knew he had to keep up with appearances. Tourneys weren't just about fighting, Tourney's could change the future of things by the flow of conversations due to the congregation of lords and ladies from all over; Westerosi and foreign. The flow of conversations, for Steffon particularly, would be about joining his family's hand with another through marriage. His father warned him that many lords had came to see him with their daughters in tow. This was the ripe time to find a girl befitting for a wife and future queen before his father took matters in his own hands, choosing someone he thought fit based on the minimalist of qualities. The thought of his father choosing him a wife sickened him, especially knowing that he found young girls at the tender age of Sansa Stark worth bedding.

Due to the special essence of this day and days to come, he would not ignore his Lannister colors as usually did. Today, he would combine both Houses evenly. The reason being was that he could not show any sort of upset balance to these lords. It might come as a surprise to his mother, to his father even, since he preferred the Baratheon black and green than the Lannister red and gold. The lords could not begin to believe or sense any sort of disruption in their family, even if the rumors were sitting distinctively in their heads since servants and officers alike, like to speak of the dysfunctional royals. The perfect prince was something he knew he could play well and he had to fit that role to a T.

His doublet was red, golden brocade with designs of leaves and vines of threads made of Myrish silk. His trousers were pitch black without a single wrinkle, his boots golden dyed leather, and resting neatly on his right shoulder was the black half cape with the Crowned Stag insignia stitched in golden thread. His coiffure was fashioned the same, swept to the side since he couldn't bother having it brushed back or in a ponytail. He was sure his Uncle Jaime was fixing to tell him to cut it since his hair was growing longer for even Steffon's own liking. His hair was going to be the same length as Cassandra and Myrcella's at this rate. There wasn't much he could do to his hair anyway since he had to wear the gold and slender coronet, designed with rubies and emeralds, around his brow.

As he kindly sent the servants away that helped to dress him, he adjusted his own sleeve before looking at his father's warhammer that was placed with care on his wall. Blacktail or the warhammer? That was the harder decision as he glanced over at Silver, who lounged across his bed in his usual lazy fashion. His back was atop of the blanket, paws in the air as he rolled from his side and onto his back again. "The hammer or the sword, Silver? If I keep father's hammer on the wall any longer, he'll wonder why he even gave it to me."

Naturally, all he received was something much softer than a roar but closer to a growl. Silver was still quite upset with him. "Fine, I shouldn't have asked for your opinion anyway. What does a lion know? Hrrakar or no, you're still just a big cat. No better than Ser Pounce to me."

Silver swiped at him, snarl and teeth bared. Steffon couldn't help but to laugh, wondering how the animal knew so well that he was insulting him. A dog would've whined, but Silver bared his teeth and claws to anyone, his master too. Such a hostile thing he was. Silver leaped off the bed, standing under Blacktail as if that was his choice. Steffon's blue eyes glanced at the warhammer briefly, before nodding and deciding to go with the sword as well. Buckling Blacktail around his waist, he gave Silver a quick pet atop of his head. "Good choice, Silver."

Leaving his chambers, his eyes watched the bumbling movements of servants who were making sure everything was spick-and-span for those that would be staying in the guest apartments of Maegor's Holdfast. The Crown Prince made sure not to get in any of their way. He knew that the job of a servant was a hefty task in itself already and they didn't need it to be any harder for them, especially today of all days.

His mother and father, he reasoned, should be by the main entrance waiting for all the children to gather before they, together, as a family make their grand entrance and seat themselves. Steffon was a little earlier than he usually would've been at least he thought so seeing only his mother with Tommen and Myrcella behind her skirts. The two of them looked to be talking about whatever it is they found to be of their current interests.

Cersei raised her head at the sound of his boots hitting the marble floors and her eyes widened a fraction upon the sight of him. "Mother." Bowing his head, the golden-haired queen soon took precious steps towards him, her hands coming to gather his own.

"You look handsome, Steffon." It was like all the fury-embedded tension they held towards each other since they left Winterfell wasn't there or never was. Her anger towards him since the Trident seemed to have withered some, at least to Steffon it seemed it did. "You're even wearing our family colors."

She never claimed the Baratheon family, she was still a Lannister; married or not. "Of course." Being civil, he gave her a small smile. "Today's my lucky day, isn't it? I'll be looking for a bride…" He leaned forward some, a grin slowly revealing itself. "A future queen." Her lips dipped down slightly, which seemed like the best and normal reaction. One that he purposely egged on. The sound of the beginnings of his mother moving further away from staying the queen had to be upsetting for her, considering who she was.

"Who pushed this idea?" Her voice was slightly strained, like she was covering up her anger. "It was your father, wasn't it?"

"It was." Remaining truthful, he brought her in for a half hug. "Surely, I can't be your little boy forever, I've already grown way taller than you." His mother fought not to, but she eventually smiled, her head leaning into him. "Do you not want grandchildren?"

"Not at the expense of your happiness, my sweet boy." For some reason, he believed her. Even if his mother had done horrible things, things without morals and left free of the consequences she deserved, Steffon could never deny that she loved him. She does, she always did, but her love could not and would not blind him. No matter how much this little moment reminded him of days when he was blissfully unaware of all the things that came to the light, he could not forget it and move past it without rectifying them.

"Happiness isn't always a choice you can make." Cersei tilted her back to look at him, brows furrowed as she tried to register what he meant by that. Whatever she made out of it, Steffon would probably never know. It might be in his best interest not to know.

Tommen sooner wrapped his arms around Silver, pressing his face into the lion's fur. The only time Silver was ever so docile was when he was with Tommen and Myrcella. They were gentle, never insulted him like Steffon did, and played with him when Steffon was far too busy to. If the lion wanted to be spoiled in both food and attention, he knew just the two to look for.

"Will Silver be watching the Hand's Tourney with us, Steff?" Myrcella asked him, her green eyes gleaming as she looked up at him.

"I think Silver might ruffle some feathers." Bending his knees some so that he was at eye-level with her, he tilted his head slightly to the right. "Want to see the lords and ladies nearly ready to jump out of their seats and onto their bums from the sight of him?"

A mischievous grin came across her face, her hand rubbing Silver's back. "Maybe~" His sister said with feigned innocence.

"That would be funny!" Tommen cheekily added, "We always make fun of the lords and ladies when they visit. Remember when Cassie said Lady Caron had a horseface and kept neighing whenever she walked by?" The memory was clear as day in their heads, making them laugh almost instantly. Their harmonized laughter didn't last long, they sooner found their laughs dying out and a look of longing coming clear across their faces. Tommen hung his head low, "I miss Cassie." He quickly said, voice soft.

"I miss her too, Tom." Placing his hand on his baby brother's head, he pulled the both of them in. "Y'know, Cassie misses us too."

"How do you know?" Myrcella asked, "Did you send her a raven? I did, but she hasn't sent one back yet." A raven from King's Landing to Winterfell wasn't a speedy process, but Steffon understood her disappointment.

"Cassie and I are twins." He clarified, "We sometimes share our feelings because we're connected in that special way." Their big, green eyes looked up at him, looking at him for comfort as they tried to adjust the sudden absence of their older sister. "I can tell that she misses the way you stitch her dresses and how you would spend half the day braiding each other's hair. She misses reading Tommen his favorite story, 'The King o' the Cats' and surprising him with the Claw at his favorite part of the story." They started to smile again, relieving him that he managed to mitigate their worries. "She even misses me telling her that her room looks like a storm came through it. But she'll come to visit us one day and who knows, she might bring us a niece or nephew when she does."

His little sister smiled broadly, taking on the happy look she always wears. "I feel better now."

Meanwhile, Tommen tilted his head with his face contorted into one of puzzlement. "I can't see Cassie with a baby."

Steffon could only snort, "Neither can I but I'm sure she'll be better in caring for babies by that time."

Bringing them in for another squeeze, he let them go and stood straight again. From the sounds of it, he heard Joffrey come strutting down the corridor and into the entrance hall. "Father is late again, isn't he?" He said while rolling his green eyes that were so similar to their mother's. His little brother seemed grumpier than usual this morning. Tourney's usually made him happy, he enjoyed the zest and the violence of it all. Perhaps it was his own impatience that irritated him more than the day did.

"You know your father." Their mother tried to soothe him, placing her hand on his shoulders to give it a slight squeeze. "He can never show up on time for anything."

"Uncle Jaime is going to be in the tourney." Joffrey brought up, "Why is he such a show off? Didn't he just get unhorsed by that… that flowery buffoon last time and on my own nameday? He's an embarrassment."

Steffon quickly averted his eyes, trying his best to keep in his laugh. His mother looked annoyed by Joffrey's comment for reasons clearly known. Sometimes it was entertaining with the way the boy had no problem speaking his mind whatsoever. He just insulted his mother's lover without even knowing. "Do you think Ser Loras will unhorse Uncle Jaime again?" Steffon decided to join the conversation, fueling his mother's annoyance with the conversation at hand.

It was more of a surprise that Steffon was speaking to him, so much show his little brother seemed shocked at first. It was clear Joffrey still harbored some ill feelings for him after what happened at the Trident, they hadn't cooled down enough for him to be just a little above average of what Joffrey considered cordial. "Is that a bet?" Joffrey inquired.

"You want to bet on whether Uncle Jaime gets unhorsed? Didn't our father bet with Lord Baelish against Jaime and won?" Cersei's face would be stuck like that if she frowned any longer or any deeper. "I doubt they'll have the to face each other again. If Uncle Jaime loses to him again, I don't think he'll take it very well."

With a smirk, Joffrey crossed his arms. "You might be right, brother. My Hound will be in the Tourney and I have every reason to believe he'll win. He'll tear that Knight of Flowers from his charger like a child picks a flower from a garden."

But the Mountain would also be in this Tourney. It sounded like a recipe for a dish named disaster considering the volatile relationship between brothers. "I'll put gold dragons to Sandor."

"Why?" confused, Joffrey wanted to hear the reason behind it.

"Sandor is quite the fighter and I hear his strength is doubled the amount ahorse. Why not choose him? He seems like the wiser pick."

"Because the stupid Hound is afraid of the Mountain." His brother explained, "Every time he looks at him, he's about to soil himself."

For valid reasons, the both of them knew, that Sandor had every, single reason to fear his older brother. Joffrey thought the fear was borderline idiotic. Mainly because he had never had anything worse than a swelling or welt in his life. The slap and their father's few hits that he was eventually protected from were nothing compared to having half of your face put into a fire. His brother was too spoiled and barely knew of true pain.

"Let make it official, Steff. I put 50,000 gold dragons on the Mountain." Money was never a problem in this household, but that was a lot of coin over a silly bet between them. And what was he to do with that amount of coin? Steffon didn't need it to spend it on anything since he had anything he could've possibly wanted as far as possession go. He could probably throw the coins to a crowd in Flea Bottom.

No, that would be dangerous. They would fight for the coins and the last Flea Bottom needed was more brawling. He could ride to the city, properly guarded, and hand out coins. That seemed safer. After seeing how things were in Flea Bottom, that was the least he could do. "Also, I demand that you cut your hair. You look more like my older sister than my older brother. Is that really the look you're going for?"

Deadpanned, the Crown Prince gave his brother a frown. "Say something else and I'll encourage Uncle Renly to tell all the lords and ladies how Arya Stark bested you and threw your sword in a river."

The embarrassment of that incident was so clearly there. Joffrey practically shook with angry, hands curled into tight fists. "Don't you dare…"

With a saccharine smile, Steffon slightly leaned forward. "Oh, I dare, little brother."

lll

Strange was how he found it all to be. Months ago, Steffon wanted to be part of this tourney, using the lance that Uncle Jaime gave him for his nameday for jousting specifically. If he wanted to show off, he could arrange to be a mystery knight, but the allure of it all became so dull to him. He felt thousands of eyes watching his every movement, many lords shoved their way towards him in order to speak with him, and his face felt so sore from false smiles that he thought the muscles would become numb by the end of the day.

Due to the tourney, Arbor Gold was served, only heightening the costs of this extravagance to a higher degree. It was his favorite wine, the first kind he ever tasted when he was a boy of seven. He fondly remembered his father handing him a cup to drink just throw it up all in one go. The taste of the expensive wine as of now helped rid himself of all the bubbling rage over the past few months, letting him become a calm-minded boy of his age with just a few sips of its nectar.

The Redwynes and the Tyrells, families by nature, had played their own games with him. Lord Paxter presented his daughter, Desmera, to him before he even took a seat or before Lord Mace could properly tell him hello. Desmera was younger than Steffon by a few months, and took the role of a shy maid upon introductions. She had a lovely voice with hair of deep auburn and eyes that looked as if the blue and grey collided to make an abstract color. What people would notice most about her, however, was her freckles. Pretty in face, Steffon didn't know much of her except from what her father boasted. She could sing and she could dance greater than any bard or any lady in the royal court, her father would say.

Cersei did her best to drive the Freys way. She said they would taint all that was right if their bloodlines had been crossed for another time again. Luckily his great-aunt Genna wasn't around to hear her say that that. Steffon wasn't all that enthused anyway, he didn't wish to be any close to the Freys than he already was. Their reputation and their actions before his own eyes had only made his dislike for them even more apparent.

"You should be in the tourney, Steff." He heard his father say, breaking him out of the fixed concentration he had at absolutely nothing while his Uncle Jaime won the round against Lord Bryce Caron. "Why sit here and watch? You're young, you joust…"

It sounded mostly like his father was itching to join the jousting himself, but his weight and his age was making him hesitant. It wasn't the fact that people would treat him different because was their king. "I've lost all interest." Steffon admitted, his voice monotone. "All of this bores me now." His eyes glanced down at the Hrakkar that laid at his feet, even Silver seemed unamused by it all.

"What in Seven hells has gotten into you lately? Now tourneys bore you?" Whether his father was in the mood to argue or he was actually concerned was something Steffon didn't know. What he did know was that he was not in the mood for this conversation, especially when people were watching them.

It sounded rude for him to say he found all of this boring in the first place, but it was his truth and he would not take it back. "I've grown, Father. That's what happens, isn't it? You don't like or enjoy everything you once did when you were younger." 'And unaware. Blissful… Ignorant.'

Stunned or rather confused into silence, his father didn't say anything else. He merely stared at him with his mouth thinned. Steffon brought the chalice to his lips for another sip of wine before he decided to drink no more, even though being drunk and blacking out sounded more fun than watching this. He had to remain of some clear mind before the first day of the tourney ended.

Death wasn't out of the norm in tourneys and yet he didn't expect for Ser Hugh of the Vale to be the one to meet such a gruesome end. He was impaled in the throat by the sharp end of a lance, leaving Steffon to only shake his head and watch the life blood practically gush out of the wound like water does out of a fountain. He died in pain, tortuously slow, and the Mountain still remained, unscathed. How do people like Gregor manage to keep living? If there were gods, old or new, why did they keep him from meeting life's end or not give him the Stranger's embrace as the worshipers of the Faith would say.

They carried off his body and a boy came to shuffle the dirt to cover the blood that stained the soil. It was a saddening sight and it reminded him of too much of life itself.

"Getting anxious, Steff?" Sluggishly, he turned his head towards Joffrey. "The joust will end soon and both our champions still remain."

"Great observations, little brother. Please, tell me more of what I haven't already seen with my own eyes." He fought not to smirk at the quick scowl his brother gave him, "Don't feel too confident, the joust isn't at its end. The Hound will win."

"Your confidence is irksome." The same could be said in return, but Steffon kept that to himself. "You saw what the Mountain did to Ser Hugh and yet you still…"

"Many men have seen what other men can do and did that deter them?" Keeping his posture despite desperately wanting to recline lazily, he tried to keep his princely appearance than the sloppy look of his father. Even Tommen, just a boy, looked more regal than their own parent. "He is your Hound. Was he not chosen wisely?"

A look of thought came across Joffrey's face, like he was considering his words. Steffon wasn't told of anything else due to the fact that Joffrey had rather pay attention to the match at hand than this verbal spar. Gregor took down another, even their very own uncle. Watching Renly be unhorsed was dramatic in itself. When he practically flew off his horse with both legs in the air, his head hit the ground just as hard as his body did. He scared most of the crowd since all they heard was a cracking sound, which fortunately had been the antler of his helm that broke off.

When Renly got himself to his feet, stumbling as he did so, the crowd cheered for him. Both Steffon and Joffrey looked at one another, not seeing why the crowd was so pleased. Their shared look of confusion and lack of care made them mirror each other almost completely. "They'd cheer for anything." He heard his brother mumble. "Stupid lot."

Chuckling, they watched Renly give the broken tine of his helm to the Hound. 'He's really milking this, isn't he?' And did the crowd have hearts for eyes for him then, even though Sandor threw the golden piece to the group of commons that fought to grasp it. At least some good came out of, even though Steffon was sure someone's eye would be blackened if they had even a quarter of it in their possession. His uncle wanted even more attention to relish in, so he began ceasing the fights without the proper intentions.

"If you'll excuse me." Having enough with all the theatrics, Steffon stood and tried to quietly slip away, Silver followed him at his heels. His mother already made her leave since she wasn't fond of tourneys herself. How long did she make herself suffer through this until she had enough, Steffon wondered.

Ser Barristan was already out of the competition, losing to Jaime of all people. Steffon intended to look for him, searching for the white-haired knight as he walked down the many pavilions by the river. When he finally found him, he was standing outside a tent with his eyes staring at the flaps as if he made no cautions to enter it. "Barristan" Steffon called his name, giving the man enough time to properly face him.

"My prince, have you lost interest in the matches?" There was a smile on the knight's face as if he already knew his answer.

"Did you see to what I asked?" His eyes searched around the area, making sure no one was in close quarters. "Are they safe?"

"Mhaegen and Barra are out of the capital as requested, my prince." Relieved, Steffon was glad he didn't have to worry about the two of them for the moment. "You still haven't told me of what we are meant to do concerning Gendry."

"I don't know what we should do, but he isn't safe where he is either." If anyone looked at Gendry hard enough, they'd see Robert Baratheon. Now that Ned Stark knew, Steffon wasn't at all sure of who else would find out about him or who else knew already. There was still the fact that Steffon still did not know the end result that his uncle wanted him to find. Concerning those matters, he didn't know where to begin.

Ser Barristan looked around once more, making sure they remained in the clear. "They say Ned Stark has a tome that Lord Arryn requested days prior to his death. Could that be apart of your search of this truth you seek?"

He only told Selmy a good portion of what he was doing and what he found. It was because he needed Barristan and trusted him that he told him that much. Whatever this end result was, he wasn't sure if that could be shared with another soul. It brought Jon Arryn death and made his uncle leave King's Landing for what seems like for good. How could he bring another life in danger? He was already endangering his own.

"Possibly. He needed the trail I was on and he got it…Now I need his." He needed that tome and how else was he supposed to get it without confronting the Warden of the North?

CASSANDRA

It pained her to watch her husband sit by the fire, face in his hands as he found solace in the quiet. It had been only a few days since Bran woke up and while Robb was so happy, overjoyed actually, it was still devastating in the sense that his little brother wasn't the same. She only caught wind of the last bit of their conversation, where Bran thought himself better off dead. She had wanted to see the little lord for herself, to speak with him and know him just as she did with Rickon, but it was by accident she heard a personal conversation between brothers. The former princess wasn't sure what Robb really expected. His little brother was the adventurous sort, he loved to run and climb. When you take that and just take the ability to walk from anyone, most importantly from a child, it wasn't going to be an easy process.

She wanted to comfort him and yet she didn't know how. What was she supposed to tell him? Her brothers weren't crippled for life. They weren't thrown and nearly killed. Her family had not dealt with such a thing, so all she could offer was sympathy. That she could imagine how they felt even if her imagination wasn't on the same par as their reality. "Robb…" Unable to allow him to suffer alone while simultaneously not wanting to pressure him, she knew it would be easier if he talked it out then bottled it in. "You can talk to me."

He didn't move or say a word, making her wonder if he was choosing to ignore her. Bunching her skirts in her hands to keep them from trembling due to her anxiety, she lowered her head almost weakly. What could she do? She kept thinking, trying to figure out the proper solution. What should a wife do? How does a wife comfort their husband? Would bedding him make him better? Her mother would say that was the wiser choice. His father sought women for that same reason, didn't he? His whoring was often prior to their marriage, but it became more frequent when the love of his life died. Her Uncle Tyrion sought the comfort of women to rid himself of the pain of the love of his life too. She supposed all men lost themselves in efforts to forget what hurt them most between a woman's legs. The solace they would find was temporary, but effective. That's why they kept going back for more, like an addiction.

"I've failed him as a brother." She nearly jumped, startled by the sudden sound of Robb's voice. Her eyes immediately flicked up to look at him, watching him look at the floor so crestfallen. "I failed him before and I failed him again."

"That's not true." There were many times where she felt inadequate as a sister for Steffon and Joffrey, of that she could relate to him with. "Sometimes as a sibling, the best you can do is be there for them. It doesn't feel enough, but it is all your power will allow." With hesitant steps, she lessened the distance between them. "You are a good brother, Robb. You did not fail him at all. You are simply doing the best that you can. Bran, at this time, is learning to adjust to this different way of life for him. And during this process, he needs you strong and to be how you always were with him."

That look in his eyes didn't change. That overwhelming expression of hopelessness didn't just go away like she wished it would. Robb was only seven and ten, the same as she, but he had looked like a little boy in his sadness. He barely looked like the lord he was. Due the strange height difference of them now considering he was in a seat, she had knelt down properly to give him a simple gesture. One that she would've wanted if she were in his place. One that he did for her when she was afraid after the fire. She hugged him.

It was almost instantly when she could feel every muscle in him relax. He began to bury his face in the crook of her neck, making the skin heat at the contact. The hairs of his beard tickled her, making her have to keep her laugh at bay from the feel of it. Her eyes gazed absently over his shoulder, her body too busy sinking into the warmth of his arms that circled her and kept her locked against him. It was such a simple gesture and yet…She had hugged many people before, but none of them came close to Robb's hugs. It made her feel like his arms were a safe haven, like the kind of sanctuary that someone looks for in a Sept or in a Godswood. Even though she was the one who was supposed to be comforting him, Cassandra could hardly remember why there should be any reason for fear and sadness at the moment. All there was, was warmth; a warmth not even the sun used to give in King's Landing or the fire in a cold night. Robb was made of Winter, so why did he feel like the Summer to her?

"Thank you." She heard him say very whisper-like, almost like he only wanted her to hear him despite them already being alone in the room they shared.

Words she heard before, she knew, but hearing him say that made her feel… giddy. That he was thanking her because he enjoyed what she had done for him. That what she did was so much enough that he wanted to express his gratitude. Robb could invoke many emotions in her, some she met before but with a different quality to it. They never reminded her of how she felt them before, they felt new and strange.

"I was almost scared that this wasn't going to be enough." She openly admitted, feeling comfortable with sharing that minor fear. "Tommen likes stories and Joffrey likes for you to distract him."

His hold had loosened, just enough for him to pull back enough to face her again. Her eyes quickly wanted to avert, not sure why she suddenly felt nervous looking at him now. His gaze, however, had her locked into place. "You mean to comfort me like you comfort your little brothers?"

He sounded… disappointed.

Confused, she drew her brows together. "No!" She finally understood why he would feel raw about it. "I mean that… I don't know how to comfort you because you're not my brother, you're my husband. I almost… I almost thought bedding you would make you feel better!"

That last bit was a slip of the tongue and she found herself feeling red in the face. Just why on earth would she had admit that? He was looking at her, that mischievous and roguish grin that he would wear whenever he felt like testing her with his jokes. This was embarrassing for her now and all she wanted to do was shield her face with the closest thing at hand.

"I wouldn't object to that." Whether he was joking or being honest, she didn't know, but what she did know was that she couldn't feel more flustered than she already had. "We could still do that."

"Shut up!" Squeezing her eyes shut for a solid minute, she could hear him laughing so clearly in her ears. What was worse? Finding his laugh pleasant when he laughing at her expense or actually considering what he said? "Here I am trying to be a good wife and you tease me?" It was a fight, to stand upright, and push herself away from Robb Stark. As soon as she stood, he immediately followed suit. "Goodnight!"

Robb allowed her one step. Just one before his rough hand, clasping her wrist, had pulled her right back towards him. Cassandra had no choice but to look up at him now, green eyes staring at his blue ones with uncertainty. She was unsure if she was enjoying this or she felt absolutely terrified that remnants of their wedding night began to play in her mind's eye.

It was still so odd to her that she had been so bold that night. She knew her duty and she had done it without fault. She shook away all her own fears of being deflowered because sealing the marriage was expected of her. It was still her duty now as his wife to pleasure him, but she had avoided it for multiple reasons. Right now, it didn't feel as if he was demanding it. It felt more like he wanted intimacy and wanted to know if she wanted it as well. It seemed like such a strange concept, of a man wanting to know if his wife wanted to lay with him. Her mother always said it with disdain, reluctance, like she hadn't wanted to be with her father when he made it known.

She swallowed the lump in her throat as her eyes caught the soft, gentle smiled. He rose his free hand, cupping it against the lower half of her face so that the pad of his thumb could slide across her bottom lip. His touch made her quiver as she parted her lips ever so slightly. Words had become superfluous to her and all she could do was marvel at him, like she had never laid eyes on him before.

"My mother and your uncle will be here any day now." Robb removed his hand from her face, letting him arm return to his side. "Best we rest, we never know if they'll arrive on the morrow."

And that was it. He just waltzed himself over to their bed, like he had done nothing. Like he did not make her expect something more than just light touches. She was so… so frustrated. Cassandra crossed her arms, her frown deep and brows bowed.

Robb Stark was an irritating enigma.

STEFFON

The jousting matches had not finished completely for the day, but would continue the next morning, just right before the melee. The feast, however, was still held within the night as the moon began its reign in full swing. Under the stars and the crescent moon, however, was nothing short of relaxing for him. At the moment, chalice in hand, he was swarmed by the daughters of high and low nobles alike; some had their parents at their side or just around to back them. Steffon had already lost interest with a whole lot of them. If he heard another girl sing "The Bear and the Fair Maiden" just to prove to him that they had a voice that would make the Maiden weep, he was going to run. Run where? Hell if he knew. He would just run, somewhere, at least.

"Prince Steffon," He heard a voice say out of the many, "I hear you are to be married soon." He had to admire this one's boldness. She was putting all her cards on the table, just practically admitting what she was here for. "Have you took a interest already?"

In truth, he was about to settle. That was the last thing he wanted to do, but his care about a wife at the moment was slim to none. "I can't say," He lied sweetly, his smile halfway cracking from how forced it was. "There are are so many beautiful and talented ladies here. How could I choose so quickly?"

He could hear giggles and sighs of disappointment from his words. His eyes lazily looked over their heads since he was taller than most of them. He saw Ned Stark looking half-dead as he sat with his father and a few of the Reach lords. Even he looked just about done with this feast, but it was already acknowledged that he didn't want this tourney in his honor in the first place.

"Steffon!" Startled some, he immediately looked around for the source of the voice, but found himself having to look much lower than he had half the night. At his hip was Arya, who looked at the many ladies around him with confusion and lack of interest.

"Lady Arya." Relieved to see at least one person he liked, he bowed his head to her before looking at the rest of his possible matches. "I would like to speak to the Lady Stark in private please. I will seek the lot of you out when I am finished."

His blue eyes watched any woman who looked at her with scorn and he mentally crossed them out when they did. How could they be jealous over a child? Did they think Steffon at the age of seven and ten was going to take interest in a girl of one and ten? She was practically the same age as Myrcella.

"You didn't look too happy." Her observations were correct, which made him wonder if he really used all the muscles in his face to the point of exhaustion. "Don't worry, I do the same thing to Robb when he gets swarmed at parties."

For the first time, he finally found himself able—actually wanting—to laugh. "Thank you, Arya." He thanked her genuinely, "I wasn't happy."

"But you were doing this because you had to, huh?"

"That's the worse thing about growing up." Giving her a half smile, he looked down at her curious and grey eyes. "You have to keep on doing things you don't want to."

"But you're the future king!" Arya pointed out in her confusion, "You should be able to do anything you want."

Placing the chalice in his hand on a nearby table, never to be picked up again, he crossed his arms. "That wouldn't make me a good king now, would it? A king has the ability to do everything he wants, sure, but even he is still faces restrictions. That kind of power makes monsters of men."

Her nod was slow, showing she was coming to understand what he meant. "You'd be a good king and I don't say that because you're my friend."

Smiling, Steffon rose a brow. "Then what makes you think I'd be a good king?"

"Because you're kind and you're good with a sword. You help people, which is more than I can say about some people." Her eyes slew to Joffrey, who had been actively avoiding Sansa Stark halfway through the night, he noticed. It seemed that he was still bitter with her about what happened at the Trident, and the poor girl seemed so hurt by it. If Steffon would've stepped in he was sure it would make it worse.

"You're after my own heart." He told her playfully, "You're going to be a dangerous woman when you're grown."

His thick eyebrows scrunched together at that, "What makes you say that?"

"Many men will be at your feet either from your hand or just one simple look from you." She still seemed confused, her face contorting even more in her confusion. "I'm aware of your "dancing" lessons." She nearly blanched at that but sooner grinned. "And you're already a pretty girl. I imagine once older, you'll be prettier than you are now."

Her fist came out of nowhere, hitting the lower half of his stomach. "Shut up!" She told him, all sense of propriety still absent between them. She got even angrier when he started to laugh, "Pretty boys always say pretty words! Doesn't mean they always mean them."

"I don't say things I don't mean, Arya. That I can assure you." And she hit him again, her face as red as the fresh apples in the baskets of fruit on the many tables. Raising his hands in surrender, he surveyed the area again out of curiosity. Sansa was no longer by herself, she was standing before another girl, a bit older than her by the looks of it. "Who is that person speaking to your sister?" He asked Arya, eyes unable to tear away by this person he had never seen before.

Arya whipped her head in the direction he was looking in. Squinting some, she then piped up once she knew the answer. "That's Lady Margaery Tyrell." The girl informed him rather quickly, "They called her 'The Little Rose' and some think she looks like my Aunt Lyanna, but my father says that isn't true."

Steffon never saw Lyanna Stark for himself. He could only take the woman's own brother word for it, leaving him to assume that Lyanna Stark and Margaery did not resemble one another. The She-Wolf of the North was said to be beautiful, so beautiful she made Rhaegar Targaryen whisk her away and made his father mourn her forever after causing a entire war to regain her. No matter what the She-Wolf looked or how she was, this Little Rose was beautiful in her own right. She did not need to be compared to anyone else.

Under these stadium of stars, Margaery Tyrell stood out to him the most. She was of fair skin and with hair that fell in many soft ringlets. Her hair reminded him of the brown leaves that signaled Autumn's approach when he traveled to and back from the North. Most of all, there was a presence about her, which was probably why Sansa herself seemed so much in awe of her as well. If he knew Mace Tyrell was hiding her in the gardens of the Reach earlier than he would've certainly…

"Steffon?" Arya called his name, trying to break him out of the trance he didn't realize he was in. In efforts to regain his attention, she had punched him in the same spot she had previously, causing him to blink several times and finally tear his eyes away from Margaery. "What was that?" She asked him, borderline concerned and annoyed. "You were looking all doe-eyed just now."

Confused, Steffon blinked another several more times as he shifted his gaze to look at the younger Stark girl. "I…" He didn't know what to say. He could barely think, his head was all muddled. A proper sentence seemed like an impossible task to him now. Pressing his palm against his forehead with his closed eyes, the Crown Prince found himself laughing, mostly at himself. "I don't know what just happened."

Arya looked at him strangely before following his eyes back to Margaery, "Oh… I see now." Raising a brow, she gave him a smirk. "You got all fuzzy-headed for Lady Margaery, that's what."

Considering Steffon had bedded many girls that took his interest, he never felt 'fuzzy-headed' as Arya put it. What did that even mean anyway? Was it a Northern thing? "I was not fuzzy-headed." He wasn't sure why he was so defensive. Now Arya couldn't believe him, not even for a second.

"Right." Rolling her eyes, she looked over to her sister and the Tyrell. "I could tell her to come over."

"Don't!" Pushing his hand out to express how much he did not want her to do that, Arya seemed a bit taken back with his sudden actions. "I mean…" Pinching the bridge of his nose and squeezing his eyes shut, Steffon hardly knew why he so bothered. "Shit, I don't know."

He could hear her laughing, making him cringe since it was at his expense. "Ohhh, this is funny."

"Of course you would think that was funny." This was embarrassing. Lucky it had been just Arya, he couldn't imagine if anyone else had seen him so uncomposed like that. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Lord Paxter with his daughter Desmera at his side. Next to them was Lord Mace Tyrell, who seemed quite eager in his steps towards him. Steffon's blue eyes met Arya grey ones. Like she knew what this was about, she seemed eager to make her leave.

"Good luck." She told him, "You'll need it." Before he could summon a comeback, she already left, breaking out in a sprint to seal it. Lord Paxter and Mace were standing right before him now, so he couldn't bother giving her chase since yelling would only make him seem improper.

"Lord Redwyne, Lord Tyrell." Both lords bowed their heads to him courteously. "Lady Desmera." She gave him a light curtsy, still keeping her head low. He wondered if her neck was sore, she couldn't keep her head down forever.

"Crown Prince, I see you've met Lord Paxter's daughter." Mace Tyrell gave the Redwyne a rather sour smile. He still felt a little slighter by Paxter's quick-moving, which left Steffon and Desmera oddly between the both of them in their competitive spirits.

Looking between the both of them, he kept his gaze on Mace. "Yes, I have." If he complimented her too much, Mace would be offended. If he didn't compliment her at all, Lord Paxter would be offended. "They've raised their daughter well." He settled, making Paxter give an arrogant smirk.

"Have you met mine?" asked Mace, who looked around for Margery as he did. He didn't even allow Steffon to answer before he called the girl's name. "Margaery!" Once he spotted her, he waved his daughter over to stand beside him. "To me, girl." Steffon hadn't expected for him to be so eager and now he had to steel his nerves.

She wasn't as short as he thought her to be, she had reached his shoulder once she stood before him. Out of decorum, the Little Rose dipped into a courtesy and presented him a smile that wasn't as shy but wasn't as ardent either. "I wished to meet you sooner, Prince Steffon, but you seemed very busy. I did not wish to overcrowd you."

Even her voice was pleasant. Steffon rather liked the sound of it, even going as far as to say it was loveliest thing he heard all day. To show his obvious interest and because he knew women liked such treatment, he took a precarious hold of her hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips for a chaste kiss. "We've met now and that's more than enough, Lady Margaery."

Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Mace slowly smiling, eyes flashing with approval. Paxter, however, was frowning so deeply that he immediately knew to fix his face before he was noticed. Margaery's hand was the first he kissed tonight, establishing that he favored her out of the many women that he had met. It did not mean he chose her exactly, but Margaery was obviously the most liked.

What surprised him most was that she had not blushed or seemed timid by it. In fact, she looked right into his eyes and watched him, smiling still. That told him that more than anything, Margaery was not so easily shaken. "Ahem!" Lord Paxter cleared his throat, making the two younger teens turned their attention away from each other and towards the Redwyne lord. Once got what he wanted, Paxter moved Desmera a few inches forward as if to make sure Steffon did not forget her.

You could say he felt a little guilty, seeing as Desmera seemed put off by the sudden spotlight. Margaery must've noticed it as well and placed a hand on the girl's arm, "Have you met the Lady Sansa, Desmera?" She asked her, "She is such a pretty girl and so very pleasant. I had an awful time trying to pry myself away from her, you should meet her as well."

Raising a brow, he watched Desmera look at Margaery and then towards her father. Paxter was trying his best not to be so heated and that was when Steffon noticed what exactly Margaery was doing. She was inisted for Desmera to leave and because Lord Tyrell was of a higher standing, it was hard for Desmera to necessarily deny her. Whether if it was to help Desmera or allow Margaery time to spend with Steffon by herself, the Crown Prince found himself unable to figure it out.

"Of course." Desmera muttered, gathering her skirts to make her to the redheaded Stark, who seemed to have won his brother's good graces again. Mace was trying hard not to beam, but did so anyway. Paxter roughly bowed his head, "I forgot that I have something to tend to. Another time, my prince."

Now he was left with Margaery and Mace, and Steffon was unsure if he just witnessed cunning or not. "I have yet to speak with the king. I will be going as well." Mace bowed his head as well and made his leave, leaving him alone with Margaery in the rather quiet corner of the feast.

"I thought they would never leave." Margaery admitted contently, "Now I finally have you to myself."

Blinking twice in disbelief, Steffon was now fully aware that the Little Rose of the Reach had thorns of her own.

CASSANDRA

"Have you ever heard of a three-eyed raven?"

A three-eyed raven? Sounded like something in stories that would scare a child. She remembered Steffon use to come back with scary stories to tell her and Joffrey, having her awake at night at the fear of some terrible monster coming to eat her. Joffrey would pretend to be brave, but would go running their mother's bedchambers deep into the night. Their mother scolded Steffon for a week for telling them such stories before he eventually would do it again. "No," She finally answered him, "did you dream of one?"

Bran nodded, "I did. had dreamt of one while I was sleeping."

Her hands folded in her lap, atop of the sketchbook she had laying across it with a piece of charcoal at the near corner of it. The only reason why she brought it with her was because Rickon informed her that Bran liked her drawings, especially of the dragon bones she made when she tried to tell Rickon how huge they were in the dungeons of the Red Keep. Cassandra had hoped to draw something for Bran personally.

"If you tell me the details…" She began, unfolding her hands and picking up the charcoal she used to sketch, "I'll draw it for you." It might've been borderline dangerous since it might have not been a good idea for a boy who had just woken from a coma to delve deep into his mind's eye. She also did not want him accidently thinking of a nightmare he could've had since what he had gone through was very much traumatic.

"Would you?" His eyes lit up, a smile coming across his face. "There isn't much to say about it. It looked like any other raven but with a third eye." He pointed his skinny finger at the area that was near the end of his forehead, practically touching the beginnings of the bride of his nose. "Right here!"

Turning to a blank page, Cassandra began her drawing of this three-eyed bird that the boy was unable to forget from his dreams. She was well aware that if the Maester knew of this, he would scold her for letting Bran speak of this creature. She heard the old man fuss to the boy about it, but she hadn't heard word for word what he said. Bran looked so disappointed by the end of the discussion and she didn't want the boy going back into his deep and dark moods.

Children were supposed to have such vivid imaginations. She, herself, could remember the crazy, bright worlds her mind use to make when she was young and how she wished them real. How whenever she played pirates with her brothers that they really imagined a ship and the sea. How their sticks became real swords, perfectly sharp from a fake whetstones they would apply to them. What was wrong with letting a child dream and love their dream? As bizarre as a three-eyed raven sounded, it had Bran so curious and excited. It gave him happiness.

As she sketched, watching her hand at work, Bran slightly leaned over at the beginnings of the outline of the bird. She had seen many ravens before because they were such a natural sight in Westeros. They were used to send letters to far and even close places. They also liked to fly, roaming wherever their feathers would take them. The rarest raven other than three-eyed one was a white one since were sent from the Citadel to spread news of the change of seasons. Since Cassandra was a Summer child, she never saw a white raven before.

"You have to keep this under your pillow." Cassandra told him a in hushed voice, eyes looking towards the door to see if it was still closed. "The Maester won't be happy if he knew I was drawing this for you."

"Don't worry!" He blushed immediately after he noticed how eager he sounded. The boy was desperately trying to reel himself in back to his usual calm. "I won't let Maester Luwin know of this."

"Good." They didn't speak of anything else, just letting the sound of charcoal against paper fill the room with noise since their conversation ended.

By the time, she was finished, Bran held out his hands for her to tear off the page and place it right into his grasp. He turned the page so that it was in the right direction, grasping both ends of the paper so that his eyes could scour the entirety of the drawing. He tore his eyes away from it, his eyes looking right into hers. "This it! It looked just like this!" Bran turned the drawing towards her, "This is how I saw it in my dreams!"

Naturally, her own curiosity of what a three-eyed raven seemed to mean started to take its hold on her mind. She would've gone the library and research, but most of the books and scrolls were burnt to ashes and her overall fear of the tower still weighed on her. If she approached the Maester about it, he would know it came from Bran. There might not be anything about it in Winterfell since he possibly tried to research it on his own and came back empty-handed.

"My uncle will arrive any day now." Tyrion was smart and seemed to know absolutely everything. It wouldn't surprise her if he knew what a three-eyed raven seemed to mean, especially in a dream. He might know if such a thing was real or not.

"Which one?" Bran questioned, showing genuine curiosity.

"Tyrion." She answered, watching Bran nod rather slowly.

"That means you'll be busy and Robb will be as well." That meant he would be lonely. Due to the drastic age difference, Cassandra was sure that Bran wanted someone he could talk to that was a little older. Rickon couldn't comprehend all of what Bran spoke of, which made her feel sorry for him.

Placing her hand on the boy's head, she combed through his soft hair with her fingers. "I'll come to see you afterwards and you can tell me more of what you dreamed of. And if my uncle does know anything about the raven, I'll come straight away to tell you."

That made him smile, thankfully.

A knock was at the door, alerting the both of them. A servant had entered first with Hodor slowly behind him. Cassandra had not gotten use to the friendly giant. She kept asking Robb why the man only knew of his name and never any other word, but Robb always kept telling her that he doesn't know either. Surely, someone around here had to know the answer and Old Nan just scared the wits out of her, despite how harmless Robb and Rickon would said she was.

"Lady Cassandra," said the servant, who gave her a small smile, "your uncle, Lord Tyrion, has arrived and waits for you in the Great Hall. He has also requested to see the Lord Bran."

Both Bran and Cassandra turned to look at each other, a bit confused by the news. "Well, you don't have to worry about being left, now do you?" Bran gave her a toothy grin as Hodor lifted the boy from the bed and she made her way to the Great Hall. Ryia walking at her heels, bearing the same enthusiasm. She tried not to be so eager, but this was the first time she would see anyone in her family in months.

The guards that stood at the large doors of the Great Hall slowly opened them upon the sight of her, allowing her to enter to catch the end of the conversation between her lord husband and her lord uncle. "You as well as any men of the Night's Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for as long as you wish to stay, Lord Lannister. The hospitality of Winterfell is yours."

He sounded nice, at least as nice as the voice he used that Bran called his lord voice. Her uncle slowly turned to face her, a smile coming across his face. "Ah, sweet niece, I was nearly afraid your husband was keeping me from seeing you."

"Nobody can stop me from seeing you, Uncle Tyrion." With a slight bend of her knees, she made herself low enough to kiss his forehead and for him to kiss her cheek.

"I see the North has been kind to you." Taking her hand, he rested on atop of hers. "I know it must be hard living in a region you've never known."

He was worried for her. She hadn't expected him to think much about her while he was at the Wall, gazing out at its beauty or doing and seeing whatever the Night's Watch had done in Castle Black. It was hard not to feel happy that he cared so much. "My lord husband has been more than good to me, Uncle. He as well as my goodbrothers and all the people here have been nothing short as kind and helpful."

"As they should be." It always amused her just how protective he could get. She could see Robb not looking all too fond of the implications that her uncle made. His eyes then lowered to the Hrakkar, "And Ryia seems quite healthy and happy as well." His hand smoothly stroke the back of the lion, who circled around him playfully, nudging his side with her head. She always liked Tyrion, he was the one who bought her and Silver in the first place. "Where is your goodmother? I thought she would arrive with you."

She didn't think of that. Cassandra slowly looked to Robb, who looked also troubled by that before gazing at the Maester. Trying to quickly come up where Lady Stark could have gone, she decided tell the best lie she could muster. "She is visiting Lady Arryn at the Vale, Uncle. She is worried for her and wishes to make sure she is well. I tried to warn her how… distraught the woman was, but that is her little sister and she intends to comfort her as only a sister can."

There was no room in her heart to feel guilty. She would let her uncle know the truth when she had him to herself and there were no other ears around. She had to pretend, to behave like she wanted to keep from this suspicion. "Ah, I see." Tyrion took her words, for now or so she hoped. "Lady Arryn does need all her help with her… grief." He tried to put it nicely, but the both of them knew how crazed that woman was. She probably became worse once she fled back to the Vale.

Hodor soon came, smiling as he walked in, with Bran in his arms. It was an awful sight, seeing Bran's legs dangling. like that to show they had no use. "So it is true, the boy lives. I could scarce believe it. You Starks are hard to kill."

Cassandra eyes slightly widen at his jest, knowing very well how those words could be taken as something else. Robb set his jaw at that. Tyrion didn't know, but he possibly fanned the flames of his suspicions with that.

"You said you had business with Bran." He reminded Tyrion, wanting him to get to the point. She could see why Robb was put off with Tyrion's sudden interest in Bran too. It halfway surprised her the same.

"Hello Bran." Her uncle said politely, Cassandra looked to little lord, who gave him a nod and a small smile. "Tell me, how is it you happened to fall that day?"

"He has no memory of that day." The Maester answered for him, despite Bran being very capable of answering the question for himself. Luwin, however, spoke to her uncle gently and so she could not feel a bit defensive as far as how her uncle was spoken to.

Tyrion eyes lowered in thought, "Curious." He murmured, warning his niece that he was very much suspicious about that. "I have a gift for you." He then told Bran, his eyes looking to his niece. "Sorry I did not bring anything for you, Cassie, but I thought you might not take an interest of anything at the Wall."

"You being here is the best gift." She told him, causing him to smile.

"Do you like to ride, Bran?" Curious, Cassandra looked at Bran to hear his answer.

"Yes!" He was quite eager with his answer, but his happiness began to wither almost instantly. "I mean I did like to."

"My lord, the child has lost the use of his legs. He cannot sit a horse." Luwin informed him.

"Nonsense!" Tyrion declared boldly to Luwin, "With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple can ride."

She cringed at the "c" word, knowing the boy barely got use to the fact that he would be called that for the remainder of his life. Still, her uncle told things like they were. He did not sugarcoat things, especially when Cassandra desperately wanted him to.

"I'm not a cripple." His voice, his glossy eyes had wounded her heart. Her eyes narrowed at her uncle, trying to warn him to be nicer, but he simply looked back at her with a clear: "Don't you coddle him!"

"Then I am not a dwarf!" In light of how lighthearted he sounded, she had hoped Robb wasn't offended. "My father will rejoice to hear it." Cassandra snorted inelegantly at that, knowing very well if her uncle suddenly grew at full height that her grandfather might actually like him. It was hard seeing how terribly her grandfather treated her uncle and there had been nothing she could do about it. She still loved Tywin Lannister, even the parts of him that were sharp and frightening. "Give this to your saddler, he'll provide the rest." With the scroll she hadn't noticed attached to his hip, he handed it over to Bran, who quickly unrolled it and let his eyes dance all over whatever was on it. "The boy cannot use his legs to command the animal, so you must shape the horse to the rider. Start with a unbroken yearling and train it to respond to the reins and to the boy's voice."

Cassandra slowly leaned over towards Bran, seeing the drawing for herself. "You see, Bran? That's where I learned to draw so nicely."

"I didn't know Lord Tyrion could drawn." Bran grinned at her before looking back at Tyrion with hopeful eyes. "But will I truly be able to ride?"

"You will." Her uncle's voice was unwavering, "And I swear to you, boy, on horseback, you will be as tall as any of them."

All tension had left Robb's face and for a second, Cassandra thought she saw him give a slight smile in Tyrion's direction. "What made you consider helping Bran, Lord Lannister?" He asked, genuinely curious.

"Your brother Jon asked it of me. And I have a tender spot in my heart for cripples and bastards and broken things." As always the jester, he placed his hand over his heart with a grin adorning his face.

"Now that you have given Bran his gift, might I steal you, Uncle?" Cassandra asked him as he briefly looked to Robb to see him nod approvingly.

"Thank you, Lord Tyrion." Bran thanked him, still beaming. Tyrion graced him with another smile before walking alongside Cassandra. It was her duty to show him to a room now in the guest apartments, she knew that much. He was her family and her guest, so it was only right that she tend to him.

The halls were quiet, like they always were, and only the sounds were of her heels clicking against the floor. Cassandra looked down at her uncle, who was gazing up at her with curious eyes. "What is it, Uncle Tyrion?"

"I didn't think you would settle into this marriage so quickly." Confused by what he meant, she rose an inquisitive brow. "I halfway thought you would've put up a fight and would beg me to take you back South when I arrived."

Chuckling, she imagined if her marriage turned out anything like her parents then his words would most certainly be truth. "I told you Robb has been good to me."

"I nearly thought you were lying. You can't speak so lowly of him in his presence and among his men." He inclined his head slightly at her, knowing that it would be rude of her to speak recklessly about him, even to her own blood. "I know you to be brazen, but not to that extreme." Cringing, she wondered if her mother was worried about her boldness back at home. Cassandra never knew she was so blunt and rough around the edges until everyone seemed to tell her she was. She was princess! Well, she was one. That was an insult if anything. "Do you love him?"

His question didn't surprise her as she thought it would. She merely shrugged her shoulders, "I don't know." She saw no reason to be dishonest, "How does one know they are in love?"

"I thought that was something you women just know." She frowned at that, making her feel twice as inadequate as both as wife and a woman. Were girls supposed to be experts on the subject? Every single girl she had met thus far seemed to know of love more than she did. It was as if they all studied with their Septa's about what the feeling was and she was just too dumb to comprehend the lesson. "Tell me then, how is it that you feel when you are with your Stark mate?"

Wrinkling her nose at 'Stark mate', she shrugged once again. "As of now, I feel happy when we are together." Cassandra didn't expect to feel so flustered with her admittance Was it because she speaking about this with her uncle or because her affection for her lord husband? "I did give him a hard time before… I was purposely avoiding him and making him feel like I did not wish to be in his company. Now I wish I had more time to spend with him for he is busy most days."

"I don't think I'm the proper source to be asking about things such as love. After all, the only woman I have ever loved betrayed me and is somewhere I'll never know." Speaking of Tysha was bound to get her uncle emotional, almost to the point where he'd be practically begging for wine just to get the woman out of his head.

She could strangle this Tysha she never met for what she did to him. Even though Cassandra did not know why the woman chose to hurt him so over some petty coins, she could hold a grudge against her for breaking his heart the way she did. The way she ruined most of him, leaving him drinking and whoring more often than any man should. Thank the Seven he did not have any bastards that she knew of. "But you know that you love her and you know you that you still do." His lips formed a deep drown at that, making him lowering it some. "Don't worry, Uncle. I accept that this is a thing that I must learn on my own."

"That would be best, yes." Cassandra had stopped in the middle of their walk, turning to look over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. "What's the matter?" He asked, slowly looking around as she did. "Is everything alright?"

"There is something I want to speak with you about and I don't want any ears around." Opening the door for him, she watched her uncle amble his way in before shutting the door once she entered behind him. Pressing her eat to the door, she tried to listen for any sort of footfalls, but all she heard was dead quiet. Standing upright, she turned to face Tyrion. "Someone sent a catspaw wielding my father's dagger to kill Bran." Clearing her throat, she wondered if it was wise to tell him how she was almost murdered along with him. Finding it hard to keep that a secret, she spilled the truth much to her reluctance. "In the process, they… they almost killed me."

Tyrion's mouth opened in shocked, barely soaking in all that she told him. "I…" Flabbergasted, he didn't seem as if a proper sentence could leave him."Did they…?" Hesitantly, he inclined his head, eyes flashes with a warning to tell him the truth. "Are you hurt anywhere?" Almost immediately, Tyrion went to grab her hands. "Did they touch you?"

"No," The Baratheon shook her head, "I'm fine. I was saved. They set the library afire to cause a distraction, but they didn't know I was inside. I tried to fight them and they locked me in. I'm more than sure that they didn't really know who I was."

"Have you figured who could have done this?" His grasp on her hands became tighter, his brows furrowed. She didn't like when Tyrion was angry. His mind became a steaming mess and sometimes the end result was bloody. Not only do Lannister's pay their debts, they kill whoever even looks at their family hard enough.

"…No, I'm afraid not." She answered rather quietly, "The Starks immediately thought it to be a Lannister."

"How could they not? Their hearts have never been warm to us and we were here when Bran fell." Letting go of her hands, he pinched the bridge of his nose out of frustration. "How would one not see it suspicious? A boy who climbs nearly all his life, never falls any other day, suddenly loses his footing in the company of a family not well liked. That's probably why your husband was so wary of me. Can't say I fault him for that…" Cassandra almost thought her uncle and husband would be extremely hostile during his stay, and she wasn't sure if she would be able to fix and smooth the relationship. Hopefully, she could get them to understand each other while not betraying either one. "Tell a servant to fetch me some wine, Cassie. I can't think sober like this."

NED

"You cannot force the boy to fight in the melee." Robert had been itching to sign himself up for it. Without a warhammer, he couldn't find himself able to do it because it was his only weapon of choice. So the next best course of action was for Steffon to join the melee, his father's hammer in tow, and win in the place of his father. It wasn't about Robert wanting his son to succeed, he just wanted to imagine himself back when he was young and strong in his son's place.

"He's my son!" Robert yelled, drunk already from beer instead of wine this time. "He damn well do as I want him to. Why did I give my hammer to the boy anyhow? He rather waltz around with that skinny blade at his waist! I've been nothing short of disappointed with him as a late. I saw him as something great once and now he shows me he truly is his mother's son!"

When he first learned the boy to be named Steffon, Ned foresaw the boy's future already. If that boy did not surpass his grandfather then Robert was bound to be disappointed in every way possible. The girl, Cassandra, had been the luckier one. Her name was halfway her own unlike her brother's. It warmed him to know that Robert kept his promise to his mother, to give his daughter half her name, which he thought would've been Mya's once. Eddard suppose her double luck was that she was a girl and not at all a future ruler. Now she was in the North, married to his son, and he hoped the two were finding the happiness that he and Catelyn shared. He couldn't find himself hoping another union like Cersei and Robert's for the next generation.

He figured Robert would know what it was like being compared to your father all your life. Eddard wasn't, but Brandon was, and he had to watch his brother try to be better than their father. He was the next Lord of Winterfell, the rightful one, and he lost his life at the same time their father. Horrible, right next to him. Ned strove to be a good lord, good as Brandon would've been, and better than his father, but the weight of it never seem to leave him because the guilt of inheriting what was meant for him never left either. Now he had to watch Steffon struggle, just as he watched Brandon once did. Just like Robert himself did once. Unlike the rest of them, Robert stopped caring of superseding his father and became his own person. It could be that Steffon was going to do the same as his father did and now Robert would know how it felt for a child to branch off on their own too.

"You told him to find a proper wife and he's doing just that, Robert." He tried to defend him while also trying to calm his best friend's ire. "I hear he and Lady Margaery are quite well taken with each other or so the people say."

Robert lowered the polished horn in his hand, surprised by the news. "Lady Margaery? The little Tyrell girl?" Ned nodded in reply, "I think Renly showed me her once. They try to say the girl looks like Lyanna." He was well aware of that rumor and denied it as quickly as it was told to him. "She's as lovely as a dawn, but she ain't half the beauty that Lyanna was."

He agreed quietly, seeing that faraway look come across Robert's eyes whenever Lyanna was mentioned. His sister still had a hold on him like no other. "Steffon is a good heir and will make an even better king, melee or no, and you know that."

"I don't know, Ned. Ever since my girl left, he's been tiptoeing around and suddenly changing. He told me other day he doesn't even care about jousting or tourneys. That boy was never like that. Not once. My memory may be shit at times but when that boy saw a tourney for the first time, you had to stop him from trying to put on some armor and climbing a horse. I never been more proud at how eager my boy was. He couldn't even count to ten yet but he wanted to knock someone off their horse."

It was rare to see his best friend speak of the memories of his children. All he ever said about them was what he wanted out of them, not how he felt about them. Robert sat down in his chair, shaking his head in disappointment still. "Our children change. They never stay the same and we have to accept that, for better or for worse. Do you think your father would've thought you to be the king after Aerys?"

"He probably would've prayed to the old gods and the new that they never put my ass on the throne!" He roared with laughter, "My father would've put Stannis on that iron seat before me."

Sometimes Ned wondered how thing would've been if another person sat the Iron Throne. Stannis, he reasoned, wouldn't have allowed himself to be surrounded by Lannisters. Would he have married Cersei? Perhaps. Stannis was much sterner, had a sense of justice, and would've been a king many people didn't want but had no choice but to respect.

How would Steffon be as king after his father? Ned had no idea. The boy was perceptive if anything, he knew things well enough. He was good with a sword, he bested Robb and tied with Jon. He also seemed to have good relations with most of the lords who knew him and did not have the reputation to whore as much as his father. He heard some of the illicit affairs that the boy had with lowborn girls around the castle. All of them ended with the boy breaking it off cleanly and none of them bore him any bastard children. The boy was still so young, so naïve in many walks of life. He had never been made a ward neither, which might've helped him be more worldly.

lll

It was night, the tourney had been completely over and he no longer had to feel burden about this event being in his name. It was horrible enough that Ser Hugh died in this tourney. Now all his mother would hear was that her son died in the Tourney for the Hand, Lord Eddard Stark. Hopefully, the woman could find peace in spite of losing her child.

He took out the dagger, the one that Catelyn brought him and Littlefinger informed him was his own. The one that was nearly used to murder his little boy. Littlefinger claimed it was his, won by Tyrion Lannister, through a wager, and somehow sent to slay Bran in his sleep. Before he could thoroughly question why anyone, especially the dwarf Lannister, would want his son dead, he was interrupted by a knock.

"Enter." He told them, loud enough for them to hear him and not so much yell. Putting the dagger away, he turned to see that it was the Crown Prince that entered the Hand's tower. The boy had entered the room and shut the door quietly, but his face of a force calm. "Crown Prince, what brings you here? More importantly, why this late into the night?"

"There's something I want that you have, Lord Stark." His eyes quickly examined the room, possibly looking for exactly what he came to claim. "It is the tome that Lord Arryn had. I want it." Usually, the boy was so calm and pleasant, manners ever so present, but he seemed almost crazed. That's when he noticed the boy's eyes were red, puffy, like he had shed some tears. His eyes did not hold the look of sadness, however, they were filled with rage like the seas during a storm.

"First, tell me what bothers you. You look unwell." He watched the prince walk closer towards him, blocked by the desk between them as he slammed his fist onto the surface, making everything lift into the air for a quick second. Startled by the sudden outburst, Eddard was more unsure what could have gotten into him. Why drove the boy into such anger?

"If you don't hand me the tome, Lord Stark, I will rightfully become a kinslayer. So unless you want a bloody slaughter, I suggest you hand me that tome this instant!"

A kinslayer? He was going to murder a member of his family? For what? Ned was unsure how he could quietly calm the boy without heightening his anger. "Steffon, you can trust me. Tell me what it is that angers you to to the point of slaughtering kin."

Clenching his jaw, Steffon pushed himself from his desk. "Cassandra was nearly killed by some foolish catspaw."

How did the boy come to know this? He was sure Cassandra wouldn't be as eager to send her brother a letter about her near death. If she loved him, she wouldn't. "I suppose you know this, didn't you? I don't have the right to be angry with you because I… I know who pushed Bran from the tower." The Warden of the North became still, his eyes widening to complete fullness at the boy's words. "I wanted to get the revenge for myself, for you son and for all that they had done. I nearly lost Cassie for being so slow."

"Who did it, Steffon?" Now Ned was losing all his patience, "Who tried to murder Bran and nearly killed your sister? Who threw my son from the tower?"

"I don't know who sent the catspaw." Steffon admitted, his voice slowly losing its fiery edge. "But it was my Uncle Jaime who threw him from the tower."

Jaime Lannister had thrown Bran from the broken tower. It didn't come as a complete shock, but Ned was riddled with the question as to why much more frequently now. Did Tyrion send the catspaw in order to protect him? It made sense, seeing how close the two were said to be. They would do anything to protect each other. That was how a Lannister's were. Killing a child didn't seem so farfetched, especially after all those years ago when Tywin allowed the Mountain and Amory Lorch to kill Rhaegaer's children so brutally.

"Do you know why he threw him from the tower?"

Steffon seemed reluctant as if he didn't want to tell Ned the reason. The boy slowly turned, trembling in his rage. "Because he's been having an affair with my mother. Bran caught them and in efforts to keep their disgusting affair a secret, he threw your son from the tower."

"You saw this and you said nothing?" Shocked by the news of it all, Ned remembered when he approached Steffon before, about the boy being sick. He had vomited because he caught the sight of his uncle and mother together? "What vengeance did you hope to gain on your own?!"

"More than what you can give him!" He yelled back, "What are you going to do Lord Stark? Go tell my father without a shred of evidence? Everything will be based on hearsay? I'm the only one my father will believe because I saw it for myself! I'm her son, why else would I lie on my mother in such a way unless it was the truth?"

If Steffon told him he saw it, Robert would believe him instantly, but on what grounds could he punish Cersei and Jaime? They still needed proof. "And what of the tome? What do you need it for?"

"You and I are on the same trail and it has something to do it. I know it can help me get vengeance for Bran and now for Cassandra and myself as well as Jon Arryn and everyone else that my uncle and mother have murdered and harmed for each other!"

The boy was so torn and Ned could not imagine how hard it must've been to find out what his own mother and uncle had done. The people he had known, trusted, had all betrayed him in sort of life damaging way. He did not hide the secret to protect them but because he wanted to rectify things on his own. Ned could have loved him for that, but Bran was his son and he had the right to know about who crippled him months ago.

"The tome is there." He pointed to the other side of the room, where the book laid atop of an end table. Steffon stormed his way over, opening the book with such force. He immediately flipped the pages, studying them as quickly as his eyes would allow him to. "What is this?" Steffon asked, "What… What does a book about lineages have to do with anything?"

"Grand Maester Malleon wrote this book. It was made so that the lineages of Westeros could be properly recorded. I was told that before Jon Arryn died, he had this book in his possession. And from what I've read, nearly ninety years ago, Tya Lannister and Gowen Bratheon had a boy whose name is forgotten, but he had a full head of black hair. Each time a Baratheon had a child with a woman of golden hair, she bore him a child black of hair. You and your younger siblings have been the only exceptions. Cassandra is one of the many with black of hair."

"And what of the eyes? Did they have the blue eyes? All of my father's bastards have his eyes as well. Mya, Edric, Gendry, and Barra… All of them have the Baratheon blue, but Cassandra, Joffrey and—"

He stopped speaking, standing up with his wide as if he had seen a silhouette in the room. Eddard had looked at the boy, brow raised until he himself had put it all together. Black of hair wasn't the only common trait, it was the blue of eyes. Cassandra and Steffon were the only ones with an actual mixture of the Lannister and Baratheon lineage, but their younger siblings had the look of pure Lannisters; blonde of hair and green of eyes.

"She gave my uncle three children and gave my father two." The prince stood in his shock, "I want to say I can't believe it, but I do. She loves him. She loves my uncle and she would… she would have his children. She did have his children."

"We could be wrong, Steffon. We don't know the entire truth—" This could be them jumping to conclusions, of that he was sure. It all seemed to come together, but they still had to be sure.

"And how do you think to find that out? What are you going to do? Confront my mother?" It was the wiser idea, one that Ned was heavily considering. Steffon could see that he was thinking about doing it too, he instantly threw his arms in exasperation. "Are you mad?! She would have you killed! You think she would admit such a truth to you of all people?!"

It didn't hurt to try. The queen already watched him, he had been made aware of that. Since she did not kill him yet, she probably knew that he might find the truth any time soon. He already knew once left for the South that his life was in danger, even more so when he took the role of the Hand. "You keep this to yourself and do nothing. You do nothing until we know for a certainty."

Closing his eyes, Steffon raked his hands through his golden hair in his frustration. "I'm suppose to sit and do nothing after my sister was nearly killed? After I know that it possible that my own brothers and sister could be my cousins as well? How do you expect me to sit here and do nothing, Lord Stark?! Cassandra is not the only one in danger. If anyone finds out Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen are bastards, they'll—"

"If you want to protect your siblings and keep yourself from death, you must do nothing for now." Steffon immediately froze upon the mention of protecting them, his stormy eyes were now looking down at the floor as he inwardly seethed. The boy reminded him so much of Robert then; this explosion of anger he had was just like him, but he had kept himself from doing a number of rash things his father would have done in his place. "If you act so hastily, you'll only put them in more danger." In some ways, Ned probably had to thank Cersei for giving her firstborn some self control.

"Do you know who this dagger belongs to?" Now that they were teaming up in this investigation, it was best to know the truth about everything. He took out the dagger he believed belong to Littlefinger and placed it on the desk for Steffon to see.

"That's my father's." He answered him simply, shaking his head and shrugging his shoulders as if he didn't see the point of it. "Why do you ask?"

"Someone gave this to the assassin to kill Bran. Littlefinger claims it was his and he lost it in a wager to Tyrion Lannister. He said your uncle had bet against Jaime Lannister for it."

"That's the stupidest lie I ever heard." Steffon scoffed, looking as if he barely able to believe that Baelish had said that. "Not only is that dagger more expensive than all his brothels altogether, my Uncle Tyrion would never wager against Jaime. Tyrion holds too great a love to ever do that to Jaime."

Ned looked down at the dagger, head swirling with a massive wave of confusion. Not only did Littlefinger lie to him, but he lied to Catelyn as well. He had to send her a raven to make sure she did not do anything reckless, like laying a single finger on Tyrion Lannister's head. If Jaime Lannister loved Tyrion as much as it was implied then he was sure to cause a storm if anything should happened to him. Who knows what more the Lannisters were truly capable of.