A Týrable idea 3 (Patreon)

STILL NEED AN APPROPRIATE TITLE LMAO. Damn, why couldn't this one have been as easy as my other one. House of the Dragonborn was gg EZ.

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“So let me get this straight.” When Catelyn woke up and realized it had not all been a nightmare, she had immediately gathered up her two children and Týr. She was glad they had all been hard at work, as she would not have been very happy to live in the utter stench that thousands of corpses would have caused. Winterfell had worked together to gather the Ironborn scum onto pyres away from the castle, as they certainly wouldn’t be burying them. But as glad as she was that they were safe, she did not appreciate being lied to! “All this time you claim to have been getting trained in combat, you were learning magic instead?!”

“No, they certainly were learning combat as well.” Týr said with a shrug, as if he didn’t casually break the tenets of her faith just by existing. “Magic is just an edge. If it wasn’t for Robb’s enhanced strength and tutelage in war, this would have turned out much worse.” He sighed, “I could have held them all myself if I had been up here, but no one expected an attack on Winterfell. Things would have been…much worse if you all hadn’t been able to hold them until my arrival.”

Catelyn slumped. How could she punish her children (and nephew?) when they truly were the only reasons they were all safe and whole after what should have been a devastating attack? Gods, she didn’t even want to think about what could have been. “I’m not mad, I’m just… disappointed.” Robb and Sansa flinched, “Why didn’t you tell me?” She looked pleadingly at her children.

“We were going to, mother!” Sansa immediately said. She gave her mother a teary look. She hated disappointing her mother! “We just… we didn’t want you to freak out.” She mumbled, looking down at the table.

“We were just going to… ease you into it. Because of your religion.” Robb snorted, “Fat lot of good that did.”

Cat closed her eyes and took a breath. She loved her children. She was disappointed. And her faith was screaming at her that this was heresy.

But if her children were heresy, then maybe her faith was wrong. At least in this. ‘Seven forgive me.’ She thought to herself, “Consider me eased.” She said dryly, and both of her children let out startled giggles, which made her smile. She looked at Robb, “Why didn’t you use any…bow magic?” The words struggled to leave her mouth.

Robb rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, “I specialize in melee.” He said, “So I didn’t actually have any runic attacks for my bow.” Something he was certainly going to have to rectify. “I could have frozen them solid with my sword though.” He hastened to add.

“A true King of Winter!” Catelyn squeezed his hand. He beamed at her, relieved that he was taking this so well. She turned to her daughter, “How were you able to fire your arrows with such force, love? You’re too young and definitely not muscular enough to be strong enough for that.”

Sansa blushed, and Týr patted her shoulder, “Lift the table, Sansa.”

Lift the table? Catelyn was immediately confused. Which table? And then Sansa slipped underneath the private dining room table, “Wait, you can’t be seri-” The table jerked and started to lift. Catelyn backed away in disbelief, watching as her daughter lifted one of the bigger tables in the keep. With effort, yes. Her face was red, and she was struggling, but she was doing it. Catelyn could not believe her eyes. Her seven-year-old daughter was lifting something that normally took a small troop of strong men to move around! “How?!” She croaked once Sansa put the table down and sat back in her chair. She hugged Týr as she panted.

“The same way I defended the gate.” Týr said, “With Runes.” He patted Robb on the shoulder as Sansa was still too tired, “Show her.”

Much to Catelyn’s anxiety, her son looked hesitant. He finally sighed and started rolling up his sleeves. She was right to be anxious, “ARE THOSE TATTOOS?!” Their mother shrieked in horror.

“Aye.” Týr said, smiling as if there was anything to be smiling about! “They’re incredibly useful and confer permanent runic benefits to those they are inked on.” Mount Catelyn was about to erupt, so he decided to poke a hole in her wall, “For instance, you never have to worry about either of them being poisoned through food or drink.”

Catelyn huffed in a gasp of shock, “What?”

“A set of runes tattooed over their hearts, which will grow uncomfortably hot in the event they are about to consume something spoiled or poisoned.”

Catelyn clenched her fist. That was something that was obviously incredibly useful to have, but did her children really have to be marred and branded for it?! “Why did it have to be inked on them?” She glared at Týr, “Could they not have had it put on a talisman? Like the bow ma-” She cut herself off, “Runic magic on Sansa’s bow?”

“They could have.” Týr nodded in agreement, “And then they would have been in danger every time that they forgot it. You can’t forget a tattoo.” He leaned back, “As for the strength boosters, those cannot be put on talismans. They do not work like that.”

Catelyn sighed, “My children were normal before Ned allowed you to teach them.” She lamented under her breath, not seeing both of her children flinch. Both heard her words even if she hadn’t meant them to, “How is it that you even know any of this?” She asked, “This is all impossible! Magic is supposed to be dead! Everyone from the Septons to the Maesters have been declaring it dead for decades! More than a century even! The magic died with the dragons, they all claimed! How is this possible?”

“Father is the only one that knows that much.” Týr said, and Sansa and Robb straightened in surprise, “But I suppose it is only fair that you know as well. This is not the first life I’ve lived.”

They all gasped, and Robb managed to choke out, “Wait, does that mean you remember a past life?”

“Aye.” Týr said, smiling softly. “I always have.”

“Are you from the Age of Heroes?” Sansa had stars in her eyes. “Is that why you’re so strong? Why you know magic?”

Catelyn, meanwhile, was feeling yet another blow to her faith. Nowhere in the scripture were there allowances for previous or future lives. And yet undeniable proof sat before her.

“No.” Týr chuckled as he mussed up her hair playfully, “I’m afraid not. In fact, none of you would recognize anything from my old life at all. The stars were different, the land was different, and the people were different.” That… that wasn’t possible. All three of them were staring at him in incomprehension, “Even the seasons were different. We had Autumn, Winter, Spring, and Summer, yes, but all four came every year and lasted only three turns of the moon at worst.”

“Gods!” Robb had a dreamy look on his face, “We wouldn’t need to stockpile nearly as much! ”

“It all makes sense! The ice shipping. The glass! You didn’t invent them! You already knew what was needed! You reinvented them!” Sansa breathed, “All the people you’ve talked about and places you’ve described… I’ve never found a whisper of any of them in any of my books! It’s because they’ve never existed here. By the gods, it’s all true!” She looked up at him gleefully, “What was your name in your past life, Týr?”

He chuckled, “I was Týr. Just as I am, and always have been. I’m afraid I picked my own name.” He winked at her, and she laughed.

“No wonder.” Robb elbowed him with a grin, “Týr is no Northern name, for sure.”

Catelyn had been silent, absorbing it all. She shook her head. How many blows to her faith was she going to be forced to take? “Gods, you really were aware even as a babe.” She moaned, holding her face in her hand, “Eddard always thought you were too…advanced. How is that even possible? I can barely understand you remembering a past life, but to do so as a newborn?”

Again, Týr shrugged, “Who knows.” Robb’s eyes narrowed somewhat. Týr knew more than he was letting on. He knew his brother that well, at least. But he kept his mouth shut. “The better question would be why? Why would a man like me be born in this day and age? What sort of enemy requires someone like me?”

Catelyn, Robb, and Sansa all paled. Catelyn cleared her throat, “I…I don’t believe I wish to contemplate that.” She looked at her children, “What will you do now, Robb?”

“I’m keeping my word.” He sat up straight, “Every single person in Winterfell must know how to load and fire a crossbow at minimum. I’d prefer it if they knew how to hold out with a dagger too, at least. Any who want further training will be allowed to have it as well. Man, woman, child, I do not care. If not for Týr and his tutelage, this would have been a disaster for the North.”

Her son wasn’t wrong, “I really wish I could argue against that.” She looked at him, “You have my support, son.” She chuckled ruefully, “I suppose even I should learn how to at least aim the damned things.”

“I can teach you!” Sansa beamed at her mother, getting a smaller smile back.

…

Later, Robb and Sansa cornered Týr again, and Robb told his brother, “You were still holding things back from mother.” He said flatly.

“Yes.” He patted his cousin on the shoulder, “And even you two don’t know everything. It’s too soon.” He had a look of melancholy on his face.

“Týr?” Sansa had to reach up to grab one of his hands, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing wrong per se.” Týr replied, squeezing Sansa’s hand, and smiling down at her to show he was alright. She smiled back, before hugging his leg. “Just idle thoughts.”

“Is it bad?” Robb asked.

Týr chuckled, “No just… morbidly amusing, I suppose.” He said, “I’ve heard some of the smallfolk have started worshipping me.”

“Ha!” Robb barked out a bit of laughter, “I suppose they have.” Sansa giggled at that, “Though I can see why they would. None of us, not even Sansa and I could have done what you did. You saved everyone still alive. I don’t think we could have held them if they had broken into the main keep.” He said, his heart beating a little faster.

“Yeah…” Sansa bowed her head. She knew she couldn’t have. She was already exhausted after only a minute or two. She could have blocked off all access to the keep with her thorns, but could not have done more. The magic was too tiring. “I…I think I’m going to have night terrors for moons.” She said lowly, and was engulfed in a hug by Týr, who dropped to one knee.

“I will too.” Robb swallowed, “I… I know how evil they were… But…”

“Ten and seven are too young to experience it.” Týr finished for them, pulling Robb in for a hug as well, “I wish I could do more, but know you can always bunk with me if you feel scared.” He smiled, and felt Sansa nodding into his shoulder.

“Thanks, brother.” Robb smiled slightly, “Still, it just gets back to what we were talking about. You saved us all. You killed hundreds yourself. And all practically without breaking a sweat. I can see the smallfolk thinking you The Warrior reborn, or something.” He let out a chuckle.

Týr smiled and stood, “That’s what the melancholy is for.” He had a look of rueful amusement, “And why I said nothing to your mother. They’re not exactly wrong.”

The smiles dropped from Sansa’s and Robb’s faces as they stared at him, wide-eyed. “W-What?”

“A mortal certainly could not have survived my birth. Any normal babe my size would have died with their mother.” He said slowly.

“T-Týr…” Sansa paled drastically, “What are you saying?”

“That even in a new life, I am who I always was. I am Týr.” He looked at both of them with calmness in his gaze, “Son of Odin, the Allfather. Prince of Asgard. And the God of War of the Æsir.” He had to catch Sansa when she fainted.

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For the next few months, life returned to a vague resemblance of normal. With the cat out of the bag, they no longer needed to hide away from the sight of Winterfell, and allowed others to join in on basic training, though Týr kept the secrets of magic to the family only. After all, the Starks had magic in their blood, and few others did. But already, the quality of the soldiers of the North was increasing.

Týr may have disliked his domain, but he was good at it. From the day of the invasion forward, any who wished to learn could join them in the yards. Highborn, smallfolk, man, woman, it didn’t matter to Týr. Even if all they desired to learn was the bow, they were taught. If they desired the blade or any other melee weapon, Týr taught them the spear first. It was useful for hunting.

It led to a rather amusing argument between Týr and the master at arms, who still felt that swords were proper weapons and not spears, despite Týr’s showing during the battle. The blade took much more time and dedication to truly become excellent at, compared to the spear. And Týr proved it too. Ser Rodrik trained a group with basic swords, while Týr taught his own group of students. Ser Rodrik was forced to concede defeat when they arranged for a mock battle and Týr’s students beat the other group through a combination of range and skill.

Even Sansa got in on it, teaching her group of ladies the bow. Arya had been ecstatic that she was allowed to start practicing before her fifth nameday, and had given her mother the biggest hug of her life.

And then, the moment they had all been waiting for arrived. “FATHER!” Sansa and Arya both ran to him, leaping into his arms.

He had a massive smile on his face as he hugged his two princesses, kissing each on the cheek. “Gods, it’s been too long.” He put the both of them on the ground, “Well done, daughter.” He kissed the top of Sansa’s head, “You saved hundreds with your actions.”

“Thank you, father.” Sansa smiled at him, though it was a bit hesitant, “I could do without the night terrors of… all of my… kills…” She looked down, and he took a knee.

“Sweetling, those men were murderers and rapists. You did the right thing. And that you feel remorse for even them shows how wonderful you are.” He told her, and she looked at him with shining eyes, before hugging him again. He rose to his feet when she let go, and smiled at his younger daughter, “I see you’re practicing early, Arya. Whatever did your Septa think?”

Arya smirked, “No longer care. It’s what got her kicked out of here.”

Ned’s eyes widened in shock as Catelyn approached, “Oh, do tell?”

“Not much to tell, Ned.” His wife kissed him gently, “Even after the attack, she was still fuming to see women training.” She smiled sardonically, “Even myself, for a little bit.” Now Ned couldn’t quite keep himself from dropping his jaw a little, “And she threw a fit when I allowed Arya to join Sansa despite it not being her fifth nameday yet. I sent her back to Riverrun.”

“Never thought I’d see the day.” He chuckled ruefully.

“Neither did I. But life is about growth, and she no longer could grow.” She said softly, before hugging him once more, “Welcome home.”

“Glad to be home.” He replied back, equally softly. He let go of her and went up to his sons, “And you two.” He beamed at them, putting a hand on each shoulder… one much higher than the other, “You saved our home. It took all of you together, but you did more than most, I heard. I’m so glad to have such strong, dutiful sons.”

“Thank you, father.” Robb hugged him too.

“I have little doubt that you will be the greatest Lord of Winter in centuries, my son.” Ned patted him on the shoulder, before looking at Týr, “And I thank all Old Gods that you were here, son. Without you…”

“Let’s not think of ‘what if’s, father.’” Týr smiled gently, “Let us instead look to the future. All of Winterfell is now training, so that this never happens again.”

“Aye.” Ned nodded to his nephew, “And I’m glad of it. You made the right choice, Robb. I never thought the scum would have the audacity. The fact that it almost worked infuriates me.” He said, “We must be better prepared.”

“We will be.” Robb said, standing proud.

“And in the present,” Ned said, before looking at Týr. Despite what could have happened, he was so happy that what he had spoken about with Catelyn could come about so quickly. At least this damned Ironborn attack was good for something. He took a scroll out of his pocket and unfurled it, “As a reward for your valiant efforts, my son, I got this from King Robert.” There were gasps as they realized what was about to happen, “By Royal Decree, I name you Týr Stark.”

Týr was surprised, and he smiled, “Thank you, father.” His grin became a bit teasing, “Týr Stark doesn’t exactly roll off the tongue.” Ned’s eyes widened, “But I will be happy to be Týr of House Stark.”

Ned chortled, slapping him on the back. Catelyn walked up, “Congratulations, Týr. You deserve it.” She said, and allowed him to give her a short hug. And that was all it took for the rest of his family to engulf him with hugs.

Ned looked back at the caravan, before motioning someone forward. A young, skinny girl with a pimply face and a scowl adorning sauntered forward.  

‘Bold, for who must be a hostage.’ Catelyn thought to herself.

Ned proved her right, “I present Asha Greyjoy. She will be… fostering here at Winterfell for the foreseeable future. Her brother Theon was sent to King’s Landing with Robert.”

Asha scoffed, “Say it how it is, Lord Stark. I’m here in case my fool of a father gets ideas again.” She growled.

“Indeed.” Catelyn raised an eyebrow, “But we do not believe in punishing the child for the sins of the father here.”

“And yet I was taken from the sea anyway.” She looked cross, glaring at nothing, “I’ll never sail again because my father is a fucking fool.”

“Oh, not another one.” Catelyn grumbled to herself.

“It is how things are, I’m afraid.” Ned looked at her, “But your stay here need not be awful. It all depends on you. Should you behave, your restrictions shall be lifted bit by bit. Who knows? Your grandfather was a good man. Broke the mold for the Ironborn, he did. Mayhaps if you have more of him in you than your father and uncles, you’ll see the sea again one day.”

And for the first time, Eddard saw something other than anger in Asha’s eyes. He quickly introduced her to his children, and Asha sighed, before glaring lightly at Sansa. “I suppose I’ll be sewing and doing all of that ladylike shite with you two?”

Sansa smiled, and Asha gasped as she suddenly found a blade laid on her shoulder. “More of this than that, if you behave.” Arya was smirking next to her. She couldn’t wait to be able to summon weapons like that!

“And I would clean your tongue, before I do it for you.” Catelyn added, “I’ll not have that kind of language in my household. And I’ll keep washing your mouth with soap until the lesson sticks.”

Asha swallowed and nodded rapidly, as Sansa let her sword disperse. “How did you do that?” She asked in awe.

Arya laughed, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” She asked as she skipped away, hands behind her head.

Yes, she very much would!

Ned chuckled, “Come now, we’ve been on the road for weeks! It’s time to rest, relax, and eat our fill!” A cheer rang through Winterfell, as the Lord Paramount’s family made their way inside the keep.

“Welcome back, My Lord.” Maester Luwin bowed to him.

“Good to be back, Maester.” Ned nodded to their Maester.

“I have some…concerns, My Lord, that I wish to discuss with you and your family.” Luwin told him.

“You will join us for dinner then.” Ned said, “But before that, please send a letter to Castle Black.”

“My Lord?” Luwin tilted his head, “You wish to speak to Lord Benjen?”

“Aye. I’ll need him to come home and be the Stark in Winterfell for an amount of time.”

“Whatever for, Ned?” Catelyn asked and Maester Luwin bowed, hurrying to the rookery.

“Robert will be hosting a Tourney for the end of the Rebellion.” Ned let out a tired sigh, “And he wouldn’t take no for an answer. We will be going.”

His children started grinning excitedly, and Arya hopped up and down, “Oooh, can we join the competitions?! I want to participate in the archery competition!”

Ned laughed, “You’re a little young for that, sweetling. Sansa might be allowed with some resistance, but I doubt they’d even take my word for a four-namedays-old girl.”

Arya pouted, “I’ll be five by then! My fifth nameday is next week!”

“Which is the age where boys are normally only beginning to train, especially in the South.” Ned patted her head, “Besides, we Northmen shouldn’t show off our skills. It would only make it easier to match us in battle if they know what we can do.”

“No, they would only think they know what we can do.” Robb said, smirking up at his father, “And we all know Týr would win the melee. The money would go a long way to aiding the North.”

“Signing me up, Robb?” Týr raised an eyebrow.

Sansa chimed in, “You should, Týr! We could use the purse to start repairing Moat Cailin like Robb was talking about!”

“Or building more Ice Ships.” Catelyn chuckled.

Ned let out a laugh, “Let’s get to the tourney before we make any decisions, shall we?”

As they walked to the dining hall, all Asha could think was ‘…What is with this family?’ in bewilderment.

…

“So, what’s this about, Maester Luwin?” Ned asked the older man once their dishes had been cleared.

Luwin cleared his throat, “It is regarding some… letters that I’ve received from the Citadel.” Ned motioned for him to go on, “It’s…” He pursed his lips, “Once the battle was over, I collected testimony and began writing of the attack. I had Týr, Sansa, and Robb show us their magic in a more relaxed setting, though I only wrote of Týr with his permission. Magic being back in the world is a wonder I could scarcely believe!” He fingered the Valyrian Link on his chain, “I sent detailed notes regarding everything that wasn’t critical to the castle’s defense, and, well…”

He hesitated, which made Cat’s eyebrows furrow, “Maester Luwin, I’ve never seen you so hesitant about anything. Whatever is the matter?”

“It’s… the response I got back was almost…” His face looked pained, “rabid. They all but called me a senile old fool and wrote half a dozen times that magic is dead and never coming back. They even threatened to revoke my chain for my ‘nonsense.’ They claimed I exaggerated the number of attackers and… I just don’t understand.” He breathed deep, “They’re even attempting to get me to return to the Citadel and for a new Maester to take my-”

“Absolutely not.” Ned’s hand slammed onto the table, “You have been the greatest Maester that’s graced this house in generations. My lady wife has had three children and all of them have lived, something few of my predecessors can claim. You have done an excellent job educating our children and providing advice when needed. They can come get your chain at the point of my blade.”

Maester Luwin’s eyes were wide and shiny, and he bowed, “Thank you, my Lord.” His voice broke slightly.

“Still, that’s a worrying reaction from the Citadel.” Týr said, drumming his fingers on the tabletop, “Skepticism is fine, but you’re right. Their reaction makes it seem more like you called their mothers dirty whores.”

“Sounds to me like these old farts hate the idea of magic.” Asha chimed in, having stayed mostly silent until now. She had seen a sword appear out of thin air, so she was currently a believer. 

“Do you think there’s something going on?” Sansa asked, slightly pale.

“If there is, it’s nothing we’ll be able to discover today.” Catelyn said, “What I will say is that if that was the kind of reaction we can expect from the Citadel, then perhaps Maester Luwin should begin training his successor himself. If that was the kind of reaction merely writing generated, I hardly wish to see what the reaction will be to seeing it. It is evident that magic will be closely entwined with our family,” She stopped and worked her jaw for a moment, before taking a deep breath, “So I want them nowhere near my family.”

Maester Luwin let out a startled chortle, “Training my own successor? I’m sure those esteemed old men will love that.”

“Indeed. Now, it is late. We should all be heading to bed.” Ned stood with a small groan, “We’ll need to start preparing for our journey to Lannisport.”

“It’s not going to be in King’s Landing?” Robb blinked, “So the King is going back and forth as well? Surprised he didn’t just have it then and there.”

Ned snorted, “Oh, I have little doubt he would have done that if he wasn’t interested in seeing my family. Maester Luwin, please show Asha to her room.”

“Of course, Lord Stark.” He turned to Asha, “This way, young lady.” He waved gently at her.

“I’m no lady.” Asha said petulantly.

Arya grinned as Cat turned and looked at the ceiling, asking for strength. “I think I might like her.”

-]|[-

They’d been on the road for moons at this point, which had put a pretty damper on their lessons. Robb was sure that his skills had atrophied at this point. None of them were happy campers. They’d discovered on the road, much to their chagrin, that Ned had put another babe in Catelyn that first night back from the Rebellion. They discovered this as Catelyn began having her morning sicknesses and unusual cravings for things they did not have. Their mother had been in a poor mood for at least the first half of the trip. If it hadn’t been for Týr’s runes reinforcing the carriage, the trip would have been utterly miserable for her, and therefore them all.

They had found their way into the Westerlands, and soon Lannisport and Casterly Rock were in sight. “Wooooah.” Arya gazed at the castle in awe.

Robb grimaced, “Hate to say it but…”

“It would certainly be harder to take than Winterfell with that cliff.”

Ned smirked, “I suppose we should have built Winterfell on a mountain then?”

“No thanks.” All of his children chirped, knowing full well their home would be even colder without the waters of the natural hot springs being pumped throughout their keep.

Ned chuckled, leading them on, until they were nearing the city gates. Arya gasped, “It’s the imp!” She said gleefully.

“Arya!” Sansa chided, lightly smacking her sister’s arm, “Be nice.”

Ned smiled down at the diminutive man, “Well, if it isn’t Tyrion Lannister.” He dismounted from his horse, and his family followed. Arya and Sansa had been sharing their horse, and they got down with skill. Catelyn exited the carriage.

“Lord Stark.” Tyrion wasn’t quite as ugly as the stories said. His face was normal, though his eyes were two separate colors, “I welcome you to Lannisport.” He smiled lightly, “My Lord Father regrets being unable to greet you in person, but the keep is still preparing for the King’s arrival.”

‘I’m sure.’ Ned thought, “It is no matter.” He reached down and offered a hand to the dwarf, who took it, and they shook, “May I present my wife and children.”

“Lady Stark, a pleasure.” Smiled up at her and kissed her knuckles. Catelyn wasn’t sure what to think, due to his reputation, “I see we have another little wolf on the way.” He looked down at her belly, which had started to swell slightly.

“Much to my equal happiness and annoyance.” Catelyn said, giving Ned a gimlet eye, “Ecstatic that we will welcome another child of course, but I could have done without finding out when we were already on the road.”

Tyrion winced, “My condolences, Lady Stark. I’m sure you’ll much prefer taking a ship back to the North. More rocking, but for less time, thankfully.”

“Indeed.” Catelyn pulled Robb forward, “This is my firstborn, Robb.”

“The next Lord Paramount! Well met, young Lord.” Tyrion shook hands with him as well.

“You as well, my lord. My sisters Sansa and Arya.” Robb introduced the two.

“My, how enchanting, Lady Sansa.” He kissed her knuckles. “You’ll be the talk of the realm in a few years! I have little doubt.”

“Lord Tyrion.” Sansa curtseyed for him. “Thank you for your kind words. My sister.” She waved at Arya.

And of course, the little hellion had to go and be Arya. “Nice to meet you, Lord Imp!” She grinned and held her hand out for a shake rather than to have her knuckles kissed.

“Arya!” Catelyn, Ned, Robb, and Sansa all chided.

For once, Tyrion found it hilarious rather than insulting, “Well, aren’t you precious?” He obliged and shook her hand rather than kissing her knuckles. “Hands full with this one, have we?”

“You have no idea.” Catelyn let out under her breath.

Tyrion stepped to the last in line, and looked up. And a bit more up. “And with my knowledge of the Stark children run dry, that would make you the bastard.” He said, not as an insult, but as fact.

“No longer, I’m afraid, Lord Tyrion.” Týr shook his hand, “I am Týr, of the House of Stark.”

“So, the rumors were true.” Tyrion raised an eyebrow, “For a given value of true. The details likely exaggerated, I suppose. Congratulations.” He looked up again, “And you’re of age with young Robb Stark?”

“We were born within a moon of one another, yes.” Týr said, nodding.

“Good gods, did you steal all my height?” Tyrion japed, and surprised chuckles escaped everyone but Ned, and even he cracked a grin.

“I do apologize, Lord Tyrion, but I was greedy.” Týr japed back.

Tyrion broke into hearty chuckles, “I think I’m going to like you, Lord Týr. Come! Casterly Rock awaits!” He started to lead them onto the next road, as there was still a mile or so to go up the cliff towards his home.

…

“So, that’s the old lion.” Robb muttered to Týr as they entered the gates of Casterly Rock. “Doesn’t look like he’s ever smiled.” Týr just eyed him with light amusement.

“Welcome, Lord Stark.” Tywin gazed evenly at them. He greeted them just as Tyrion had, just with far less charisma. “Μy apologies for not greeting you down at Lannisport. You made worse time than expected-” a polite way of chiding him for almost being late. The rest of the Northern host had been here for over a week already, down in Lannisport. “-but with King Robert expected within the next two days, my duties would not permit it.”

“It is of no matter, Lord Lannister. Lord Tyrion has been a courteous host so far.” Ned replied graciously.

“I’m sure.” Tywin had made sure to inform Tyrion that he would geld him if he was found drunk or between a whore’s legs before the festivities started.

“And my own apologies for our lateness. We discovered on the road that my lady wife is with child.” Ned explained, and Tywin gave Catelyn the world’s smallest smile.

“My congratulations. I hope for their good health, Lord, and Lady Stark. I will be sure to have a ship prepared for easier passage back to the North for you all once the festivities have concluded.” Tywin bordered on rude for how short he was, but his reputation preceded him. He was definitely being rude intentionally, still angered that the Starks had been given Asha Greyjoy for a hostage, rather than himself. “I will also wish to discuss trade deals with you, Lord Stark. I can’t say how you’ve never thought up selling your ice before, but after having a taste of drink with it, I hardly wish to part with it.”

“Here, here!” Tyrion toasted his imaginary glass.

“But that is for later. Now,” Tywin turned and waved his hand, “Allow Tyrion to show you to the guest quarters. You’ll be joining the parties from The Reach and Dorne.”

“Though I can’t help but notice the absence of the Martells.” Tyrion noted.

‘The chances of a Martell stepping foot in Casterly Rock are astronomically low. It is a miracle that they came at all.’ He wondered about that as Tyrion led them to one of the guest keeps. The Dornish certainly hadn’t joined in on the war effort. He wondered why they had broken from their near complete withdrawal from the affairs of the Seven Kingdoms. He allowed Tyrion to lead them, and he took his leave as quickly as possible once they were at the door.

As they entered, a boisterous voice graced their ears, “And there they are!” Mace Tyrell laughed gaily, opening his arms wide, “Welcome, Starks! I’ve been looking forward to meeting with you!”

“Lord Tyrell.” Ned shook his hand, “A warmer welcome than I had expected.”

“Oh, Lord Stark,” Mace laughed, “I could hardly not want to meet with you! Not after tasting drinks with your ice! And to have the ability to preserve our meat and not have to throw as much away! It’s a wonder! How did you come up with the idea?”

“Oh, I can hardly take credit for it. My son was the one who spearheaded the initiative.” Ned replied.

“Well, I’ll be!” Mace exclaimed, but before he could continue, a new voice whipped out.

“Oh, do shut up, Mace. Let the Starks breathe before you begin hounding them.” Walking forward was the true Lady Paramount of The Reach, with the Rose of Highgarden on her arm. It wasn’t the entire family who was present, but they were off resting.

“Lady Olenna.” Ned kissed her knuckles, “And this lovely lady must be your granddaughter.” She smiled brilliantly at him, and he wondered how close in age she and Sansa were.

“Yes, well met, Lord Stark. I must say, the rumors coming from the North have been quite impressive.” Olenna said, “She is indeed. Please meet Margaery Tyrell.”

“It’s a pleasure, Lord Stark.” Margaery beamed as well.

He kissed her knuckles too. “The pleasure is ours.” He said, “May I present my family?” The meet and greet was quick, and he smiled at how quickly Margaery and Sansa seemed to get on. She was also of age with Týr and Robb, and was blushing very slightly as she took in his nephew. Which was, of course, where things got loud.

“Good gods, I figured you for a sworn shield. Did you steal all of Lord Tyrion’s height?” Olenna asked as she took Týr in. She knew she had to get a word in before Mace insulted the Starks by doing something foolish like pulling Margaery away from the lad before they could greet each other.

Týr laughed, “I’m afraid Lord Tyrion already made that jape, my lady.”

“Oh, beaten to the punch by the half-man. Better than a halfwit, I suppose.” Olenna looked innocently at him, “Though I must say, I wasn’t expecting a bastard son to join the trueborns in greeting another Lord Paramount. One could take it as an insult.”

“Grandmother!” Margaery chided, looking embarrassed.

“One could, though it doesn’t appear that you are, Lady Olenna.” Týr smirked as she grinned.

“Oh, I’m too old for that, deary.” He laughed lightly.

“He’s been legitimized.” Ned told her, and Olenna allowed her eyes to widen. Truthfully, she had already known, so now it was time to fish.

“And so young, too. Quite astonishing.” She looked at Catelyn, “I am surprised, Lady Stark. Rumors from the North were that you and he did not get along.”

Catelyn smiled thinly, “Yes, well, as you can see, Týr is abnormally large for his age, and even more abnormally strong and skilled. Were it not for him, Winterfell would have been in dire straits when the Ironborn invaded. He more than earned the right to his name.”

“I see.” Olenna nodded, and now was starting to get curious about Týr. She knew full well that there was no way what they were saying was the truth. A lad of ten, even one as big as him, being critical for breaking an Ironborn raid? That was ridiculous to even contemplate. That had to be an excuse for something else. And it was the kind of thing that got her wondering. “Well, as long as you all are happy. I do wonder though, would you inherit after your brother Robb as your birth order dictates?” She asked Týr.

“Oh no.” Týr chuckled at the thought, “No, I will be behind all of my siblings. My own choice, my lady. I have no interest in ruling Winterfell. My destiny lies elsewhere.”

“So young and already thinking of destiny? And just what is going through that head of yours?” Olenna didn’t want to dismiss him, but the seeming utter lack of ambition was throwing her. Týr merely smiled enigmatically at her. “Oh, mysterious! I think I’d quite like to chat with you, young Týr.”

“Of course, Lady Olenna.” Týr chuckled at the older woman. He was entertained by her interest in his mystery and yet her utter dismissal of the truth.  He quickly greeted Margaery, whose cheeks reddened as he kissed her knuckles. Then shook hands with Mace, who was visibly uninterested in him despite his legitimization. And then he totally turned around when Ned revealed that Týr was the one who had the idea of shipping ice, rather than Robb. The astonished lord turned a new leaf instantly.

“So, Lady Sansa, Lady Arya, are you two excited to watch the events?” Margaery asked, hoping to make friends with the two young ladies. Or at least the older of the two.

“No.” Arya huffed, “Father won’t let me participate.”

Margaery laughed, and Olenna and Mace chortled as well at the pouting five nameday old girl. “Oh, are you a fan of the martial arts? Quite unusual for a Lady.”

“In the South, maybe. I’m looking forward to when I’m old enough to join!” Arya crossed her arms.

Margaery smiled indulgently, “Well, perhaps some other day, then. I’m quite a fan of riding and Hawking myself.” Arya looked surprised, before grinning.

“And archery?” Sansa asked curiously.

“Oh no,” Margaery giggled, “I hardly think such a thing would be allowed.”

“You should come North then.” Sansa giggled, “Especially after the Ironborn attack, there won’t be a woman in Winterfell who can’t at least fire a crossbow.” Time for the Starks to test the Tyrells, “I’ve been training for years already, and will be participating in the Archery Competition on the morrow.”

Margaery gasped as Olenna turned to her, “Oh, you will, will you?” Olenna held out her hand, “May I see your hand, sweetling?” Sansa raised an eyebrow, before placing it in Olenna’s palm, “You hardly have an archer’s hands. Why, they’re babe soft. I would have expected rougher if you truly practice.”

Margaery and her grandmother weren’t sure what to think. Sansa’s claims didn’t match her hands, and if it were true, it would just enhance the view that the Northmen were savages, would it not?

Mace, as usual, put his foot in it, “Ha! Combat is hardly the place for a young lady. You’re not truly allowing your daughters to learn, are you? It’s hardly ladylike. It’s a man’s job to defend their ladies.”

Ned’s eyes narrowed, and Olenna had to hold back a groan, “Well, Lord Tyrell,” He said coldly, “If you and your men were off to war, and Ironborn launched a surprise attack on Highgarden, would you prefer to come back to a defended keep, or an empty, burned-out husk and your women taken as salt wives?”

Mace could only stammer as Olenna was forced to run damage control. And Margaery? Margaery looked contemplative.

-]|[-

Týr watched with the rest of his family as well as the other Lord Paramount’s families as King Robert rode in. ‘So… you’re the man who killed my father.’ He thought with no true emotion. Robert was a beast of a man with a large warhammer on his back and a golden entourage of white cloaks following him.

He also clearly didn’t care for propriety, as he dismounted his horse with a flourish and then plainly ignored his goodfather and Lord of Casterly Rock in favor of greeting his best friend, “Ned!” Robert laughed, “I thought I’d have to drag you out of the North!” He clapped Ned on the shoulder.

“I promised, didn’t I, your Grace?” Ned winced as he imagined the look on Tywin’s face at this insult.

Cersei was clearly mad enough for the both of them, “Father.” She greeted, trying to hide her ire, “Your grandchildren. Myrcella, the Crown Prince Joffrey, and Tommen.” She hardly waved in her dark-haired daughter’s direction, but placed motherly hands on her sons’ shoulders.

“Hello, grandfather.” Myrcella curtsied, and Tywin gave her an approving look. Joffrey was younger than Myrcella by a bit, being closer to Sansa’s age than Robb and Týr. Tommen, on the other hand, had just been born a year and a half ago. He was standing, but he was hugging his mother’s leg and hiding behind her. Myrcella herself was only a year younger than Robb and Týr.

She couldn’t have been more different than her brothers, however. The two boys were all Lannister, whereas she was clearly all Baratheon. She had brilliant blue eyes, and her hair fell like a dark mane around her head. Despite her young age, it was clear that she would likely be a beauty that perhaps even surpassed her mother.

She had often wondered if her dark hair and appearance were why her mother hated her.

Robert himself had gone through the Starks by now, greeting them all one by one, and then got to the one he had wanted to lay eyes on the most. “And you must be Týr.”

“Your Grace.” Týr bowed slightly.

“Others take me, I remember holding you in my arms just ten years ago. Ned, what in the seven hells have you been feeding the lad?” Robert asked, clapping a hand on Týr’s shoulder with a laugh.

“Whatever he likes, just like the rest of my children.” Ned chortled lightly.

“I see your beard didn’t come off like father always said.” Týr told Robert with a light smirk.

“Ha! Just barely! You had a grip!” Robert barked out a laugh, “And look at you now. Taller than your father already, and apparently stronger too! Are you going to be participating?”

“In the melee.” Týr replied evenly.

“Not the joust?” Robert raised an eyebrow.

“Oh no, I don’t enjoy it much. And I could hardly take all the glory myself.” Týr hid an amused smirk at the thought, knowing he could unhorse a man without being on one himself, “I’ll leave that to Robb.”

Several displeased mutters came about from the first two sentences, and then the last had them all silence themselves in confusion. Robert raised an eyebrow, “Robb?” He looked at Ned’s firstborn, “You don’t have the height or mass for it like your brother.”

“So I’ll have to make up for it with strength, Your Grace.” Robb replied easily, smirking.

“Ha! Bold like Barristan!” Robert grinned, “He tried joining one when he was ten too. Only one rider would give him a chance, and that same man later brought him into the Kingsguard.” He clapped Robb on the shoulder, before turning a concerned look to Ned, “Hope you know what you’re doing, old friend.” He muttered to Ned, before going off to meet Tywin like he should have when he first arrived.

…

Night had fallen, and the feast was well underway. Robb and Sansa had frowns on their faces as they stared at Robert, “This is the King?” Robb sounded disgusted. Robert had already consumed more food and wine than he rightfully should have been allowed, and currently had a serving girl in his lap. He was fondling her gleefully in full view of the realm, children included, and she was very much enjoying herself.

“In front of his wife and goodfather and children? In his goodfather’s own castle?” Sansa could barely watch. Catelyn had a stone-faced look, and she almost wanted to go and offer her condolences to Queen Cersei.

Ned let out a sigh, murmuring, “If only I were surprised.”

“Princess Myrcella seems fun.” Sansa said hesitantly. She hadn’t had much opportunity to speak with the young Princess, but the little they’d interacted had made her seem like a lovely girl… if one who chafed where she was. It was clear that she hated needlework as much as Arya did, if the momentary distaste on her face when she had joined their sewing circle had been any indication. Unlike Arya, she was good at it and dutiful. Not as good as Sansa, but good. She and her mother apparently had little love for one another. The Queen had hardly given her a moment while doting on her youngest and the Crown Prince. Her father was better. He at least spoke to his daughter. But it was plain to see that his love for her was more possessive than familial.

Joffrey on the other hand…

Once upon a time, Sansa would have been swooning. She knew that. Acknowledged it. He was everything a Prince should have been. On the surface. He was kind, courteous, and admittedly rather handsome, with his golden hair and brilliant emerald eyes.

And yet now, he made her skin crawl. She’d seen him purposefully trip Myrcella earlier in the day, and he had pinched Tommen earlier, much, much harder than he ever should have if Tommen’s sharp cry was any indication. His mother had done nothing, simply saying Joffrey played rough.

And he was arrogant. He acted as if he were Robert himself. As if he had been the one that great victories had been won by. Every time he thought no one was looking, it was like another person came out. Sansa had turned into her eagle form and watched, hidden from the ramparts. The prince had berated a stable boy for something entirely minor for no reason at all. She had been afraid that the Prince was going to have the poor boy beat for getting a tiny bit of mud on the Prince’s shoes.

She was so glad for Týr. So glad he had forcefully pulled her from the fantasy of the South that Septa Mordane had always tried to fill her head about. If he hadn’t, she may have fallen for the Prince’s act.

A few minutes more passed, and then they were allowed to leave their tables and mingle. Sansa went right over to Margaery, hugging her new friend gently. “Can you believe him?” She whispered in her ear before pulling her away to join the other ladies.

Margaery had a pleasant smile on her face, though it was clearly forced, “Who?” She feigned ignorance.

“My father, no doubt.” Myrcella caught up to them quickly, groaning, “Gods, in front of my grandfather!”

“He does look like he wants to yank the King’s head off.” Margaery mumbled. Indeed, only the twitch of his eye was missing from Tywin’s countenance.

“It’s so embarrassing.” Myrcella huffed. She shook her head, “I do not wish to speak more of it.” She turned to Sansa as the gaggle of girls all sat together. Some of the older ones started making eyes at the boys, though Sansa, Margaery, Arya, and Myrcella did not.

One of them was swooning over Joffrey, and that Myrcella had to at least try to warn them about. “I would look elsewhere, girls. My brother is a-” Cunt. She wanted to call him a cunt. “very mean person.”

Some of the girls giggled, “Oh Princess, he’s just a boy. Boys grow up.” One of them said dreamily.

“Yeah, wrong.” Myrcella grumbled, “Some boys grow up wrong.”

Margaery was glad her new friends were sensible. “Is he really that bad?”

Sansa pursed her lips, “I saw him threaten to have his Hound beat a stable boy over a little bit of mud on his boots.” She said softly, not wanting to be overheard.

Margaery flinched, “That’s awful.”

“That’s Joffrey.” Myrcella glared down at her skirts, “You haven’t seen anything.” She pinched herself, “I… whatever you girls want for your future, just make sure he’s nowhere near it.” Her warning delivered (and filed away by Sansa and Margaery. Arya was never interested in the first place and didn’t care.), she turned to Sansa, “Now that mother is away, I want to hear about the battle at Winterfell.”

Sansa raised her eyebrow, “Oh? I didn’t think that was a topic to speak with a Princess about.” She said carefully.

“Other’s take propriety!” Myrcella looked excited, “I want to hear all about it! I couldn’t believe it when father started bragging about it when he came home. But mother wouldn’t let him talk to me about it! All she ever has me do is learn needlework and about important families.” She bit back an unladylike grunt, ‘Bet she can’t wait to sell me off to the highest bidder.’ She thought to herself bitterly. For a girl of nine, the hatred of her mother was a bitter pill to swallow.

Arya grinned, “You’re like me! You want to fight too!” Myrcella grinned back.

“My, my…” Margaery tittered nervously, “I’m… sorry Princess. It… doesn’t seem like you like your mother very much.”

Myrcella looked away, before focusing on Arya and Sansa, “So what happened?”

“Well, they sabotaged the front gate and drawbridge closest to the Wolfswood, and then came bursting out from it as fast as they could to try to breach the castle before we could set up defenses.” Sansa said, making Myrcella and Margaery’s hearts race.

“Robb was amazing!” Arya said, “He sent me off on an errand, but he quickly figured out that it was going to be impossible to stop them from breaking the main gate.” She bounced up and down on her seat, her energy levels high.

Sansa nodded, “So he planned a trap. He left the gate relatively undefended, and instead he and the remaining garrison made sure that none of the ladders would be able to take the walls, and allowed the Ironborn to funnel in through the Hunter’s Gate. Once that was weak enough that it was guaranteed to fall, Robb ordered the retreat to the inner walls.”

Arya laughed, “The Ironborn got in, but just met with a second gate that was just as strong, and an area where we had all the high ground.”

“More than half of them died before they reached that gate. The women and smallfolk helped, pouring boiling water down on them if they couldn’t fire crossbows themselves.”

Margaery and Myrcella flinched. “Oh gods…”

Sansa shuddered, “It… it wasn’t pleasant. Gods, the smell.” She wrinkled her nose, before shaking her head. “Anyway, they managed to get to the gate of the main keep… but by then, Arya had reached me and Týr.” She hugged her sister, “We have a hidden training ground, and I was practicing with Týr when Arya arrived and almost collapsed.”

“Then I told them that we were under attack.” Arya said, before gulping, “I had never seen Týr mad before. He hurried away and Sansa followed.” She pouted, “I was too tired, so I stayed there.”

“Gods, you were safe, and you left to where they could find you?” Margaery gasped, and Sansa smiled at her.

“I am of the North, Margaery. Invaders were assaulting my home to hurt and kill my people. I would not cower and hide. Ever.” She said, and Myrcella looked at her in admiration. “Týr got me onto the walls, and I started firing down with my bow.” She told them, and her smile was melancholic, “I killed plenty of them myself. I didn’t really need to. Once Týr arrived, their assault was over. But I did anyway.”

“Why would the assault be over just because of one man?” Myrcella asked, and Margaery was frowning in agreement. She didn’t have any sort of combat training despite her family allowing her to pursue her more outdoorsy interests, but even she knew one man could not change the face of a battle. Not unless they had dragons, and those were long gone. She had discussed this with her grandmother, and the old woman was certain that the Starks were hiding something. The story was too unbelievable. She had instructed Margaery to get the truth from the more malleable and foolish of the retinue. In other words, the younger members, who wouldn’t have the practice of keeping their mouths shut. And right now, Myrcella was doing her work for her, “Surely those rumors I’ve heard of Lord Týr’s accomplishments are just embellishments by the bards, right?”

“Nope! Týr is the strongest!” Arya grinned eagerly, “If he had been in the keep when the attack started, there wouldn’t have even been a battle.”

Margaery and Myrcella scoffed at the hero worship in her voice, “Oh, come on. My brother is a great knight, but he can’t fight an army by himself!” Margaery said, thinking of Garlan.

“Not even my father and his warhammer could do that.” Myrcella agreed.

Sansa and Arya grinned at each other, “Well then, I hope you keep your eyes on the melee then. Týr is going to be fighting.”

Their eyes lit up, “I look forward to it then!” Myrcella declared, before being interrupted by the music starting. “Ooh, the dancing!” She grinned, standing up.

Arya frowned, “I thought you were like me.”

Myrcella laughed, “Dancing is fun, Arya! Needlework can go hang.” She looked around, and ignored Lancel Lannister, who had been coming to ask her for a dance, “Lord Týr.”

He looked down at her and smiled, “Oh? Hello there, Princess.”

She smiled, “May I have this dance?” She asked, which got the whispers to start. For the Princess of the realm to ignore all the trueborn boys and go straight for a legitimized bastard was an insult to their delicate sensibilities. Cersei looked like she wanted to march over and grab Myrcella immediately. But Robert only laughed, loving the chaos his daughter had just wrought.

“Of course.” Týr chuckled, “Though I apologize for the difference in height.” Indeed, Myrcella was just above average in height due to her father, but her head still just came up to above his belly button. Thankfully, she was tall enough that her head wasn’t at a more uncomfortable location. “You can step on my toes, if you like.”

She laughed, “You’re too tall! It’s not fair!” She allowed herself to be pulled away.

Cersei stepped forward as soon as the song and their dance ended, “Myrcella, I think others wish to dance with you.”

“And I will dance with them when I please.” Myrcella didn’t glare, but it was just shy of it, “I am enjoying myself with Lord Týr. I will dance with others when we are finished.”

Cersei’s jaw clenched, but then Robert boomed, “Woman, stop bothering them!” Cersei all but stomped away.

“That wasn’t very intelligent, Princess.” Týr started to dance with her again, and Myrcella’s face fell, “How do you think she’ll take that when you’re back home?”

Myrcella huffed, “Not well.” She said, “I don’t want to go home. I hate her and she hates me, and father only remembers he has children at all every other week.”

“Well, I’m afraid that unless you get yourself fostered, you’ll have to go home at some point.” Týr chuckled, but then blinked as her face lit up and she visibly began to plot. ‘Wears her emotions on her sleeve, this one does.’ He chuckled as the song ended.

“I think it’s my turn with my brother, Princess.” Sansa giggled, hoping to stop this from becoming even more of a scene than it already was. “I’ll trade you this one.” She had Robb in hand.

Myrcella laughed, “Yes, I think it’s time. Thank you for the fun, Lord Týr.” She allowed Robb to take her hand and twirl her away.

Týr chuckled, “I believe something quite amusing is going to happen before the end of this tourney.”

“Oh?” Sansa chuckled, “How so?”

“I told her the only way she would not have to go home was if she was fostered.” Týr said, “She seemed quite keen on the idea.”

Sansa grinned, “I always wanted a lion.” She teased, and the two laughed.

Eventually, the song ended, and he was traded off to Margaery, “Quite a show, Lord Týr. I don’t think the Queen Mother liked it very much.” She said softly.

“Methinks the Princess is in her rebellious stage.” He said to her conspiratorially.

Margaery laughed, “Yes, I’m surprised by how much she and her mother dislike each other. She dotes on her sons.” She tilted her head, “Why do you think that is?”

“If I had to guess?” Týr said sadly, “It’s because she looks like the King who is disrespecting her.”

Margaery gasped, before her face set in a scowl, “That’s awful.”

“People can be awful.” Týr agreed, “I hope the Princess can find herself in a better place.”

“I hope for the same.” Margaery said, before she put that teasing grin on her face, “But talking about another woman while dancing? I thought what we had was special, Lord Týr.”

Týr laughed, before lowering his voice. “My apologies, my lady. I’ll make sure to focus solely on you.” Margaery blushed, her tease having backfired.

“Good.” She said haughtily to try and regain herself, “Now if only you could shrink down so I could hold you properly.”

“Some things are beyond even the gods, my lady.” Týr replied, earning a giggle from the girl who did not know he was being tongue-in-cheek and talking about himself.

“Tell me, Lord Týr, what do you wish for yourself? You said your destiny wasn’t in Winterfell.” She asked him as the song ended and they remained together. She didn’t even realize she unintentionally snubbed a suitor.

“I want to travel.” Týr said, smiling at the thought, “I want to see everything this world has to offer.”

“Wish you were a bird, hmm?” She asked, smiling slightly, “That sounds amazing, truthfully.” She said wistfully. All her life, she had been told she was born to be Queen. That was what grandmother Olenna had raised her to do. And yet, now that she had seen Joffrey and spoken privately with Sansa and Myrcella about him, she shuddered at what he would be like when he was older.

“Or a dragon.” He gave her a teasing grin, and she laughed.

“Oh yes, I’m sure everyone wanted one of those.” She pouted, “I asked for one for my sixth nameday, and got a pat on the head instead.” Týr chuckled, “Don’t laugh.” She pouted, which just made him laugh harder.

“I have to, you’re too cute.” He smiled at her, and again, her blush made another appearance.

‘Why does he have to be so handsome.’ Margaery grumbled in her mind as the song ended, and they parted. She got back together with her friends, this time eager to participate in the gossip.

-]|[-

“Don’t you dare blame this on me!” Cersei hissed at her father.

“I will blame whoever I wish.” Tywin glared at his daughter with a stone face. “You do not have even a thread of control over your husband. He shamed not only you, but every Lannister in our own castle.”

“You knew his nature when you sold me to him.” Cersei shot back, “Even while he was shouting at the top of his lungs that everything he did was for his precious fucking Lyanna, he was fathering bastards.”

“And yet for twenty-four moons, he kept to his vows.” Tywin stood, “Or at least kept it out of sight. You were so proud at having tamed the wild stag. So proud that he always came to you above all others.” He mocked, “And then you threw it all away on one drunken mistake.”

“He called me her fucking name while spilling his seed in me!” She screamed back at the old lion.

“And so, you kicked him from your bed and refused to have him near you or his daughter for nearly a year.” Tywin’s cold fury shocked her, “You stupid woman. You dare act shocked when he spat in your face and started having whores in his bed again?” He advanced on her, and Cersei actually started to feel a little fear from seeing rage in his eyes for the first time in years, “And worse than his whoremongering is your treatment of my granddaughter. Do you not THINK, daughter? Do you not see how even now, the lords are whispering that the child that looks like Robert hates her mother so much that she will stand up to her in the middle of a feast of Lords? All the while, the two golden princes are coddled to the point of suffocating. Why, I’m sure even now, the Lords and Ladies of the realm are wondering if there is any cuckolding going on.” He slammed his hands on her armrests, and she flinched back as he brought his face close, “Of course, not even you are stupid enough to do that. Are you, daughter?”  

“Of course not.” Cersei glared back at her father, all the while her heart pounded in her chest. “And it’s always the woman who is accused of such. No one says a fucking thing when a man shames his wife. If I had been born with a cock-”

“But you weren’t.” Tywin drew back, glaring at her. “That is the world you live in. Unlike a woman, a man doesn’t have to carry the signs of his misdeeds. Everyone knows when a woman is with child. I figured that after three, you would be aware of that.”

Cersei grit her teeth, “Even now, even when I’m the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, you still don’t give me an ounce of respect. I-”

“You do not get any respect from me because you do not deserve any.” Tywin again cut her off, “But unlike what you think, it is not because you are a woman. Gods know Jaime has found his own ways to disappoint, and he has the cock you seem to wish you possessed. It is because you are a petty imbecile, and you believe yourself to be far more intelligent than you actually are. You had everything, and instead of wearing his drunken mistake like a badge of honor and punishing him in subtle ways, you completely ruined every single aspect of your marriage. And where are you now?” He glared at her, “Having to watch as your husband insults you under my roof.”

“Of course it’s-”

“Yes. It is your fault.” Tywin glared her down, “You have no self-control, and the second you perceive an insult, you cannot exercise even a modicum of restraint. Not even when it is to your benefit to do so.” He walked away, “Now go to your rooms and pray that I hear no rumors that your two boys are bastards.”

Cersei slammed the door so hard several books fell from his bookshelf.

-]|[-

All of the preparations had finished, and they had begun to gather in the Lannisport tourney stadium. Ned personally thought it all a waste of money. He didn’t see the appeal of all this pageantry. They were all in their own personal boxes with the other lord Paramounts, right in front of all the action near the ground. The smallfolk and less, well, important lords and ladies were filling out the rest of the stadium.

“Ha, so you came after all! We missed you at the feast, Martell!” Robert greeted Oberyn Martell, “Missed you on the Iron Islands too.”

Oberyn smiled thinly, “Yes, well, Dorne hardly has a navy, and if you needed us to put down mere Ironborn I’d think that maybe it was time for a new house to sit in King’s Landing. Your Grace.” He threw in, more of an afterthought than anything.

Robert chortled despite the not-so-veiled insult, “Well, at least one of you lot will speak plain.” He glared lightly, “Though I would take care with that tongue of yours around less-cool heads.” The irony of that statement coming from Robert fucking Baratheon was almost too much to bear.

Oberyn shrugged, “My brother extends his apologies for not coming. His gout seems to have worsened of late. In his place, may I present Princess Arianne Martell.” He waved his niece over, and she curtsied to Robert. She was still pudgy and rather flat-chested despite having been born two years prior to Týr and Robb. Despite that, it was clear she would grow into quite a beauty if the gods were kind.

“Ahhh, a pleasure, Princess.” Robert kissed her hand. Despite putting on a bit of weight, he was still the handsome man he had been during the rebellion. But his looks had no effect on Arianne Nymeros-Martell. For what had been done to her aunt, Dorne would merely simmer until the time was right. “Frankly, I’m surprised you lot made the trip. House Martell hasn’t come to a Tourney in years.”

“You can thank the North’s lovely new product for that, your Grace.” Oberyn said simply, and Robert roared with laughter. “We could hardly stand to not meet the architects of this new industry.”

“I’ll bet you couldn’t. Seven Hells, it usually feels like I’m burning even down in the Crownlands.” Robert chortled, “Well, if you wish to talk to Ned, you can find him there.” He nodded, and Oberyn inclined his head, before the two walked away. Cersei’s eyes narrowed at the disrespect and her husband’s inaction over it.

“Willas!” Oberyn finally smiled true as he walked by the Tyrells.

“Oberyn.” Willas stood, and much to his father’s ire, shared an almost brotherly hug with the tanned man. “It’s been quite some time, my friend.”

Mace opened his mouth, only to be immediately cut off by Olenna before he could speak. “Mace.” Her voice was mild, but her gaze was not. Mace growled low in his throat, but settled down.

Oberyn and Willas played meet and greet, with Oberyn raising his eyebrow, “It does appear someone is missing from your party. Arianne here was hoping to meet Margaery after all the good things Willas has told me about her.”

“Oh, you’ll find her with the other young ladies.” Olenna said. She neither liked nor disliked Oberyn, but only because Willas did like him. Their friendship confused her, but it was there, and she could see plainly that it wasn’t false. “She is joined by Arya Stark and Princess Myrcella Baratheon, among others. Over there.” She pointed out.

“Thank you, Lady Olenna.” Arianne curtsied, before heading over to mingle. “Good day, ladies.” Arianne gave them her best smile, “I am Arianne Martell.”

“We thought you Martells were here.” Margaery beamed up at her, eager to see if she could help heal the rift between their families just like Willas and Oberyn were. “Please, sit! We missed your family at the feast last night.”

“Yes, I’m afraid my uncle wasn’t up to it.” Arianne said diplomatically.

Arya snorted, “More like you didn’t want to play nice with the Lannisters, right?”

“Arya!” Margaery hid a horrified sound with a forced chuckle, looking at Myrcella nervously.

She stood, “Princess Arianne.” She was soft-spoken and kind, and only ever had anything bad to say about her mother and Joffrey, “I can’t speak for my father or the… family… on my mother’s side, but I want you to know you have my personal condolences for what those monsters did to your aunt and her children.”

Arianne stared at her in disbelief. She opened her mouth and closed in a few times, and then spoke, “Did you know that this is the first time someone from either side of your family has said that?”

“I did not, but I can imagine it.” Myrcella said, looking off towards the stadium, “I know Lord Stark was furious over it. I heard from Jon Arryn that he just barely was able to keep him and father from coming to blows over it.” She looked back. “I know your family wants justice. I wish you luck in attaining it.”

Arianne, totally disarmed, thought to herself, ‘How in the hells did this sweet girl come from those two cunts?’ She had spent far too much time around a drunken uncle the past few moons. “Thank you, Princess.” She smiled, “You, I think I could be friends with.” Myrcella gave her a brilliant smile back. Arianne looked down at Arya, “And you look like a Stark. I thought you had a sister around my age. Is she unwell?”

Arya pouted, “Sansa is participating in the archery competition.” She grumbled. “It’s not fair! Why can’t I do it too?!”

Arianne’s eyes widened and she glanced at Margaery and Myrcella with a raised eyebrow as she took her seat between the two ladies. Margaery just gave her a shrug.

-]|[-

A herald wearing the Lannister lion took the field, holding his hands out for silence, “Welcome, your Graces, my Lords, knights, squires, and all the smallfolk of Lannisport!” Cheers rang out before the herald called for silence, “To whet your appetites for the games ahead, we will be starting with the archery competition! We have some excellent marksmen from all corners of the Seven Kingdoms, as well as a surprise competitor! Let’s enjoy, shall we?” The answering roar made half the crowd smile, “Bring forth the competitors!”

Over two hundred knights and squires started exiting the tunnels, and everyone went silent as Sansa walked onto the field. Several people started to laugh, while others rolled their eyes at the ‘overindulgence of her father.’ In the stands, the Starks all smirked lightly.

“Yes, we have the eldest daughter of the Lord Paramount of the North, Eddard Stark on the field today, and wielding a Weirwood bow at that!” He sounded like he was just barely keeping his own amusement down, “Please give it up for Lady Sansa Stark!” Sansa curtsied, smirking at all the amusement she could see from the stands. She was happy to see that Margaery and Myrcella were legitimately cheering for her, though she didn’t know who the darker-skinned young lady was sitting next to them. “Now, what we have here are twenty target butts!” He waved to the painted bullseyes at the other end, “And we will be beginning at a distance of thirty paces!” He paused and chuckled, before turning to Sansa, “Lady Sansa, please find a partner and stay at their distance.” There were laughs all around. “Twenty will fire at a time! Any misses are an automatic disqualification! After each round, the number of competitors will be halved, with the better shots moving on to the next round, and the worst shots going home! Are you all prepared?” Everyone cheered and raised their bows, “Then if his Grace would like to open the tourney?” He bowed to Robert, who stood.

He had a large grin on his face, “This should be good! May your arms be steady, and your aim be true! And may the best archer win that fat, five thousand gold dragon purse!”

“Good luck, Sansa!” Arya, Myrcella, and Margaery all yelled out, before giggling with Arianne.

Sansa was in the first set of competitors, and made sure she was properly at thirty paces by checking with one of her competitors. “Archers, DRAW!” Sansa drew her bow, “NOCK!” She drew her arrow and nocked it, aiming at the target, “LOOSE!”

She fired, and her arrow seemed to have more pep in it than others. It was a perfect bullseye, and Sansa knew immediately she was in the next round. And as several archers got disqualified and others eliminated, the crowd’s amused jeering was silenced.

“Huh…” Olenna blinked at the sight as her granddaughter joined her new friends in cheering for Sansa, “So she can shoot.”

“Well, I’ll be!” Mace smiled, “For all their seriousness, I truly believed it to be a jape.”

In a few minutes, all of the two hundred and sixty-two archers had loosed their arrows, and a fair bit more than that had been eliminated due to misses. “Astonishing! Our youngest competitor has advanced to the second round!” The herald sounded elated, “If this is the quality that the Starks can bring to bear, then this should be quite the interesting tourney!”

Robert was crowing, “Ha! I really didn’t believe it until I saw it, Ned! That’s quite a daughter you got there! She shoots better than my lad, that’s for sure!” Joffrey’s jaw clenched, as did Cersei’s.

“The competitors will now move to fifty paces!” The herald called out, and Sansa dutifully moved back the required distance, lining herself up with the person to her right and left. She drew her bow and arrow and nocked it, smirking to herself. She didn’t know why her skill with archery amused Týr, but she knew it did. Time to show off. “LOOSE!” Sansa fired, and some gasps rang out as Sansa’s arrow struck her previous shot and split it right down the middle. “No, it can’t be!” The herald raced to the targets rather than have the next archers cycle in, “By the gods, it is! Lady Sansa Stark has split her first arrow down the middle!” The stadium started to shake from the roaring of the crowd. “Astounding! Perhaps the dark horse of this tourney will win it all!”

“How is she doing that?” Oberyn asked, looking over at Ned, “How does she even have the strength to fire that bow? She doesn’t look any stronger than my dear niece, and she certainly couldn’t do that.”

Ned chuckled, “Don’t underestimate a winter rose.”

Robb smirked back at Oberyn, “In fact, you best not underestimate a wolf at all.”

Oberyn chuckled, “I will endeavor not to, young lord. How far will your sister go, I wonder?”

“She’s going to win!” Arya cheered, and Robert laughed.

On and on it went, with the crowd growing more and more astonished at Sansa’s skills and throwing the full weight of their cheers behind her. Soon, it was down to the final ten, of which Sansa was one, “By the Seven, I never thought it possible! This tourney will go down in history!” The herald yelled, “And with our champions already at the maximum distance, it is time to change things up! Observe!” He pointed, and the crowd laughed as a target on a rope was launched from the stands. It zipped along, moving from right to left, and occasionally bounced due to a pull or a press on the rope spanning from one side of the stadium to the other. “Our competitors will loose from one hundred paces, one at a time! Any misses are an elimination, and we will cut the numbers by more than half, in all likelihood! If the people’s chosen, Lady Sansa Stark, can take her spot, we will begin the final rounds on her bow!”

Sansa drew her arrows and nocked it, keeping a close eye on the target, before loosing. The arrow flew straight and true, and again, she astonished the crowd as she nailed a bullseye. The people went wild, and in his chair, Lord Tywin hid his irritation behind his unchanging expression. ‘She’s actually going to win. It is impressive for her, but utterly pathetic for the rest of these men. The fact I am going to have to pay the Starks is…irritating.’ He eyed Ned Stark, ‘How in the Seven Hells does he have a daughter this young who is this capable? What is your secret, Stark? These rumors from the North make no sense. I’ve even heard whispers of magic. Ridiculous.’

The next man took his shot, and missed completely. In his anger, he smashed his bow on his way out of the stadium. The next man fared no better, but took it with more grace. The next man hit the target, but on the outer rings. He still smiled in pride. This was not an easy competition, and his competitors were talented.

The Blackfish was next, and he also struck the bullseye, just to the right of Sansa’s arrow. “Great shot, uncle!” Sansa beamed at him.

Brynden Tully laughed, kneeling next to her, and patting her head, “Not as good as yours, niece! I don’t know what got in your father’s head to allow it before the attempted attack, but you’ve learned well.”

Anguy, a commoner from Dorne went next, and he hit the bullseye too, but far to the left. Almost at the edge of it. Ser Balon Swan went next, and hit the first ring. The next three both missed the targets entirely, with the final of the three actually scratching the target. He also threw his bow on the ground, angry at himself. The final archer, Jalabhar Xho, also hit the target, in the outer ring.

“And we have our final five!” The herald called, “Ser Brynden Tully, Jalabhar Xho, Ser Balon Swan, Anguy The Archer, and the crowd favorite, Sansa Stark! This is unbelievable! I’m seeing it and can barely believe it!”

“GO SANSA! WIN IT ALL!” Arya cheered loudly, with her brothers also willing her to victory.

“This will be the final round! Even if all five arrows hit, we will measure the one that is most dead center! The winner of the five thousand Dragon prize will be decided here! Archers! Draw!”

All five of them focused up, and Sansa was glad. Her arms were getting tired, and her runes were starting to hurt from overuse. She only had maybe a few more draws in her before she would have to bow out.

“LOOSE!”

Sansa made sure that there would be no mistaking her victory. She let go of her arrow and it flew straight and true, again splitting her previous shot down the middle. Her uncle’s arrow was next to hers, literally as close as it could be without having split her own. When they checked, they would see that his arrow had actually glanced off of hers. Anguy’s had done the same, except above her arrow. Jalabhar Xho and Ser Balon Swann had both hit the targets, but at the edge of the bullseye!

“INCREDIBLE!” The herald roared, “NO NEED TO MEASURE, FOLKS! OUR YOUNGEST COMPETITOR BY SEVERAL YEARS HAS DONE IT, BEATING ANGUY THE ARCHER AND HER OWN UNCLE THE BLACKFISH TO DO IT!”

The crowd again rocked the stadium as the Blackfish lifted Sansa onto his shoulder as she excitedly cheered in victory.

“SHE WON! SHE WON! SHE WON!” Arya, Myrcella, and Margaery were having a time of it, cheering. Others weren’t so happy, with Cersei especially incensed. The Hightowers in attendance were livid. They saw this as an insult to the Faith, for there was no way a girl (not even a woman! A GIRL!) had beat all of these men. Something unnatural was afoot.

It took several minutes for the herald to get the crowd to stop cheering for Sansa, even after Brynden had helped her onto the stands where she was dogpiled by her siblings and new friends. Eventually, Robert took matters into his own hands, “SETTLE DOWN AND LET THE MAN SPEAK! YOUR KING COMMANDS IT!”

“Thank you, your Grace!” The herald patted his head with a handkerchief, “Well, that certainly was more exciting than anyone had expected! But there’s two major events to go! The Battle Royale to choose the final sixteen for the duels, or the elimination matches for the final sixteen of the Joust! The other will be the all-day event of the second day! As his Grace is in attendance, let us see which our King chooses!”

Robert laughed and held up his chalice of wine, “START THE DAMN JOUST BEFORE I PISS MESELF!”

Laughs and cheers rang out as everyone started to clap. “WELL, YOU HEARD OUR KING! We will be taking a short intermission as the knights get ready! We will begin the jousting in half an hour!”

Robb stood with Týr also standing and towering over him, “Well, time for me to get ready!” He winked at Sansa.

“WHAT?!” Several aghast roars rang through the Lord’s box. Willas Tyrell stood so rapidly he almost fell over. “My Lord, tis just a jape, yes? You’re merely going to be someone’s squire for the event, right?”

Robb chuckled, “I can hardly let my little sister win all the glory here, can I?” He patted Sansa on the shoulder.

“This is ludicrous.” Someone muttered, “You shouldn’t overindulge your lad. He’s going to get himself crippled!”

“Or killed.”

Oberyn looked at Robb for a few seconds, “All it takes is one mistake to end a promising man. And yet, having just watched a seven-year-old girl win an archery competition against grown men, I can’t help but feel like you have several more surprises in store for us, Starks.”

Ned chuckled, “Keep your eyes on the field, my Lords. If I were concerned for my son I would not be allowing this.” The nobles in the King’s Box started to murmur amongst themselves once more.

-]|[-

“Remember your training.” Týr patted his brother’s shoulder. He had made the armor himself, aided in his lessons and practice by his own Domain. Robb was as protected as he could get, with a solid steel helmet shaped like a direwolf’s maw, extending down to his chest so as to protect his neck.

Robb chuckled, sounding muffled in his helm, “As if any of them could ever hit as hard as you.”

Týr grinned in response, “All the same. Take this seriously. I don’t want to see you injured.”

“I will!” Robb focused up, and then the two of them took the field, Robb on his horse and holding a lance and shield, with Týr calmly keeping pace next to him.

The cheers were silenced as they saw the size of the rider. His opponent, a certain Ser Garth Hightower was livid, “What manner of insult is this?” He was infuriated. His big brother Baelor had already been eliminated, as had his younger brothers Gunther and Humfrey. He was the only Hightower left to carry the family name, and his opponent was a child?

The herald looked nervous, “Presenting Ser Garth Hightower and his young opponent: Lord Robb Stark!” The smallfolk and several Lords who were just there for entertainment perked up at the announcement, having just witnessed another younger Stark outperform several adults. They sat at the edge of their seats.

“This has to be a jape!” Garth took off his helmet and started up at the King, “This is ludicrous! I am expected to joust against and possibly kill a child?”

“You can always forfeit!” Robb called out, grinning inside his helm as the man’s face reddened.

“This is shameful, your Grace! Please put an end to this!” Garth called out directly to the King.

Robert let out a groan, before looking at his best friend, “Ned?”

“We’re all waiting, your Grace.” Ned sat calmly, nursing a horn of ale.

Robert snorted, “After your daughter’s showing, I’m not certain that there isn’t going to be a lot of shaming today.” He mumbled, before standing, “Either face your opponent or surrender!”

Garth ground his teeth together furiously and his family were equally incensed. His sister Lynesse looked especially livid. He glared at Robb. “You and your family will rue this day, Stark. Either because you’re dead or just as crippled as Willas Tyrell.” He put his helmet on as the Tyrells hissed in anger.

Robb glared, having gotten to speak with Willas and finding he liked the older man a fair bit. He was ready to beat this arse into the dirt. “Your armor will look pretty mounted on our wall in Winterfell.” That was often the roughest part of a joust for the loser. The ransom to the winner of their horse and armor.

The two males got their horses moving quickly, with Robb focusing hard. The thudding of hooves filled the air as the stadium completely silenced itself, waiting on bated breath as the two jousters approached. Catelyn couldn’t look, closing her eyes and grabbing her husband’s hand in a death grip.

The sound of wood smashing into metal and shattering into dozens of tiny shards rang through the air, followed by the neighing of a horse as its reigns were jerked by the knight on its back as he slumped over. Ser Garth Hightower fell to the dirt as Robb rocked back in his saddle, wincing lightly, ‘Owww… that hurt worse than I thought.’

“INCREDIBLE!” The entire stadium was again on its feet as Robb lifted his broken lance skyward, “THE STARKS HAVE DONE IT AGAIN! WHAT ARE THEY FEEDING THESE CHILDREN?!”

Robert was roaring in laughter, applauding merrily, “Others take me! I’m so glad I called for this tourney!” Tywin and Cersei both angrily clenched their armrests and the Hightowers all unanimously got out of their seats and left, utterly seething.

As they did, they all were snarling at one another, “What are they?!”

“What manner of demons have invaded our lands from the Seven Hells?!” Lynesse had her hands clasped as she walked, “I thought magic was dead! This is clearly some sort of foul sorcery!”

“This will not stand.” Their Lord, Layton, declared. “We must inform the High Septon of these godless heathens! Someone find Garth and make sure he isn’t injured. We are leaving.”

Back on the field, Robb trotted to Týr, who looked amused, “Not what you thought, brother?”

“Hurt worse than I thought.” He winced and took off his helm, handing it to Týr, “I’m plenty glad we have downtime to rest.”

Týr chuckled as they made space for the next tilt. Every single knight was looking at him warily now, having seen him unhorse a full-grown man. Robb merely smiled at them.

It took over two hours for the first round to finish and for the first hundred-and-twenty-eight knights and other participants to be eliminated. Some were quick. Jorah Mormont had wanted to win Lady Lynesse Hightower’s favor this tourney, having fallen in love with the woman at first sight. He was so despondent at not even seeing her in the stands that he lost his focus and was unhorsed on his first pass against Jaime Lannister. Others took half a dozen passes, which had to be settled by Robert himself. Some had accusations of cheating, which were settled with sword, dagger, and other assorted weaponry.

Dozens of big names still remained, including Jaime, Barristan the Bold, Robb himself, Bronze Yohn Royce, Jason Mallister, and one that incensed Týr and the Dornish in particular: Ser Gregor Clegane.

Týr was almost upset that he had decided not to participate. He watched as the savage man brutally unhorsed his first opponent, a summer knight of not even a year yet. His opponent was grievously injured afterwards too.

The second round was faster, lasting just over an hour. Longer than it honestly should have, but there were a lot more matches of matched skill, which took longer than the first round. After nearly four hours of jousting, the people in the stadium were almost losing interest. They were more interested in the vendors going around with food and drink for sale. Only a few matches interested anyone, such as the epic duel between Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Barristan, both of the Kingsguard. They were so evenly matched despite The Bold’s advanced age that Robert inevitably had to call the match in Jaime’s favor, 4-3. Robb’s drew attention too, if only for the novelty of the almost eleven-nameday-old boy facing grown men.

His second opponent was the Strongboar, Ser Lyle Crakehall. “You Starks are astounding.” The man boomed, “I won’t make the mistake of underestimating you like that fool did. I hope you are ready.”

“I am, Ser.” Robb smiled behind his helm, “May the best man win!”

The two charged, the horses kicking up the dirt and filling the once-again-silent stadium with the sound of stamping hooves. Catelyn once again held her husband’s hand in a death grip. Even knowing what she knew, she couldn’t help but fear for her son. She didn’t close her eyes this time.

CRACK! The lances hit, and both riders were violently whiplashed backwards on their horses. Catelyn and Sansa both flinched at the sight, and let out sighs of relief as Robb and Lyle both righted themselves and made their way around the tilt. Robb dropped his shattered lance on the ground and grabbed his new one from Týr. He directed his horse back around and charged once more, the Strongboar doing the same. Both roared, smashing their lances against the other’s shield again. This time they were glancing blows, and neither moved much in their saddles. They made their way around again, grabbing new lances, and charged. This time, Robb’s aim was true, and his runes were warm as they filled his body with strength. Lyle went flying off his saddle, and again, the crowd went wild at seeing the second Stark child make it further in the tourney than anyone would have ever expected.

Lyle took his loss with surprising grace, and laughed at Robb, “You better fucking win, young Lord. This would be embarrassing otherwise!”

Robb laughed, clasping hands with the man before going on his way. The second round finished soon after that, with another break being declared for people to stretch their legs and relieve themselves. Robb and Týr found their family, where both were engulfed with hugs by their siblings and parents.

“If I wasn’t seeing it I wouldn’t believe it, young Lord.” Prince Oberyn commented, “And to be perfectly honest, I’m still not sure my eyes aren’t lying.” He finished dryly.

Robb let out a chuckle, “I’d be happy to go a tilt with you if that’s the case.”

Oberyn laughed, “No need. I wish you luck in the next round.”

“I’ll say, this is utterly astounding. How are you doing this?” Mace Tyrell had to ask.

Indeed, it was the question everyone was wondering. Olenna herself was lamenting over it. ‘How in the Seven Hells have the Starks become the most interesting things in Westeros? First the ice, then young Sansa beating hundreds of men in archery at seven namedays, and now young Robb is unhorsing grown men. This should not be possible.’ The fact that she had even begun considering a match for Margaery if only to be brought in on their secrets was irritating her.

Robb grinned, “Well, I eat my vegetables, Lord Tyrell.” That caused several laughs to ring through the box.

No one noticed Tywin speaking to Cersei in low tones, before summoning a servant and sending them away with a quick order. He was already going to be forced to pay five thousand Dragons to the Starks. He wasn’t about to make it twenty-five thousand. The Starks continually dodged every question on their abilities of course, and soon enough, it was time for the third of four rounds.

The herald swallowed heavily as he read the names for the next match, “The next match will be Robb Stark against The Mountain Who Rides, Ser Gregor Clegane!”

Several hisses rang through the air at the dreaded name. Oberyn closed his eyes, “Lord Stark.” He looked at the man, “Your son has done better than I ever imagined possible, but against that monster, I would recommend pulling him out. No one wants to see another dead child.” His voice had a definite edge.

Eddard looked at the field with grim eyes, “My son will know if he needs to pull out.” He said finally.

Willas chimed in, “My Lord, he’s won twice against grown men. Surely he’s high on his victories and can’t be trusted to make a sound decision?”

“The two have a point, Ned.” Robert said firmly. “No shame in it at this point. Not after unhorsing the first son of Hightower and the Strongboar.”

“Father was talking about Týr.” Sansa said, drawing their attention. “If Týr thought Robb was in danger, this match would not proceed. I can guarantee it, your Grace.”

Tywin sat back, assured that this farce was about to find its end. The two riders charged at one another, and Robb was forced to whip himself to the side as he realized what the Mountain was doing. He just barely held onto his saddle as the crowd roared angrily. He’d missed his thrust entirely because of it.

Garlan Tyrell had been unhorsed by Jaime Lannister a few rounds ago, and he stood, incensed, “That beast aimed for the young wolf’s head!”

Ned’s fist was clenched, and Catelyn was horrified. Sansa and Arya were stone-faced, and their three new friends had their hearts in their throats. Robb circled and didn’t need to grab a new lance from Týr. “Fine then. He wants to play?” Robb growled, before turning his horse around the tilt and charging so much magical energy into his runes that he started to hurt, and his armor started to grow hot.

His horse charged, and his lance found Clegane’s breastplate, hurling him from his horse in a violent explosion of wood. Robb himself whiplashed on his horse and just barely held on, dazed. He managed to pull himself upright, before raising his shattered lance in victory. The crowd was cheering themselves hoarse, especially glad to see the Mountain get what he deserved. No one loved the man. Not even his Lord Paramount. Tywin himself was seething next to Cersei. At this rate, the Stark children were going to embarrass every Lord in the realm, him most of all.

And then the cheering turned into screams as Ser Clegane proved himself a mad dog. He quickly drew his sword in rage and rushed at Robb, who was completely defenseless, unprepared, and rather exhausted at this point due to the amount of energy he had to force into his runes to win that tilt. The Mountain was strong.

And then Týr was there, blocking Clegane’s greatsword with his own. They locked blades, Týr glaring into the Mountain’s helm, before Robert roared, “STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!” Týr pushed Clegane away, who growled, and started to walk away. “Let him go!” Robert sighed in relief.

“No!” Týr yelled, “This mad dog just attacked the firstborn son of a Lord Paramount in front of every Lord in the realm, their children, and the King and Queen because he lost in a fair joust!” Týr roared, his voice filling the stadium, and the Mountain turned to glare at him. “He’s a rabid dog! And what do you do with rabid dogs? You put them down!” Týr glared at the Mountain, “As Týr of House Stark, I demand an Honor Duel before the Gods! NO SURRENDER!”

And before a horrified Robert could say a word, the Mountain roared, “I ACCEPT!”

And chaos reigned.

-]|[-

After that, the crowd was both reenergized and utterly terrified about what would happen next. The final rounds of the elimination joust proceeded without issue, but everyone knew what would be happening after. Robb’s final tilt, he again pushed his runes, because he knew he would only have a single pass in him. He hadn’t rested for nearly enough, and Týr simply had the horse trot off, securing his brother so that he wouldn’t fall. Robb was practically asleep as Týr brought him up to the stands and their family. He regained his vigor as he started eating like a horse himself, but he clearly needed more rest and was really glad the finals of the joust wouldn’t be for another two days.

Ned and Cat took turns hugging him, “We’re so proud of you, son.” Cat kissed his cheek, and Robb was now recovered enough to shy away from his mother’s fussing.

Olenna chortled, “Tuckered out, is he? Not sure how in the Seven Hells a boy his age could even do that, but clearly it wasn’t painless.”

“It’s certainly the most tired I’ve ever seen him.” Ned replied, “He’ll be fine. He’s a wolf, after all.” He looked to Týr, “Are you ready?”

Týr nodded solemnly, “I am.”

“Lad, it’s not too late.” Robert said, clapping Týr on the shoulder, “That man is dangerous.”

Týr smiled thinly at Robert, “Even after everything you’ve seen, you still doubt us?” Týr shook his head, “He attacked my brother. That won’t stand. And soon, neither will he.”

Robert sighed as Týr walked away, only for Arya and Sansa to pull him into hugs. Arya had a wicked smirk on her face as she whispered in his ear, “Make him pay!”

Margaery, Myrcella, and Arianne were not so confident. “Lord Týr…” Myrcella whispered, “I… Don’t get hurt.” She commanded. Margaery nodded as well, looking two shades too pale. He smiled at them, telling them without words not to worry.

Arianne looked him in the eyes, “Can you win?” There was something desperately needy in her gaze. Not a surprise.

Týr smiled at her, “The Mountain that Rides shall ride no more.” Not a boast, despite how others took it. A simple statement of fact. And then he was gone, jumping down onto the field and into the tunnel to ‘prepare.’ Really, all he needed to do was summon his armaments in private.

Minutes later, Clegane was wearing his full plate as he waited on the field, having exchanged his jousting helm for a melee one with better vision. The hinged faceplate was lifted, and everyone could see him stewing in his anger as he waited for Týr to take the field. He was pacing like a caged lion, his heavy greatsword looking like nothing more than a longsword in his hand. His shield was solid oak and equally as heavy. He was a behemoth and a savage.

“Seven Hells Ned, get your boy to call this off.” Robert growled. Despite everything they had seen that day, seeing the Mountain fully ready to kill made things different. The Mountain had two feet and several stones on Týr. This wasn’t a joust where between the weights of the horses and armor, the weight difference could be accounted for. Robb was skilled, yes, but to discerning eyes, he had won off of brute strength. No one knew where said strength came from, but while talented, Robb had obviously been short of several others on experience. This was a duel. There was no way Týr had the experience to survive this even if he was as unnaturally strong as his siblings seemed to be! “I’m sure he’s strong like Robb, but this is lunacy. It’s not too fucking late. Your boy doesn’t have to die!”

All around them, people were dreading this battle. Some were anticipating it eagerly, such as the Queen and her father. Anything to see Ned Stark shaken and a bastard put in his place, legitimized or not.

‘Far be it for me to agree with the fat fool on anything-’ Oberyn was stewing in his anger, ‘But he’s right. The boy is huge, but he’s a boy. This was the perfect opportunity. Why did he call for a fucking honor duel? He can’t even name a Champion in one. I can’t fight for him! Now that cunt is going to get away!’

And then eyes widened all around as Týr walked onto the field. He was still barefoot, wearing much the same as he had been before, with his breastplate being his only armor. He had no gauntlets, no helmet, no nothing!

It made Oberyn so mad he almost didn’t notice that the boy’s chosen weapon was a spear.

Myrcella was about to start crying, and had Sansa’s hand in a death grip. “Oh, I can’t watch this! What is your father doing, Sansa?” She cried out.

Arianne didn’t want to watch this either. She didn’t want to see him murder someone else. Not him. “Gods, he’s making a mockery of this! He’s not even wearing protection! Even my uncle wears full armor even if it’s light armor.”

Unlike her, the Sand Snakes nearby were more like their father. Angry at the missed opportunity. ‘Gods, at least poison your blade, you fucking idiot! At least that way when you die you may have been of some fucking use!’ The eldest of them, Obara, thought to herself.

Margaery’s throat was dry. She had liked Týr. She had found him charming, and had enjoyed speaking and dancing with him. Why was he doing this? “Th-they’re going to put a stop to this, right? They-they can’t let-”

“Haven’t you girls realized?” Arya asked them, “That the only ones not freaking out are us?”

She had spoken loudly, so it caught the attention of some of the adults as well. Olenna’s eyes narrowed. ‘This is too far for this jape of theirs. The lad is going to die if they don’t pull their heads out of their asses and stop this.’

So why then, did the Starks look so utterly unconcerned? Even their bannermen were worried. She could plainly see the stress on many of their faces.

The two combatants were ready, and it became clear that they were waiting for the signal to start. Barely. Clegane looked like he was about to start swinging any second. “Ned?” Robert clenched his throne-like chair’s handrests, but Ned was stone-faced. “Others take you!” He stood, “The Honor Duel between Gregor of House Clegane and Týr of House Stark will now commence! Per the challenge, there will be no surrender! Fight and die for your King!” He declared, sitting heavily with a red, angry face.

A gong rang out, and Gregor was off his leash. He roared, charging forward, and rearing back for an overhead swipe meant to carve Týr in half. He moved faster and more skillfully than any man that size had any earthly right to. Screams from frightened spectators sounded out as Týr calmly raised his spear.

CLANG

The crowd went silent. Gregor’s greatsword was spinning through the air. Týr had thrust with such force and precision that Gregor’s blade had been knocked cleanly out of his hand before he could even start his downswing. Týr casually lowered his spear, slamming the butt into the turf. Gregor’s blade landed a second later. “Pick it up.” Týr said, simply standing there.

The crowd stayed silent, with Oberyn leaning forward. Every Dornishman there sat straighter in their seats. Margaery and Myrcella had their hands over their mouths in shock.

Gregor snarled and growled, before backing up and grabbing his sword out of the dirt. He glared at Týr, now aware that he was more than just another fool for him to carve up. He dashed forward, thrusting out instead. Týr moved like a tsunami. In two moves, Týr had again knocked Gregor’s greatsword out of his hand, this time straight down into the dirt. He followed up with a clubbing to the back of Gregor’s head, sending him sprawling and his helmet flying away. Arya grinned and caught it, “Nice! A souvenir!” She laughed.

Arianne’s heart started to hammer in her chest.

“I thought I was fighting ‘The Mountain that Rides.’” Týr said, watching as Gregor clambered to his feet. “The terror of the Westerlands. You can’t even hold your sword properly.” Týr said, and Gregor roared with anger, swinging wildly at Týr. Each strike would have cut a man cleanly in half, but Týr simply weaved around them, not bothering to retaliate. Gregor chased him like the madman he was, his head already pounding in pain worse than any previous headache he’d had. A whole jug of milk of the poppy would give him no relief. He was seeing red, veins bulging on his head.

Finally, Týr apparently had enough, and attacked for the first time. His bare foot landed cleanly in Gregor’s chest and sent him flying back almost ten feet. “I thought you were supposed to be the strongest and most physically imposing knight in the realm, but apparently I was mistaken.” Týr jammed his spear point-first into the dirt, “Then again, it’s not like you’re a real knight, are you?”

“Ned… what in the Seven Hells is this?” Robert breathed, almost afraid to speak. Nearby, Cersei and Tywin were both clutching their chairs in anger, though Tywin hid his rising ire better.

“You told me to stop this fight, didn’t you, Robert?” Ned asked his friend coldly, “Your mistake was thinking that this was a fight. It’s not. It’s an execution.” And for the first time in years, Ned glared at his friend, “And a long overdue one at that.” Robert’s face reddened in anger.

‘We are allying with the North.’ Oberyn made his decision right then and there. He got up and joined his niece and daughters, taking one of her hands, “Do not look away, niece.”

“You could not pay me to, uncle.” Arianne breathed, and Oberyn smirked as he noticed the growing infatuation in her gaze.

Týr let go of his spear and walked away from it towards Clegane. He reached into his pocket to hide him pulling a knife out of nowhere. “Clearly I overestimated you. My apologies.” He said, and then showed off his tiny knife in a loose grip, “You’ll have to forgive me for this as well. I’m afraid I have no smaller blade than this.”

“RAGGGGGHHHHH!” Clegane roared in rage as the crowd, the Dornish especially, burst out laughing. He swung madly, each powerful swipe almost distorting the air. Týr’s eyes widened in interest as he felt the faint stirrings of magic in the air. For a man with so little potential, Clegane clearly had tapped into the gift subconsciously. His size bellied his speed. For as much as Týr was taunting him, he acknowledged that most normal men would fall to this mad dog.

But he was facing a god, not a man, and not just a god, but a God of War. Týr’s tiny knife flashed out before he got behind the man. Clegane’s heavy, dark oak shield fell to the dirt, the straps sliced clean through. He whipped around, but he wasn’t so lost in the bloodlust and berserker rage that he didn’t notice his gauntlet flapping against his arm. Or perhaps it was irritating enough to draw his attention. He looked down, and the sight of the cut leather straps infuriated him. He shook his hand violently, whipping his protection off and onto the dirt. “In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be brave.” Týr quoted at Clegane. The first line of a knightly oath. “That one was easy for you to keep, wasn’t it, dog?”

“FUCK YOU, STARK!” Clegane was insane. It was the only explanation for trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result. He raised his sword hand, and Týr stepped into it, his hand catching Clegane’s wrist and stopping it cold. “In the name of the Father, I charge you to be Just.” Týr growled out before Clegane’s disbelieving gaze.

And then he squeezed, crushing through Clegane’s armor and wrist in one go, and the man howled. He dropped his blade as Týr reached up with his other hand, two fingers letting go of his knife to hook on the mad dog’s breastplate, yanking it and him down to eye level so he could deliver a righteous headbutt.

Clegane’s nose shattered and he stumbled back. Týr let him go and sliced through his other gauntlet’s straps. Clegane sank to a knee as he ripped his other gauntlet off, trying and failing to make a fist. His wrist was shattered. “That one was easy to break, wasn’t it, Clegane? You don’t know the meaning of justice.” Clegane ground his teeth at the words, but the bloodlust had drained out of him. Fear was starting to drown it out.

He reached out for his sword with his other hand. It wasn’t his dominant, but he could still fight. Týr moved like lightning. His blade flashed through the air as he sliced the straps on Clegane’s cuirass. “In the name of the Mother I charge you to defend the young and innocent!” It loosened as Clegane tried to back away, and he gaped as he looked down and noticed his breastplate was half falling off.

“Seven Hells, Ned!” Robert was standing straight. All the knights and warriors in the realm were standing. “What is he? He cut Clegane out of his armor! With a fucking knife! No one can do that! I’ve never heard of anyone anywhere who could do that!”

Jaime Lannister was clenching his fists. ‘He could carve through the Kingsguard like turkeys. Robert is right. The lad is ten! What is a much more appropriate question than who.’

“He is Týr.” Sansa sat smugly, “Týr, of House Stark.”

Robb chuckled, “You all laughed at a ten nameday old boy joining a joust. And you kept laughing right up until I unhorsed my first opponent. Yet you all still doubted our words. It was plain to see that none of you believed Týr was legitimized for the reasons we said.”

Arya smirked back at several of them, “Well, there you go.” She waved at Týr, looking as smug as could be.

Gregor threw off his armor, hoping that forgoing defense would give him the speed to overcome his opponent. All he had left was the smock all of his armor had been attached to. The mail, the plate, all of it would no longer hold on his body. He charged forward in a burst of speed, aiming to run Týr over and crush his skull with his bare hands.

Týr’s fist landed square in Clegane’s jaw, shattering it, and knocking out half a dozen teeth at the same time. “In the name of the Maid, I charge you to protect all women...” Another fist smashed into his liver, making Gregor almost pass out as he fell to his knees and vomited blood. Týr reached down and grasped his head, making him kneel upright, before driving his knife once into each shoulder, breaking bone and cutting nerves. Gregor screamed again as both of his arms became useless, one after the other. Even if he survived, they would never move again. He’d never hold a sword again. Týr still only raised his voice enough to be heard. The utterly placid expression on his face and his even tone bellied the true anger coursing through him. He raised both arms and dropped a hammerfist onto the other side of Clegane’s jaw, smashing him into the dirt and sending the rest of the man's teeth clattering. “Three of your four oaths that you’ve broken!”

Now Clegane felt nothing but terror. It was a miracle he was still even conscious, but Týr knew exactly how much force he could use to keep the man from breaking entirely. Now he knew how every one of his victims felt. The utter helplessness. The mind-numbing fear. He broke, and started trying to crawl away. He didn’t find much success with his useless arms. “And there’s the last! I was wondering what would break first! Your spirit?” Týr said, before grabbing the man by the seat of his leathers and the scruff of his gambeson. He lifted the Mountain high over his head, “Or your body!” He drove the man down, smashing his side into his knee and shattering his spine.

Clegane rolled away, now a quadriplegic. He writhed on the dirt, screaming in agony. His legs were useless, refusing to move. Týr walked over to his spear, and the crowds readied for the fight to be over. But Týr had one last wrong to right. He walked over and kicked Clegane, so his front was facing up and lifted his spear, driving it through Gregor’s crotch. “GAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!” The rapist screamed as he was emasculated in one stroke.

Arianne turned to her uncle, “I’m marrying him.” She said, matter-of-factly. “I don’t care what father says.”

Oberyn didn’t hear her. He only had eyes for the decimation of the Mountain. This was better than anything he could have ever envisioned. He wasn’t even angry that it wasn’t by his hand anymore. Nothing he could have done himself would have been better than watching Gregor Clegane systematically taken apart. The man who had brutally raped and murdered his sister and smashed his nephew’s head in had been beaten, humiliated, and made utterly helpless. He now felt the same terror and agony his sister had been forced to experience.

Gods, this was better than sex. He’d need an entire whorehouse and Ellaria to satiate his lust tonight. He didn’t look, but he was certain his paramour looked like she was about to start pleasuring herself then and there.

Týr lifted his spear and swung it, flicking the blood off the blade. He then walked to the man’s head and put his foot on his face, muffling his screaming and stilling his movement, “I really should thank you Clegane. I never thought I would have this opportunity so soon.” Týr’s eyes glittered with power, shining with inner light, “When I first heard of what you did to them, I was infuriated. I had their letters. I knew how much they loved my mother. How they longed to be with her and my father. How they prayed for their safety. And I wanted to make sure that I would avenge them.” He was facing the crowd, and had dropped his voice so that only Gregor could hear him. He leaned down. “Don’t worry, Clegane. I’ll be sending Amory Lorch after you the earliest chance I get.”

He had no idea Arianne Nymeros Martell could lip read, and that she had the perfect angle of his lips from her low seat in the stands to put that skill into action. He had no idea that her expression had grown wide-eyed in shock.

“For the second mother I could have loved, and the siblings you stole from this world. For Elia, for Rhaenys, and for Aegon.” He said, as he lifted his foot, and in the stands Arianne let out a strangled gasp. Týr drove it down, crushing the Mountain’s skull into paste.

Oberyn shuddered, before smiling and looking down at his niece. And then he saw that her skin was two shades too light, and she was outright gaping. “What is it, niece? Did you not enjoy the show?” His eyes widened as he remembered that skill of hers, “What did he say?” He whispered. She shook her head rapidly. His eyes narrowed.

Next to her, Myrcella and Margaery had also paled drastically. “W-Well.” The Princess spoke shakily at seeing her first death, “When I wished you luck, I didn’t think it would be this soon, Princess.” She nudged Arianne, who jumped a foot in the air.

“I-What?” Arianne babbled, rattled.

Myrcella hugged her, misinterpreting her shaken demeanor for the execution they had all just witnessed, “I wished you luck in finding justice for your aunt and cousins.” She said softly, “I didn’t think my favor would do this.”

And Arianne let out a laugh. Later. She would deal with that later. “I should ask you for more favors, Myrie!” She laughed gaily, allowing herself to just enjoy the moment. She wrapped her arm around Myrcella’s waist. She never thought the day would come when she would find a friend in either a Lannister or a Baratheon, even with Dorne not being a land that would blame a child for the sins of their parents.

And yet this Baratheon-Lannister, she didn’t want to let out of her sights.

“And there you have it.” Ned said, smirking lightly at his old friend, “Not one member of my family was worried because there was nothing to worry about.”

“Other’s take me.” Robert shook his head, “I don’t suppose I can send you my useless lump of a son so you can make a man out of him?”

Joffrey and Cersei’s faces turned puce.

Ned shook his head, “I had nothing to do with it, truthfully.”

“Oh, come on Ned, what’s your secret?” Robert elbowed him, grinning.

“You just watched my ‘secret’ fight. He’s the one training my children.” Ned responded, and the Lords listened, looking at Týr with new eyes.

They all watched as Týr walked away from The Mountain’s corpse, eyes straight ahead. “Týr?” Sansa and Arya shared a look as Týr walked into the tunnels without even glancing at his family. They caught Robb’s eyes, and even as tired as he was, he knew his brother needed them. All three of them vaulted off the stands and hurried after their brother.

…

“Týr?” Sansa asked, watching as he rid his foot of the blood and viscera (Ugh…) sticking to it in a wash bin, “Týr, what’s wrong?” She hugged him gently.

Týr let out a hard sigh. “I could have ended that in an instant.” He said softly, “I could have simply killed him.”

“You could have.” Robb said quietly, “Why didn’t you?

“I let my anger overcome me.” He clicked his teeth, “Today I discovered a part of me still exists which I thought I had left behind long ago.” He had empathized with Kratos for his past. He’d had his own moments of rage and anger, which was why he had been so interested in helping the Ghost of Sparta overcome his own issues. He didn’t know if his rebirth had brought those emotions back, or if it was simply the fact that he now felt responsible for protecting those who couldn’t protect themselves, but the mere sight of Gregor Clegane had infuriated him.

“But why? I was never in any real danger.” Robb frowned, “He never had a chance to hurt me.”

Týr sighed, before leaning down and drawing a rune on the ground, “So we can’t be overheard.” He said softly as a shimmering wall started to distort the air around them. “And I wanted him to hurt.” He said to his siblings.

“So, it was personal.” Robb frowned, “But why would it be? You could never have met that man before.”

“Yeah…” Arya frowned, “That… I know he attacked Robb, but…”

“A secret you’re still too young to know, little wolf.” He patted Arya on the head, making her scowl. All three of them did.

“You can trust us, Týr.” Sansa embraced him again.

He smiled and kissed her on the cheek, “I know I can, Sansa. But some things, once said, cannot be put back inside of their box.”

“All you’re doing is making us more curious, stupid.” Arya jumped into his lap and sat, “We can’t help if you don’t tell us.”

“I know.” Týr chuckled, “But now is not the time. You’ll have to wait a while longer.” He kissed Sansa and Arya’s cheeks, before standing and going to stomp on his rune.

Robb stopped him, “Týr…” Týr looked at him curiously, “We know of your past life. You’ve shared a lot.” He smiled, “But you’re not the Týr of old. This is a new life. A new you. You told me before you don’t even look all that much like the old you.” Indeed, Týr was far prettier from his Valyrian heritage. “You have new things to care about, and family to worry about. You’re allowed to be angry when people try to hurt people you care about.”

Týr looked at him for a moment before smiling, “Just when did you get so wise, Robb?” He messed up his brother’s hair, getting an irritated swipe from the Stark heir. He stomped out the rune, “Come, it’s time to rest. I suppose I stole some of your thunder.” He teased his brother, who rolled his eyes.

“Not like you wouldn’t have stolen it tomorrow anyway.” He jabbed back, smirking. He yawned, “Ugh, I’m going to sleep like a log.”

Arya growled as she followed after them, “You better tell us soon, or I’m going to kick your shins, Týr!”

“Mercy, little wolf!” Týr laughed.

-]|[-

Tywin Lannister could scarcely recall ever being as furious as he currently was. Not since Aerys’s insults, at any rate. The Ironborn had attacked his lands and his people and Robert Baratheon had given the most valuable hostage to the gods damned North. Asha Greyjoy should have been sent to him as the most injured party in that entire debacle of a rebellion to use as he saw fit. Perhaps in a few years he could have given her to Tyrion and gotten the blasted imp out of his receding hairline.

It was an insult, but one he could bear. And then Robert had insisted on this blasted tourney, with these absurd payouts, and then to make matters worse, came and whored around in Tywin’s castle in front of every Lord in the realm. The Crown was the one footing the bill for it, but seeing as how Robert had already managed to empty the treasury, that meant that it was Tywin’s gold that was being given out.

He would have been pleased to have invested that gold in worthy places or simply won it all for the Westerlands. After all, his son was the favorite to win the joust and the biggest purse coming in, and Westerlands archers were skilled. And then he had been forced to suffer the indignity of paying five thousand Dragons of his own gold to a seven nameday old girl with unnatural abilities. And worse, said girl happened to be a Stark.

When he had heard that the Stark children would be participating in the tourney, he had wondered why Eddard Stark was bothering to let his children humiliate and possibly injure themselves. Not one person in Casterly Rock had expected any of them to win.

And it was clear to Tywin now that they were going to win. Robb Stark had unhorsed the Mountain after Tywin had the draw rigged to take him out. He didn’t know what the Starks had done to these children, but it was clear that the game had changed. Already, he could hear the whispers that Týr Stark was The Warrior reborn. The man (and Tywin absolutely could not call him a boy after what he had done) had not just decimated his most physically powerful weapon, but had called him out in front of the entire realm. Týr had forced Tywin to watch as he legally killed his own bannerman in front of him and every higher power in the realms. The only thing he hadn’t done was make Clegane beg.

The Starks had ridden into Casterly Rock, insulted Tywin to his face (whether that had been their intention or not.), and unless something miraculous happened, he was going to watch them sail away with forty thousand of Tywin’s gold Dragons. He couldn’t even try to lightly poison one of them because it would be incredibly obvious sabotage. Robert Baratheon would stop at nothing to not only discover who did it, but would likely declare Robb and Týr the winners anyway because he was robbed of his entertainment. Killing them would be even worse, and would just make Tywin look weak in front of the realm because it would happen in his own castle.

But their insults could not be forgiven. Tywin would be patient. After all… a Lannister always pays his debts.

-]|[-

“Father?”

Robert perked up as he realized his daughter had entered his chambers. After that display earlier in the day, Robert had been so satisfied that he hadn’t even had a whore to taste. For the first time in ages, his mind felt clear. If anything, he felt jealous. Jealous of the boy’s skill. Jealous of his strength. Jealous of the fact that the boy didn’t have to sit his ass on an uncomfortable throne and could be free to do as he wished.

Gods, he wished the lad was his. He was glorious. Nothing like the useless brat Cersei had pumped out. After the little shit had come to show him the kittens he cut out of their pregnant mother and smiled as if that was something to be proud of, Robert had wanted absolutely nothing to do with him. Where had he gone wrong? How had that fucking little monster come from his loins?

Why couldn’t he be more like Myrcella? He smiled widely at his daughter, “Merry! Did you enjoy the first day of the tourney?” He patted his side, and Myrcella came and sat with him.

She smiled prettily at him, “I did, father. Lady Sansa, Lord Robb, and Lord Týr were astounding!”

Robert let out a belly laugh, “Yes, they certainly were. Would never have thought it possible!”

“Mother and grandfather were not happy.” Her smile fell as she frowned.

Robert scoffed, “Your mother is a bitch, and Tywin should have kept a better leash on his dog.”

She nodded, “Ser Clegane should have been put down long ago.” She said quietly, and felt as her father stiffened, his expression closing up.

“You too, huh?” Robert growled, looking away, “He took her from me. The woman that should have been your mother. Gods, I loved her.” Myrcella bit her tongue. Getting her father angry wasn’t the way to get what she wanted. “I tried, you know? Tried to be good to my Queen. But Lyanna’s ghost always haunted me. I kill Rhaegar every night in my sleep.” Myrcella was far too young for Robert to be talking to her about this, but the man had zero idea of how to handle children.

“Father, what did a young girl and a babe have to do with what their father did?” Myrcella asked gently.

Robert growled again, “Only good Targaryen is a dead one.” He huffed petulantly.

“We have Targaryen blood, father. Did you forget that?” Myrcella probably shouldn’t have said that if she wanted to win her father over, but she couldn’t help herself. She wanted justice for that poor woman and her children.

Robert was silent for a moment, “You don’t often seek me out.” He said finally, very obviously changing the subject. “What did you need?”

“I wish to foster in Winterfell.” She said, waiting for the rejection now that the conversation had turned sour.

“DONE!” Robert’s melancholy and anger vanished in a heartbeat, “I’ll talk with Ned tomorrow!” He grinned excitedly, “Gods, the years I spent fostering in The Vale with Ned were the best of my life. You’ll love it there. You especially. I have half a mind to ask for Joffrey to go as-”

“Please no!” Myrcella had been ecstatic but that turned to ash as her father kept talking. Robert almost bit his tongue from how panicked she had sounded, “I don’t want him anywhere near me! Or Tommen!”

‘Seven hells, is that fucking little monster bullying his siblings badly enough that she wants seven fucking kingdoms between them?’ Robert glared, not at her but at the thought, “Alright.” He sighed, “Just you then.” He’d have to figure something out for Joffrey. Maybe he could just leave the little cunt here. If nothing else, Tywin would make a man out of him.

Myrcella sighed in relief, and beamed at him, “Thank you, father!” She gave him a big hug for the first time in a while, “May I ask him?”

Robert chuckled, “Want to do it yourself? Alright then.” Myrcella beamed.

-]|[-

“Alright niece.” Oberyn said, looking down at the young girl, “I believe I’ve been patient enough. We’re as secure as we’re going to get. What did he say?”

Arianne bit her lips, before turning to her cousins, “Make sure no one is listening. Guards at the ends of the halls only.”

Obara, the oldest, raised her eyebrow. “Is this that big of a secret?”

Arianne let out a near-hysteric chuff of laughter, “I don’t dare even speak it. I’m going to write it and then uncle is going to burn it right after.”

“Seven hells…” Nymeria pursed her lips, “Alright. Let’s go.” She dragged the rest of her sisters out to make sure there were no rats skulking about.

Arianne grabbed her utensils and then quickly wrote down what she had lip-read from Týr. She passed it to her uncle, who stared at the paper for a long time. He stared in near incomprehension at the words Arianne had written down. He recognized all of these words individually, but did not understand how they had come together to form the sentences he was reading.

Eventually, he just looked at his niece, “Niece… are you certain you didn’t make a mistake?”

Arianne’s eyes flashed, “Of course I fucking didn’t.” She hissed, running her fingers through her silky hair. “Seven Hells!”

‘Seven Hells is right.’ Oberyn thought to himself as he threw her writing into the fireplace. The paper quickly caught fire and charred. ‘Lyanna Stark.’ He remembered it well. The story of how Ned Stark had ventured into Dorne to find his sister, and returned with her bones and a bastard instead. ‘The one stain on his cloak.’ He thought to himself, somehow managing to find humor in it, surprising himself, ‘Masterful work, Stark. Never thought you would have it in you. A secret son. Mayhaps a secret Prince, hmm?’

Part of him was enraged. Dorne’s humiliation was essentially complete with this reveal. The woman Rhaegar had dishonored Elia for had borne a child. Only that wasn’t the case, was it? Not if the words the lad had spoken to Clegane in his final, deliciously terrified moments were any indication. If anything, it sounded like his precious sister had been in on the whole thing.

He grimaced. He well knew his sweet sister enjoyed being between Ashara’s legs far more than she had Rhaegar’s. His sister had never once taken a male lover in Dorne, only Ashara. She probably would have tried to marry Ashara if it had been legal and allowed. ‘Seven fucking Hells, the whole thing was probably her gods damned idea.’

He rubbed his face and beard in frustration. “Uncle… what do we do?” Arianne asked.

“Nothing.” He said, after a few moments. “For now, we do nothing. You will say nothing to anybody.” She nodded rapidly, knowing his thoughts. They owed the Starks at least a chance to explain after the gift Týr had given them. “It’s a good thing you already declared your intention to marry him.” He smirked as his niece flushed a little. She thought he hadn’t actually heard her when she had declared that during the execution. “Hopefully Winterfell is as delightfully surprising as the three young wolves are.”

Arianne grimaced, “It’s… it’s not that cold, is it?” Oberyn let out a laugh as he pulled his niece into his embrace.

-]|[-

“Anyone else feel like this is going to be incredibly lackluster?” Loras Tyrell asked, a smirk on his face.

“Why, because half the melee fled Lannisport instead of facing Týr?” Robb grinned over at him.

Garlan chuckled, “I hope not. This melee is supposed to last all day.”

Nearby, Arianne giggled, “Ten dragons on it not lasting an hour.”

“I’ll take that action!” Someone called out, and then the bets started to flow.

Robert roared in laughter, “After yesterday, for once I think I’ll keep my money to myself.” He grinned as he caught his daughter’s eye and turned to Ned, “Oh, I forgot. My daughter has a request for you, Ned.”

“Oh?” Ned smiled at her, “And how can I be of service, Princess?”

Myrcella stood and smiled, “Lord Stark, I have made friends with all of your children and wish to remain so. It would please father and I greatly if you would foster me in Winterfell.”

“ABSOLUTELY NOT!” Cersei shrieked, taking to her feet. She may have hated her daughter for the fact that she was Robert’s, but she was still HER daughter. HERS to keep close and decide where to use best. She certainly wasn’t going to send her North to become a savage.

For once, Tywin was not overcome with shame over her lack of self-control. The request had caught him completely off guard and he ground his teeth at yet another sign of the North starting to take what did not belong to them.

The Lords looked on eagerly (Oberyn especially) for the expected outburst from Robert, and they weren’t disappointed. “You will shut your mouth, woman.” Robert glared at her, “Myrcella was the one that came to me with the request last night and I approved it. You never even pay attention to the girl. If I wanted your opinion on the matter I would give you one.” Cersei almost went blind from how angry she was. She stood, grabbed Tommen in her arms and Joffrey’s hand and dragged the protesting boy with her without another word. “Fucking cunt.” Robert muttered under his breath, before turning to Ned, “Well Ned? What say you?”

“Your wife won’t be too pleased, but we will be happy to host the Princess if that’s her desire.” Ned replied, with Catelyn smiling down at the young girl in agreement.

Myrcella all but swayed in relief, “It would.” She held back her tears of joy. Maybe she could even find a real family with the Starks. “Thank you, Lord Stark. Lady Stark.”

“You’re welcome, Princess. I can see you like our children quite a bit, and they like you just as much. You’ll always be welcome in Winterfell.” Catelyn smiled at the girl, absolutely ecstatic over fostering a Princess of the realm.

She curtseyed, and went over and sat between Arya and Sansa, both of whom immediately hugged her tightly. “Oh, they’re starting!”

“He’s not using a spear.” Oberyn noticed Týr holding a blunted tourney sword.

“Oh, Týr could fight with anything.” Arya laughed, “Give him a log and he’d beat someone with it.”

Oberyn chuckled, “I’m starting to believe that.”

Robert started the melee, and immediately, a man rushed for Týr. He was almost as large as Gregor Clegane had been. Not quite as powerful, but honestly a bit more skilled. “Who’s that and why did he rush for Týr?” Sansa frowned.

“Oh, that’s the Hound. Sandor Clegane.” Robert responded and several of the younger eyes in the stands widened. “The Mountain’s brother.” He looked on curiously, seeing the man attacking a calm Týr with a fury.

“Is he trying to get revenge for his brother’s death?” Ned asked, his own eyes narrowing.

“Unlikely.” Oberyn sat back and crossed his legs, “Word is that his big brother shoved his face into a fire when they were children.” Sansa, Margaery, Myrcella, and Arianne violently flinched. Oberyn rubbed his beard, “If anything, he’s probably furious that Týr killed him before he had his own chance.”

“Gods, what is wrong with the South?” Sansa muttered, glaring down at the combatants.

“What isn’t wrong is a better question.” Arya allowed Sansa to hug her, her mood shot after hearing that.

Myrcella and Arianne winced, “We’re not all bad…” The defense sounded weak even to their own ears.

Down in the melee, Týr was curiously blocking and parrying Sandor’s greatsword, “My apologies Ser, but have I insulted you?” He didn’t attack, only defended.

“No.” Came the growled voice from behind the helm.

“And yet you evidently want to take my head off. Why is that?” Týr asked, jabbing his sword’s point into the man’s shield, and forcing him back.

“That fucking cunt was mine to kill!” The Hound’s voice was raspy and rough.

“Ah.” Týr said, “My apologies, but there was apparently a line.”

“Yeah, and you weren’t fucking in it!” His opponent spat back. “I would have let Martell have it if it had been him. You? You never even met my cunt of a brother until yesterday!”

“Ah, but I was.” Týr responded after the surprise of his opponent being a Clegane dissipated, “Not for any reason you need to know, though.” Sandor growled and swiped his sword at Týr’s knee. Týr backed away, and jabbed forward again, slamming the tip of his sword into Sandor’s shield. He yelled as he was forced back, rolling on the dirt before springing to his feet. “Such ferocity, but under your complete control!” Týr noted, “You are much more skilled than your brother.”

Sandor raised his helm’s jaw just so he could spit on the ground, “No I’m fucking not. That cunt had constant headaches that distracted him. His fury was fucking unbound.”

“Control of one’s self is a skill in and of itself.” Týr replied, “And it is a skill many lack. It’s true, your sword skills aren’t as sharp as his. And yet you are the more dangerous opponent of the two when you eliminate size and power.”

“Don’t fucking patronize me.” Sandor dropped his helmet back into place, “No one can just fucking do what you did. What are you, a god?”

Týr chuckled, “If you ever want something more, I’m sure you’d be welcome in Winterfell.” He replied instead of answering the question.

“Fuck off!” Sandor charged, and Týr knocked his sword out of his hand. He ducked under a shield bash before grabbing Sandor’s arm and using his momentum to flip him onto his back.

Týr held the point of his blade to Sandor’s throat, “Yield.”

Sandor growled like his epithet, “Yeah, yeah, fine. Fuck you.”

Týr offered him a hand, but the Hound ignored it and stomped away. Týr chuckled, “Well, he’d be an entertaining guard if nothing else.”

The rest of the melee proceeded quickly. Every other opponent he faced, Týr took down in a single leisurely blow. Several times, groups formed to try and gang up on him. These Týr had fun with, and the final time it was attempted, Týr grabbed a man’s leg and whipped him at another fighter. The crowd burst out laughing as Týr quite literally used another man as a bludgeon. Several forfeited outright the second Týr approached, and within fifty minutes, the final sixteen fighters were left.

And up in the stands a twelve nameday old girl was grinning impishly up at grumbling Lords as they passed over her winnings. Margaery, Sansa, Arya, and Myrcella could barely hold in their laughter.

-]|[-

The third day dawned gray, and most of them were afraid it was going to rain. They hoped that the events would be quick so they could find shelter before the expected downpour came. Even Robert was just ready for the tourney to be done and over with. Týr had won the melee with little effort and great speed, spurred by Catelyn’s request that he finish quickly before the rain came. She did not want to risk getting sick while with child. Despite his placid expression and congratulations, most people could tell that Lord Tywin was not happy about having to hand another purse to a Stark.

The finals of the Joust had come down to Jaime Lannister and Robb Stark. By now, the utter astonishment and novelty had faded, and all people wanted to see was if Robb would be able to go the distance. He was already tired too. Even with the two days of rest, he had pushed himself hard in his tilt against Clegane.

Jaime, despite his initial astonishment, was actually pleased. He was a knight. A true knight, no matter what the people said about him. Watching Týr shatter the Mountain had humbled him. Not because he couldn’t have killed the man himself, no. He could have done it. He should have done it, the second he learned about what he and Lorch had done to Elia, Rhaenys, and Aegon. He should have protected them. He should have gotten them into the tunnels the second he finished killing the Mad King. But he hadn’t. He’d been too shellshocked by what he had done. The oaths he had broken. He’d… he’d needed a moment… but he didn’t know how long he sat on that fucking chair before Ned Stark had found him. It had made him numb for so long, that he even allowed Cersei to pull him into her embrace like she had when they were dumb children. And it just continued from there. An oathbreaker twice over.

But he still had his pride. Still had his skill. Still had his strength. He hated being judged as a Kingslayer when he knew he had done the right thing, and so he wore the title as armor. Allowed himself to be arrogant. He knew full well he was one of if not the most skilled man in Westeros. And he also knew full well that he wouldn’t stand a chance in a duel against Týr. It meant he had room to improve. To be better. It meant that the quality of opponents to test himself against was growing once more. For a true competitor, there was nothing greater than realizing you hadn’t reached the top yet.

He was eager for the challenge, and for the first time in years, he felt like he had life again. His father was furious at the Starks. He knew that full well. Could see it in his father’s face, as the veneer of civility was starting to fray, and the Lion was coming out.

He made damn sure his father knew that if anything untoward happened to Robb Stark before or during the tilts, Jaime would forfeit the joust. No one was going to rob an honest victory from him. Not even his father, and especially not against Robb Stark. What once would have been a hilarious tale no longer was. If losing to Robb was a humiliation, then the entire realm was a laughingstock. A ten nameday old lad had done the impossible and had earned his spot in the finals.

Jaime smiled, “I wish you luck, young wolf.”

“You as well, Ser Jaime.” Robb responded, and Jaime was struck silent by the response.

Ser Jaime. Not Kingslayer. How long had it been since anyone other than his family or Ser Barristan had actually called him by his name?

He smiled again, and readied himself. He grabbed his lance from his squire as Robb did the same, and then the hooves of their horses were thundering on the dirt.

CRACK

Both lances shattered and both opponents laid back on their horses. Jaime quickly regained control and sat up, turning his head slightly and watching as Robb did the same. The boy shook his head once, as if dazed.

“You alright?” Týr called out seriously as he handed Robb another lance.

“FINE!” Robb was racing down towards Jaime again.

CRACK

Again, both lances shattered with perfect hits, and both competitors let out groans from the exertion but weren’t forced back. The shards of the lances skittered across their breastplates and helmets, and it was a good thing that there were few gaps, otherwise Jaime would be down one eye now.

That pass was better for both of them than the first, and they quickly raced for their lances and back around. The third pass, Jaime scored a direct hit while Robb only managed a glance. The Stark heir desperately had to hold on, and his body was starting to feel numb from the impacts even through his armor.

‘Ugh, he’s so good! I might… no, Ser Jaime doesn’t deserve me turning my runes’ power up like I did with the Mountain.’ Robb hid his thoughts, thankful that his helmet also hid his grimace of pain. ‘Gods, this hurts. But I can’t let everyone down! Not with the God of War on my side!’ He grabbed his fourth lance.

The fourth pass was the reverse of the third, with Robb scoring the direct blow and shattering his lance on Jaime. And still, the golden lion held on. On and on they went, until finally, Robert called for the end, “Enough! You two will be here all damn day at this rate!” He let out a booming laugh.

Robb sagged in his horse, and Jaime let out a laugh of his own, “You, young wolf, are fantastic.” He took off his helmet, “Can’t explain how you’re so strong, but you most certainly are.”

“And your skills are impeccable, Ser Jaime.” Robb also took his helm off and tossed it to Týr. He was completely matted with sweat, “I’m going to be bruised for weeks.” Jaime shot him a wry grin. He may hate Ned Stark for what he did at the end of the rebellion, but Robb Stark? Robb, he could come to like.

“An incredible display of skill! I’d say we all got our money’s worth!” Robert boomed, “But only one can win the purse, so it’s time to judge!”

“No need, your Grace!” Jaime called out, before reaching out and raising a bewildered Robb’s arm, “THE YOUNG WOLF!”

Was it bad to say that he enjoyed watching Tywin’s calm façade break for a few moments in utter rage? The rest of the stadium began to cheer, and even Robert grinned and started to clap.

“What?” Robb looked aghast, “You got the better of me on more passes than I did of you!”

Jaime laughed, “You’re ten, Stark. The fact I couldn’t unhorse you means you won. Were you even a few years older, or maybe even less tired, you’d have put me on my back.” His eyes glimmered, “And I want that win back. I hope to face you again.”

“Doesn’t feel like I earned it.” Robb smirked sardonically.

“Wear it like armor, then.” Jaime responded, “It’s what my brother always says.”

Robb laughed, “Interesting brother you have, Ser Jaime. Have it your way, then. I look forward to our next bout.”

“Might be sooner than you think.” Jaime chortled, “My sister nagged the King until I thought he was going to grab her and toss her from the Rock. His Grace wants me to be Myrcella’s guard while she fosters, if only to shut his wife up.” Which, honestly, had probably enraged his sweet sister even more. Talk about a plan backfiring.

Robb blinked, not certain if his father was going to be so happy about that. He shrugged, “I know what people say about you Ser,” Jaime’s expression fell. “But Týr always tells me there’re sides to every story. My father won’t be too happy about it, but I would welcome someone of your skill in Winterfell.”

“Your brother is far too wise for his age.” Jaime muttered, looking up at the boy who was no boy at all. He looked at Robb, “Just tell me it’s not actually that cold in summer.”

Robb smirked, “We’re farming ice. What do you think?” Jaime held back a groan.

-]|[-

And that’s a wrap!

I’ve made some changes to the ages of some characters, most prominently Dacey Mormont and Arianne Martell. Dacey is six years older than Robb and Týr, and Arianne is two years older.