Chapter Text
THE BASTARD - WINTERFELL
The crows circled around the broken tower, spreading their dark wings before nestling inside the ruined pillar. If only I were a crow, Jon thought. I would spread my wings and fly high into the sky, until the cold air seized my lungs and Winterfell looks smaller than a fly’s wings.
But where would he go? There was no safe haven for bastards, even royal ones.
“Lord Jon,” he turned at the call of his name. They mock me with a lords title, but what am I lord of really?
Before him was Jory Cassel, captain of the guards. “His lordship wishes to see you.” He stated. Jon nodded.
“Show me the way, Ser.”
The travelled through Winterfell’s courtyard, past the first keep where its stone gargoyles stared down at him with unforgiving eyes.
Soon enough, they were inside the great keep and at the door of his uncle’s solar. Ser Jory knocked to announced his coming.
“Lord Jon, Lord Stark.”
“Let him in.”
The two guards outside the door turned and opened the double oak-and-iron doors that led into his uncles personal chambers. Jon stepped in quickly, and grated his teeth as the old doors creaked closed behind him.
“Lord Stark.” His uncle frowned.
“Jon. I told you—”
“Not to call you by your title in private, I know. It’s habit, is all.” His uncle nodded and gestured towards the seat that was separated by a long dark wood table.
After he was seated, the conversation began.
“A rider arrived from Torrhen’s Square. Ser Helman received a raven from king’s landing.” Jon’s breath hitched. There was only two reasons why a raven from king’s landing would be sent to the north.
“Is it Uncle Benjen? Has something happened?” His uncle calmed him with a hand.
“Benjen is fine. The raven is from him in fact. The king is coming to Winterfell, Jon.”
His face screwed up angrily. Why? Why would that man come up here? Why does he want trouble?
“For what reason?” He demanded.
“To see his son.”
Jon’s mouth was agape.
“He comes to see me?” Ned Stark nodded.
“That’s what this letter says. It appears your brother Aegon will be with him, he wants to see his future realm, Benjen writes.” Jon tried to remember his brother. He was a boy when we last saw each other. Arrogant and full of himself as any prince would be.
“I understand this is very overwhelming for you to hear, you have my leave.” Jon thanked his uncle and quickly left the solar, heading for the Godswood.
CATELYN - WINTERFELL
“What reason could he possibly have to see him now? He was never concerned about the boy before.”
Catelyn had raged when she heard of the news. He comes into my home, for what? To bring more misery and grief?
Rhaegar Targaryen. The name still sounded like venom after all these years. She remembered how he looked on his war horse, tall and handsome as he forced her father and uncle to bend the knee. How he took everything they owned and passed it around to his lickspittle lords.
“He doesn’t need reason, he’s the king.” She frowned.
“Why can’t these bloody royals leave us be? Haven’t we suffered enough at their hands?” Ned stood and shushed her, holding her tightly in his arms.
“Now, now Cat. It’s not so bad. The king will visit Jon, we’ll have a hunt, and soon he’ll be on his way.” Catelyn frowned.
“But what of his wife? The Martell woman? It was her who convinced her husband to strip my father from all his rank and titles.”
Ned just sighed. “The letter said nothing of the Queen, but we must assume she’ll be coming along too. You however, must be courteous and kindly with her grace.”
“Do you take me for a fool? I’ve already had one family condemned to live as beggars and hostages, I won’t do the same for another.”
She remembered Edmure, whose hair was fiery red just like her own. She remembered how the tears flowed down his deep blue eyes. He will be a man grown now, and I haven’t seen him since he was a boy.
The king refused to even allow her letters.
“I don’t take you for a fool, but we both know how you are when roused.” Catelyn smiled besides herself.
“Well, they’ll just have to not rouse me then.” And with that she took her leave. I must go to the Sept, I need to pray. . .
It was not comparable to the sept of Riverrun, which was tall and magnificent with glass windows stained with the rainbow colors of the seven, but Catelyn liked that. It was simple and to the point, like many things in the north.
She knelt in front of the altar of the Crone, pale hands wrapped tightly around her seven-sided star rosary, and prayed.
Crone give me wisdom, guide me through the darkness, give me the strength to see my enemies.
The Gods didn’t respond. They never did, but they would give her a sign, that much was true. Answer my prayers, fair lady. I am lost, I am your humble servant, I beg you.
After she had taken her leave, she left the sept only to here the shocked sighs of servants. They were pointing and whispering to each other.
When she looked up she saw a shooting star. Blood red with a long tail that seemed to cover half the sky. Catleyn looked at the sept and clutched her rosary.
My sign has come.
MYRCELLA - KING’S LANDING
Chaos. That was the best way to describe the Red Keep.
Servants had been rising about, bumping into each other as they ran various errands for their betters. Myrcella could scare walk the gardens because they were filled with people doing one task or another.
Her father was the busiest of all and as Hand of the King he would be responsible for coordinating the royal party along with his steward.
Lord Jon Connington, Duke of Storm’s End, Lord Paramount of Stormlands and Hand of the King rarely had such time for frivolous things like family, Myrcella thought bitterly. No, his precious king needs all his attention, and his love.
Her father loved the king more than he loved his own wife. Instead of spending time in her company, he fled to Rhaegar and courted him instead.
He never loved any of us. Not me nor Joffrey nor Tommen.
Most men would be content with two sons and a dazzling daughter, but her father shipped her eldest brother over to Randyll Tarly over some foolish business with a cat!
All she had was mother and Tommen. And Tommen was just a boy.
A lonely lion is a terrible thing.
She remembered when she was girl, she’d play stupid games with Joffrey and Aegon. Sometimes Rhaenys would join too, when she wasn’t quarreling with them. The boys would swat at each other with wooden swords and play at their favorite heroes.
“I’m Aemon the Dragonknight!”
“I’m Aegon the Conqueror!”
Childish notions for children. Myrcella and Rhaenys couldn’t swat each other with swords or declare themselves kings or great warriors, but they could play at great noble ladies or beautiful queens.
“I’m Visenya Targaryen!”
“Well them I’m Alysanne!”
Unbeknownst to her, Lord Connington had been watching the entire time. Soon as she proclaimed herself the sister-wife of the Old King, he stepped in.
“You aren’t Alysanne. And you never will be, you are not a princess or a queen, and you never will be. Now go inside.”
Myrcella remembered Rhaenys childish smirk. I cannot blame her. We were children, she couldn’t have known. How would she have known?
Her sire’s words had stuck with her for years. I will never be a princess, I will never be queen.
Cersei Lannister had been promised by her grandfather the hand of Prince Rhaegar, but that never came to be.
Will she suffer the same fate? Destined to marry a man who loved his king more than me? Be separated from my eldest son?
Myrcella forced herself out of those thoughts. She drew herself up smoothened the crimson silk skirt that completed her dress. I am a Lannister. She thought proudly. No matter who her father was, she was a Lannister, and that meant something.
If father wanted to gallop around the king then so be it, but she would be something in this world. With or without her father’s help.