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Chapter Text

Raucous laughter echoed through the training yard as another of Bran's arrows whizzed past the target. He grumbled in annoyance. 

Medgar, the nearest of his brothers in age at nine, grinned. "Come on, is that all you've got?"

Bran scowled and snatched up another arrow. Jon patted his shoulder. "Don't let him rile you. Just shoot. Go on. Father’s watching."

Bran nodded and glanced up at his parents, who were fondly watching their large brood of sons in the yard below, the youngest twins, Rickon and Lelani in their arms. In the far corner, the two other eldest Stark boys, Edwyle and Tylar, were sparring with swords, while fourteen year old Hoster and twelve year old Rodrik watched on. Like many of their siblings, the two had taken after their mother in appearance, with her soft red curls and blue eyes. Hoster, however, had their father's temperament, while Rodrik's more closely matched his younger sister Sansa, much to the amusement of his brothers. 

Edwyle cast Tylar's sword to the ground and grinned. "You can never beat me." He glanced to Rodrik. "You want a round, Rod?"

Rod shook his head. "No thank you."

Liya and Arya, he thought, had no idea how lucky they were. 

Another of Bran's arrows flew wild, hitting the barrel beside the target. Aden, one of his half-brothers, moved to pull it free. "Nice shot. If you were aiming for this."

Bran turned red as his brothers dissolved into laughter.

Sixteen year old Liya ground her teeth as the needle pricked her finger again. Across the room, Septa Mordane smiled at her crib sister, Minisa. "Fine work, as always. Well done."

Sansa returned her bright smile. "Thank you."

Septa Mordane took the edge of the fabric. "I love the detail that you’ve managed to get in this corners. … Quite beautiful … the stitching …"

At Liya's side, nine year old Arya glared at her own embroidery. "I hate this. I want to learn archery."

Beside her, Sansa frowned. "Archery isn't befitting of a lady."

"Well, I don't want to be a lady! I want to be a knight!"

"Me too!" squealed six year old Mariah. "I be a knight!"

"Neither of you can be knights," said their older sister, Lyarra. 

Mariah pouted. "Well, I'm gonna be a bird instead."

"None of you can be birds!" exclaimed Septa Mordane. "Or knights, for that matter."

Liya grumbled and threw down her embroidery. "Forget it. None of us are ever going to be as good as Lady Perfect anyway."

"Hey!" Minisa protested. 

"I never said your name."

"You implied it!"

"Girls!" Septa Mordane scolded. "This is not becoming of young ladies."

"I'm not doing anything," Sansa whined. 

"And I'm not a lady," Liya said, shoving the door open and striding out. 

"Liya!" Minisa called after her. "Liya!"

Arya grinned at Mariah and dropped her own embroidery, hurrying out to follow the second eldest of her sisters. Well. Third eldest, if the illegitimate one was also counted. Liya made her way through the passageways of Winterfell to where Bran had just missed another shot in the training yard. His brothers laughed. Above them, their father's voice rang out. "And which one of you was a marksman at seven?"

"I can shoot better than that!" declared Medgar, crossing his arms. 

"You're two years older," Ned replied. "Keep practising, Bran. Go on."

Aden smiled at his half-brother. "You can do it."

Jon clasped his shoulders. "Don’t think too much, Bran."

Aden scoffed. "Easy for you to say."

Robb laughed. "Relax your bow arm."

Liya picked up a bow as Bran pulled the arrow back. Father said she shouldn't, but her crib-brothers had been helping her with archery for years now. Her shot flew straight, thudding into the bullseye.

Arya made an impressed noise behind her. "Why do you get to learn to do that and I don't?"

Bran lowered his bow as he turned to face them, along with his older brothers. Liya passed the bow to Arya and curtsied.

Bran turned scarlet. "You– You–"

"If Liya can do it, you can do it," Aden said, spinning him back to the target. "Come on, give it another shot."

"Arya, you want a turn?" Jon called. 

Arya laughed and darted past Liya to enter the yard as Bran fired his arrow. Jon fetched her an arrow of her own. "Here, like this."

Above them, their father's attention was taken by the Master-at-Arms, Rodrick Cassel, and the Stark's fosterling, Theon Greyjoy. Rodrick bowed. "Lord Stark. My lady. A guardsman just rode in from the hills. They’ve captured a deserter from the Night’s Watch."

Ned grimaced. "Get the lads to saddle their horses."

Theon nodded and hurried over to the steps. Catelyn glanced up at Ned. "Do you have to?"

"He swore an oath, Cat."

Catelyn turned away to look down as Theon passed the news to her sons in the yard.

"The law is law, my lady," said Rodrick. 

"Tell Bran he’s coming, too," Ned said, passing Lelani to Catelyn. 

Rodrick nodded and moved to follow Theon down the steps. Catelyn turned back to Ned. "Ned. Seven is too young to see such things. Bad enough you take Medgar."

"He won’t be a boy forever," Ned replied. "And winter is coming."

The deserter was a young man, little more than a boy, pale and trembling. "White Walkers. I saw the White Walkers. White Walkers. The White Walkers, I saw them."

Bran looked up at Medgar. "Do you think he really did?"

"Hush," scolded Rod.

"I know I broke my oath," stammered the deserter. "And I know I’m a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers." His gaze darted past Ned to his sons, lined up by age. "People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I’m no coward. Tell them I’m sorry."

Ned nodded, and the two men holding the deserter forced him over the execution block. Ned drew the ancestral sword of their family, Ice, and pressed the tip to the hard ground. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name…"

"There's gonna be so much blood," Medgar whispered eagerly to Bran. "It'll get everywhere."

Tylar grinned. Bran whimpered and turned away. Jon shook his head. "Don’t look away. Father will know if you do."

"I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." Ned raised the sword as he reached the end of his speech and brought Ice down through the deserter's neck. Bran watched with wide eyes. 

Edwyle smiled down at him. "You did well."

Rod shuffled over to Bran's side and wrapped his arm around him. "Are you all right?"

Bran nodded. "I think so."

He narrowed his eyes at Medgar. "You lied! There wasn't so much blood!"

Tylar laughed. "Disappointing."

Robb sighed and herded his brothers towards the horses, where they met with Ned. 

"You understand why I did it?" he asked Bran.

Bran nodded. "Aden said he was a deserter."

"But do you understand why I had to kill him?"

Ned touched his shoulder. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"Is it true he saw the White Walkers?" Medgar asked suddenly, bouncing on his heels. "Do you think they're out there?"

"The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years," Ned replied.  

"So he was lying?" Rod whispered.  

Their father looked out at the land beyond them. "A madman sees what he sees."

The horses treaded carefully through the woodland, halting with soft whickers as their riders took in the sight of a dead stag, gutted and laid across the path. 

"What is it?" Aden asked. 

"Dead deer, what does it look like?" Jon replied. 

"Mountain lion?" Theon suggested, indicating the deep wounds to the stag's side. 

Ned shook his head. "There are no mountain lions in these woods. Come on."

He drew his sword and led the way into the trees, hacking his way through them. One by one, his sons dismounted and followed, spreading out to search. Having been the first to leave, Ned was the one to find the culprits: two large, silver and black wolves lying dead on the bank of a stream. One had the dead stag's antlers through her throat, but the other seemed untouched, simply lying dead. Around them, wolf pups were whimpering and crying. 

"They're freaks!" Theon exclaimed. 

"Direwolves," Ned said grimly, glancing at Rodrick. "Tough old beasts." He pulled out the antlers and held them up. 

"There are no direwolves south of the Wall," Hoster said. 

"Now there are…" Aden attempted a count. "Twelve?"

"Fifteen," Jon muttered. 

"Fifteen," Aden echoed. 

Jon stepped forward and scooped up one of the pups, holding it out to Bran. "You want to hold it?"

"Yes!" Medgar said, jumping forward to grab at the pup. Aden picked up another and handed it to him. 

"Where will they go?" asked Bran. "Their mother’s dead."

Rod crept forward to scoop up a fluffy red puppy of his own, smiling as it flicked its ears. 

"They don’t belong down here," said Rodrick.

Ned studied the mewling pups. "Better a quick death. They won’t last without their mother."

Theon drew his knife and reached for Bran's pup. "Right. Give it here."

"No!" Bran cried, backing away and shielding his pup in his arms. Medgar and Rod, too, backed up, attempting to guard their own stolen pups.

"Put away your blade." Robb said with a scowl. 

"I take orders from your father, not you," Theon replied.

Bran shook his head. "Please, father!"

Ned looked again at the two dead direwolves. "I’m sorry, Bran."

Jon frowned. "Lord Stark? There are fifteen pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. They were meant to have them."

Bran stroked his pup's ears and gazed up at Ned, hope in his eyes. At last, Ned nodded. He had a large family, and to have the correct number of direwolves did have to be some form of sign. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."

Bran smiled and cradled his pup as Jon and Aden crouched down to begin gathering up pups, handing them to Robb, Edwyle, Tylar and Hoster, two each. 

"What about you?" Bran asked. 

"We're not Starks," Jon replied, handing two pups to Aden and taking the last two himself. 

Aden waved a hand at him. "Get on."

Jon stepped up towards them, stopped, and hesitated.

"What is it?" Robb called down. 

Jon crouched again, setting down his two puppies, and reached into the roots of a tree to produce another three puppies, two albino and one a pure silver. A smile broke across Robb's face. 

"Runts," Theon said. "Those are yours, Snow."

"Here then," Jon said, passing one of his original puppies to Robb and the other to Aden. "I'll carry these three."

They rode back to Winterfell laden down with the squirming, mewling puppies – all except Jon's, whose never made a sound. The gates opened before their strange procession, and the Stark boys halted their horses in the courtyard, dismounting with no small amount of difficulty. 

"Take the pups through to the kennels for now," Ned said. "We'll call your sisters down and you can all choose one."

"I want this one!" Bran declared, holding up the pup he'd carried throughout the ride. 

"Then you may have that one. Go and fetch your sisters."

"Yes father."

Jon and Aden, who already had their runt puppies, smiled at the excitement of their brothers as Robb looked at them. 

"One of those is for…"

"I know," Jon said, holding up the silver pup. "This one. It's the female."

"Take it to her then." Robb rubbed the head of the pup he was still holding. "I'm keeping this one."

Jon and Aden broke away from the rest of their brothers and headed into the castle, pups held carefully in their arms. They made their way through the passageways, passing Lyarra on their way. 

"You should go down to the kennels," Jon told her. "Robb has a surprise for you."

"Really?" she asked with shining eyes. 

"Take your sisters." 

Lyarra nodded and hurried away. Jon and Aden continued to the library and let themselves in.

At a table in the far corner, a silver haired figure was leant over a book, copying out pages. She paused as they entered and turned to face them. "Oh, have you come to visit me in my lonely tower?"

"You're not in a tower, Alys," Jon said. 

"And you wouldn't be lonely if you didn't shut yourself away," Aden added.

Alysanne sighed. "We all know I'm not welcome."

While her brothers had both come out identical, with the dark hair, grey eyes, and long face of their father, their sister, Alysanne, had inherited white-blonde hair and dark purple eyes from – presumably the triplets' mother. Her appearance had left in its wake many whispers that she was not in fact the triplet sister of the boys, and that had only been a cover story, that she was in fact the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen, who Lord Stark had stolen and sheltered, or perhaps even that she was Rhaenys Targaryen – a ridiculous rumour, then she'd be four years older than the boys – or the daughter of the Mad King, rescued from Essos for… reasons, the triplets supposed. 

It all seemed like such nonsense to them. 

"That's not true," Jon said. 

Aden clasped her shoulder. "We welcome you."

Jon held up the silver pup. "And we brought you a gift."

"A puppy!" Alys took it from his arms with eager hands. "Ooh, she's so cute." She narrowed her eyes. "But why?"

"They're direwolf pups. Orphans. The others all have one too."

Alys smiled and stroked her pup's head. "Maybe I will join you for supper tonight."

Chapter Text

Cat slipped into the Godswood and made her way over to where Ned was polishing Ice by the pond. She sank onto the branch at his side, resting her arms across her legs. "All these years and I still feel like an outsider when I come here."

Ned laughed. "You have fifteen northern children. You’re not an outsider."

Cat sighed. "I wonder if the old gods agree." 

"It’s your gods with all the rules."

Cat wet her lips and looked down at her hands. "I am so sorry, my love."

Ned set Ice aside, turning to her. "Tell me." 

"There was a raven from Kings Landing. Jon Arryn is dead. A fever took him." She took his hand. "I know he was like a father to you.

"Your sister," Ned said. "The children…"

Lysa Arryn had not been as blessed with fertility as her sister had, but she had still managed to birth three children. The gods would be cruel to take them. 

"They all have their health. Gods be good." She gazed at him. "The raven brought more news. The king rides for Winterfell. With the queen and all the rest of them." 

Ned grimaced. "He’s coming this far North, there’s only one thing he’s after. 

"You can always say no, Ned." She squeezed his hand. "And–"

He frowned. "More?"

She smiled. "No; no. But– Far be it from my place to express concern– Alys."

Alys.

"Robert– The King– We both know he hates the dragons."

"Alys isn't a dragon," Ned said. "She's a Stark bastard."

"But you know what he's going to see."

The direwolf pups grew as the weeks before the King's arrival passed. Robb named his, a fine, strong grey male, Greywind, and was already training him to fetch arrows. When not being beaten to it by Liya's Warrior, a sleek, black and silver female. Finishing off their little trio was Arya and her Nymeria. Robb had – secretly, without telling their father – began teaching her archery and swordsmanship, and Nymeria of course accompanied her everywhere.

Minisa had called her pup Darling, for she was one of the milder mannered pups, and had quickly come to follow Minisa's instructions.

"Of course Lady Perfect would have no disobedience," Liya muttered to Tylar.

He grinned. "Watch this." He looked down at his own direwolf, Hunter, a deep brown male with bright blue eyes like Tylar's own. "Hunter, nip."

Hunter yipped and darted forward and nipped at Darling's tail. Darling yelped and turned on him with a flurry of claws and teeth. 

"Darling!" Minisa cried. "Tylar, call your brute off!"

"He's just having some fun!"

"Tylar!"

Tylar rolled his eyes. "Fine." He gave a sharp whistle and Hunter hurried back to his side. "Come on. Let's go find Edwyle and Dream. They'll play with us."

Dream was Edwyle's wolf pup, already one of the biggest, a cream coloured thing. Tylar led Hunter off in search of them, and Minisa led Darling away upstairs to find Sansa secretly teaching Rod needlework in her bedroom. Their pups, near identical things with deep red colouring like the three siblings' hair, sat at their feet. Sansa had called hers Lady – Minisa wished she'd thought of that – and Rod his Dusk.

He jumped. "Please don't tell Mother!"

"You know you shouldn't be doing that," Minisa scolded. 

"But I was just–"

"Go on, out!"

Rod left, dejected, and almost walked straight into Lyarra and her pup, Nightlight, so named for her large silver eyes. 

"Make sure the halls are clean!" Minisa called after them. 

Everything was to be cleaned ahead of the King's arrival, though the direwolves were more of a hindrance than a help. Hoster's Torrhen spent his time chasing the mops. The worst instigator, however, had to be Medgar's dark grey Starfall, who spent his time trying to undo any work done. 

Bran and Mariah's pups, Summer and Jenny, were among the least troublesome, as they spent most of their time outside with their owners, who searched for trees to climb. Rickon and Lelani's pups, Shaggydog and Fluffy, stayed in the nursery with them.

By far the oddest though, were those owned by the bastard triplets. Jon had named his Ghost, and he followed him everywhere, never making a sound. Aden's Spirit, too, was silent. Alys's Moonsight was vocal – and growled at any attempt to approach her, much to her delight. 

"Now I shan't have to deal with anyone," she declared. 

Winterfell buzzed with energy as the King's arrival grew closer. Chambers were cleaned and prepared, the passageways were washed, and the children lectured to be on their best behaviour. The boys had their hair cut, and after a talk with their father, fabric dye was produced to turn Alys's silver locks black, though nothing could be done about her eyes. 

At last the arrival was upon them, and the inhabitants of Winterfell gathered in the courtyard. Cat glanced around the courtyard, checking the banners, and startled as she found Bran atop the castle wall, Mariah just beneath him. "Brandon! Mariah!"

Bran grinned as he scrambled down. Mariah followed quickly behind. 

"I saw the king!" Bran shouted. "He’s got hundreds of people!"

Cat cuffed his shoulder. "How many times have I told you: No climbing! And you took Mariah with you?"

"He didn't take me," Mariah protested. "I followed!" 

"But he’s coming right now!" Bran waved his hands eagerly. "Down our road!"

Cat frowned down at him. "I want you to promise me. No more climbing." 

Bran looked at his feet. "I promise."

Cat sighed. "D’you know what?"

"What?" 

"You always look at your feet before you lie. Run and find your father. Tell him the king is close."

Bran nodded and hurried away, closely followed by Mariah and their two rapidly growing wolf pups. They found their father in the main hall, along with Edwyle, Minisa, and Lyarra, finalising preparations. Their three wolf pups were playing with the corner of a tablecloth. 

"Father!" Bran shouted. "Father, he's almost here!"

Ned smiled down at them from the head table. "Then we'd better get outside. Come along, you three." He frowned at them. "And don't leave your pups to cause trouble."

"No father," chorused the three. 

The children followed him outside and to where Cat, Rickon and Lelani in arms, had gathered the rest of the family and was lining the children up in order of age, with the bastard children just after Mariah. Alys wore her dark hair loose, hiding her telltale eyes behind her fringe. She held her arms out towards the toddler twins. "Lady Stark, do you want me to..?"

"No, I do not!" Cat snapped. 

"But I could…" Alys mumbled, and bowed her head as an indication. Cat looked down at the twins, huffed, and shoved Rickon into Alys's arms. 

"Don't drop him."

 "Of course not, Lady Stark."

Cat passed Lelani to Jon and walked back up the line of her children. "Where are Arya and Medgar?"

The siblings glanced at each other and shook their heads. 

Cat groaned and took her place in line as the first horse, a large white strider, entered the gates, ridden by a young man with a golden complexion, followed by a larger, hulking man. Behind them rode another, younger boy, with that same golden hair and skin.

"Minisa," Cat hissed. "Where are Arya and Medgar?" 

Minisa, accustomed by now to being her siblings' keeper, stepped back out of line to glance around the courtyard. "I don't– oh, wait."

“We don’t have time–” Cat hissed, but Minisa had already slipped away with a target in mind. More riders entered the gates, with banners in hand. Minisa darted over to a tall wagon, where Arya and Medgar, both wearing metal helmets, were perched on the wheel for a better viewpoint. Minisa caught their collars. “Got you! Come on, you need to get in line.”

“But–” Arya protested.

“Come on!” Minisa scolded, pulling them towards the rest of their family. Arya and Medgar groaned, but allowed themselves to be shoved over. They darted past their parents to find their place in line.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Ned called, hurrying after them. “What are you doing with these on?” He pulled off their helms and passed them to servants behind him.

“Move!” Arya muttered, pushing Bran aside to get in line. He stumbled into Mariah, who crashed into Alys’s leg. Aden caught her arm before she could fall, drop Rickon, or both. She smiled.

“Thanks.”

A large, decorative coach pulled by white horses thundered into the courtyard, followed by one of the fattest men the Stark siblings had ever seen on horseback.

“ That’s Father’s King Robert?” Medgar whispered to Arya.

She stifled a giggle. “Where’s the imp?”

“I don’t see him.”

“Shush would you?” hissed Sansa.

King Robert heaved himself from his horse onto the dismounting block, and those gathered in the courtyard knelt. Liya glanced at their father, who was staring incredulously at his old friend. She hid her own smile in her cloak.

The King approached their father and signalled for them to rise. Ned rose first, followed by Cat, and then their children, more simultaneously. At the end of the row, Aden stood before his siblings and helped them up in turn, Jon first and then Alys. She kept her head bowed over Rickon.

Jon glanced down the long row of his siblings to where King Robert was looking their father over. 

“Your Grace,” Ned said.

“You’ve got fat,” he replied.

“He’s one to talk,” Aden muttered.

Alys kicked him. “Shh. Don’t draw attention.”

Her brothers nodded and closed ranks in front of her.

Ned looked the King up and down. He burst into laughter and pulled him in for a hug, patting his back. 

“It’s good to see you,” Ned said.

“It’s been too long,” King Robert agreed, turning to his side. “Cat!”

“Your Grace,” she replied, dipping a neat curtsy.

King Robert shook his head, turning back to Ned. “Nine years. Why haven’t I seen you? Where the hell have you been?”

“Guarding the North for you, Your Grace,” Ned replied. “Winterfell is yours.”

A coachman stepped up to open the coach door, and Queen Cersei stepped out, followed by her seven smaller children. Arya leant to one side to get a better look. “Where’s the Imp?”

Rod frowned at them. “Stop it, you’re embarrassing us!”

Minisa leant back to frown at her bickering siblings. “Stop arguing, all of you! Arya, stop bothering your siblings! Sansa, stop aggravating her!”

“I’m not aggravating her!”

“You–” Minisa jerked back into place as King Robert approached Robb to her left. “Who have we here?”

Robb bowed and held his hand out. King Robert took it. “You must be Robb.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

King Robert turned to his crib-siblings, lined up in order of birth – though they had all been born within hours of each other. “Which must make these the others from your brood.”

Cat pressed her lips into a tight line. Ned reached out to catch her wrist. There were enough jokes about her first pregnancy resulting in a whole wolf’s litter; she didn’t need the King himself adding to them.

“Yes, your Grace. This is Minisa, Liya, Edwyle, and Tylar.”

King Robert chuckled as he walked down the line, stopping at Hoster. “And you’d be the next one?”

“Hoster, your grace.”

“Which makes this Lyarra.” He smiled at the red-haired girl. “Named in honour of your aunt.”

“Yes, your Grace.”

Rodrik was next, barely managing a bow and stuttering out a greeting. King Robert laughed and clapped his shoulder. “Don’t be so shy boy! And you must be Sansa.”

Sansa curtsied. “Yes, your Grace.”

“My, you’re a pretty one.” He frowned down at Medgar. “Ned, you had too many children. This one is?”

Cat turned a vivid shade of red. Edwyle stepped out of line to take her arm. “We’re happy just the way we are, Mother.”

“Medgar,” said Medgar. “And this is my twin sister, Arya.”

“Mm.” King Robert moved on to Bran. “Show us your muscles.”

Bran grinned and flexed his arms.

“You’ll be a soldier.” He looked down at Mariah. “Pretty little lady.”

Mariah giggled. By the coach, one of the small, golden haired princesses gave Bran a little wave. He smiled and returned it.

King Robert glanced the twins over. “And these must be the latest. Cute.”

Behind him, Cersei approached Ned and Cat. Ned inclined his head. “My queen.”

King Robert returned to him, overlooking the triplets. Jon let out a breath of relief.

“Take me to your crypt,” Robert said. “I want to pay my respects.”

Cersei frowned. “We’ve been riding for a month, my love. Surely the dead can wait.”

The King brushed her off and turned to Ned. “Ned.” 

Ned led Robert down to the Winterfell crypts and took a burning torch to light their way. "Tell me about Jon Arryn.

Robert shook his head. "One minute he was fine, and then … burned right through him, whatever it was. I loved that man."

"We both did."

"He never had to teach you much. You were always the sensible one. But me … You remember me at sixteen? All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls. He showed me what was what." 

Ned cast Robert a look. He had evidently not remembered many of the lessons, over the years. "Aye."

"Don’t look at me like that," Robert grumbled. "Not his fault I didn’t listen." He sighed. "I need you, Ned. Down at Kings Landing. Not up here, where you’re no damn use to anybody."

"I'm of use to my family," Ned replied. "Cat can't handle all the children on her own. They're… a handful. And who would guard the North?"

"You can bring some of them with you," Robert replied. "Those daughters of yours… they're being wasted hidden away up here. Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you the Hand of the king."

Ned knelt before him. "I’m not worthy of the honor."

Robert laughed. "I’m not trying to honor you. I’m trying to get you to run my kingdom while I eat, drink, and whore my way to an early grave. Damn it, Ned, stand up."

Ned rose to his feet, and Robert took his arm. 

"You helped me win the Iron Throne, now help me keep the damn thing. We were meant to rule together."

Ned saw an image of Alys's purple eyes, her dyed hair and nerves about the royal visit.

Robert shook his head. "If your sister had lived, we would have been bound by blood." He smiled. "Well, it’s not too late for that. I have sons and daughters, you have daughters and sons. We’ll join our Houses.

He'd have to find a way to hide Alys forever, if they did that. To Essos, perhaps, where her uncles and aunts were. Ned turned matters over in his mind as they continued through the crypts to Lyanna's grave. 

"Did you have to bury her in a place like this?" Robert asked. "She should be on a hill somewhere with the sun and the clouds above her."

"She was my sister," Ned replied. "This is where she belongs."

Robert reached up to touch the statue's cheek. "She belonged with me. In my dreams, I kill him every night."

Ned shook his head, thinking of Alys upstairs, so oblivious of her heritage. "It’s done, Your Grace. The Targaryens are gone." 

"Not all of them."

Chapter Text

Daemon held his twin sister's arm as they looked out across the sea, the wind running through their silver hair.

"Daenerys!" Viserys called from somewhere outside the room. 

Daenerys flinched. Daemon squeezed her arm. Viserys stepped into the room. "Daenerys!"

They turned to face him. Viserys smiled. "There’s our bride to be!" He indicated the dress in his arms. "Look – a gift from Illyrio. Touch it. Come on."

Daenerys cast a helpless look at Daemon and stepped forward to take hold of the dress. 

"Feel the fabric," Viserys said. "Mmmm. Isn’t he a gracious host?"

"We’ve been his guests for over a year and he’s never asked us for anything," Daenerys said. 

"He's obviously planning something," Daemon agreed. 

Viserys smiled. "Illyrio is no fool. He knows I won’t forget my friends when I come into my throne."

"He's offered us so much," Daemon said. "He could have other things in mind."

"He's given us what we deserve." Viserys stroke Daenerys's shoulder. "We are Targaryens." He tugged at Daenerys's gown. "You still slouch. Let me see."

The gown slithered to the floor. Viserys smiled and ran a hand over her breast. "You have a woman’s body now."

Daemon scowled. "And you have a wife! Don't touch her like she's cattle!"

Viserys spun to face him. "You dare speak against me?"

"She doesn't want you to– to fondle her. Do you, Dany?"

Daenerys meekly shook her head. Viserys took a step towards Daemon. "You're waking the dragon, brother."

"I just want you to stop touching her."

"Dae," Daenerys whispered. "Dae, it's fine. Stop."

Daemon scowled and stepped into place behind her. Viserys touched her cheek. "I need you to be perfect today. Can you do that for me?" His gaze jumped to Daemon. "You don’t want to wake the dragon, do you? 

"No," she whispered. 

Viserys laid the dress down on a nearby rack and stepped through the door before looking back at them. "When they write the history of my reign, they will say it began today."

Daemon balled his fists, staring after him. "He shouldn't have touched you."

"You shouldn't have made him angry," Daenerys replied.

Daemon lifted a hand to cup her cheek. "It's not fair. I love you. I should be marrying you."

“We must do as duty dictates.” Daenerys turned towards her steaming bath. “And we must not make Viserys angry. Or Visenya. It would not be good for her health, in her condition. You know how difficult pregnancy was for our mother.”

Daemon managed a smile. “It can’t have been that difficult, she had seven children.”

Daenerys stepped into her bath as a maid rushed forward to grab at her.

“My lady!” she called. “It’s too hot!”

Daenerys only closed her eyes and waded further into the bathing pool.

Once she was bathed, clad in her new dress, and daubed with sweet smelling perfumes, Daemon took her arm and led her out to the main room, where their older siblings were gathered. Rhaena, who was only a year older than them, gave them a sweet smile, but Visenya, the eldest of the Targaryen sisters, rolled her eyes. "You took your time."

"I was just…" Daenerys mumbled, smoothing a hand down her dress. Vaegon caught her wrist. 

"You'll crease the dress." 

At twenty, a little over a year younger than the elder set of Targaryen twins, Vaegon was the middle brother and Viserys's heir – until Visenya birthed his son, that was.

"The Dothraki will meet us us outside," Illyrio said, pushing himself to his feet. "Princess Visenya, you may wish to stay here."

Visenya shook her head. "I'd like to see this savage my sweet sister is marrying."

"I'll have the staff bring you a chair."

The seven of them made their way to the balcony of the mansion, where Visenya was indeed brought a chair to rest on. Daenerys took Daemon's hand as they waited. Viserys frowned. "Don't do that. We want him to see her as available."

"She should be my bride," Daemon muttered. His eldest brothers had already wed his other sisters, leaving Daenerys as the only potential wife for Khal Drogo.

"Oh, stop whining," Vaegon exclaimed. "She's going to buy us an army."

"She's not coin!"

Rhaena said nothing of the argument. She rarely spoke at all these days.

"Where is the savage?" asked Viserys.

"The Dothraki are not known for their punctuality," Illyrio replied.

Visenya scowled. "We are Targaryens; they need to have a little more respect for our family."

"The Dothraki respect only the strong."

Which, Daemon considered, meant they'd never respect Viserys. His eldest brother was all bark and no bite. Vaegon was little better. Visenya could be spiteful, but had no force behind her words.

It felt like forever before a procession of horses came thundering up the road to the mansion, led by a large, muscular man with a long, dark braid. He turned his stallion towards the mansion. Illyrio stepped forward and gave a long speech in Dothraki, but all the Targaryen siblings understood was the names of Viserys, Visenya, and Daenerys.

"Do you see how long his hair is?" Viserys asked. 

"We see," Daemon replied. "Dothraki only cut their hair when they've been defeated in combat. With his hair that long, he must not have been defeated for a very long time."

"You have been reading," Visenya said. 

"Khal Drogo has never been defeated," Viserys said. "He’s a savage, of course, but he’s one of the finest killers alive."

Daenerys swallowed and reached again for Daemon's hand before remembering Vaegon's warning.

"And you will be his queen," Vaegon said.

Illyrio turned to her. "Come forward, my dear."

She stepped down the stairs towards the Dothraki Khal, looking up at him. He looked her over and up to Visenya and Rhaena with an expression of some consideration, his gaze lingering on Visenya's belly. He grunted before turning his horse and leading his men away.

Viserys turned on Illyrio. "Where’s he going?

"The ceremony is over," Illyrio replied.

"But he didn’t say anything," Vaegon protested. "Did he like her?"

"Trust me, Your Grace. If he didn’t like her, we’d know."

Visenya frowned. "Well, I think he was a mannerless savage. We could at least–"

"No," Viserys said with an air of finality. "Daenerys will marry him."

They gathered again on the back balcony, which looked out over the sea. Visenya sipped a fruit drink while Viserys and Vaegon each took a glass of wine.

"It won’t be long now," Illyrio said. "Soon you will cross the Narrow Sea and take back your father’s throne. The people drink secret toasts to your health. They cry out for their true king."

"Do you think that's true?" Daenerys whispered to Daemon. A year ago they would have included Rhaena, but she never replied any more.

Daemon shrugged. "I suppose if Magister Illyrio says it, it must be."

"When will they be married?" Viserys asked.

"Soon," Illyrio replied. "The Dothraki never stay still for long."

Much like them. They'd always been wandering, never had a home.

"Is it true they lie with their horses?" Visenya asked. "I'm not sure I like the idea of my sweet sister marrying a barbarian of that kind."

Illyrio grimaced. "I wouldn’t ask Khal Drogo."

Rhaena gave the slightest of smiles at that, and flinched as Vaegon frowned at her. He was displeased she had yet to fall pregnant, though they had been married only a year and a half.

"Do you take me for a fool?" Viserys asked.

Illyrio smiled placatingly. "I take you for a king. Kings lack the caution of common men."

Viserys, Daenerys someone's thought, lacked any caution. 

"My apologies if I’ve given offense."

"I know how to play a man like Drogo," Viserys said. "I give him a queen and he gives me an army."

Daenerys reached for Daemon's hand. "I don’t want to be his queen. I want to go home."

Viserys stepped towards her. "So do I. So do we all. I want my son and heir to be born on Dragonstone like we were. But that's not going to happen. Do you know why?"

"Because they took it from us," Daemon whispered.

"But–" started Daenerys.

"I want us all to go home," Viserys said. "But they took it from us. So tell me, sweet sister, how do we go home?"

"I don’t know," Daenerys whispered.

"We go home with an army. With Khal Drogo’s army." He caught Daenerys's chin and tipped her head back. "I would let his whole tribe fuck you, all forty thousand men and their horses too, if that’s what it took."

"Viserys!" scolded Visenya.

Viserys pressed a kiss to Daenerys's head and stepped back inside. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Daemon took her hand. "Come. Let's walk the gardens."

Chapter Text

“Do you think he’ll like me?” Minisa asked as Cat braided her hair. Behind her, Liya rolled her eyes.

“Everyone likes you, Little Lady Perfect.”

“Just because a Prince doesn’t want to marry you!” Minisa retorted.

“Girls!” Cat scolded.

Liya stood and called for Warrior. “We’re going to find Arya.”

“I’m sure he’ll think you’re beautiful,” Sansa said from her seat on the windowsill. “You are beautiful.”

Minisa blushed as Liya slammed the door behind her. “When would we be married? Soon or do we have to wait?”

“Hush now,” Cat said. “Your father hasn’t even said yes.”

“Why would he say no?” Sansa asked. “He’d be the second most powerful man in the kingdoms. 

Cat sighed. “He’d have to leave home. He’d have to leave me. He’d have to leave… at least some of you children. I don’t imagine King’s Landing would welcome all of you. And there’s the Stark saying of keeping one in Winterfell.”

Minisa frowned. “You left your home to come here. And I’d be queen someday.” She looked up at her. “Please make father say yes.”

“Minisa…”

“Please, Mother, please. It’s the only thing I ever wanted.”

Alys stayed with Moonsight in her room as the noise from the banquet in the great hall reached even her. The less she was seen in public, father said, the better. It still felt like she was a prisoner in her own home. She couldn’t even go to the library – there was a fear the Queen’s brother, the imp, might be there.

“I wish I looked like them,” she said to Moonsight, scratching her ears and looking down at Jon and Aden in the training yard. “I’d still be a bastard, but at least then I’d be free to do something. The way I am…” She shook her head. “I’ll have to go to Essos or something to have a future.”

Moonsight whined softly, nuzzling her hand.

“I know Father wants the best,” Alys said. “But sometimes I don’t think I’m a Stark at all.”

Down in the yard, Jon’s furious attack on a fencing dummy was cut short by the arrival of their Uncle Benjen, astride a large dark horse.

“Is he dead yet?” Benjen called.

“Uncle Benjen!” Jon shouted. Aden hurried over from his own skulking corner of the yard to join and hug the two.

“You got bigger,” Benjen said, slapping them on the back. “I rode all day. Didn’t want to leave you alone with the Lannisters.”

“We wouldn’t be alone,” Jon said. “We’d have each other.” He glanced up towards where he knew Alys’s window to be. A spike of guilt jolted through him. They ought to have gone to her.

“Why aren’t you at the feast?” Benjen asked.

“Lady Stark thought it might insult the royal family to seat bastards in their midst,” Aden replied. “And she doesn’t want to… show Alys off.”

“Ah, yes. I can see how that might be a concern. Well, you’re always welcome on the wall. No bastard was ever refused a seat there.”

“Alys would be,” said Jon.

“Alys is a girl; the Watch doesn’t take girls.”

“Take me with you when you go back,” Aden said.

“Jon…” Benjen sighed.

“I’m Aden,” he replied.

Benjen turned a slight pink shade. “We’d have to post the two of you to different places.”

“And then we’d all be alone,” said Jon.

“But Father would let us if you asked him, I know he would,” Aden said.

Benjen patted his shoulder. “The Wall isn’t going anywhere.”

“I’m ready to swear your oath,” Aden said.

Jon shook his head. “No. We’d only be more alone than we are here.”

“Well done for thinking about it, Jon,” said Benjen. “You have to think about what you’d be giving up. We have no families. None of us will ever father sons.”

“I don’t care about that,” Aden replied.

“You might, if you knew what it meant.” He shook his head. “I’d better get inside. Rescue your father from his guests. We’ll talk later.”

Jon watched him go before reaching for Aden’s arm. “We should go up to Alys’s rooms. At least then none of us will be alone.”

None of them should ever be alone.

“Your uncle’s in the Night’s Watch,” said a voice from behind them.

Aden reached for his knife as Jon spun round.

“What’re you doing back there?”

Tyrion Lannister took a long swig from his flask. “Preparing for a night with your family.” He jumped from his seat. “I’ve always wanted to see the Wall. 

“You’re Tyrion Lannister,” Aden said. “The queen’s brother?”

Tyrion sighed. “Ah yes, my greatest accomplishment.” He looked them over. “You – you’re two of Ned Stark’s bastards, aren’t you?”

Aden grimaced and turned away. Spirit grumbled at his feet.

“Did I offend you?” Tyrion asked. “Sorry. You are the bastards, though.”

“Lord Eddard Stark is our father,” said Jon.

“Yes, and Lady Stark is not your mother. Making you bastards. Let me give you some advice, bastards. Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armour. Then it can never be used to hurt you.”

Aden scowled. “What the hell do you know about being a bastard?”

Tyrion shrugged, moving towards the door. “All dwarves are bastards in their fathers’ eyes.”

Jon watched the door close and reached for Aden’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go to Alys.”

Feasts with the Stark family were always an… interesting affair. Liya was seated at one corner of the table with Tylar and Arya, while Sansa and Minisa were in the centre with Robb. Bran and Minisa were busy making a mess with their food.

“Is this your first time in the North, Your Grace?” Cat asked as King Robert attempted to pull one of the serving girls into his lap.

“Yes,” Cersei replied. “Lovely country.” 

They both looked at Minisa, who was in turn watching Prince Joffrey and his younger brother Jason further down the table.

“I’m sure it’s very grim, after Kings Landing,” Cat said. “I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me up here for the first time.

Minisa stood and approached Cersei, smiling nervously. Cersei took her hand. “Good evening. Goodness, you are beautiful. That hair!”

Minisa blushed.

“How old are you?”

“Sixteen, Your Grace.”

Cersei looked her up and down. “You’re tall. Still growing?”

Minisa shifted her weight from foot to foot. She’d always been one of the tallest of her siblings – taller than her crib-brothers, at times.

“No, Your Grace. I don’t think so.”

Cersei frowned. “And have you bled yet?”

Minisa’s blush deepened. “I– Yes, Your Grace.”

Cersei nodded. “Your dress. Did you make it?”

Minisa settled for simply nodding.

“It’s beautiful. Such talent. You must make something for me.”

Minisa smiled. “Thank you, Your Grace.” She pulled her hand free and slipped away.

Cersei turned back to Cat. “I hear we might share a grandchild someday.”

“I hear the same.”

“Your daughter will do well in the capital. Such a beauty shouldn’t stay hidden up here forever.” She looked down the table at Sansa. “Perhaps that one, too. Such charming children you have.”

That was broken when Arya flicked food onto Sansa’s face. Sansa turned red. “You beast!”

“Arya!” scolded Minisa.

Robb sighed and stood, hoisting up a protesting Arya. “Time for bed.” He glanced at Edwyle and Minisa. “You get Bran and Mariah?”

“Aye,” replied Edwyle, standing to retrieve Bran. “Come on, you.”

Most of the Stark children filtered out with the quintuplets, leaving behind only Hoster and Lyarra. Cat cleared her throat. “You two as well.”

“Oh!” said Lyarra. “Yes, Mother. Goodnight, Mother.”

Hoster bid his goodnights, and the two left together, leaving only the slowly growing drunker adults.

Chapter Text

Daenerys folded her hands in her lap as the wedding raged around her. She wasn’t even allowed to be close to her siblings; they had all been seated away from her. She clenched her fingers into her dress as a fight broke out, looking desperately to Daemon. He grimaced and turned away. 

“A Dothraki wedding without at least three deaths is considered a dull affair,” Illyrio said.

“When do I meet with the Khal?” Viserys asked. “We need to begin planning the invasion.”

“If Khal Drogo has promised you a crown, you shall have it.”

“When?” asked Visenya, resting a hand on her stomach. “I want my baby born on Dragonstone.”

“When their omens favour war,” Illyrio replied.

Viserys scoffed. “I piss on Dothraki omens. I waited seventeen years to get my throne back.”

“Then you can wait a few more months,” said Daemon as a fight broke out, apparently over a woman two men both wanted. Rhaena hunched her shoulders in on herself.

“If we wait that long, it’ll be too late for the babe,” Visenya hissed. “We need Dragonstone. Targaryens are born on Dragonstone .”

“The Dothraki won’t cross–” Daemon said, before catching Vaegon’s glare and quieting. Instead, he turned to watch a knight in Westerosi armour approach Daenerys.

Drogo gave him a greeting in Dothraki. He bowed and held up a small stack of books. “A small gift for the new Khaleesi. Songs and histories from the Seven Kingdoms.”

Daenerys smiled. “Thank you, ser. Are you from my country?”

“Ser Jorah Mormont of Bear Island,” he replied. Daemon frowned at the way the man looked at his sister. Mormont set the books down at Daenerys’s side. “I served your father for many years. Gods be good, I hope to always serve the rightful king.”

The next gift were two large chests from Illyrio. Daenerys stood to open them, and lifted out a scaled black object from within.

“Is that..?” Rhaena whispered, the first time Daemon had heard her speak in a week.

“Dragons’ eggs, Daenerys,” said Illyrio. “From the Shadow Lands beyond Asshai. The ages have turned them to stone, but they will always be beautiful.”

Daenerys set the egg back in the chest. “Thank you, Magister.”

Khal Drogo stood and gestured for her to follow. She did so, her face paler than ever. Daemon trailed after her as Drogo led her to a beautiful white mare.

“She’s beautiful,” whispered Daenerys. “Ser Jorah, I don’t know how to say ‘thank you’ in Dothraki.”

“There is no word for ‘thank you’ in Dothraki,” Ser Jorah replied.

Drogo took hold of Daenerys around the waist and lifted her onto the mare. Daemon bristled. He shouldn’t be touching her.

The Khal mounted his own horse and took the mare’s reins. Viserys smiled up at her. “Make him happy.”

Daenerys shivered as Drogo began to unwrap her dress. She knew that this had to come, it was a husband’s right, but she’d been trying to close it from her mind. Tears warmed her face. He touched them with his thumb. “No.”

“Do you know the Common Tongue?” she asked.

“No,” he replied. 

“Is ‘no’ the only word that you know?”

“No,” he said again, bending her over like an animal for all to see.

Chapter Text

“I can climb higher!” Mariah declared.

“Cannot!” Bran protested.

“Can too!”

“Fine!” Bran glanced around the courtyard. “I dare you to climb the tower.”

Mariah gasped. “The tower?”

“Mm huh! I dare you!”

“Well… I dare you back!”

“You can’t do that!”

“I just did.”

King Robert’s voice rang out in the courtyard. “Are you as good with a spear as you used to be?”

“No,” replied their father, “But I’m still better than you.”

King Robert let out a booming laugh. “I know what I’m putting you through. Thank you for saying yes. I only ask you because I need you. You’re a loyal friend. You hear me? A loyal friend. The last one I’ve got.”

“I hope I’ll serve you well,” said their father as they passed the two bickering children.

“You will,” replied the King. “And I’ll make sure you don’t look so fucking grim all the time. Come on, boys, let’s go kill some boar!”

Their father gave them a nod and a wave, before riding out after the King. Bran leapt to his feet. “Fine then! I’ll race you! First to the top wins.”

Mariah giggled and scrambled up the wall, quickly catching up with him. He soon pulled ahead again, however, when she found herself blocked by a windowsill. Summer and Jenny whined beneath them.

As Bran neared the top, moans and grunts met his ears. He frowned, glancing down at Mariah, who was still trying to find her way around the windowsill. He’d win, even with a delay. He stopped to peer through the window, and stared at the sight of the Queen’s brother atop her. Her gaze fell on him as he tried to duck back out of sight.

“Stop!” cried the Queen. “Stop!”

Her brother – what did Arya call him? – spun round and rushed towards the window. Bran struggled to scramble downwards, but a strong hand heaved him back onto the window.

“Are you completely mad?” asked the man.

“He saw us.”

He glanced at her. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”

“He saw us!” she repeated.

“I heard you the first time.” He looked Bran up and down. “Quite the little climber, aren’t you? How old are you, boy?”

“Seven,” Bran replied.

“Seven,” he repeated, looking back at the Queen. “The things I do for love.”

And then Bran was falling, tumbling backwards through the air. Before he hit the ground, the last thing he saw was Mariah, pressed against the wall to hide under the windowsill.

Chapter Text

Lady Stark's cries filled the halls of Winterfell for days, accompanied by the mournful sound of direwolves howling in the courtyard. Bran's accident seemed to have driven the entire castle into an inky despair, suckling out all the life and leaving behind only just and grief. The boy yet lived, and the King had sent his own Maester to assist with his treatment, but he had yet to wake. 

And the news that Lord Eddard Stark had accepted the position of the King's Hand was sending yet more ripples through the household. 

"But Father, you can't leave!" Edwyle protected one evening after the King's household had retired for the night. "Not now, not after Bran's accident!"

Mariah only looked at her hands, twisting them together in her lap. She'd been almost silent since the entire event, evidently affected by seeing Bran fall. 

"I'm sorry, but I must," their Father replied.

"But Bran needs you!" protested Hoster.

"We need you!" said Lyarra.

"Winterfell needs you," said Alys.

"The King has spoken, and he wants me in King's Landing. I cannot refuse."

"It's not fair," muttered Sansa.

Jon, Aden, and Alys meet in his chambers that night, as the moon hung high in the sky, sitting with their wolves at their feet. 

"Lady Stark won't have us here once Father is gone," Jon said bluntly. 

"I shall go to the Wall," Aden replied without missing a beat. "Uncle Benjen will take me, I asked him. You should come too, Jon."

"And what of me?" asked Alys.

Aden faltered, opening and closing his mouth, and shook his head. "I don't know."

"We could go to Essos. All together. People who… look like Alys aren't unusual there, and we could find work," said Jon.

"But I want to go to the Wall. You know this!"

They did. It had been Aden's desire for a long time. 

"I shouldn't like to leave you," said Alys.

"We must one day." Aden scratched Spirit's head. "Perhaps this is that day."

The only thing on Minisa's mind as the girls packed was her goal of marrying Prince Joffrey and one day becoming Queen. All five of the older girls were to head south with their Father, though not all were bound for King's Landing. Lyarra, as well as Hoster, were to go to comfort their aunt at the Vale, while Arya, along with Medgar, who she was inseparable from, was to stay at Riverrun.

"You know you mightn't be Queen," Liya said, folding the last of her dresses.

"Of course I shall!" Minisa snapped.

"Not so. Princess Elia never did."

"But Joffrey shan't kidnap one of you and none of the boys will start a rebellion."

Liya laughed. "Tylar and Medgar."

Lyarra giggled. "They would absolutely start a rebellion."

"You're all horrible!" Minisa said hotly. Darling pressed her nose into her leg. Minisa reached down to scratch her head. 

Liya giggled. "We're just thinking of the practicalities."

Ned's chambers were cold and empty, as Cat continued to stay, eat, and sleep, in Bran's sickrooms. The worry over him swirled in Ned's mind, burning a hole in his skull. A small knock came at his door. 

"Who is it?"

The door opened a crack. "Me, Father."

He groaned and swung his legs from the bed. "Mariah. What is it?"

She slipped into the room and crept towards him. "Can I tell you a secret?" 

Ned patted the bed beside him. She climbed up, swinging her little legs under her. Jenny laid down at her feet. 

"What is this secret then?" he asked. 

She looked up at him. "The man in white pushed Bran off the tower."

Chapter Text

"I hate him, Dae," Daenerys said as their horses continued through the vast Dothraki sea. The long grass swayed around them, high enough to tickle her bare legs. She ran her tongue around her dry mouth as tears pricked her eyes. She assured all over from her husband's nightly visits, during which he took her like an animal, ignoring her pleas and cries. "I hate all this riding, I hate the Dothraki sea, and I hate Khal Drogo."

"You could come with me," Daemon replied. "Meet me tonight, bring the dragon eggs. I'll take you far away from here."

The eggs, her eggs. Seven of them, kept in a large jewelled chest, each one of them worth a small fortune. One of her only two comforts, the other being Daemon.

"We can't." Daenerys adjusted her grip on the reins. "Where would we go?"

"Away from here. Somewhere far. We don't need to be royalty, we'll just settle down. Me and you, Dany."

She smiled. "I wish we could."

A familiar chestnut horse came up alongside her own. Her shadow, assigned by her older brother. Jorah Mormont offered her a skin of horse's milk. "You need to drink, child." He produced a strip of dried horse meat from his bag. "And eat."

"Oh, do go away, Mormont," grumbled Daemon. "I am quite capable of taking care of my sister."

"The weak don't survive out here." Mormont pushed the meat at her. "You need to stay strong. And the Dothraki have two things in abundance: grass and horses."

"We've noticed."

It was all they'd had to drink, all they'd had to eat. Horse's milk and horse meat. And grass. 

"Please," said Mormont. "Eat. People can't live on grass"

Daenerys sighed and shook her head. "I can't."

He patted her arm. "It'll get easier." He looked over at Daemon. "Though we're still not far from Pentos, my Prince. Magister Illyrio has extended his hospitality. You'd be more comfortable there."

"My brother can return and help Vaegon and Rhaena in securing allies if he wishes," Viserys said from behind them. The twins' middle siblings had remained in Pentos to continue seeking those that might fund the war effort, while the other four headed out across the Dothraki sea. "But I have no interest in hospitality or comfort. I'll stay with Drogo until he fulfils his end of the bargain and I have my crown."

"I'm going where Dany goes," Daemon said. The fact he had been barred from marrying her was still a sore spot between them. It was his right, the expectation they'd held all these years. 

"As you wish, your Grace, my Prince."

Daenerys shot Daemon a thankful look and a shy smile, nudging her horse ahead. Her twin soon followed. He went where she went. Behind them, Viserys continued to speak to Mormont.

"Brutish as this life is, I suppose it is preferable to beheading. What did Ned Stark want you for? Buying from a slaver?"

Their family had once been Kings. Look at what they'd been reduced to."

"Selling to one... Some poachers I caught on my land."

"Under my reign, you won't be punished for such nonsense. You can rest assured of that."

His reign. 

Secured by the army Daenerys was buying.

Chapter Text

House Stark

Lord Eddard Stark.

Lady Catelyn Stark.

Robb, 16 years old, first born quintuplet. Direwolf: Greywind

Minisa, 16 years old, second born quintuplet. Direwolf: Darling

Liya, 16 years old, third born quintuplet. Direwolf: Warrior

Edwyle, 16 years old, fourth born quintuplet. Direwolf: Dream.

Tylar, 16 years old, fifth born quintuplet. Direwolf: Hunter

Hoster, 14 years old. Direwolf: Torrhen

Lyarra, 13 years old. Direwolf: Nightlight

Rodrik, 12 years old. Direwolf: Dusk

Sansa, 11 years old. Direwolf: Lady

Arya, 9 years old. Twin to Medgar. Direwolf: Nymeria.

Medgar, 9 years old. Twin to Arya. Direwolf: Starfall

Bran, 7 years old. Direwolf: Summer.

Mariah, 6 years old. Direwolf: Jenny

Rickon, 2 years old. Twin to Lelani. Direwolf: Shaggydog.

Lelani, 2 years old. Twin to Rickon. Direwolf: Fluffy

Bastards

Jon, 16 years old. Direwolf: Ghost

Aden, 16 years old. Direwolf: Spirit

Alysanne, 16 years old. Direwolf: Moonsight

House Baratheon

King Robert Baratheon

Queen Cersei Baratheon

Crown Prince Joffrey, 16

Prince Jason, 11. Twin to Sarelle.

Princess Sarelle, 11. Twin to Jason.

Princess Cassana, 10.

Prince Ormund, 8.

Princess Myrcella, 7. Twin to Prestan.

Prince Prestan, 7. Twin to Myrcella.

Princess Kathlyn, 6. 

Prince Tommen, 6.

House Targaryen

Exhile King Viserys, 21. Twin to Visenya. Married to Visenya.

Exhile Queen Visenya, 21. Twin to Viserys. Married to Viserys.

Vaegon, 20. Married to Rhaena.

Rhaena, 17. Married to Vaegon.

Daemon, 16. Twin to Daenerys.

Daenerys, 16. Twin to Daemon.