Unchained. Defiant. Free

A/N: this story will be a mix of GRRM's character POV and normal chapters, sorry if it gets confusing, also the first few chapters will be kind of short. Also I won't entirely be following canon, EG: Rhaegar will survive the Trident and Elia and Rhaenys will survive the Sack, but I don't know if Robert will live, die or someone else will, and I'll be taking a few liberties here and there, I know I'm wrong but I'm meddling to better fit the story, so no flames please.

If you recognise it, I don't own it.

Tyrion I

296 AC

'They captured the moment quite beautifully, in this dwarf's humble opinion,' Tyrion thought, taking another draught from his goblet, 'if only my foolish Sister… speak of the Great Other and he shall appear.'

"Sister, how wonderful of you to join me," Cersei did not look pleased.

"Why are you here, Dwarf," Cersei demanded.

"Reminiscing, dear sister," Tyrion replied evenly, giving her a look that made her visibly uncomfortable, "perhaps I might wish indulge you in a history lesson, one that should serve well if need be."

Cersei looked around, noting the many paintings, four chairs, a table and little else, "why here?"

"Because what I wish to impart is told through these paintings, most of what I have to say is told second or third hand, now please, be seated," Tyrion gestured to the chairs, once they were seated he motioned to a painting of a man wearing a breastplate and steel pauldrons over chain mail, but the man's shadow showed the shape of a chained Direwolf breaking free, at the bottom of the picture was a midnight blue heraldic shield with a black Direwolf leaping, collared and shackled with broken chains trailing from the shackles, underneath were the words: Unchained, Defiant, Free, "tell me the meaning of this portrait?"

"It is a portrait of Lord Talion, Hero of the Khillesshandra, Demon of the Trident…" Cersei began but stopped when her brother shook his head.

"That is not what I mean," He said, "there is a deeper meaning in this picture, what is the significance of the shadow?"

"The obvious answer is his House Sigil," Cersei replied scathingly, then mulled it over, her eyes falling on the painting next to it, the one her brother had been examining, "his Sigil reflects his beginnings."

Cersei glared sharply as he clapped, but his smile was genuine, "well done, it does indeed. It is fourteen years to the day he rescued Brandon Stark from the Mad King, fourteen years since a nobody dared to do what was right, defying a King and shaming the Nobility of Seven Kingdoms."

Tyrion then stood up and walked in front of the next portrait: in the background, the Mad King standing behind the fire, his face lit and shadowed, perfectly capturing his madness. The throng of Lords and Ladies lining the walls, just watching. Rickard Stark in the centre, suspended above the fire and drawing his last breath. In the foreground, Brandon on his knees, struggling to remove the noose around his neck as his saviour stands above him, hauling him to his feet. It was a most accurate likeness.

He remembered that day very well…

282 AC, the Red Keep

If Aerys wasn't Mad before, he is now.

Fire? Since when could someone elect fire as their Champion?

Tyrion watched as Brandon's face grew steadily redder as he struggled to grasp the sword just out of his reach, not realising that by struggling he was just killing himself.

Just as the Stark heir's face hinted to purple, a great flash blinds him as a crack of the most terrible thunder erupted just in front of the mad king, blinding and deafening nearly everyone.

Nearly, but not all, being as short as he was Tyrion was largely protected by the crowd around him and found himself on his knees just in front of the assembled nobles, blinking furiously.

His vision and hearing slowly returned, he looked to the middle of the Hall as he heard a faint scraping of metal, he saw a dark red haired man in a green tunic, sea blue breeches of some unidentifiable material and black boots cut the rope tying Brandon's noose to the Tyroshi contraption just before the Stark Heir passed out, then opened the noose, drawing a gasping breath from the kneeling man as he was able to breath.

"On your feet!" the stranger shouted, swearing softly at Brandon's lack of response, "Do You WANT To Die Here? MOVE!"

"Stop Him!" the Mad King shouted, even though he was still blinded, "He's Supposed To Die!"

Tyrion could just make out Rickard saying something but his words were barely more than screams, but whatever he said, Brandon started to move.

They didn't get far before the sole Kingsguard not by the Throne barred their way.

The stranger took a swing with Brandon's sword, easily blocked by Prince Lewyn Martell, who took two swings against the man, who moved surprisingly fast to avoid them, then feigned a down right to up left slash, the Prince blocked but cried out as his right knee was kicked out from under him, sending him to his other knee, the stranger then swung his sword into the Prince's unprotected neck, yanking it to his right as it connected and cutting to the bone, as the Prince collapsed, trying in vain to stem the flow of blood, Brandon stood up and the stranger led him out of the Hall at a run.

A few minutes later, everyone had recovered and the King bellowed furiously, the Kingsguard, bar Ser Barristan Selmy who stopped to check on the Prince, drew swords and took off after the two men, Ser Barristan following a few moments later.

But Tyrion already knew it was too late, the pair would be in the city by now and it really wasn't that hard to hide if you had half a brain, while he doubted Brandon had such, Starks were simply too honourable, he hoped for their sake his saviour did.