Come Only Baby, This Is Not the End of the World

This is Chapter One

A/N: Hello everyone! This is my attempt at a modern Game of Thrones. It takes place in modern-day London, partly in parliament and partly in a university and high school. A lot of the plot will be the same, only modernized and…less death of course. The main ships will be Sansa/Sandor, Dany/Jorah, Arya/Gendry, Jon/Ygritte, Jaime/Brienne, and Shae/Tyrion but there will be other ships (both canon and fanon) so look forward to those! Some characters will be aged up or down or might look more like their book or show counterpart. Oh yeah, this is rated M just to be safe because it's GOT and there's some weird shit. Like Dany/Viserys scenes are weird, okay? Weird. Anyway, here it goes:

Sansa

"You're not seriously going to wear that to meet the Baratheons, are you?" Sansa Stark grimaced as she took a look at her younger sister. Arya had just come in from a game of football with her best friend Mycah (the butcher's boy). Her jersey was dark, with the Stark family emblem of a wolf in the centre, and the number three on the back. Three…for the third child in the Stark family. Well, the third child that mattered, anyway. It was a disgusting piece of clothing, Sansa thought.

"I don't get what the big fucking deal is," Arya shrugged and sank into her bed, "it's not like they're royalty."

There was a visible division between Arya's side of the room and Sansa's. Arya's walls were adorned with posters of bands like Black Sabbath and Alice Cooper. Her comforter was a deep, Lannister-red and every article of clothing that she owned was on the floor. Sansa's side of the room was a sharp contrast. The only thing on her walls was a vintage print of some lemons she'd found at a flea market. Her comforter was a pale pink, and her clothing was stored in her antique chest of drawers, which she'd painted herself. On her bedside table, there was a little yellow lamp and a framed photograph.

"They're practically royal," Sansa argued, "Robert Baratheon is the Prime Minister Arya!"

Arya threw one of her fuzzy purple throw pillows at her sister. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, I'll change! Jesus fucking….oh Sansa…?"

"What?"

"You going to keep that photo of Joffrey out beside your bed?"

Sansa flushed, grabbed the photo, and clutched it to her chest.

"Yes, I suppose it wouldn't be prudent to have Myrcella see a photo of her brother on my bedside table…"

She hoped Arya didn't realize just how embarrassed she was. It would be less than prudent. Sansa wanted Joffrey to see her as a calm, confident, classy young woman. They hadn't seen each other since last summer when they'd stayed in London, and she didn't want him thinking she was the same lovestruck teenager that she'd been then. No, Sansa was eighteen now. And she was prepared to charm both Joffrey and his family.

"That priss is not going to be sharing our room, is she?" Arya had stripped her jersey off and was walking around the room bare-chested.

"Arya really…wear a bra. And yes, where else to you expect her to stay? We only have one guest room and Mother and Father will be staying in it."

Arya picked an article of clothing off the floor and sniffed it. Dissatisfied, she dropped it back down.

"Jesus. So Robert and that bitch Cersei are going to be staying in our parents' room? Isn't that a little creepy?"

"It's not creepy, Arya. The Prime Minister of England is staying at our place. Now, we live in a house that only has five bedrooms, and three and a half bathrooms. I expect we'll have to try our best to impress."

"But Robert and dad have been friends since they were kids. And that fat bastard isn't exactly in a position to judge. I mean doesn't he sleep with a new woman every day? That's what they say, anyway…"

Sansa grew tired of the subject. She tugged open their shared closet, pulled out the laundry hamper and collected all of Arya's clothing off the floor.

"I would have liked to vacuum the carpets too, but we hardly had any notice…," she muttered to herself.

"I get that you have like…a total boner for Joffrey, but did you really have to take down your drawings?"

Arya was pointing to the empty space on Sansa's walls. She used to hang her sketches up there: drawings of their home, the Winter River bridge, structural breakdowns of the Tower of London she'd drawn during heir last trip to London, etc. But since hearing about the impending visit of the the Baratheons, Sansa had stowed away her architectural ambitions. They were in her desk drawer. She tossed her photo of Joffrey in there too.

"It's nothing," Sansa dismissed Arya, "now what are you going to wear? They'll be here in forty minutes. And we still have to make your bed, and set up the extra mattress for Myrcella, and-,"

"Calm your tits!" Arya growled.

"I wish you'd let me dress you in something of mine," Sansa said, "I know it's not your style, but you don't own anything…formal. Or at least decent."

"Thanks a lot," Arya rolled her eyes, "and I'll remind you that I'm like a half a metre shorter than you, and I actually have hips." Arya smacked this part of her anatomy.

There was a knock on the door and it creaked open to reveal their mother. Arya had her arms sheepishly wrapped around her chest.

"Not dressed yet?!" Their was an edge to Catelyn Stark's voice but she was still calm. Sansa knew she wouldn't be too happy to host the Baratheons, but what else could she do?

"I would be but I was trying to help Arya!" Sansa pouted. Her bickers with Arya always brought out the child in her.

"Well you're lucky I thought ahead. I had Osha do a load of her laundry this morning. It's probably downstairs with her. Arya, go shower at once. You smell like a football match, and Sansa you go pick her an outfit. Hurry up, I've just heard that Jaime and Tyrion will be coming with them, Lord knows why…"

Sansa didn't stay to listen to her mother's anxious mutters. She stormed out of her room, slamming the door shut. It was typical that she was sent to do Arya's chores, like a common maid. When she and Joffrey married, surely no one would treat her this way. But she couldn't get ahead of herself.

Still dressed in her dusty pink housecoat, she made her way down the spiral staircase to the main level of the house.

"Good morning, my sweet," a distracted Ned Stark kissed his daughter on her head as he passed by in a hurry. Sansa didn't bother to mention it was nearly 1 PM and well past the time for "good morning"s.

In the dining room, Osha was spraying down the windows. Their nanny and maid was a wild-looking woman. She had thick eyebrows, which Brooke Shields could envy, if only Osha tamed them. She had dark eyes and thick, tangled hair which she usually just wore in a pony tail. She had a Sporty-Spice body, but she ruined it by wearing plain T-shirts and ugly cutoffs. She was nearly twenty three, but she had the look of an older woman. How Sansa longed to give her a makeover…oh, right…Sansa snapped back into reality.

"Have you seen Arya's laundry?" Sansa asked.

"Yeah, Theon's got it in my my room," she didn't even turn to look at Sansa as she finished wiping down the window.

Sansa set off through the kitchen, where her older brother Robb was helping Bran to tie his first tie. Robb was two years Sansa's senior, and studying law at the local college. He had dark auburn curls, similar to Sansa's and their mother's. He grinned with pride as he took one last look at his handy work. Bran would be fourteen next month. He was a quiet boy, uninterested in the excitement of the day, but not nearly as rebellious as Arya.

Through the kitchen, to the left, and right next to the sliding glass doors which lead to the backyard, was a little room where Osha slept. There was nothing on her walls except for a Scottish flag, as if to remind the Stark family that she was homesick. There was also a pile of folded laundry on her bed. Sansa began to sift through it, looking for something right for Arya. She decided on a pair of red skinny jeans and a flowy black top with cut outs. It was Arya's style, but a little more dressed up than her usual ensembles. Just as she turned to leave, Theon slipped into the room.

Theon Greyjoy: now there was an interesting story. He'd been best friends with Robb in primary school, but his parents were abusive so he and his sister Yara had been picked up by social services. Yara went to go live in a girl's home, but Theon had stayed on with the Stark family, promising to serve them. He worked as a footman, and also helped Yara with the cleaning duties. He was a year older than Robb, in his final year of studies as a paralegal. The idea was that both Robb and Theon, who were as close as brothers, would shadow their father Ned. Theon had always had a crush on Sansa.

"Hullo," he gave an little awkward wave as though they were strangers who'd run into each other on the street.

"H-Hey," Sansa smiled meekly, eyeing the door.

"Oh, uh, Osha and I were going to share a room, seeing as my room…or the guest room, really, is being occupied by your parents. Of course now Jaime and Tyrion are coming so I guess we're going to go stay at my sister's place, and your parents will stay in here."

Sansa imagined her parents squishing into Osha's single bed, and felt bad. But there wasn't much else to do. Arya hadn't been far off about royalty visiting them. This would be the Stark's family touch with greatness, and they couldn't afford to screw it up.

"Got to go!" Sansa squeaked and ran past Theon and back up the stairs. Luckily, Arya was out of the shower, lounging on her bed and reading a Rolling Stone magazine with the Arctic Monkeys on the cover. Sansa knew who they were because she fancied the lead singer a bit, although she'd never tell Arya.

Sansa threw Arya's clothes at her and got dressed herself. She wore a nude-colour pleated skirt that was thin and summery, and rested mid-calf. Her top was a white blouse with small black polka dots and she wore her a charm bracelet on her wrist. She didn't want to be too fancy. She wanted to save her best outfit for tomorrow night, when they'd have their big dinner. If things went well, she hoped Joffrey might ask her be his girlfriend. Maybe they'd even share their first kiss. The peck on the cheek he was forced to give her in greeting didn't count.

Sansa threw her hair up into a tight bun and took a hairbrush in hand. She sat down on Arya's bed, pulled her sister in close and tugged at her dark, thick hair until it looked neat enough. She then braided it in a plait down her back.

"Wish I could just chop it all off," Arya grunted. Sansa did not dignify this with a response.

"Come on, let's head downstairs. They'll be here any moment."

Daenerys

"Is this really the right move, Viserys?" Dany muttered. She had stepped out of the bath and was wearing only two bathtowels: one wrapped tightly around her figure, and the other holding up her silver-blonde hair, "I mean it's 2017, arranged marriages seem a little archaic."

"How very racist of you," Dany's brother practically purred. He was looking in the mirror, admiring his own long, luscious hair, "in other cultures, such as….whatever Drogo's culture is, these things are quite common, I'm sure."

"Aren't you the racist one for assuming that?" Dany pointed out, cautiously. Her brother seemed to be in a good mood, but she didn't want to push his limits. She didn't want to wake the dragon.

Viserys clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and turned to his sister.

"Viserys!" Dany blushed, covering herself with her towel once more, "I was going to get changed. You know, this Drogo guy will be arriving soon and I have no idea what to wear."

"I don't know why you make such a big deal out of it," Viserys shrugged, "it's nothing I haven't seen before."

Dany blushed nonetheless, and furiously looked through the outfits she'd selected. She didn't have a lot. Dany and her brother had lived mostly on the favours and gifts of others; they didn't posses much save for their ambition to take back what was rightfully theirs: the run of the country. They were currently staying at a hotel in Spain. It was a beautiful country, but Dany wished she could return to England. It had been so long. The hospitality of others had been nice, but she was nineteen years old now, and wanted to start a life of her own. If marrying a military hero from another country was her ticket to success, then so be it.

"If I marry Drogo, we'll move back to London, yes?" Dany said, holding up a spring-green dress and admiring it.

"Yes, that's the plan, my sweet sister. We get you back to England with a piece of military arm-candy by your side, and we'll win our place back in the people's hearts. Oh the press will love that. They love an interracial couple. Especially when the man's won as many battles as Count Drogo, or whatever his title is."

Dany gave her brother a stern look. His insolence was unbearable at times, but she didn't know what she'd do without him. She'd be lost without his guidance, that was for sure. Dany didn't really have a sense of identity. She felt like a ghost sometimes, floating from one place to another. She didn't care. She just wanted to return home. Maybe having a place to herself would help her feel like herself again, whoever she was…Maybe she and Drogo could be happy together.

As though he could read his sister's mind, Viserys snatched the green dress out of Dany's hands and threw it onto the chair beside the hotel television. The TV was muted, but a news broadcast was playing. Someone was being interviewed. A woman with red hair and tears in her eyes.

"You can't go dressing like some ugly old twat," Viserys warned her, "try this."

He passed her a tight-fitting number, the colour of lavender. He turned his back to her while she slipped into it. She had to tug it up, hoping it was secure around her breasts. It certainly hugged her butt.

"Did you see what's on TV? Some English bloke's died." Viserys grabbed the remote and turned the volume on. He and Dany sat next to each other on the edge of the bed. While Viserys turned up the volume, he took a look at his younger sister.

"Wow. You look hot."

"Thanks. I guess."

Jon

"Robert, seems you've gotten fat," Ned chuckled as he embraced his old friend. Jon saw genuine happiness in his father's face, but there were lines of worry there too. He couldn't blame him. A last minute visit from the Prime Minister of England certainly was a burden. Especially when his serpent wife brought along half her family tree.

Cersei Lannister was a slender woman with long, golden hair and a thin-lipped smile. There was no warmth in her eyes. She wore a deep-red pantsuit. Very fashionable. Or at least Jon thought it must be. After all, Cersei did run the UK's number one fashion magazine: The Lion's Mane. Cersei gave Catelyn a quick kiss on both cheeks and shook her hand. Catelyn looked almost drab next to the Lannister woman. She was only wearing a deep green dress; almost casual with a grey wool cardigan thrown over it.

"I have indeed," Robert had a hollow chuckle. Not as jolly as he usually was. "But so have you, my friend. Now look, it's the lovely Catelyn. Doesn't she look stunning, my wife?"

Cersei's smile seemed to cause her pain. "I must say, I could never look so wonderful without makeup. It's very…organic."

Jon almost had to wince at the level of passive aggressiveness. He wished he could be down in his room, practicing guitar, instead of standing out in the foyer and listening to all these fake niceties. It seemed like he was only a part of the Stark family when it was convenient for Catelyn. This must have been one of those times. There was strength in numbers. The more wolves in the pack, the less likely the lions were to attack.

"And Robb! I hardly recognized you, lad! You've got to be twenty years old now! An old man like me and your father! Of course, the grey hairs won't show up just yet." Robert patted Robb on the back. When the Prime Minister had turned his attention to Sansa, Robb shared a stupid grin with Jon. He gladly returned it.

"And my, you get prettier every time I see you, Sansa." Cersei agreed. Sansa simpered. Jon held back an urge to roll his eyes, especially when he saw that piece of shit Joffrey wink at Sansa. What did a smart girl like Sansa see in him?

"Arya, no tattoos yet I see?"

"Robert, please don't give her any suggestions," Ned urged. Arya grinned.

"Bran, good lad," Robert shook his hand, "you'll be heading into secondary school now, I imagine."

"Yes sir."

"Ah well it's a good thing you've got a big brain in your head. Men like me don't have big brains, but we sure have big…" he shared a coy look with Cersei, "stomachs. Aye, big stomachs."

Jon's father looked as though he might be ill, and his wife Catelyn wasn't doing well either. Robert Baratheon, the Prime Minister of this great country, was a clown.

After ruffling little Rickon's hair, they arrived at Jon. The last on everybody's list. The bastard son. Sometimes even Theon was more a part of the Stark family than Jon was. Of course, Theon wasn't the product of adultery.

"Jon. And what have you been up to?" Robert asked. Cersei stared him down.

"Well I've been mostly working on my music, sir. But I've been considering going into the military."

Catelyn and Jon's father gave him a sharp, disapproving look.

"Have you?" There was a long silence, "Good lad."

"Well," Cersei said, feigning pleasantness, "I think we've kept the family captive for long enough. Jaime and Tyrion are on their way, along with our bodyguard, Sandor. But they won't need such a…royal reception. I'm sure Robert and I would like to retire to our room for a while."

Jon thought she spoke just like a queen. Kind of like how Sansa spoke.

Ned nodded at Jon, giving him permission to "retire" to his own room. Jon thundered down the stairs into the basement. He and Robb shared a room. Similar to how Arya and Sansa decorated their rooms, Robb and Jon had their own tastes. Robb liked his football posters, and one of Victoria Beckham modelling underwear. Jon had posters of Joy Division and The Cure.

He sat himself down on his bed, which was closest to the window, and settled his electric bass guitar on his lap. He began to strum a few simple chords when he heard voices outside. His fingers lifted from the strings, hovering in anticipation.

"Cersei won't like this, I'm sure". It was Jon's father speaking.

"Fuck what that woman thinks. God, the things I do for her. But nothing's going to stop me from paying my respects to the dead. I wouldn't do that to Lyanna. Never." Robert spoke gruffly.

Jon sighed and shook his head. Lynna Stark, his late aunt. He'd never met her, but according to Robert she might as well have been an angel. He preferred the dead woman to his own wife, although Jon couldn't blame him. It wasn't surprising that he wanted to spend his first moments at Winterfell Hall visiting the grave of the woman he'd loved. Jon returned to strumming.

After some time, the dialogue opened back up.

"You know why I'm here then, Ned?"

"Oh. Aye. I got the text this morning. Catelyn knows. The kids don't."

"Can you believe it? Jon Arryn…dead."

This time Jon set down his guitar, and took his phone out of his back pocket. He quickly Googled "Jon Arryn". He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The results were true. BBC had the article on its front page. The Deputy Prime Minister had died in his sleep the night before.

"I know. Seems like only yesterday he was raising the two of us, teaching us to wrestle, to drink, to be leaders. Making us the men we were."

Jon heard Robert spit on the grass.

"What great men we are. I'm an old fat man married to a bitch, with a royal prick for a son. Trying to keep this country from running into the ground. I don't know what I'll do without Jon."

"You'll make it."

There was a long silence, which Jon tried to read. It was nearly impossible without seeing their faces.

"What is that look, then?" Ned asked.

"You know what it's about, you bastard."

"I can't think of any better man for the job, Ned."

Jon's eyebrows arched. He placed his guitar back on its stand and knelt on his knees on his bed. He pushed his black curtains aside slightly, so he could get a view of the two men. Standing a distance from the window, he saw their figures in full.

"My place is here, Robert. I'm not going to London. The children—,"

"Can come with you! For God's sakes Ned. I'm not asking you for some stupid favour like when were kids. I'm not asking you to be my wingman. I'm asking you to be my deputy. If you refuse, I don't know what I'll do."

Ned didn't speak. Jon saw him run a hand across his face in distress.

"Alright, so you can't just up and leave Winterfell on its own. I get that. Leave Robb where he is. He and Theon are well off in college and they can run the place while you're gone. Take Sansa with you. I have contacts at Westros University, she could easily get a place there. Or Cersei could get her an internship at The Lion's Mane. And it's not as though you can't come back and visit now and then. You won't be chained to parliament. And bring the troubled ones with you too, why don't you?"

"The troubled ones?"

"You know, Jon and Arya. They'd be better off in schools in London. Arya can find some art classes or something to get her energy out in a positive way, or whatever those psychologists on daytime television say. Distract Jon with school and maybe you'll keep him out of the military."

"I'll mind you not to refer to my children as troubled, Robert," Ned was red in the face and looked ready to punch his friend in the face, "my family is not a chess game. You can't just move the pieces around as it pleases you."

"You can feel what you do, Ned. But your family will be leaving Winterfell sooner than you think."

"And what does that mean?"

"Joffrey will propose to Sansa. Tomorrow night. And I doubt she'll turn him down."

"Fuck," Jon said.

"Fuck," Ned said.

"I know Joffrey can be a pain in all our arses. But he's had his mind set on this union for some time. And if anyone can put him in line, it's your Sansa. Besides, they're both eighteen. There's nothing we can do."

"I suppose you're right."

"Our families are already connected. They always have been. I might've been your brother at one time-,"

"You are my brother, Robert."

"It's a nice sentiment, Ned. But a real brother would do this for me. I need you."

Ned sighed, and there were murmurs of further conversation, but Jon had already walked away from his window.

Change was coming to Winterfell Hall, whether the Starks were ready for it or not.

A/N: Okay I hope that wasn't terrible! Please leave reviews and let me know what you thought or what you'd like to see in the future! Also just FYI this takes place in modern day but it's still kind of an AU world because politics and parliament etc. work differently. So if you're like "wait that isn't how parliament works?" it's because I've had to sort of change it to make it work for Game of Thrones plots, if that makes sense. So things will be a little weird. But it in a good way, I hope!