STEFFON

Only a fool would assume that what happened at the Trident would be left forgotten. And while Steffon wasn't foolish enough to think so, a part of him did childishly have a yen for obliviousness. It was more than hypocritical on his part to want to be unaware and paint better images of those around him. How could he even want naiveté when he often scolded his twin for not being leery enough? It likely boiled down to the very fact that the comfort one is given from shielding your eyes from the faults of those you loved had quite the charm. After all, it took Steffon a long time to want to acknowledge the kind of person that his mother truly was.

He discovered at a young age that his mother did not let matters go quietly. She hardly ever abandoned her displeasure, even more so when the outcome was what she considered none to be desired. And while she harbored many ambitions and twice as many deeply-rooted grudges, nothing incensed her more than to be outright blindsided. But even with all the mental notes Steffon pocketed over the years of how his mother moved throughout this life, she still could surprise him. Today, however, was not one of those days; where she would have him unsure, unaware, and reckless with the choices of all of his actions and words.

Steffon waited with a strange patience, preparing himself for the day his mother would request an audience with him. It took her three whole days, allowing the both of them enough time to settle comfortably back into the Red Keep. Whether or not she had chose the number of days with a purpose was a mystery to him, but Steffon couldn't afford to ponder any machinations since it was best his mind was not overrun with too many thoughts. The mental gymnastics he expected to undergo was what he should focus on than trying to stay afloat in a sea of pure speculation that could easily be swam through later. He also had to assume that a lecture would follow after pointing out everything she thought he said and did wrong in the pavilion. Who would've guessed that the mockery of a trial between Joffrey and Arya Stark would do so much damage?

He walked with a leisure down the hallway, half of him illuminated by the bright and early rays of the sunlight that poured from the large and open windows. The other was dimly shadowed along with the other half of the hallway. His long strides stopped to an abrupt halt when he spotted his uncle, who was wearing his usual cold expression. "Uncle Stannis," Steffon greeted him first.

"Steffon." There was something off about the way his uncle spoke along with the way he looked at him. The answer should've been clear as day to him but unfortunately, he couldn't piece it all together quickly enough. "Ever since you've returned to the capital, you have not once showed yourself to the council meetings."

It took all the restraint the Crown Prince could muster to not to slip and curse under his breath. He had been so preoccupied with other matters, that the small council completely strayed from his mind. Had he not been so stupidly eager for his father's approval some years ago, he never would've demanded to participate in the meetings in the first place. Not only were they tedious, but just about everything he suggested was constantly overruled by the actions of his father. Expenses were always put to waste and the debt the crown owed to his grandfather steadily climbed. Steffon thought it to be a sorry sight of what became of the treasury. It was even more disheartening to know that his father blatantly didn't care. "Did you think that once your sister was gone, you would be given leeway to be careless of your responsibilities?"

"I have not spent these past three days idly, Uncle." It wasn't a good excuse, he knew, but neither was it a lie. The means to defend himself was somewhat slim to none right about now. And with the way things were going, Steffon couldn't outright inform his uncle of everything that he was scheming. The fault would all be on him if everything wasn't protected nor rightfully in their places. He worked too hard, battled with his heart and his head many of nights, for everything to just slip between his fingers like sand.

The look his uncle sent his way was a wary one, though the Crown Prince knew straight away that he would not be questioned… At least for now. He liked to believe that his lord uncle trusted him enough to know that he would not remain in the dark for very long. "Has our new Hand adjusted well?" Steffon decided to ask, curious to know if Ned Stark had become fully aware of the mess he was forced to clean up.

Stannis' was not a man who indulged in humor and he more than often not told Steffon that constantly seeking for laughs was unbecoming of a future king. But even someone as frigid as him could also see that watching Ned Stark fumble about and trying to ascertain if Robert purposely made a mess of things was something worth the watch. "He has yet to understand that Robert was never fit to rule." His uncle's answer was more than enough insight, and Steffon couldn't help but to snort and shake his head out of amusement and pity.

"Will you lend your hand?" Steffon inquired, more than curious of the answer. "Surely you will not sit by and watch the man drown." It was no secret that his uncle felt slighted that Robert would rather Eddard be his Hand than him, his own brother. Not to mention that Stannis never quite got over being made lord of Dragonstone while Renly was made to keep their Baratheon ancestral home of Storm's End. Why such a thing caused the rift to become greater than before was something Steffon, himself, never truly understood.

"You say that as if I have a choice," was Stannis' rather dry reply. "Irregardless, I expect you to attend today's council meeting. Take care of your other matters before then." And with that, his uncle proceeded down the hall and Steffon was left to suffer with the echoes of an oncoming headache. A premonition of what today was going to consist of left him feeling weary before it all officially started.

After a rather rough massage to his temples, he continued his way to his mother's chambers without further delay. Entry was immediately granted as soon as he neared the doors, alerting him that his mother's patience was likely already hanging by a string. Steffon cautiously stepped into her large room, his head slightly bowed to give the effect that he was utterly apologetic for his late arrival. "You took your time," his mother said with an edge to her voice.

"Uncle Stannis had some words for me," he answered honestly. "I was reminded that my absence at the small council meetings was neither unnoticed nor to be further tolerated."

Her ire calmed some, or so it would seem. She unclenched her jaw and her eyes were no longer narrowed as she signaled for him to take a seat opposite of her at the small table. Steffon ambled to a chair, keeping his back straight and shoulders squared as he took the time to study the expression she now wore. So far, she wasn't too crossed with him but then again, she had the habit of changing faces relatively fast. "I suppose you know why I wanted to see you," Cersei began as she laced her fingers together as her elbows were propped by the golden arms of her chair. That was the pose she frequently took on before an intense interrogation, especially when she canted her head.

"In all honesty, I'm not too sure as to why I was called here, Mother." He decided to play dumb or at least innocently unaware. He knew a good bit of why she was angry but he wouldn't let her know that he knew. "I almost thought you wanted to see me simply because you missed my face," he quipped with the slightest of smiles. For a moment, the corners of her mouth twitched upward but in the end, she opted to keep a straight face. Humoring her did him no favors.

"Don't bother to change the conversation with your wit," her warning was spoken with a motherly sharpness. "What you did at the Trident truly surprised me. How could you side with the Starks before your own brother? Your blood. Where was your loyalty, Steffon?" Part of him had at least thought she would dance around it for a bit. By her diving into the conversation headfirst as if time was of the essence only made light to him that she was seriously furious over what transpired.

"I did not side with the Starks," replied Steffon rather hastily. "I simply didn't think it necessary for the wolf to die is all."

"The beast was going to kill your brother and yet you thought it should live," Cersei further elaborated. "Tell me how that is not showing loyalty to the Starks before your family?"

"Whatever it was that Nymeria planned to do to Joffrey doesn't matter. Loreon put a stop it and so the matter should end there." He did his best to keep his tone one note or else it would only prove her point. If he showed any emotion over the matter, he was as good as done here. "The wolves were forced back into the wilderness, was that not enough?" He could still hear Sansa's cries over being made to part with Lady. At least the beast was alive, but surely it was painful to think she'd never lay eyes on her direwolf again. Arya had did her best not to openly weep, though her tears weren't hard to miss. She did not cry only about her wolf, though. She also shed her tears for the butcher's son that met a bloody end by the Hound's blade. All because Steffon had arrived much too late.

"You even know the beast's name," scoffed Cersei. "Nymeria, as if it holds grace to carry such a name."

"Past grievances should be abandoned," Steffon spoke with little to no hope that his mother would even consider any of what he said. It couldn't harm him to try, though. "Joanna has married into their family thus making them ours. We are better off getting along than letting small matters continue to separate us."

His words made her fall into infuriated silence. The heat that emanated off her was stronger than the glare she sent. With a swipe of her golden goblet, she thought to ease her ire with a drink. It was still half full of Dornish red before she downed it with her face pinched as if the wine itself was painstakingly bitter. His mother was growing to have quite the penchant for wine as of late, though Steffon didn't bother to make light of it. She would more than berate him for even remotely comparing her to his drunkard of a father. "I would never betray our family, Mother." There was truth in what he said and he had hoped that she believed him to be genuine. "But we cannot think everyone as an enemy or else such thoughts will become true."

"Everyone is an enemy, Steffon." Seeing her so firm in her beliefs had him unsure of what to do with himself. Part of him wanted to smile due to the fact that she remained so easy to predict and yet, he wanted to frown at the likely possibility of a continuous strain between families that would only become worse before it got better. The Starks, whilst cautious, was at least courteous enough to try. They tried and all they had gotten was this in return. His mother and brother would rather worsen what could at least be soothed. "The sooner you come to understand that, the better."

"Do you remember what I once told you?" The tone of her voice became honeyed, almost to the point that seemed whatever she was going to say would actually be genuine since she spoke it softly. That was the tone she often sought to use to convince him of behaving a certain way or doing what she could not. "How you must never let others believe that Joffrey is weak."

"That isn't my duty anymore, Mother." He hadn't meant to say it. These were supposed to be just words meant for his head but somehow, they slipped through his mouth without hesitancy. He said it and she heard him. There was no going back now. "It always leads back to him, doesn't it?" Try as he might, Steffon could still feel fragments of the boy he used to be that was so spiteful and envious of his mother's blatant favoritism. She doted on Joffrey even more than Tommen, and Tommen was still a half a baby. Not once had she showered Steffon with the same level of affection.

But he did not want that anymore. He couldn't be bothered with a fretting mother at this age, though part of him still yearned for some acknowledgement that she cared enough for him to at the very least worry. But to want that was childish as well as harmful for all that he was meant to do. To become the king he is meant to be. Despite himself, Steffon was still human and it was only natural to crave such things. "I am your son, too."

He didn't have the heart to look at her. He somehow felt afraid to even so much as chance a glance of the expression she wore now. His eyes remained averted as he clambered to his feet, becoming full of his will to escape from this conversation. The Crown Prince stood at full height, keeping to the pace that gave next to nothing away. He already bared too much, little as it was. "Steffon," she pleaded as if she had now only realized her mistake.

Because his pride mattered more, Steffon said nothing more and swiftly left without once looking back.

JOANNA

The light of day had drained away without her noticing. Gone was the sunlight for it gave way to the velvety darkness of a moonless night. All that was left to illuminate her bedchambers was the fires of the hearth and the flickering, little flame of a candlelight. Though small, it served her well from where she was. It allowed her to read without any difficulty, but to write? Well, that had been a problem that no matter how bright her chambers were that could not easily be remedied. Joanna had kept on with her duties, fully aware that she was needed now more than ever after the near assassination attempt that occurred three nights ago. Since then, her good-mother remained in her featherbed. She was still deep in a what was likely a medicine induced slumber. The milk of the poppy was only supposed to numb all possible pain from Maester Luwin's needle as he stitched her wounds. However, Lady Stark had not opened her eyes since she drank the potion and Joanna could only surmise that the weight of all that has happened thus far stressed her so much to sleep so heavily.

The state of her was worrisome but nothing could be done. Perhaps it was the reality of it all that made everything worse. And to take turns watching her and Bran sleep was a heartache within itself. Along with the stress of Bran's life being threatened twice, Joanna was meant to deal with the fact that his condition and the story of his fall slipped out of the confines of Winterfell and traveled throughout the North. Because of this, she had spent hours sitting at Robb's desk and reading letter after letter of sincerest condolences from every lord and lady of the North. It was left to her to write to them and this proved more difficult than Joanna could ever imagine it to be. She was newly a wife, of the South, and so she fretted and struggled to write with the familiarity and the warmth that only Lady Stark could write in gratitude to them.

Along with those fears, the thought to make it known that she was the one reading and writing in her stead proved troublesome. Surely the North's men and women would think it insulting as well as presumptuous if she dared to sign her name, wouldn't they? How could she give thanks of their affections from their concerns for their lord and lady's family? And if she removed herself to sign it as Lady Stark, would they not notice if not from the difference of handwriting but by her choice of words as well? Her mind continuously agonized and created a hundred different ways of how all of this could possibly go wrong. Her fears took on a physical form as a mountain of crumpled up parchments on the floor at her feet. She hadn't finished a single letter. Not a one.

The anxiety of it all nearly made her cry hot, angry tears of pure frustration. Along with her desire to tear, the anxiety strengthened the desire to run home. It grew strongest at day and now no longer weakened in resolve at night. She thought about it, heavily, of slipping away like a thief in the night to the stables. She'll climb on a horse, ride to the nearest harbor and sail back to King's Landing. She wanted to pretend that these last few months were some bizarre dream that came from eating too many sugary sweets before bed. By morning, she would share it all with Steffon and he'd laugh and ask her if she had become a madwoman overnight. How could any girl feel joy after marrying a stranger and then within the same month, his little brother is forcefully pushed and teeters on the tightrope of life and death? Then the month after, he is nearly assassinated once more and so is his mother by the dagger of some cutthroat.

How was Joanna not supposed to feel afraid, sad, lonely and angry? How was she not meant to feel desperate for it all not to be real? And yet, for some strange reason, a great part of her felt ashamed for allowing her homesickness to worsen. It made her feel sick for wanting to run away from all this when she was needed here. She must mend and make do; tend and comfort. She must do the things she knows she can, for her duty comes before her heavy and weary heart, she knows. Robb, Lady Stark, and Rickon were all suffering and they were now her family. And if there was one thing Joanna had never condoned, it was turning her back on her family whenever they were of need of her.

Soon enough, Joanna heard the door open and her eyes groggily left the desk to look up at her furious lord husband and his direwolf. He took out his ire on the door by slamming it shut with both hands. After that, he started to pace the room, his gloved fingers roughly raking his riot of auburn curls. Grey Wind had joined a sleeping Calla by the hearth in a very exhausted manner. The wolf shared the same defeat as his master but proved to be too tucked out to continue to give a show of his frustration. She could only gather that this was another night that Robb returned to bed with nothing; no sliver of a motive nor any information from the man he had been interrogating all night and day. How irksome it must be having to keep that man alive after he nearly murdered your brother and mother.

"He still refuses to speak?" Joanna asked, hoping to not regret asking. She couldn't bear with the silence, however. It was much too frightening to sit and pretend she did not see his anger nor his pain despite her lack of understanding in how to properly console him at this time. How could she possibly reassure him all will be well when things only kept continued to become worse?

"Oh, he speaks." The reply was said dryly and coated with sarcasm as he slowed his pacing to a stop. "He'd rather taunt me than betray the man who hired him."

That could only mean that whoever purchased his services was more than likely powerful. Someone who he would more than regret outing. No person is that loyal to not be fearful of hurting a Stark without feeling secured. "Did you…" Joanna paused for a moment. "Did you torture him?"

"Ser Rodrik didn't trust me to," Robb admitted rather reluctantly.

"Do you trust yourself to?" Her husband had gone rigid at her question and she nearly wished never asked.

"No," he replied quietly and honestly. "I don't."

The sigh that escaped Robb was a heavy one, like he had held it in all day and only found solace to relinquish it now. It was worrisome to know that he was accumulating so much stress, but what could she say and do to alleviate any of it? No words came to mind, unfortunately. When she chanced to look at him again, he was already down to his loose tunic and sleeping trouser and making his way to the hearth where the wolf and lion lie.

"Sit with me?" His sudden request surprised and unnerved her. Even so, she left the desk and went towards him with no semblance of refusal. Joanna smoothed down her silk nightgown and lowered herself to the floor, feeling welcomed by the comfort of the fire. Silence eddied itself between them, though it wasn't as awkward as it usually was. Robb, however, had seen to it that it wouldn't last. "You must think Winterfell as some nightmare after these last few months," he began, his expression beyond difficult to read. He looked as if he knew not whether to laugh or frown. And if he had chosen laughter, it would certainly lack mirth to it. "I don't fault you if you do."

"Winterfell is no nightmare, Robb." Joanna could absolutely believe that Winterfell had only known peace and quiet unlike the Red Keep where secrets, murder, sex and intrigue were a normal and everyday occurrence. She hadn't missed any of those things whenever she thought of home. In fact, those were the few things she was glad to be free of. "I imagine that all of this is more than surprising and troubling for you than it is for me." After all, Robb had a rather happy homelife with a close knit family that loved one another deeply and openly. Everything seemed well until she and her family arrived, it would seem.

"None of it makes any sense." Robb turned to look at her, eyebrows furrowing in his confusion. "Who could be so adamant on killing Bran like this? What could he possibly have done to warrant them to kill him? He's only a child."

That was the real mystery. Why was Bran's life so highly sought after? It all started on the day he was pushed from the tower during the last hunt. The tower, that man, and Bran were all connected and Joanna couldn't piece it together no matter how hard and how long she thought on it. "Has anyone searched the tower?"

"My father sent a few of our guards there after you told us that he was pushed," he explained. "They found nothing."

There should be no doubt in her mind that they had been thorough in their investigation. No stone left unturned. No crook or cranny overlooked. The ugly reality was that there was no clue left behind and so hope shouldn't be gathered. "Of course," Joanna mumbled. "Things are never that easy."

"No," murmured Robb, sharing her disappointment. "They never are." Her eyes traveled down to look at her hands as she began to fiddle with her fingers. "I never did thank you for saving my mother and Bran." Surprised, she perked up her head and turned to face him to find that he was unapologetically staring. "This is the second time you were there for Bran when I should've been."

He enjoys blaming himself, thought Joanna. Robb was stubbornly, and almost vehemently, responsible when it came to things out of his control. Very few men would take on more burdens when there was plenty already on his shoulders. Does he not feel weary? Does he not tire of thinking he must do everything? How does he continue to stand when he is in desperate need of rest? "You shouldn't be thanking me," she quickly countered. "I did what I should for they are my family, too. It's my duty to protect them."

His smile didn't look as it was meant for her, but only for himself. "Of all the things you do…" he started to say. "Is it always of out of duty? Do you ever give in to doing whatever it is that you like?"

"Some desires are meant to be ignored," she told him plainly with a slight cant of her head. "And other times, duty and desire align."

"You haven't answered the question," Robb pursued the matter, though not as pressingly as he could.

"I did," Joanna teased him with a wry smile. "You're just too tired to understand."

"Maybe so." Robb's sudden grin proved to be enough to let her believe that she was somehow able to amuse him despite how tired he was. It was what she wanted, to allow him to clear his mind if only by a kind minute or so. He gathered himself to his feet and made his way to the bed, only to stop and stare at what she had meant to clean up. "What happened here?"

"Well…" Embarrassed and utterly unsure how to explain that what he was seeing were a dozen or so failures. "I was meant to reply to all the letters of condolences. People have learned of what happened to Bran," Joanna tried to say very lightly, "but only of his fall. They know nothing of the cutthroat."

A solemn look swept across his face, though his eyes gleamed with what she could guess was curiosity. He reached for one crumpled parchment and read what was surely only a few, nonsensical sentences. He read with such a look of seriousness that she began to instantly fear his response. "You're trying too hard," he gathered. "There's no warmth."

His response confirmed what she had already thought, sadly enough. Joanna's shoulders sagged and her frown deepened. "I worried that if I lacked formality, they would find me arrogant. But if I were too formal, I'd further distance myself."

"In the North, respect is earned." She gathered as much. You could not buy respect north of the Neck as you could south of it. "Very few lords show friendliness and you saw for yourself that many of them are stiff as ironwood. My mother always tested the waters when dealing with any of them. So I'm afraid you won't know anything if you don't try." That was the way of people, wasn't it? Though it was harder to learn of someone through a measly letter than to see and talk to them face-to-face. How could she come to understand any of them through a page's worth of words?

"And how am I supposed to figure them out through only a letter?" she asked.

"Have you actually read any of the letters?" Within an instant, her face began to heat up. She quickly stood and crossed over to him, just to pick up a letter at random. The first she had picked up was from the Greatjon Umber. Though his words were somber, he tried to lessen the sadness with some humor. The next she picked up was from Lord Cerwyn, who chose to console by making light that Starks always find a way to endure and grow despite their difficult trials. Robb had been right. If she had notice these subtle ways of knowing the lords in question, she might've had an easier time.

"I'm the biggest fool in Westeros," she mumbled.

"I wouldn't say the biggest…" Feeling slighted, Joanna furrowed her brows and shot him a glare.

"Says the one who is hardly any good at measly sums," Joanna said tightly, trying not to snap her words at him.

He blinked twice, his eyes widening in shock. Only a minute had passed before Joanna began to realize her mistake. "Are you… angry with me?" he asked, and she wasn't sure of his level of anger.

"My apologies, I hadn't meant—" He wouldn't let her finish before turned his head to laugh. "What is so funny?" Now she was beginning to become truly agitated. Why was her sudden show of anger humorous?

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He waved his hands, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes as his laughter didn't seem to be nearing an end. "It's just…" Barely able to breathe, he doubled over. "It's just I never seen you so angry before or at all, really."

Unsure of why such a thing would create such a reaction, Joanna did her best not to cross her arms. "Would you rather me cross with you?" slowly asked the Baratheon.

Finally, he calmed himself and stood upright. "No, never. I have no desire to have you cross with me but… It's just, well…" He was smiling still and she wasn't sure how to feel about it. Her husband was acting quite strange and she couldn't understand why. "I like you better this way."

"You like me when I am...angry?" Her eyes were now squint in confusion and her mind didn't bother to trouble itself with trying to understand all on its own.

"I like you better when you are yourself," said Robb. "Not Lady Joanna or the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. You're just… you." His explanation had made her realize just how careful she had been these past few months. She tried to think twice before she spoke (although she failed plenty of times whenever she was able to spend time with him alone) and she tried her best to make sure that she made no mistake in whatever it was that she did. She strove for perfection as it was taught to her and only kept her thoughts and emotions buried away. The fear to present any reason for him or his family to mislike her was forever present.

Part of her wanted to give into the meek, comforting feeling that danced around her. Though the other part wanted her to remain resolute. "I never meant to be so cautious with you." Joanna curled and uncurled her fingers, forbidding herself to fiddle with them as she normally would have. "But I'll be more of myself, if you so desire it."

His hand took her left one and he held it firmly. "I would rather you desire that as well, Joanna." Did she? Did she want to be herself around him? Did she want to remain unguarded and constantly speak from the heart than as expected? What if he didn't care for her true self? The real Joanna who cries fairly easily. The one who likes to steal treats from the kitchen and hide them in her room to eat late at night. The one who is vain and likes to look pretty and will not leave her room if one hair is out of place. The one who is easily offended at any sudden jabs made towards her, teasingly or not. The one who is frightened of stupid stories of grumpkins and demons in the dark. The one who only feels truly happy when she is able to please those around her.

"I… do." The words left her rather timidly yet she meant them. The firelight of the hearth flickered wildly across his face, making his eyes that were like ice beneath a Winter's sun burn like hot cinders at the moment. Unlike a moth that is said to be entranced, she proved different. This moth challenged the fire to burn it, if it can. There was no resistance that Joanna wanted to succumbed to in efforts to look away from him. "I hope you don't regret this."

In return, Robb gave her no words. Instead, he gifted her an unwavering smile that cooled down the heat of her fears and planted excitement of the days to come.

EDDARD

To say he was overwhelmed would be more than an understatement. The state of the Seven Kingdoms, more so of its capital than everywhere else, was a mess beyond repair. It would take more than this lifetime he had left to fix a good portion of what was already near ruin. How Robert expected him to quickly understand all he was meant to do while coming into this ill-prepared and essentially blind was truly beyond Ned's comprehension. He, and the small council, were but a few men and yet their responsibilities were all too great. He wondered for days how Jon Arryn even attempted to make do, for it seemed nothing short of a miracle's kindness. Ned wanted to be just as surprised as he was perplexed about all of this, but his shock wouldn't keep residence. He always knew that Robert was not perfect for the throne but he was a grieving, tired man who was battleworn at the time. He fought save his family only to return with only Jon Snow.

Aside from all of the capital's problems, the council itself was a bizarre combination of people. Varys, Petyr Baelish, Grand Maester Pycelle, Stannis and Renly Baratheon were all men of such strikingly various stances on life and were all very vocal of their opposing opinions. They hardly ever agreed and if they did, it was mostly because one was outnumbered. And the Crown Prince? He was only ever silent, showing no effort to speak an opinion because he only wished to observe. Ned supposed it was a good thing that the boy willingly took audience, but it seemed wrong in a way that he sat in the chair where his father's should be. Robert was never politically savvy and often left such the swing of things to Jon Arryn. Steffon proved different than his father in that regard, which led Ned to believe that was one saving grace for the future of the Seven Kingdoms. How the boy faired in other matters? Ned was entirely unsure.

Today's meeting left him with no determination to sit an hour more. He wished wished to be elsewhere, preferably in his tower since he could not be where he really wanted to be. Ned felt no amusement of Robert's need to have a tourney in his honor as the new Hand. He did not want it, especially not in the expense of making the crown's debt any greater. He had every intention of talking some sense into Robert, but Renly reminded him what kind of man that the king and his best friend was. Robert always saw to it to have things go his way, and he would do whatever means necessary to get what he so desired.

"Forgive me, My Lords and Prince." How he had the voice to speak despite how fatigued he was surprised him. "I am tired," Ned annouced. "Let us call a halt for today and resume when we are fresher."

He then stood, hardly waiting for any of them to agree. As the sound of the feet of the chairs scraped against the floors, Ned noticed that Prince Steffon remained unmoving. "Lord Stark, if I may?"

Inquisitive, Ned used the corners of his eyes to take a glance at each of the council's faces after hearing the prince's sudden request. It was obvious they were interested but because he did not ask for any of them to stay, they begrudgingly tore their eyes away and continued on their way towards the door. Some moved slower than others, hoping to catch just one sound of the conversation yet Steffon purposely remained quiet. When the last man of the small council was out the door, Ned gave the boy a nod. "What troubles you, Prince Steffon?" he asked.

"A great many things trouble me, Lord Stark." The joking smile he displayed reminded Ned of Renly than it had Robert. The three of them looked far too much alike to begin with; all Baratheon and none else. "But I'll only trouble you with one matter." He leaned forward, elbows propped on the table and his fingers steepled with his smile long gone. "Trust when I say that nobody is more disappointed at the state of the treasury than I."

"I suspect you talked your father before?" He didn't need a nod or a shake of his head. Eddard knew, for a fact, that Robert heard suggestions and chose to ignore them. "I'm well aware of the difficulty of convincing your father to do much of anything."

"Then I'm sure that you know firsthand how troubled Lord Arryn was." In his mind's eye, he could imagine all the faces Jon Arryn had likely worn when his words fell upon deaf ears. But Robert was no longer his ward but his liege, and he had no power to stop him from making terrible decisions. Now Ned was in the same position and could only move as much as being the Hand would allow him. "You shouldn't concern yourself with it."

"You know a way of ending the crown's debt, don't you?" Eddard asked. No one would avert their eyes on a matter this large unless they knew how to fix it.

The corners of Steffon's lips quirked upwards in wry smile. "All that I ask of you, Lord Stark, is that you not worry about it and let my father do what he will in regards to the treasury. Nothing you say will change his mind and if you even so much as make a dent in the debt, he'll make you regret doing so."

"You would rather I do nothing? Unless this is your way of informing me that you mean to wait until you're crowned to tackle it." Robert had mentioned that, very subletely and briefly, of how he'd step down from the throne and leave for Essos. He hadn't said it outright to him because he likely knew that Eddard would question of why he would let a boy of seventeen rule when he could wait until he was at least twenty. Steffon seemed well-adjusted enough and was practically a man-grown, but it is a terrible thing to waste youth for that uncomfortable chair so many have vied for.

"It sounds wrong, doesn't it?" Steffon had asked, almost as if he had been pondering if it was the right decision for quite some time. "After all I have done so far up until this point, I can't see myself going back."

"And how do you mean to go about it?"

"I only have six million gold dragons of my own," Steffon replied. "Enough to pay the debt but none left to fill the treasury. For the past three years, I became an investor of a different name and bought a few shares of brothels and inns. I even bought two trading ships of which I now fully own after buying out my partners. I could pay my grandfather the three million he is owed, the million borrowed from the High Septon, and the million loan from the Iron Bank and the lesser amount to the Tyrosh," he continued. "But to the Tyrells… if I marry Lord Mace's daughter, he'll forgive the debt and I'll have enough within the treasury to keep it well-off until I can have it flowing again."

It was after that explanation that Ned now understood Robert's trust in his son. The throne was not looked at with glory, but with an understanding of how heavy and how great the responsibilities that came with it. The amount of work and effort, the calculating and consideration as well as the gamble of what might prove successful or not was something many might've not gone so far to do for the crown but only for themselves. The Lannister in him was not so strong, or so Ned chose to believe. "So you have chosen the Tyrell girl as a wife because of this?"

"It was either her or the Princess Arianne," said the prince. "I wanted to entertain the idea of marriage to Dorne to see where the Martells loyalty lie due to some very interesting rumors."

Eddard had assumed that the Martells would turn their backs on the Targaryens after what Rhaegar had done, but their hatred must've fueled more for the Lannisters because of the tragedy that became of Elia and her children. Their hatred was just, Ned had thought. Even he had turned his back on Robert of what was said at sight of the small corpses he could never burn the memory of. "How will you gain insight of the Martells if you decide not to promise the position of queen to them?"

"I have yet to figure that out," Steffon admitted earnestly.

"I doubt they'll attend a Hand's tourney," Eddard gathered. "But I do not discourage the idea of sending an invitation."

"I want to say that it wasn't my intention to disturb your day with political follies, but I'm sure you are aware that the tourney will be filled with many plots."

"It wouldn't be King's Landing if the day isn't to be ruined with machinations." The prince then chuckled with little mirth, leaving Ned to wonder what more the South would throw at him before the year's end.

JOANNA

The chill of the damp air wrapped itself around her, resting itself on her shoulders twice as heavy as the cloak Robb gifted her. Though this place was not as frightening as the crypts were, it still climbed itself high on the list Joanna mentally made of places in Winterfell she would never willingly choose to be. Her mind fervently drifted to him throughout the days since the fire and assassination attempt. Her mind wouldn't voluntarily vault it all and allow her continue her day. It had gotten to a point where she felt as if she was without any other choice than to come here and confront him.

Aside from her discomfort of this particular part of Winterfell, it did not feel half as suffocating as her good-mother chambers. The woman slept deeply for three whole days without once moving from her spot. After the second day, whenever someone entered the room, they were stricken with anxiety at once. Joanna couldn't find it within her to enter the room again, having felt too frightened to think that Lady Stark might never open her eyes again. And the thought became so easy to believe when Bran remained in his sickroom in the same state since his fall.

Her pace was slow and each step she had taken to descend down the spiraling staircase was featherlight. Not only must she have a care for her steps, Joanna had to be twice as cautious with the torch in her left hand. The dungeons of Winterfell were purposely left dim, giving off a strange essence of a constant twilight within. The look and feel, along with who she was about to see, should've needled some fear into her heart. And yet, she couldn't find herself feeling the faintest bit of afraid. After risking her life in efforts to save her good-mother, the fear she harbored of the cutthroat was now no more. It made more sense for her to fear Robb suddenly waking and piecing together that she waited until he drifted into the deepest part of slumber in order to come here without him knowing. She couldn't find it within herself to be so foolish to believe that Robb would ever approve of her being down here on her own or even at all.

Had it been only her imagination or was it suddenly colder than it was before? Goosebumps rose up on her arms and the hairs on the back of her neck began to stand. After adjusting her cloak, Joanna shook her head to rid herself of her sudden storm of paranoid thoughts in order to keep a clear conscious. As she neared the last cell, the sound of manacles made her limbs stiff despite being too vigilant about going anywhere but forward. Having found the man she had been seeking, the fire from her torch gave her enough light to clearly see the man's face. He looked different than he had all those night ago. He wasn't really in the picture of health than when she first laid eyes on him. He somehow managed to look utterly terrible in such little time.

As soon as the light of the flame rested upon him, he squinted and raised an arm to shield his eyes. She supposed sitting here in the semi-darkness for so many days made the sudden brightness uncomfortable and hard to suddenly adjust to. Joanna, however, did not feel any yen of kindness to accommodate him whatsoever. "I did not come here to torture you," Joanna began, slowly bending her knees so that they could be of the same eye level.

An insignificant part of her—the vanity of a former pampered princess—had begun to worry over the mice skittering around the floors. By the Seven, if they touched her or even skimmed across her dress, she probably wouldn't be able to keep herself from screaming. And once she was done here, she would burn the gown in the hearth immediately. Because it was such a sudden and stupid thing to suddenly worry about, Joanna fought to oppress it all by forcing herself to completely focus on the matter at hand.

"Then why…" The man's voice was scratchy and dry. If she had thought this over a little bit more, she could've bribed him much more swiftly with some water. "Why come t'see me?"

"I have a proposal for you." Joanna remained calm. As calm as she could be at the very least. She desperately tried to channel her mother, trying to search for the strength the Lannister queen would've had if she met with a man that threatened her family. In reality, her mother wouldn't have asked. He would've been dead and the knowledge he knew would be gone with him. "I think you'll like what I have to offer to be much better than the treatment my lord husband has given you." A glimmer of interest flashed across his eyes, and she thanked the Seven that she could conjure that thus far.

"I have come to realize that you are no amateur. You've sufficiently infiltrated Winterfell completely unnoticed and that is quite unheard," gathered the Baratheon. "And I suppose you thought to flee for your life and purposely leave the dagger behind. Was that not your plan?" When Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik were inspecting it in the corner of Lady Catelyn's chambers, she had overheard Rodrik's interest of how expensive the weapon seemed to be. She hadn't thought much about it until she began to think of who could likely afford such a fine dagger. Her family was wealthy and they were the only ones to know of Bran's fall before the rest of the North. Her suspicions grew and kept growing until she was no longer content to only speculate. "But since you've been caught due to my interference, you must still hold hope for freedom. I will not lie and promise you that you will have it. I can, however, give you the mercy of a kinder death with a drink of sweetsleep. My husband wants your head but he will not take it until you tell him what he wants to know."

"Why should I agree on yer terms?" he questioned after two heartbeats of quiet. "Better t' have my head lopped off the shoulders than t' end it all on my own."

"You're willing to endure more torture?" she inquired incredulously. "I'm giving you the gift to die in sleep along with me compensating your family. You must have some… People tend to do the worst of things to keep those they love fed and safe." All his muscles seemed to tense and nothing moved except for his eyes. "All I want is for you to tell me who hired you and I will make sure that your family is well-off for the rest of their lives."

"I'm s'ppse t' believe that?" he snarled. Was he annoyed or was he afraid? Joanna had no inkling of how he must feel. "All you nobles are all the same. Yeh use us and then throw us away when ya want to keep yer pretty names clean. You ain't no better than the rest o' us."

His words had somehow cut and she felt ashamed. He was right, wasn't he? She was willing to kill him based on the faintest of idea that her family might've been involved in Bran's near assassination and possibly his fall. "I am selfish, I know. I care for who I care for and no one more." Her eyes of green remained staring at the floor because she felt much too guilty to look the man in the eyes now. He was terrible for taking gold to kill a child, but she was not so clean either now. "But I promise to take care of your family. It would hurt me more to know that children and their mother would die for the sins of another."

He became quiet again, letting the emotions winding up in her simmer. "How will ya do it?" asked the cutthroat.

"Three drops of the sleep draught in your broth." Joanna soon lifted her eyes to gander at him, only to find his eyes were closed as he contemplated. How difficult it must be to decide to die. And yet he was so calm, not hysterical like most would be. Perhaps the realization hadn't hit him yet or maybe death was something he already knew awaited him once he had been caught.

"Rosby." She assumed it to the be the village where his family lived. That was the only Rosby she knew of since it was in the Crownlands. "Give the gold to Ella. She has a daughter named Millie and two boys, Gavin and Finnick." Joanna simply nodded, understanding that even the most empathetic of words might annoy him. He did not want her empathy, he only wanted a promise. A promise before death that could ease the fear. "I don't remember much 'bout that night. I only remember that Clegane came to me, said that Prince Joffrey had gold dragons if I was willing."

"J-Joffrey?" Her heart, she thought, was snapping in two. Sandor only followed the orders of Joffrey, who thought himself so self-important that he must have a personal bodyguard and not a knight of the Kingsguard. The man lived up to the name people called him; the Hound. It was only given due to how dutiful he was, so much so that her own pride at times quaked with how he was so beside himself to fulfill what was expected of him from her brother. Joanna couldn't understand it, though. Why Joffrey? Why would he hire a man to kill Bran? She had prayed to the Mother to not let it be her family that was involved, but her gut's suspicions were unfortunately founded.

What was she to say? Her mind couldn't formulate a stringent enough thought and all she felt able to do was to question over and over only to not reach an answer. And so, feeling hurt and lost, Joanna stood and bid the man no words. He did not seek them either, keeping himself quiet as she walked down the cold and quiet aisle and towards the stairway with every step as heavy and slow as the pounding of her heart.

SANSA

Today was… perfect.

The kiss of Summer prolonged despite how in a matter of weeks, the leaves will fall from the trees and leave them lifeless and barren. The nights will be longer and colder. Flowers as bright as sunlight will blacken and curl at edges to prepare for what the Starks always knew was on the approach. Perhaps in King's Landing, Autumn and Winter never truly comes as it does in the North and Summer remains falsely. It certainly felt like so. Either way, Sansa's summer-born heart quickened with every glance at gold and silver surfaces that were so well polished that they shone effortlessly beneath the morning sun. The Hand's Tourney was about to begin once the knights and lords had their lances shined to perfection and horses of many different breeds were groomed until not one hair of their manes were out of place. Banners of every House imaginable above them would be raised so that they could wave in the sweet wind that came to greet them like freshly made silk caressing against the skin.

There were so many men that were partaking the joust that Sansa could hardly name them all. Girls giggled and batted their eyelashes towards any man the slightest bit of handsome while she heard Jeyne's girlish sighs as if she were not two people away. But her attention of every dream-like detail was short-lived when she felt the fidgeting of Arya. Her sister kept leaning and backwards and forwards, eyes searching every face her eyes could catch for one person in particular it seemed. "Won't you sit still, Arya?" Sansa berated her, her face feeling as hot as a hearth from her sister's normal yet stupidly peculiar behavior. She hoped no one paid attention. Sansa quietly prayed to the the Seven that they didn't.

"I'm looking for someone," Arya mumbled in a harsh tone. "Be quiet or you'll distract me."

Their father, who should've been scolding her, merely did that quiet smile of his and followed her gaze to his right. "Who is it that you're looking for, Arya?" He always entertained her wild bearings, leaving Sansa fuming that she is always the one that must always act and look so civilized. Arya possibly could not conduct herself this way forever lest she wanted to be an old, unmarried maid.

"Lady Margaery of Highgarden," her sister answered. "She's supposed to be here, or so I've heard."

Why did her sister care to look for a Tyrell? "Why do you care if she is here or not?" Sansa's curiosity had unfortunately got the best of her. "What is she to you?"

Arya tore her eyes away from the stands to meet her blue gaze. "And why do you care if I care? It has nothing to do with you."

"Arya, Sansa." That tone her father used meant to warn them that their bickering must end immediately. Sansa merely huffed, rolling her eyes away from Arya to look at the lists. The knights, she thought. She only cared to see them. There was no reason to be distracted from them for the likes of her wild little sister, the same one that she had not yet forgave for what happened in the Trident. Lady being forced into the southern wilderness after being raised so proper would surely lead her to death. It had hurt her heart to think her precious direwolf must suffer because of Arya's foolishness with that butcher's boy and Nymeria beastly actions.

Sansa did not have to wait long for the jousting had begun, and she watched it all with fervor. Jory, who rode for Winterfell and the North, had managed to unhorse Horas Redwyne in his first joust and then a Frey in his second. In the third, he was met with challenge. Lothor Brune could not be moved for his lance was steadier and his blows more precise. It had come to the point where the king had to choose who had won, and he gave the victory to Lothor. Her father's other men, Alyn and Harwin, were not as strong competitors. The first tilt would see Harwin on the ground by Ser Meryn while Alyn lost to Ser Balon Swann.

The Kingslayer, Ser Jaime, seemed like a god before them all. He had suffered no loss yet, having won against Ser Andar Royce and the Marcher Lord by the name of Bryce Caron. He had beaten them easily, though he fell when his opponent was the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Barristan the Bold. A young Vale knight had been impaled by a lance through the throat by the hands of a monstrous man called the Mountain. The lovely Ser Loras, a knight of Highgarden, had gifted her a single red rose and won against Ser Gregor. Though he nearly lost his life when the Mountain, full of rage from losing, had aimed to kill him. Fortunately, he had been thwarted by the Hound, who behaved so chivalrously and saved Loras' life.

"You must be one of her daughters," said a voice the came from behind. Sansa had turned to look at him, her blue eyes meeting shades that danced between grey and green. They had not smiled as his mouth did. "You have the Tully look."

"I'm Sansa Stark," Sansa said with wholehearted weariness. He looked as if he were some high lord and she had no inkling of his name. All she could do was take special care in not offending him and gently confirm his suspicions of who she was. "I have not had the honor, my lord."

"Sweet child," Mordane's voice immediately calmed her. "This is Lord Petyr Baelish, of the King's small council."

Baelish? Sansa thought the name familiar, perhaps her mother did speak of him once. "Your mother was my Queen of Beauty once," his voice was quiet and his eyes looked to where her father sat. Sansa felt coldness ooze out of her lord father and she herself had grown stiff with unease. "You have her hair," he said, his minty breath filling her nose and she swore the backs of his knuckles touched her face. But she felt nothing in the end and she had to ponder if she simply imagined it.

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya interrupted. And while Sansa was actually grateful for her rudeness, she still had to be reprimanded.

"Arya!" Sansa shouted, knowing very well their mother would not have approved of such a question towards an old family friend.

"Don't be rude," chimed the Septa.

"No," Baelish said as he kept his strange smile, "it's quite alright. When I was a child, I was very small and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers. So you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname."

The start of the new tilt had overwhelmed the conversation and Sansa tore her eyes away from Petyr and Arya for the last jousting match. A knight or lord, Sansa couldn't decipher which this person was since they had not raised the visor of their helm throughout the joust. He wore black armor, so glossy that the sunlight looked as if it danced across the intricate designs. The image of a golden thunderbolt was set into the breastplates, leaving Sansa to wonder if that was merely a design or a House sigil. Their cloak was an expensive fabric colored a deep hue of gold and danced with the wind as he turned his horse to head over to the appointed starting place.

"Who is that?" questioned Arya, her brows furrowed.

"It would seem we have a mystery knight," Baelish answered with a smirk.

Her father, Sansa noticed, tensed at the answer and his eyes glossed over with a look that was both familiar yet not. She worried, for a moment, and even dared to lay her hand on his arm to ask what was wrong, but he assuaged her worries with a hint of a smile and took hold of her hand. Her father was ever mysterious, distant and cold with seldom warmth. He always seemed to be thinking or getting himself lost in a blizzard of thoughts, but she always assumed that was within his nature. Her mother had always said so and it was all Sansa had known all her life.

Going against this unnamed knight was the Hound. The Clegane's horse steadily charged with ferocity and soon the knight in black had thrust his mare into action. They flew at each other and before Sansa could properly blink, they lowered their lances almost at once just to have them tangle and shatter. Neither had fallen, they were both astride their horses and excitement electrified the air at what seemed like an even match.

The mystery knight was given a new lance from an attendant as was Sandor, who tucked his new lance as well tightly to his side. This time, the knight in black spurred his horse first and sped down the list towards him. Nearly everyone in the crowd, even herself, had leaned towards the edge of the benches. The black knight's horse continued to leap forward, the sound of its hooves hitting the ground in tandem with the rhythm of her heart. Their lances clashed again, but the mystery knight's lance flew from his hand while Sandor retained his. "Quit your fucking around!" shouted the Hound. "Let's be done with it."

The swagger of the mystery knight seemed familiar as he turned to Sandor and taunted him with a mocking bow with his hand over his heart. The crowd laughed while Sansa wondered if he purposely did that in order to blind the Hound with anger. The two of them trotted to their proper places before spurring their horses towards each other once again. The Hound lifted his lance just a touch while the other knight crouched low and pressed his heels to the horse's side, commanding another burst of speed. The black knight pierced his lance straight into the inch of space to the side of Sandor's shield, the force of it so great that it immediately splintered upon impact.

Gasps filled the air as the Hound was pelted off his horse, landing hard onto the dirt-covered ground. The crowd had celebrated the mystery knight's victory with a thunderous applause, but their cheering quieted when he raised his hands to remove his helm. Hair of black spilled out and tumbled down their back while eyes of blue were now visible for all to see. "Prince Steffon?" Sansa muttered incredulously while her little sister jumped to her feet in shock.

The King laughed and stood, wine spilling over the rim of the chalice he held firmly in his grasp. "You little bastard," he said, his face ruddy from wine and cheer. "You should've told me you'd be jousting!"

"And what fun would that have been?" Steffon replied with one corner of his mouth tugged upward mischievously. He joined for the fun of it, it would seem. But Sansa's assumption had been proven wrong when he galloped down the list and towards the crowd to stop before a young woman. A attendant had come running with a laurel of roses red and velvet in bloom in their hands. He exchanged the laurel for the lance, so that the prince could lay it upon the lap of the girl that Sansa had not seen before.

Her hair was the color of fallen leaves; brown with perfect ringlets tied up in a Southern style so that everyone could see the perfect curves of her face. The tint of her locks played with the sunlight as she gently placed the laurel of flowers on her head with a sweet smile. Her eyes, bright and blue as her dress, had never left the Crown Prince's face. "My only purpose for winning was to properly crown Lady Margaery of House Tyrell the Queen of Love and Beauty," Steffon announced. His words had earned him applause as well as the giggling and sighs of both noblewomen and girls alike.

Like the princes and the knights in stories, Steffon had only wished to proclaim his admiration and nothing else.

A/N: I did NOT mean to take this long. Life among other things kept me insanely busy.

So, I'm going with the books when it comes to this whole dagger ordeal and who sent the assassin to kill Bran. The dagger was indeed Littlefinger's but he lost it in a bet to Robert. Joffrey stole it and hired the assassin because he's obsessed in gaining Robert's approval. The show was a bit convoluted with this dagger plot and since this fic will be undoubtedly be an AU in many ways, its best I do it this way.

Also, I bet some of you were surprised by Sansa suddenly having a pov. I just enjoy how young Sansa romanticizes everything.

I actually didn't want Steffon to win the tourney. I was actually going to have the Hound kicks his ass, but the only way a person can crown someone the queen of love and beauty in a tourney is if they win. So, because I care more about Steffon's plan, I decided to make him win the joust. The things I do for storytelling...

Next chapter, Steffon and Margaery size one another up while Joanna attempts to steal some sweetsleep from Luwin's turret.

lovinurbuks: Thank you! Yes, I know some things have to stay in place but things will get rearranged to align in this AU. Didn't expect the assassin to say that, did you? It's very interesting because even if he suggested Tyrion as you suspected, Joanna still would try to protect the secret because she loves her family that much. Even if they are wrong. I can't say anything about Nymeria and Lady, but they'll make an appearance very later on in the story.

PyschoBeachGirl88: I am so sorry. I bet you thought I abandoned it. I can't abandon my stories, I have too much inspiration for them. I'm glad you love Steffon enough to see/want him to be king. Being king or any sort of leadership in Game of Thrones makes you pay a hell of a price... usually death! Ohohoho, I can't say anything about Joffrey because then I would be spoiling it. And Joanna is gonna have better moments than this in the future. I'm actually excited about it. I hoped you like them in this chapter. It feels like a semi-slowburn.

ShpperofTrashyShips: It definitely was massive. I looked back and was like "Damn, I did a lot here" I hope you stick around and see where I'm leading these two.

Guest1995: It's always at a price, though. He definitely made the rift between him and Cersei as well a the rift between him and Joffrey worse. I hope you like what I intend to do with Steffon and the Starks. c: I definitely can't say anything about that, but you'll be satisfied. Ohohoho, well it looks like what you suspect between him and Margaery is actually something that possibly might happen.

PPAM: Never that! Yikes, Arya is way too young and there's only one person I could ever see her with and it's definitely not Steffon.

Bearislander: Thank you! And I am definitely continuing this.

Wombat8: It gets better, though! Lol. I love the Starks so much that I have write everything about them. I can't just ignore them for my own characters. I love playing with the ideas of what goes on with them and how they would react in certain situations. As I was writing that whole thing, I perfectly saw Jon in my head trying his hardest not to laugh at her weak threats and Robb doing the same. That's probably why I like book Jon more because he's actually warmer than the serious Jon we see on the show. I will be damned if anyone disagrees that Arya before becoming an assassin wasn't a wild sleeper. It's canon. It has to be. Robb is a curious person! Like, you saw him all desperate to understand Talisa's perspective at the risk of everything else. I got the impression that once he likes someone, he wants to know everything about them. And because Joanna is afraid for him to think her childish and is pretty much a people pleaser, it bothers him even more. It's likely that they'll see each other when everything is going to hell. Lmao. It makes me so mad that we didn't get more of Myrcella on the show. She's actually really smart and brave, but I understand the show couldn't show everything because she's not a major character and there's way too much going on to include all those things. At least they showed how loving she is because that scene between her and Jaime absolutely breaks my heart. And then I ruined that sweet moment between Steff and Cersei in this chapter. Lmao. I will forever hate how mean that septa was to Arya and I'm still mad that nobody stuck up for her when Mordane was so overbearing. Oh, definitely. Robert has shitty memory and he's abhorrently selfish. Like, it was pretty obvious Lyanna wasn't interested in him but in his warped mind, he had a fighting chance. Steff loves him dearly, but he's not blind. I'm actually excited about writing Jon again because it's going to be...chaotic. Joanna is definitely the clingy twin! But now she has no choice but to grow out of it. She's like that mom that calls you nearly everyday on your first week of college if you stay on campus. Ahhhhhh, thank you! I do love writing day-to-day things because it fleshes out the bond between characters. Like, it's better to see how their relationship strengthen and grows than to just say it. To be honest, I thought about something bad happening in that scene but decided not to because it wasn't necessary with what was going to happen. I had to writing Arya thinking it was Ice because I'm still sad about what happened to that sword. / weeps ) You could say Loreon was protecting the three of them. Oh, he definitely has a darker side. It's pretty telling that his connections aren't exactly... clean. He does a lot thinking and lot of sneaking. Ohhhhhhhh, you're gonna to see. He has very good reason for that. I think another reviewer got the gist of his reason for that. Yeah, I'm still pretty sure nobody has done it yet. I won't take credit, but I definitely have read it. I've seen some short AUs on Cersei's relationship of the possible Baratheon firstborn and they were all heartbreaking. And I guess... I'm somewhat following that formula myself. You're sorry about that but I need to be sorry for not having updated in sooooo long! Haha, review writer's block. I have had that before, too! I never heard someone call it that. But ahhhhh, I love your reviews. You pick up on so many of the little details I sneak in.

Elex Black: Haaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa! c: That would be, wouldn't it? She most definitely would. But Joffrey would lose it even more! I mean, he already has one obstacle, so to add more? He'll go more than insane. Thank you for reviewing!

Emily Matthey: I have finally updated... After so long. The wait was crazy, wasn't it?