A Departure in Style, Part Two

Lyonel looked out of the window. Outside, the early preparations for the hunt are being made, with the grooms saddling horses and preparing hunting equipment. Lord Stark has declared that the hunt should set off 'at dawn' but his father's nightly **** consumption meant that he's not exactly a morning person. Which means that while the morning was well under it's way, it'll still be a couple of hours till the hunt will leave.

Which suits me just fine, Lyonel thought as he stepped away from the window and strode off towards Myrcella's room. Things have been... weird, between him and Myrcella and Tommen ever since they left Torrhen's Square a couple of days ago. Ever since they had left, Myrcella and Tommen have started to act very awkwardly around him, refusing to meet his eyes, stammering when spoken to and getting red in the face. This really perplex Lyonel, who wants to get to the bottom of it, but he knows that just directly asking them would make them even more secretive. And so, on the way to Winterfell, he struck up a conversation with his brother, and while there were still some awkwardness, he was able to learn that whatever is going on, Tommen wasn't angry with him or anything like that. After arriving at Winterfell, he was immersed in his princely duties, but now is the time to finally talk with his sister and see what she has to say. Whatever happened, in Torrhen's Square, it seemed to have affected her even more. And she looked like she was permanently sucking on a lemon ever since his betrothal was announced.

Lyonel knocked on Myrcella's room. When no reply came, he called out. "Cella, it's me. May I come in?"

After a painfully long silence, a tense "fine," came out of the room.

Lyonel opened the door and went in. Myrcella was sitting on the bed, the sunlight glimmering on her golden hair. As always Lyonel lost his breath for a few seconds when he saw her. Then, he saw what she was doing. Myrcella was sowing. Myrcella hated sowing. She only did it when she was feeling specially angry or upset, so that she could calm her nerves.

Lyonel silently strode in and sat beside Myrcella in her bad, as he had done a thousand times before. Looking over the princess' shoulder, he saw her trying to sow the sigil of House Baratheon, but not with much luck.

"That's a really pretty cow," Lyonel said in an earnest voice.

One thing about Myrcella is that she's never able to remain aloof for long. She's too emotional for that. The moment the words came out of his mouth, she whirled around like a blonde hurricane and stabbed his hand with her needle.

"God's damn you woman!" Lyonel said, taking his hand back.

"What is this?" Myrcella asked in a mocking tone. "The future protector of the Realm quailing before a little girl's needle?"

"Well," Lyonel replied with a grin. "I'm used to be the one poking holes in pretty girls, and not have it be the other way around."

"Poking holes..." Myrcella said with narrow eyes, before realizing what he meant and suddenly turning away her head. And did Lyonel see her face getting a little red there before she turned it around?

The prince sighed. "There was a time when you would have laughed and giggled at something like that, Cella."

Myrcella stood up abruptly, going to a corner of the room and placing her sowing on the mantle place. "Well we are not little children anymore Lyonel."

Lyonel stood up and walked to his sister, and stopped in front of her. "What is it that's bothering you Myrcella? What is it that's truly bothering you?"

"Well it's just that things are changing a lot," Myrcella muttered with downcast eyes. "For the past several years, father has been giving you more and more responsibility. When Lord Arryn died, I was genuinely afraid that he would appoint you as the new Hand. And now you are betrothed. I feel like all the gods in the world are acting together to take you away from your family."

Lyonel sighed in pain. He could understand her worry. Myrcella and Tommen have both been very lonely children. Robert, Cersei and the court at large have been doting on him ever since he was born, while neglecting his two younger siblings, Myrcella because she is a girl and Tommen because of him being the spare and of how un-warrior like he is. Lyonel has many friends too. Of course most of them are sycophants trying to further their own station in life by getting close to the future king, whom Lyonel has kept at an arm's distance, but he had at least a few great friends like Bella, Loras Tyrell and Morros Slynt. Myrcella and Tommen weren't so lucky however. There aren't any ladies of similar age and rank to Myrcella in the Red Keep other than their Uncle Renly's wife Margaery Tyrell, whom Myrcella distrusts for good reason. She despises all her bed maids too, calling them vapid opportunists. As for Tommen, he desperately wants friends, but when he grew up and people learned just how... traditionally un-masculine he is, they began to avoid him like he had the plague. The only two people Myrcella and Tommen has had since childhood were me and each other.

"Myrcella," Lyonel uttered softly. "You know that you and Tommen are the most precious people to me in this world. What did you think? Just because I'm going to marry Sansa I'm going to be one of these crazy bearded Northmen?"

A bark of a laugh burst out of Myrcella's mouth as she shook her head dejectedly. "I'm being stupid."

"No," Lyonel said firmly. "And remember no matter what happens, you will always be my baby sister."

And that's when it happened. A terrible cloud of anger flitted across the princess' face, making it almost a purple. The whole thing lasted less than a second, but that was enough to rattle Lyonel. But then, Myrcella was all smiles again. She spread her arms, her silent gesture for a hug ever since they were children.

Lyonel relaxed seeing the familiar gesture. Maybe he imagined whatever that was. He stepped forward, extending his own arms, and Myrcella jumped into his grasp, putting her arms tightly around him. Lyonel was so tall that her head rested on his biceps. Acting instinctively, Lyonel put his own hands around her slim waist. It was then that he fully realized having this beautiful girl in his arms. Lyonel tried not to focus on the warmth of his stunning, younger sister, and tried to think of anything that would prevent his half mast from turning on fully. It wasn't easy, and Myrcella wasn't making it easy too. While they were hugging, it felt almost as if Myrcella was trying to push her pert tits against his body. Then, Myrcella suddenly switched the position of her body. It happened so quickly and unexpectedly that Lyonel couldn't react as his hand on Myrcella's waist fell to her tight ass, while Myrcella shapely thigh now pressed tightly over his crotch, making his dick rise up in full ****.

Lyonel's eyes widened as he put his hands on Myrcella's shoulders and quickly disengaged her away from him. When he looked at her, all of Myrcella's earlier negativity was gone. She was looking at his crotch, red faced, breathing shallowly, with a wide grin on her face. What the actual fuck?

"Uhhh," Lyonel said, trying to find words. "I - I have to go - got some stuff - I mean, work... to do. See you later."

Myrcella nodded absentmindedly as Lyonel opened the door for the room and stumbled out into the corridor. What was that? He remembered Myrcella's face, and realized he had seen something eerily similar before; when their mother looked at his crotch. Suddenly, Lyonel reflect on Myrcella's recent behaviour; how she avoided looking at his while getting red faced and tongue tied, how bitter she was at his betrothal and now, the clear trap she laid out for him in the form of a hug. Does that mean...

Lyonel stepped out into the Winterfell courtyard with his head buzzing pleasantly with all sorts of thoughts about Myrcella. By now people are getting ready for the hunt on full swing, bustling about in the courtyard, saddling horses and double checking the equipment. Lyonel saw his father sitting on a large horse, talking to Lord Stark and occasionally growling at passing people to hurry up. But it was the person who was sitting behind his father that made Lyonel's day even better. Ser Jamie Lannister sat on his horse like a statue, with dead set eyes and a pouting mouth.

In the version of events Lyonel was familiar with, Jamie Lannister stayed behind in the castle. He also pushed Brandon Stark out of a window, crippling the boy. The circumstances have changed a lot in this version, but Lyonel couldn't take any chances. What if it had been fate that made Jamie push Bran out of a window? What if he's destined to do that, and so does it to someone like Rickon or Arya? He couldn't take that chance. And a not so tiny, more selfish part of him wanted to get Jamie out so that he wouldn't have the chance to do anything with Cersei.

And so at last night's dinner, he proposed that Jamie should accompany the King on the hunt. Robert had been very **** at the idea, but he gave in when Ned spoke for Lyonel's side too. That should not have surprised him. By now, Lord Stark should have received the letter from Lysa Arryn blaming the **** of her husband on the Lannisters. It's in
Lord Stark's interest to always keep Jamie at his eye sight, and the thought of leaving him alone in the castle with his wife and younger children probably didn't sit well with Ned either.

Lyonel remembered Jamie's panicked expression at the dinner. It had taken the royal entourage three months to travel from King's Landing to Winterfell. Three months in which Jamie was unable to have sex with his beloved sister. And if he didn't take his chance now, then that would mean another three months of being alone for Jamie.

****, Jamie had tried to take refuge in the only one he knew. "Surely, you can tell them how much unnecessary my presence would be in the hunt, sweet sister."

But Cersei had refused to even look at him. Her eyes briefly flitted to Lyonel before falling down. "I think you should go Jamie," she had said in a muted voice.

Jamie's eyes widened like a puppy at the betrayal, and he had been pouty ever since. It was pretty certain to Lyonel now that he had stopped Jamie from fucking Cersei, at least for a time, in which he could make her his. Remembering the last night's encounter made Lyonel burst out in a short laughter.

Ignoring the glances he attracted with that burst of laughter, Lyonel strode on. He saw Robb Stark and Jon Snow (whom he really should talk at some point) were having a conversation with some people, and seemed pretty distracted. But it wasn't them he was after.

Lyonel finally saw Brandon Stark sitting on a grey palfrey, apparently impatient at the slow pace of the rest of the hunt. Seeing him filled Lyonel with a glint of determination. Despite all that he knows, he didn't know if he could save Westeros from the many horrors it would face, save the thousands that would perish in blood and fire. But he can start by saving one life after another. Beginning with Brandon Stark. Of course, he got rid of Jamie from the castle for the evening, making it impossible for him to push Bran out of a window. But what if Bran is fated to get crippled by Jamie Lannister today? What if a hunting mishap happens, that starts with Jamie doing something and ending up with Bran's legs getting crushed by a horse or something equally horrible? The only way to prevent such a thing is to keep the young Stark near him for the rest of the day.

"Good morning Bran. May I have your time for a bit?"

"Your Grace?" Bran asked, wheeling his horse to face the prince.

"I was wondering if you would spar with me." Lyonel said.

"Now?" Bran asked, a bit confused. "Aren't you going on the hunt your grace?"

"No. Much to my father's disgust, I don't take joy in hunting down and killing defenseless creatures." Lyonel said half jokingly. "So what say you Bran? Surely you wouldn't leave me alone in the castle with the women and children?"

Bran looked conflicted. On one hand he wanted to be a part of the gallantry of the king's hunt. But he's also a swordsman to the bone, and didn't want to miss the chance to gage his strength with one of the strongest swordsman in Westeros. Plus, it's simply not wise to displease the crown prince.

After a second of hesitation, Bran smiled and said, "fine." He climbed off his horse with grace, handed it to a groom and sent another with a message to his father saying he won't be able to attend hunt, and then walked with Lyonel to the training grounds.

"Huh. Never seen it so empty." Bran commented.

"It is a bit eerie," Lyonel agreed, while inspecting the weapons rack. On the first few rows were heavy wooden swords, which a boy Rickon's age would practice with. Lyonel took two swords that more experienced swordsmen practice with; steel weapons, but with blunted edges.

Lyonel handed one to Bran, who took a solid stance. Lyonel stood opposite to him, mirroring the pose. And then they clashed.

Lyonel allowed the muscle memory of the previous soul of this body to guide him, swinging and weaving, dodging and blocking, until in a short few seconds, Bran's sword have fallen from his grasp and fell to the sand.

A frown marred Bran's face as he picked up the sword and attacked Lyonel again, without a word. This time, the prince noticed a difference in fighting style immediately. The blows were much more quicker and ferocious, and every blow that was hitting his sword sent reverberations through him arm. It seems that Bran was holding back on the first round, probably to not displease the prince, but upon realizing his opponent's strength, is now using full ****. They weaved around the grounds for some time more, until Bran's sword flew out of his hand once more.

"Fuck!" Bran screamed, kicking the sand, until he realized how unchivalrous he was acting. "My apologies your grace."

"It's fine," Lyonel said with a smile. Bran's biggest dream was to join the kingsguard, and with the ease I defeated him, Bran must be thinking he left a bad impression about his skills with the future king. Lyonel sat on a nearby bench and spoke up. "Don't feel bad about it. I don't mean to boast, but I am one of the best swordsman in the realm you know? I have beaten everyone I have met in the field at least once. Even against people like Jamie Lannister and Loras Tyrell, there's half a chance that I might win whenever I meet them in combat. The only man I haven't been able to beat has been Ser Barristan Selmy. The fact that you held out against me for such a long time, without even a proper knighthood, speaks volumes of your skills. Maybe what people say about you being the best sword in Winterfell is correct."

Bran frowned as he picked up the sword. "You are just coddling me."

"If I wanted to coddle you, I would have let you win kind."

Bran looked at Lyonel for a second, before he laughed heartily, his usual demeanor returning. "Of course. Forgive me your grace."

"Call me Lyonel. We are to be brothers after all."

" Lyonel," Bran said, smiling and sitting down next to me. After a moment of silence, he spoke up again. "How is he like? Ser Barristan?"

"He's the best of the kingsguard," Lyonel said without hesitation. "You wouldn't know he's seventy now by looking at him. He's the strongest and most noble warrior I know. I used to squire for him, did you know that? Once, when I was about eleven or so, I got pissed about how I always win. So one day I snuck into the tower where the Kingsguard stay. He was writing in the White Book. I snuck behind him with my training sword. I didn't want to bash his head in or do anything like that mind you. Just wanted him to get caught off guard for once. When I swung the sword behind him, he caught it. Without looking up, still writing with his sword hand."

"He sounds incredible." Bran said breathily.

"He is," Lyonel admitted. "The greatest of the Kingsguard. The last best one there is."

Bran looked surprised at that, especially considering Lyonel's own uncle was there in the group he denounced.

"Yes. That's the unfortunate reality. The Kingsguard is one of the many things I'll have to reform when I become king. I must fill it with good people. People like you Bran."

Bran suddenly stiffened, and let out a short bark of a laugh. "I appreciate the offer your grace, but I would have to decline."

This time, it was Lyonel's time to be shocked. "Why? I thought being in the Kingsguard was your fondest wish."

"Because," Bran said, his normally cheerful voice getting a hard edge. "I am the spare. Until Robb has some boys, I have to stay ready to take Robb's mantle if any misfortune were to fall on my brother."

"Rickon can do the same easily enough."

"But this is my duty. I cannot step away from it. Family, duty, honour. Those words have been drilled into my head since birth."

Another short silence pierced the ground until Lyonel stood up and spoke. "I understand. Of course, I can't even make this offer now. Gods willing, by the time I become king it will be in many more years, when Robb is a greying man with grandchildren and you will be free of the obligations that clearly burden you. But I have something else for you. Consider it an early wedding gift from your future brother by law."

"What is it?" Bran asked perking up after the clearly heavy talk.

"Ser Barristan rarely takes squires, specially in his old age. But I'm sure he would make an exception if I make a personal request of him."

It took a few seconds for Bran to comprehend what Lyonel said. His mouth opened, and tears began to gather in the corner of his eyes. He jumped up and hugged Lyonel. "Your grace. Thank - thank you so much. This means the world to me. I don't know what else to say."

"Call me Lyonel," the prince said, smiling. "And don't hug me with weapons in your hand."

"Of course," Bran said sheepishly, but still looking the very happy. He opened his mouth to say something, but his words were drowned out by the piercing sound of a horn. The hunt finally began to go out of the gates, making much noise on the way out.

Looking at them, Lyonel finally felt a heavy weight that had been resting on his shoulders lift. Finally, he has the chance to do actual good in the life he has been given. He saved an innocent kid's life! Lyonel turned around with a grin on his face to keep the sword back. But on the weapons rack was a raven, it's red eyes instead of the usual black bearing into Lyonel soul.