The Starks of Winterfell

"There it is little brother! The great castle of Winterfell!" Lyonel said gleefully. He seemed overjoyed that they would be out of the road for at least two weeks. Tommen, riding beside Lyonel in his own horse, could not appreciate the majestic landscape with the state his mind was in.

"Are you all right brother? You have been acting strangely all day." Lyonel asked in a concerned manner.

"I'm fine." Tommen said hastily, though his mind went back to all the things that happened last night. He had allowed himself to be dragged into that damn closet by Myrcella, thinking that they would laugh together later as they had done a hundred times. Yet it had gone terribly wrong. At first their mother had come naked into the chamber. Tommen had always known his mother was beautiful, yet he never truly understood it until he saw the Light of the West fully naked, getting wet in the steaming tub. Almost subconsciously, he had begun to touch himself, hoping that Myrcella would not notice in the darkness of the closet. But then his brother came into the room, naked, and everything he thought he knew about male genitals was turned upside down. Emotions overcame him, a sense of shame the overwhelmingly dominant, and he lost consciousness.

"You didn't attend the feast last night as well," Lyonel continued obliviously. "Neither did Myrcella for that matter."

Oh gods, Myrcella. Tommen's mind was dragged back unwillingly to last night. He had always believed that his sister was the fairest maid in the seven kingdoms, though he felt no attraction to her. That is, until he slowly regained consciousness back in the closet, only to see the shapely legs of his sister laid bare as her dress was bunched up around her thighs, her eyes half closed, as she bit down on her lower lips while tentatively moving her hand under the dress. Tommen could not look aside, mesmerized as he was, and stared on, her sister with her eyes closed being ignorant of her watcher. And when their mother's voice reached a peak, along with Myrcella's voice right beside him, Tommen closed his eyes and pretended to still be ****. When Myrcella woke him up by gently shaking his shoulder, he could still feel some dampness on her fingers. Their mother soon left the bathing chamber and they quickly followed suite, stopping only to have a brief, awkward conversation about never bringing up what happened there.

"Are you all right brother?" Lyonel asked again, but this time grinning. "Your face is all red. I hope you didn't follow our father's footsteps and bedded Sir Tallhart's daughter, and are now thinking about your grand conquest."

Tommen laughed heartily. The idea of him doing anything like that was ludicrous. But his brother's jest did put him at ease, as well as the fact that Winterfell was so close that Lyonel did not have the time to question him anymore.

Lyonel frowned. He wished that he had more time to see what was troubling Tommen, but they really were close to Winterfell now. It was probably nothing. Lyonel knew that his brother wasn't familiar with the ways of women, and Westerosi servants have a habit of teasing young lordlings to see how well bred young men would react to blatant flirting of the common folk. Tommen was probably reminiscing about something like that.

Whatever it was, Lyonel's focus changed sharply when Robert roared for the riders to get in line. The king rode at the head of the column, with the two princes closely behind him (Robert insisted on Tommen riding a horse into Winterfell, and not go in the wheelhouse). The knights of the kingsguard followed, and behind them the rest of the knights that had come with them from the court. A large part of the entourage was still a bit away, as they respectfully kept pace with the queen's slow moving wheelhouse. But Robert was never respectful, and he has run out of patience.

The column rode past the great grey arches and the strong gates of Winterfell. Robert immediately jumped off his horse, shouting and embracing a man that had to be Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Lyonel could vaguely hear their voices talking in the background, but his attention was focused on the Stark siblings. They all seemed a decade or so older, as he had expected, but there were other things that drew his eyes. Jon Snow was absent from the group. And there was a beautiful black-haired woman who was amidst them, holding a baby.

Lyonel felt panic bubbling inside him. He knew that he wasn't in what people of his past life called 'cannon' either in the sense of the books or the show. Yet, apart from his own existence in this world in place of Joffrey's, and everyone seeming to have aged, he had seen no other major repercussions through his own eyes, only seeing them through the memories of the previous inhabiter of this body. Until now. It made him feel uneasy, and it made this new world he is in feel unpredictable.

But while he was gripped by these sudden rush of thoughts, Robert had finished greeting Lord and Lady Stark, and now he was calling forward his own sons. Lyonel reluctantly stepped forward, along with Tommen, still engulfed in his thoughts. Robert laid a heavy hand on his shoulder. "My firstborn and heir, Lyonel." He said proudly. "And that's Tommen." he added on curtly.

Lyonel grew annoyed hearing Robert's paltry introduction of Tommen, but he knew that this was not the time to speak up. Instead he tried to ignore the annoyance and turned to Ned, shaking the hand that was offered to him. He doesn't look much different from the show, Lyonel thought. Except for a few more grey hairs.

"Lyonel." Eddard Stark remarked. "A strong name. I have heard many things about you, Your Grace."

"And I you, Lord Stark." Lyonel said warmly.

"Is that so? All good things I hope?"

Lyonel hesitated before answering. "Men of honour speak fondly of other men of honour, my lord. Unfortunately, you will be hard pressed to find such men in King's Landing."

Robert laughed loudly, and even the grim humoured Ned Stark managed to smile at that.

"What did I tell you Ned? The lad can weave words around him as well as swords."

"So it would seem."

While Ned started to talk with Tommen, Lyonel moved towards Lady Catelyn Stark, and was stricken by her beauty. Lyonel noted how Lady Catelyn resembled more her book counterpart than the show, with the traditional Tully looks of thick red hair, high cheekbones and deep, blue eyes being prominent. Lyonel knew that Catelyn Stark was older than even his own mother, yet the only signs of advancing age were in the lines under her eyes. Unfortunately, the furs she was wearing hid her body from his sight, and Lyonel cursed the cold Northern weather in his mind.

"My lady," Lyonel said, kissing her hand while thinking about all the other spots in her body that he wanted to kiss.

At that moment, the royal wheelhouse finally came through the gates of Winterfell, and Lyonel and Tommen, acting like the ideal princes, excused themselves from Lord Stark's presence as they went to help their lady mother and sister out of the wheelhouse. Lyonel extended his hand to Queen Cersei. She returned the smile he gave her, though she seemed very much distracted, probably thinking about what happened last night. Lyonel fought off the urge to snigger. Tommen, meanwhile, was helping Myrcella to the ground, though they both seemed determined to not have their eyes meet. Lyonel wondered if they had a fight and that's what troubled Tommen earlier.

Robert meanwhile, had already greeted the Stark siblings, and the stranger who was among them, and now spoke up. "Take me to your crypts Ned. I must pay my respects."

Cersei stepped forward, opening her mouth. Lyonel however, knowing what would happen, lightly gripped her arm, and when she looked at him, slightly shook his head. Cersei held her silence, her lips pursing tightly. A servant brought a lamp to Lord Stark, while Cersei looked at the going-ons with cold disdain. For the first time, Lyonel saw the queen not as his loving mother or a hot MILF, but as the cold, intimidating woman the rest of the realm saw her as.

Once Robert and Ned disappeared into the crypts, Lady Stark came forward. "Your Grace," she said, curtsying before the queen. "May I show you your quarters, and those of your children?"

Cersei fixed one of those polite, insincere smiles that the ladies of court perfect over the years. "You may, Lady Stark. My thanks." She turned towards her children. "Come dears."

"Mother," Lyonel said, slightly bowing his head. "I must greet the Starks."

Catelyn smiled in approval, though Cersei only sniffed and held her nose high. "Very well. Tommen. Myrcella. Come."

Lyonel watched the group leave, her siblings still refusing to look at one another. He held no grudge against Cersei. She was an extremely proud woman, and now that she was disrespected in front of everyone at Winterfell by Robert's visit to Lyanna's grave. Lyonel sighed and looked at the Stark siblings, who were still standing in the middle of the courtyard, probably waiting for him to come and greet them as courtesy decreed. He walked towards them.

Lyonel first met Robb Stark, as he was the eldest child of Ned Stark and heir to Winterfell. He seemed to be in his mid-twenties, with a full beard on his face. However, Lyonel towered over him. "A pleasure to meet you, your grace," Robb said slightly bowing his head and offering his hand.

"Likewise," Lyonel replied, shaking the offered hand. "And please call me Lyonel."

"Only if you call me Robb," the Stark heir replied smiling, fulfilling the little dialogue all lords have when they meet for the first time and hopes to build a friendship. "Allow me to introduce you to my lady wife," Robb said gesturing to the unknown woman to his side. "Alys Karstark."

Lyonel finally got the chance to look at the woman, and know her name. Alys Karstark. Daughter to Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold and the leader of one of the oldest and most powerful houses in the North. Alys herself was a beautiful woman. She was pale, tall and black-haired, which was the norm for the Northerners, with a long, black braid hanging off her shoulder. Her eyes were a grey-blue colour, hauntingly striking. A pin made in the fashion of the white sun of Karstark, clasped her cloak above her rather large breasts, and Lyonel once again cursed at the bulky clothes these Northerners had to wear.

"Your grace," Alys said, trying to bow as low as she could. "It's an honour. I wish I could offer you my hand but..." Alys gestured at the baby she was holding with both her hands.

"No problem my lady," Lyonel said. He looked at the baby. "And this is...?"

"Lyarra." Robb said with a fierce pride. "My firstborn and heir, named after mine grandmother.

Lyonel looked at the girl, who had the blue eyes of her mother. Lyonel knew nothing about children, and could only guess that the child was about an year old. "Lyarra," Lyonel repeated. "A good name. No doubt his grace was pleased. Seven blessings on the child."

The couple bowed once more, seemingly relieved at how smooth the talk went, specially after the previous awkwardness in the courtyard. Lyonel turned to greet the others...

…and completely stopped in his track, breath caught in his throat, as he looked upon Sansa Stark. She seemed to be his age, and Lyonel noticed how she resembled the Sansa Stark of the latter seasons. However, her eyes were not those of a jaded politician, and Lyonel felt those naïve, blue eyes filled with hope looking into his soul. Long red hair framed her lovely face, but this was the North, and Lyonel cured for the third time in his mind about the bad weather of the kingdom. It was rare for a maid of such an age, specially of this beauty and high birth, to remain unmarried, though it was commonly assumed throughout the kingdoms that the Lady Sansa of Winterfell were to marry Prince Lyonel, heir to the Iron Throne. Still, when marriage offers did come to Winterfell, they were harshly rejected by Sansa, saying no suitor was good as 'her prince.' When news of this came to the Red Keep, Cersei was angry, saying that the Starks presume too much, but Lyonel had found it endearing. And now, seeing her...

"Your grace," Sansa said, executing a perfect bow. "I have heard many great things about you, my prince."

"And I you my lady," Lyonel said, taking her hand and kissing it. "Though I fear that for the first time, poets have undermined a maid's beauty instead of exaggerating it."

Sansa blushed cutely, her face getting as red as her hair, though Lyonel could hear a soft snort of ridicule coming from their side.

"And Winterfell is as beautiful as the maids that reside in it," Lyonel continued. "I hope that you would be able to show me around, if that's not too much of an inconvenience, my lady."

Sansa blushed even harder and said, "Nothing would please me more, your grace."

Lyonel gave her a final grin and moved on, only to see another striking beauty; Arya Stark. Arya Stark was a small child and has grown into a small woman, though a woman she was, and none can deny that. When Lyonel stood in front of her, Arya only reached to his chest level, though that had no affect on her, as Lyonel found defiant grey eyes staring back at him, framed by short black hair. Unlike the rest of Winterfell's ladies, Arya was wearing her riding leathers, and Lyonel thought that she must have been off riding and came back mere moments before the royal party entered. Whatever it was, Lyonel now stood in front of the beautiful woman, probably an year or so younger than him, covered neck to ankle in leather. Lyonel could see her medium sized bust, and her large toned ass protruded from the leather pants she was wearing.

"Your grace," Arya said, bowing so low that it bordered on mockery.

"My lady," Lyonel said, slightly bowing his head, as she didn't offer him her hand. "I have heard many great things about you as well."

"Is that so?" Arya asked, raising an eyebrow. "Forgive me your grace, but I find that hard to believe. Men rarely tend to compliment me."

Lyonel could feel nearby Sansa tensing up as she witnessed her sister's blatant disregard for etiquette, but he only smiled. "Well they speak of a maid as wild and free as the Northern wind. Someone whose words strike fear in the hearts of her suitors, and the only thing that are more deadly than her words are the aim of her arrows. If those are not compliments, my lady, I don't know what compliments are."

For the first time since they met, Arya had a genuine expression, giving him a wide grin. Lyonel returned it and moved on.

Sansa Stark of Winterfell looked on as Prince Lyonel talked with her younger brothers; Bran, who was ten and eight years old, and Rickon, who just had his thirteenth nameday.

The handsome Prince Lyonel was all she had heard and dreamt of, and more. Sansa was convinced that this would be just like the songs of her childhood, the gallant prince saving the beautiful lady from her dreary home. Lyonel would take her to the capital, the beating heart of Westeros, where life would be an endless routine of feasts, pageantry and dances.

Once Lyonel had addressed all her siblings, there was a small moment of awkward silence, until her sister-by-law broke it. "Your grace," Lady Alys spoke up. "Might I be excused? It would be unhealthy for the babe if she's kept out too long."

"Of course my lady," said her Prince, smiling in such a gracious way that it made her heart flutter.

"My lord father asked me to help his grace's men in settling down at the castle, your grace," Robb said, bowing his head. "With your leave."

Soon Robb was gone, taking Bran and Rickon along with him. Arya, seeing that she was alone with her disliked sister and the stranger prince soon bid her excuse as well. "I must see Nymeria," she said and ran away before anyone could say anything.

Sansa sighed. She knew that her sister would act as wildly as she always did, even in royal presence, but wearing her riding leathers? Truly? She supposed it was fine to wear them in front of family and servants you have known all your life, but it was completely unsuitable to wear when greeting such high born guests. The leathers accentuate a woman's figure in the most un-lady like manner. As Arya ran across the courtyard, the leather clung to her backside, and she realized that her prince had noticed and was staring at that as well. A knife of jealousy stabbed her heart. Perhaps if she wore such clothes.... no. That would be un-lady like and she would charm the prince with grace, in the proper way.

And so Sansa put on her prettiest smile. "Your grace. You asked me to show you the castle of Winterfell. Shall we?"

Lyonel only smiled and wordlessly offered her his arm. She took it in her own and led him deeper into the castle.