As of August 2024, see author's note at end about editing.

Harrenhal was a dark, twisted shadow, with a stinking aura of death about it. The hulking shape of the castle of it had been on the horizon for days now, so large that it had seemed much closer than it was. Privately, Ross thought that they should be turning their horses around and heading back up north. Yet they, along with countless others - lords, knights and commoners - were flocking to Harrenhal for Lord Whent's great tourney.

Rosennis Stark was unused to so many people. The North was vast and sparsely populated, with huge swathes of untouched wilderness, which suited her fine. It was rare that the Starks ventured down from Winterfell, and here, most folk they came across eyed their party warily, or else gawped with wide-eyed fascination. She couldn't shake off a feeling of foreboding, which may have just been a dislike for this place and the crowds, though the closer they grew to Harrenhal, the more on edge she became.

Having ridden with Brandon and Lya down from Winterfell, the Starks had joined up with the party from the Eyrie. It was wonderful to see Ned again, even if he had brought his friend, the charismatic young lord Baratheon. Robert was currently regaling them with some loud, entertaining tale, which had Brandon, Ned and Benjen howling with laughter. Riding beside her, Lyanna was smiling. Yet there was still a hint of reluctance in the girl's eyes, which had been there since they met the man she was to marry.

"See, Lya," Ross said to her sister, in what both of them knew was a weak attempt to cheer her spirits, from someone who was not good at such things. "He's not so bad,"

"He's fine when he's like this," Lyanna said, quiet enough that the others couldn't overhear them. "When he's laughing with the boys, telling stories or racing horses. But he's different around me - like he's on his best behaviour. I can't stand all those inane compliments, or ridiculous smiles he thinks are charming, or that he tries to help me off my horse,"

"How terrible," Ross' lips twitched. It was true though; Lyanna liked Robert well enough, until he tried to do anything that dared venture into courtship, then she clammed up, becoming short and defensive.

"Shut up," Her sister did laugh then, reaching across the gap between their horses to shove her. "It's not even him, really. He's... fine. I just don't want to marry anyone,"

Ross knew that already. She was as different to her younger sister as ice was to fire, but though they often had their fights and rivalries, they had always been close. She had held Lyanna as she cried bitterly, after their father had told her of the betrothal.

"I thought it would be you," Her sister had sobbed. "I'm the second daughter. You're much better behaved than I am, and much more clever. I - I'd hoped Father would forget about me,"

Lyanna was naive and could be unknowingly selfish.

"You're beautiful, Lya," Was all Ross could say. "And you're Father's favourite, of all of us. Of course he wouldn't forget you. He thinks he's done you a great kindness,"

Now, in the sunlit woodlands of the Riverlands, Lyanna was not crying - as if she would ever cry in front of anyone who wasn't her sister - but had an odd, pensive look on her face. She had grown up a lot in the few months since her betrothal was announced. It had shocked her, the realisation that, despite a childhood of being permitted to do largely what she wanted by their father - who indulged her, where he had been strict and stern with the rest of them - she was a highborn lady, nearly a woman grown, and would be expected to act like one.

"You won't be married until you're sixteen, at least," Ross said. "That's nearly two more years at home. More than what I've got,"

Her own betrothal was to the widowed Lord Bolton, whose lands bordered the Stark's. It was a relief that she would be a few days' ride from home, still in her beloved North and close to her family. Lyanna would be a whole kingdom away, alone in a strange southron castle, which didn't bear thinking about.

"It's not enough," Lyanna shook her head, not meeting her eyes. "I want to ride my horse through the Wolfswood. I want to learn to fight with a sword, properly, like the boys. I want to travel to places like Dorne, the Free Cities, Asshai and Quarth, like I've seen in books. Me and Benjen would go, when he's old enough, and it would be a grand adventure," Her voice became a little choked. "Ross, I can't just be some lord's wife, surrounded by squalling children. That can't be all there is,"

"I understand," Ross hated children. "Truly, I do. If it was up to me, I would want to stay at home in Winterfell forever and never get married,"

"You'd make a better lord than Brandon," Lyanna said with a grin.

"My first decree would be - 'no weddings for Lya',"

Her sister cackled at that, and Ross took it as a victory that she had managed to improve her mood, at least temporarily.

People had asked why it was the younger Stark daughter betrothed to the powerful southron lord, not than the elder. They stopped asking when they saw the two side by side. Lyanna had a wild sort of beauty and her bold, unabashed nature was alluring to many. Ross had none of that. At five-and-ten, a year older than her sister, she wasn't ugly but was no great beauty; tall and skinny, with a long face, thin lips and prominent cheekbones that just made her look gaunt. To describe her personality as charming would have been laughable. Prickly would have been a better suited word, and icy cold, all sharp edges and blunt cynicism, which was often a well-needed foil to her sister's dreams and idealism.

However, just as Ross could temper some of Lyanna's wolfblooded notions, Lyanna always did bring out the reckless side of her.

"Enough depressing talk of men," Her sister declared. "Race you to the edge of the trees, off the road," She gestured to some way ahead of them.

Ross followed where she was pointing. Her sister's white mare, and Ross' own steel grey, had been a gift from the Ryswells (looking to marry their daughter Barbrey to Brandon). Both horses were well-bred Northern beasts, strong and hardy, but also agile enough to pick up speed in the dense forests around Winterfell. These Riverlands woods would be child's play. She smiled at Lya.

Without warning, she dug her heels sharply into her mare's sides. The powerful animal leapt forward with surprising speed, and she steered between the other horses in their group, Robert Baratheon's great chestnut courser and Ned's dark bay. Exclamations could be heard from the others, but Ross' eyes were fixed ahead of them, off the road and into the trees. She didn't know these woods; a trip on a log, misjudging a distance, not seeing a rabbit's burrow, could bring them both down, breaking the horse's legs, or her own neck. For Lyanna, that was the thrill of it. For Ross, it wasn't even a concern. The horse wouldn't fall; she had been an expert rider at ten.

But Lyanna was almost as good, and ten times as daring, more than a match for her. Ross could hear her sister's catcalls and whoops behind her, could hear her horse's hooves pounding on the ground as they leapt over a ditch, then a fallen tree. This was nothing compared to their wild rides in the Wolfswood, but it gave a similar rush, even without the smell of sentinel pine and the chill northern wind in her hair.

Up ahead was a stream, carving out a gully about four feet across right in their path. Ross fixed her eyes straight ahead, spurring the horse on when she felt it hesitate slightly, counting the strides underneath her, feeling a rush of anticipation that the mare picked up on, firing it up even more, one, two, three and up!

One split-second of weightlessness as her mare cleared the stream, then its hooves crashed down on the opposite bank. The horse stumbled, but she kept its head up with the reins, digging her heels into its sides again and it surged forward to the finish.

"Who needs bridges?" Her sister said, delighted.

Ross won, but by a hair's breadth, so of course Lyanna disputed the fact. They were still arguing when the others caught up, having gone the longer but smoother way on the road. Brandon and Robert were roaring with laughter, Ned grinned between them, whilst Benjen looked on in admiration but also jealousy; he never could keep up with his sisters. No one could, on horseback.

"I say Lady Lyanna won," Robert said, still chuckling, with a charming smile that was seemed to be all it took to have an otherwise chaste innkeep's daughter lifting her skirts.

Lyanna wrinkled her nose. "Now I think of it, Ross did win," She urged her horse forwards to the front of the group, away from them.

Ross couldn't help snorting at Robert's bemused expression, falling in beside Ned. She wasn't expecting the lord to turn to her.

"Lady Rosennis, I hope you can be of more use than your brothers in this matter," He started with a sigh. "What could I do that would charm your lovely sister?"

"Without her galloping away from you on horseback as fast as possible, you mean?"

She had not been joking, but Robert laughed nonetheless.

Ross continued. "Don't try and charm her at all. Talk with her, laugh with her, but don't try and court her. Act like she's Ned,"

"Ned?" The young lord started to laugh. "Forgive the coarse words, my lady, but your sister is far easier on the eyes than Ned's frozen face,"

Exactly my point. Ross sighed. "Just ask her about horses," She said. "Or jousting, or the melee. She'll much prefer that to you telling her how beautiful she is,"

This seemed to baffle Robert, but he nodded, and at least looked like he took it into consideration.

*

Jaime Lannister had never been anywhere more... vibrant. Nor chaotic. The tourney grounds at Harrenal were like something out of the tales of his childhood. Bright pavilions in all colours for what seemed like miles around. Banners bearing every sigil imaginable. Lords, ladies, knights, merchants, freeriders, sellswords, tradesmen, farmers and whores, all mingled amongst each other. He didn't even remember seeing this many people in one place in King's Landing.

Despite the hordes of people, his sister was easy to pick out of the crowd. There she sat, golden and radiant on her blood-bay mare, dressed in Lannister colours, surrounded by an escort of two dozen scarlet-cloaked guardsmen. Her face lit up when she saw him, red lips parting in a beaming grin. Giana had always been a true ray of sunshine. Sweet, unambitious and cheery, she laughed easily and often, talking to most everyone like they were her equals, though few could equal Giana Lannister in looks, kindness, or charm. As lovely as she was, however, his little sister was rather naive and acted young for her age. Uncle Gerion had once asked their father if she truly was a Lannister at all. Lord Tywin did not appreciate his wit.

"Jaime!" Giana made to dismount, but he was already there, sweeping her off her horse and spinning her around in a tight hug as she laughed.

They hadn't seen each other for nearly a year, not since before Jaime left with Lord Crakehall to fight the Kingswood Brotherhood. He had been back to the Rock since, of course, for a month after being knighted by Ser Arthur, but Giana had been away, visiting the Baneforts prior to a possible betrothal. He had ached for Cersei in the months since he had left King's Landing, but he hadn't quite realised exactly how much he had missed his younger sister too until she stood before him.

Jaime set her down on the ground.

"You've grown," She looked up at him, eyes wide.

He had grown, but so had she. Giana was not as womanly as Cersei - she was a year younger, shorter than Cersei had been even then, and her features were softer than his twin's dazzling beauty - but was a world away from the little girl of thirteen he had left behind.

"Didn't you hear?" He teased, taking the reins of her horse and leading them through the crowd, their guards following behind. "It's Ser Jaime now. Show some manners, Giana,"

"I do apologise, dear brother," Amusement glittered in her apple-green eyes. "But it seems to me your head is already inflated enough as it is,"

Jaime laughed. He really had missed her, though would reluctantly admit to himself he would rather it was Cersei here today. The thought of having the same relationship with Giana as he did with his twin made him feel slightly sick.

"You're probably right," He said. "I still can't believe Father let you come,"

Jaime had known his father would be furious when Cersei first came to him about joining the Kingsguard. It had taken even her a whole night to persuade him to take the position, even though it had been a boyhood dream of his. But it had come down to whether or not he wanted Cersei by his side, and he had chosen his sister in a heartbeat, as he always would. What was Casterly Rock compared to her? Let his father be angry.

Neither of them had foreseen Lord Tywin resigning his post as Hand of the King and returning with his household and daughter back to the Rock. Jaime was honoured to be accepted into the Kingsguard, but it was considerably soured now that Cersei would not be there to share it all with him. When he was in the Westerlands, she had been in court. Now he was to be a Kingsguard, she had been dragged back home. The irony did not fail to be anything less than a slap in the face.

"He still believes there's a chance you'll get out of this, somehow. Or he'll find a loophole so you can still inherit the Rock," Giana said with a carefree shrug.

Bad events never seemed to upset her like they did most people, but Jaime suspected that was because she didn't quite understand things such as consequences. Despite this, no matter what Cersei claimed, Giana was undoubtedly their father's favourite (not that that counted for much) and understood the man remarkably well for someone so utterly different.

"That explains why he hasn't disowned me, yet," He muttered, only half-joking.

"He would never disown you. That would leave Tyrion as his only son," Giana pulled a face, showing her distaste at how their father treated their younger brother.

"Small chance of that," Jaime smiled without humour. His sister hummed in agreement.

They walked in a comfortable silence for a few moments.

"Is it true you fought the Smiling Knight?" She turned to him with glittering eyes, previous discussion forgotten, and he grinned. Giana was refreshing in a way few people were.

*

Being presented to King Aerys Targaryen was one of the most uncomfortable experiences of Giana Lannister's life. Countless people had warned her of the king's affections towards her lady mother, Joanna, but she hadn't appreciated exactly how far that had gone. Though Giana wasn't as beautiful as Cersei, she was used to the gazes of men, but this was different. She looked more like their mother than her sister did, and even their names were somewhat similar. Something that the king had noticed.

Shivering, she remembered the way the old man's stare had roamed up and down her body, like he was undressing her with his eyes, and the salacious comments he had made that had made her skin crawl. Giana had seen Jaime's jaw clench as he stood beside her, but of course he could do nothing. Soon he would be sworn to protect that man with his life.

She wasn't sure if she liked that thought. She had always thought her brother would make a good white knight, but now she wasn't sure. He was reckless, she knew, and he way he looked at the king when he made those comments towards her... something in that look made her pause.

The day only seemed to get worse after that, even though she tried to put Aerys out of her mind. During the tourney opening that evening, Jaime knelt before Gerold Hightower to be inducted into the Kingsguard, a pure white cloak fastened around his shoulders. To the crowd, excited for the festivities, her brother looked the perfect knight, young, talented, golden and handsome. They cheered with enough noise to wake the dead when Jaime stood, the newest member of the Kingsguard at only fifteen.

The king soaked up the praise, believing it to be for him, muttering something to Jaime that made her brother's face fall for a fraction of a second, before his expression became carefully blank. He nodded, once. After she rejoined him, he wouldn't tell her what had been said, but was in a strange mood considering he had just been awarded a high honour.

The feast that night was wonderful, at least. Her whole life, Giana had mostly been confined to the Rock and Lannisport, yet here it was like a whole new world. There were so many people, packed into the Hall of a Hundred Hearths. The Tyrell ladies with roses woven in their hair, those from Dorne in flowing silks. The beautiful Tully sisters, with gorgeous copper hair, and the wild-looking Northmen in dark leathers and furs down from Winterfell. She herself wore a golden gown, and knew she looked radiant.

And then there was the powerful young storm lord, Robert Baratheon, dark-haired with arms like tree trunks. He grinned roguishly when he saw her looking, and Giana smiled and waved merrily back. That seemed to please him more.

Jaime didn't notice Giana slip away. He was with several others around his age, mostly the sons of Westerlands lords, and a few squires, though many others were eager to congratulate the newest member of the Kingsguard. More than a few serving girls were hovering around him, giggling amongst themselves, though Jaime paid them little mind. Her brother had never been interested in the countless women that all but threw themselves at him.

"My lady," Baratheon stepped in front of her path, a gleam in his eye that even she knew was far from innocent. Was that even a bad thing? A thrill went through her at the scandalous thought and she giggled, curtsying sweetly. "I don't believe we've met. Surely I'd remember such a fair face," The compliment was transparent, but appreciated nonetheless.

"I don't believe we have, my lord," She felt daring and looked him in the eye. Giana wasn't going to mention her name; any mention of her father would be enough to scare anyone away. And it was only a bit of fun, Lord Baratheon was just being friendly. Surely she looked too young for him to be truly interested.

Before he could reply, another man swooped in.

"We can hardly leave a lovely young lady like you alone with a dog like Robert," Another man - handsome in a wild sort of way, rangy and strong - joined them, wearing an almost predatory grin. "Brandon Stark. A pleasure, my lady,"

He bowed, taking her hand and kissing it, cutting across Robert to do so. Though delivered smoothly, the pretty gesture was uncharacteristic from this one, judging from the way the man's younger brother, a slight boy of one-and-ten, was gawping. Giana did not miss the glance Brandon Stark gave Baratheon, and suddenly remembered that the man was betrothed to Stark's sister. This was a warning, not a flirtation.

"I am charmed, my lords," She smiled, not wanting to upset the Stark girl by flirting with her betrothed. "But I'd best be going. My brother will be looking for me," She curtseyed once more and turned to leave, feeling Robert's stare on her back as she returned to Jaime.

"Where have you been?" He asked, eyes narrowed.

"Making friends," She said, catching his arm as he turned away. "Jaime, what's wrong?" She had noticed the pained look he was doing his best to hide all evening.

Her brother didn't speak for a moment.

"You'll have to spend the rest of the tourney on your own," He said eventually. "I'm to return to King's Landing in the morning,"

Her mouth fell open. "What? Why?"

"Our gracious king commands it," He said, bitterly disappointed. "Even though the queen and Prince Viserys already have two Kingsguard with them. But it's my duty now, to obey the king. I have to go,"

"But you'll miss the joust," Giana said in dismay, knowing he had wanted to compete; he could win, if he wanted to, there was no doubt about it.

Jaime only nodded. "So be it,"

*

All the women here were beautiful, dressed in bright, fashionable gowns, hair done in intricate braids. Ross felt out of place, tall, skinny and odd-looking as she was. Her dress was a modest one in dark green, and her hair was loose, in the Northern style. She had hoped to remain mostly unnoticed, not wanting to socialise with near-strangers. Unfortunately her family name made that impossible, as well as her family themselves.

"Come on, Ross, just one dance," Her eldest brother grinned at her. "I've danced with near every lady in this room, but never my own sister. How can that be?"

"You've seen me dance," She replied. "I'm hardly the picture of grace," When she was three-and-ten, her dancing master had, not unfairly, claimed she was as graceful as a spider on ice.

"But you know all the steps and don't tread on my toes like Lya does,"

She had to smile slightly. "Perhaps not, but that doesn't - Brandon!" Ross glared at him, resisting half-heartedly as he pulled her to her feet by both wrists, but her brother was strong, and easily dragged her onto the dance floor.

She glanced to Lyanna for help, but her sister was drunk, and dancing herself, hanging off of Robert Baratheon's arm and laughing loudly. The man must have taken Ross' advice. Even though her sister wasn't the best dancer after several cups of wine, Baratheon looked delighted at the fact they were getting along.

Ross looked to Ned instead, only to see him talking to the beautiful Ashara Dayne, who was eyeing him with clear interest. She blinked in surprise - how did that happen? - but by that point Brandon had put one hand on her waist, the other holding hers, and led them into the dance.

"See," He said. "This isn't so bad, is it?" Her brother was actually a good dancer, and big enough to make her spidery frame look not so gawky.

"Only because I'm with you," She admitted. "Some lordling from the Stormlands asked me to dance earlier - his forehead barely came up to my nose. It would have looked ridiculous,"

Brandon snorted.

"You'll grow into those coltish arms and legs, Ross. Maybe,"

She trod on his foot for that, with the heel of her boot. In response, Brandon gave her hair a painful tug. She glared at him, but he only laughed.

"I think I prefer dancing with Ned," She glanced over to where her second brother was now dancing with Lady Ashara. "Speaking of. How did that happen?"

"Our dear brother couldn't take his eyes off her, but of course was too shy to ask for a dance," He grinned. "So I asked her for him,"

Ross chuckled at that. "She seems to like him. Perhaps because he knows when to shut his mouth. You have no idea how many cocky young knights and lordlings have approached me tonight, only to talk of their own tourney victories. Fascinating though they may be," Her tone was thick with sarcasm.

Those men only tried talking to her because they wanted a chance at wedding a Stark, not because they found her beautiful or interesting. To them, she enjoyed being as off-putting as possible, her face - which she had been told made her look too intimidating when she didn't smile - giving a natural advantage. They were wasting their time, besides; she was already betrothed.

"I do believe you're immune to charm, little sister," Her brother said, amused, then glanced over to Lyanna and Robert with narrowed eyes. "Not that that's a bad thing. Baratheon was all over some little chit of a girl earlier, and Lya's got no idea,"

"Lya's not charmed," Ross said. "She's drunk, and Robert's good company in that. She knows more than enough about his reputation,"

"He doesn't know her, though," Brandon said darkly. "Doesn't know that when he gets bored with her and Lya finds him with some serving wench in their bed, she won't just sit back and let it happen like a good little wife,"

"In which case, let him find out the hard way,"

Her brother smiled, that wolffish glint in his eye again. Knowing him, he would come raging down to Storm's End himself if there was any indication Lyanna was not happy there.

"Aye. Gods, who would choose to be betrothed? Ned's the lucky one. I'll have my sensible, dutiful, deathly dull Tully bride," Ross knew Brandon had wanted to wed Barbrey Ryswell, but equally he hadn't been too upset when their father said no. "Lya will have her whore of a husband," She snorted at that. "And we'll probably be sent your flayed skin made into a cloak within a year of giving you away to the Leech Lord,"

Her brother's dislike of her betrothal was well known.

"Please, brother, give me more words of encouragement like that on my wedding day," Ross said, tone dry. "When I find the secret chamber in the Dreadfort where they keep the two-legged wolf pelts, I'll send you one,"

He laughed, then caught a glimpse of something over her shoulder. "That's her,"

"Who?" She manoeuvred them around so she could look without staring behind her.

"The girl Baratheon was flirting with,"

Ross rolled her eyes. "Let it go, Brandon. The man's likely flirted with half the women in this room,"

"Half the women in the room aren't as beautiful as that one,"

She finally realised who he was staring at. Golden hair, warm smile, beautiful face. Ross started to laugh. "That's the Lannister girl,"

"Gods, is it?" Her brother gave a bark of laughter.

"Even Robert isn't stupid enough to go anywhere near her,"

"Perhaps you're right. Lord Tywin would certainly see that debt paid,"

*

A couple of hours later, Ross stepped outside in the courtyard, alone. It had become almost unbearably hot and stuffy inside the hall, and she needed to feel some cold air on her face. It was only her and several guardsmen outside, and they seemed to be in the middle of changing shifts, the newcomers sharing a joke with the ones coming off duty. No one was paying her any attention; they likely did not know she was there.

A large, familiar figure left the hall, a much smaller, giggling girl tucked into his side, draped in his huge cloak. At first, Ross believed that Robert was just living up to his reputation and had invited one of the serving maids back to his tent. Then she caught a glimpse of the distinctive blonde hair under the cloak, a flash of the golden hem, and her eyebrows shot upwards. Giana Lannister. Surely not. Surely neither of them could be that moronic?

For a moment, all she felt was rage for Lyanna. It was one thing for Robert to fool about with lowborn women, that was hardly an uncommon vice amongst lords and knights. It was quite another when his future bride was attending the same event. And the fact that it was a highborn girl, from a great house no less? How dare he? Poor Lya... Despite the fact it was entirely Robert's fault, if anyone found out then it would be her shame as well as her husband's.

But then she paused, realising the opportunity that this gave her. An idea was forming in Ross' mind, a way to spare her sister the chains of marriage to a lecherous oaf. Robert, you really are a fool. The next chance she got, she would speak to Giana Lannister, and set a few things straight.

*

So in case anyone is confused or gets an update for a new chapter, I am in the process of editing this story as of August 2024. There are no major plot changes from the original, I just made a great deal of improvements in writing style and general tone, and altered how a few conversations went. I would normally wait until all the chapters were edited, but having done a full read of my own story, I found myself cringing at the writing in the first few chapters and must congratulate everyone who got through them enough for it to get good later on. I simply can't wait to replace them with the better version, so any slight mismatch between the first few and the later chapters is because of this. I will get around to replacing every chapter at some point

Thanks so much for reading. I appreciate any comments (even just a few words), and find constructive criticism helpful, so please feel free to tell me what you think and be honest!