If you want to read ahead by 10+ Advance chapters you could take a visit on my patreon Or check it out.
http://patreon.com/SageOf016
———
"I've heard the stories," Tytan agreed, giving a slight, noncommittal nod. "Heard he was a great warrior in his day. A demon on the Trident, they say. And a decent enough commander when he put his mind to it."
He deliberately didn't mention anything about what Robert was like as a father (mostly absent, often drunk), or as a person (loud, crude, ruled by his appetites), or even as a King (mostly letting others handle the boring parts of ruling while he hunted, drank, and whored).
Tytan kept his assessment strictly to Robert's past martial glory, the one area where few could argue with the King's reputation. He then changed the subject smoothly.
"So, the rumors are true then? I hear you'll be coming south with us when we leave Winterfell."
"The King has offered me the position of Hand," Ned Stark replied simply, his voice steady. He nodded his head once, confirming the offer had been made, but his careful wording didn't actually say whether he had formally accepted it yet or not. He kept that detail guarded, even from the Crown Prince.
"Ah. Well then, a piece of friendly advice, Lord Stark. Since you'll be joining us in the viper's nest," Tytan said, turning his head to look directly at Ned, his sea-green eyes meeting the Northern lord's cool grey ones.
Tytan still didn't particularly like Ned Stark on a personal level. He couldn't forget or forgive the way Ned, and others like him, constantly judged his uncle Jaime, the 'Kingslayer'.
How their judgmental words and stony silences had chipped away at Jaime's reputation, tarnished his honor in the eyes of the realm, refusing to understand the complex reasons behind Jaime's actions during the Sack of King's Landing.
But… politics were politics.
"King's Landing isn't like the North," Tytan continued, his voice low and serious. "The air is different down there. Thicker. The people… they rarely say what they truly mean. They talk in half-truths, riddles, and false promises. Be careful who you trust."
"And what exactly do you mean by that, Your Grace?" Ned asked, his brow furrowing slightly. He turned more fully in his saddle, his gaze sharp now, trying to puzzle out the Prince's warning.
Was it a genuine offer of help? A veiled threat? Or just the cynical words of a young man raised in a corrupt court?
"Just that," Tytan replied simply, deciding he'd said enough. He wasn't going to hold Ned Stark's hand and spell it out for him.
"Be careful. Watch your back. Trust your instincts, not necessarily smiling faces." With that cryptic advice delivered, Tytan gently urged his horse forward with a touch of his heels, ignoring the animal's slight grumble of complaint as it started moving.
He headed off towards the main hunting party gathering near the gate, leaving Lord Stark sitting there alone for a moment.
Tytan felt he'd done enough. He didn't particularly like the man, and certainly didn't owe him any favors. The advice he'd given was mostly for his own family's benefit, indirectly.
He kind of liked young Robb and fierce little Arya; they'd probably be pretty devastated if their honorable, perhaps slightly naive, father got himself killed playing politics in the south. So, a vague warning was offered. Nothing more.
Watching the Prince ride away, Ned Stark's frown deepened slightly. He was confused by the Prince's strange words, the mix of cynicism and what almost sounded like genuine concern.
What game was the boy playing?
Or was it truly just advice? He shook his head slightly, acknowledging the warning mentally, even if he didn't fully understand its implications yet, then nudged his own horse forward to rejoin the King and the hunt.
———
Sometime Later:-
With Bran Stark:-
A while after the noisy royal hunting party King Robert bellowing, horns blowing, dogs barking had finally ridden out through the gates of Winterfell, leaving the castle feeling strangely quiet, young Bran Stark got back to doing what he loved most in the entire world. Climbing.
The walls and towers of Winterfell were his playground, his escape. He knew every stone, every foothold, every shortcut.
He moved with a fearless grace that often worried his mother but filled Bran himself with pure joy, a thrilling sense of freedom.
Being up high, seeing the world spread out below him like a map, feeling the wind whip around him nothing else compared to that exhilarating feeling.
Right now, he was tackling one of his favorite challenges: the First Keep, the oldest part of Winterfell, a crumbling, abandoned tower that hadn't been used in years, maybe even decades.
It had fallen into disrepair long ago, stones missing here and there, ivy creeping up its sides. But Bran knew it like the back of his hand.
His small, nimble hands and feet found the familiar cracks and ledges with practiced ease. He moved quickly, confidently, scaling the ancient stone wall, ascending higher and higher.
As he neared the top section of the tower, nearing a window set high in the wall, a strange sound drifted down to him on the wind.
A woman's moaning. Soft at first, then louder, rhythmic. It wasn't a sound of pain, Bran realized with a child's innocent curiosity.
It sounded… different. Like someone was… happy?
Maybe?
Intrigued, he adjusted his climb, making his way carefully across the face of the tower towards the window the sounds were coming from.
Reaching the crumbling window ledge, Bran cautiously pulled himself up just enough to peek inside.
His eyes widened instantly, and he jerked back instinctively, his breath catching in his throat, shock jolting through his small body.
Inside the dusty, abandoned room, he saw Ser Jaime Lannister the handsome Kingsguard knight with the golden hair and his twin sister, Queen Cersei herself!
They were… together. Tangled together on the floor amidst some old straw, their clothes half-off. Doing things… things Bran knew married people did, like his own mother and father. Wrestling, kissing, making those strange moaning sounds.
The two golden-haired siblings were completely wrapped up in each other, moving fiercely, oblivious to anything else in the world. Or at least, they were.
Until, in the middle of their passionate embrace, Jaime pulled his sister closer, burying his face in her neck, kissing her skin.
The movement shifted Cersei's position slightly, putting her in the perfect line of sight to see the small, shocked face of Bran Stark peering at them through the dusty window frame.
Her eyes snapped open, widening in alarm and fury. She gasped, pushing Jaime away slightly, whispering his name urgently. Jaime looked up, confused for a second, then followed her terrified gaze towards the window.
His own expression shifted instantly from passion to cold shock, then to something harder, more dangerous.
Within moments faster than Bran could even think to react, to scramble away Jaime was across the small room and reaching out through the window.
A strong hand shot out, grabbing Bran tightly by the front of his tunic, bunching the fabric up in a fist. Bran yelped, struggling instinctively, trying to pull back, to climb down, to escape.
But Jaime's grip was like iron. He held Bran fast, dangling him partly out from the ledge, unable to break free.
"Well, well," Jaime Lannister said, his voice dangerously soft, eerily calm. There was none of the panic or shouting Bran might have expected from someone caught doing something so wrong. Just a cold, assessing quietness.
"Look what we have here. Are you completely mad, boy? Climbing where you shouldn't be?"
——
Every 300 Power Stones = 1 Extra Chapter.
If you want to read ahead by 10+ Advance chapters you could take a visit on my patreon Or check it out.
http://patreon.com/SageOf016