[2047 Words]
—Westeros, The North, a few leagues south of the Wall, 298 AC—
The wind from the Wall was much colder and more unforgiving than it normally was as Eddard Stark rode at the head of his sons and ward. Robb Stark sat tall in the saddle, his face already looking like the lord of Winterfell, but his boyish expression was still there.
Beside him, Jon Snow watched in silence, his eyes dark in thought. Bran Stark, still young yet keen, looked on with a mixture of curiosity and unease. Theon Greyjoy lingered close, his expression unreadable.
Ahead, the deserter was held by Stark's men.
Will, his cloak hung loose, his face hollow from fear and sleepless nights. As Ned dismounted and approached, the man found what little strength remained in him.
"I know I broke my oath, and I know I'm a deserter..." His voice wavered, then steadied as he glanced north, toward the unseen Wall. "I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but..." His breath caught.
Then he lifted his gaze and met Ned's eyes, which were cold and unflinching as every Northman should be for such a thing.
"I saw what I saw... I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."
Silence followed, heavy as falling snow.
Ned Stark gave a small nod, whether in acknowledgment or command, none could say. The men forced Will to his knees regardless, and then the moment had come.
Ice was brought forth, the pale white creamy blade catching what little light the grey sky offered. Theon held it until Ned took the hilt in both hands; the weight was familiar to him from both rebellions.
He set the tip to the ground before beginning to speak; his voice carried to all ears, it was low and resolute.
"In the name of Robert Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."
The sword fell in a single, clean arc, and with a powerful strike, Will's head fell from his neck, giving him a clean, painless death without suffering.
The wind swallowed what followed.
For a few moments, no one spoke. Then Ned Stark turned, sheathing the blade back without ceremony. His sons watched closely; this was the North's way. The man who passes the sentence must swing the sword.
They mounted again and rode south, toward Winterfell, leaving the execution site behind them as men began to bury the body. And before the day was done, they would find a surprise, not just one but six little surprises.
—Westeros, King's Landing, The Great Sept of Balor, 298 AC—
The morning bell rang loud, its echo stretching across King's Landing like the smell of shit carried by the wind. Each heavy ring marked the passing of Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, now laid in silent repose within the sacred halls of the Great Sept of Baelor.
Within the sept, beneath vaulted ceilings and the watchful gaze of the Seven, Cersei Lannister stood at a stone ledge, her posture regal yet slightly tense. Below, the silent sisters moved with practiced grace, like they had done this many times, tending to the still form of the dead man, their grey robes draped across the floor as they prepared him for his final rites.
Her green eyes lingered on the scene, distant, yet calculating.
From her left came Jaime Lannister, her twin. He moved to her right side and leaned against the same stone ledge, his golden armor catching the faint light that filtered through the high windows.
"As your brother, I think it's my duty to warn you. You worry too much, and it's starting to show," he said, his voice low and quiet, his gaze fixed upon hers.
She gave him a sidelong look. "And you never worry about anything. When we were seven, and you jumped off the cliffs at Casterly Rock, a hundred-foot drop into the water, and you were never afraid." Her voice carried a trace of memory, faint but noticeable.
"There was nothing to be afraid of until you told Father," he replied, amusement flickering across his face before it faded. He paused, glancing away for a second. "Lannisters don't act like fools." His tone shifted, mimicking Tywin Lannister with uncanny accuracy.
Cersei's expression hardened, though something uneasy was flaring beneath. "What if he told someone?" she asked, her voice quieter now, filled with unease.
"Who would he tell?" Jaime answered, meeting her question with one of his own, calm yet probing.
"I don't know... my husband, the king." The words left her with like a heavy stone sinking into water, her fear no longer veiled.
Jaime's jaw tightened, irritation breaking through his composure. "If he told him, we would be dead, and it'll be your son to take our heads."
"You don't understand, Axel, he would kill us not for the affair in itself, but for being foolish enough to be caught, and even more for having children," said Cersei Lannister. Her voice carried fear, though beneath it lay something fiercer, an unyielding love for her children, however flawed they might be.
Jaime Lannister looked at her for a long moment, silent, a faint trace of amusement tugging at his expression. "That does sound like him," he admitted at last, his tone edged with dry humor. "Especially after the incident. He had changed."
Without another glance, Jaime turned and strode away, golden armor clanking as he went, no doubt bound for the training yard, where Joffrey Baratheon waited for Barristan Selmy. Not by choice, of course. Even after seven years, Robert Baratheon's punishment had not lessened much.
Though Joffrey had regained his place in the line of succession, the smallfolk whispered otherwise. Given the choice, they would name Axel instead, not from loyalty, nor love, but because he seemed the lesser evil. A grim thought of the matter.
Axel had changed after the incident.
Some of it had tempered him, most of it had sharpened him into someone far less forgiving, especially to those who stood against him.
"So how was the talk with Uncle Jaime's mother?"
The voice came from the shadows, deeper now with age and hardened by experience. Axel Baratheon stepped into the dim light beside his mother, a great panther padding silently at his side. The beast's low growl rumbled through the sept as its green slitted eyes fixed upon Cersei.
"Axel, keep her under control," Cersei said, her tone calm, not filled with as much fear as most would be. This was no new thing; years had dulled any fear such a thing might have once had to her.
The panther, Persia, was no ordinary creature, at least anymore. Seven years had not weakened her with age; instead, she had grown larger, more formidable, her size rivaling, or even surpassing, that of the African lions.
"Sorry, Mother. You know how she has been since then," Axel replied evenly, resting a steadying hand on Persia's head as he came to stand beside Cersei.
His gaze drifted downward, settling upon the still form of Jon Arryn.
For a moment, he said nothing, then.
"You know, I never really understood what Father saw in the man. He was old… though I suppose with age comes wisdom. He tried to guide him, in his way, but he could have done more." His voice was calm and thoughtful, yet if one listened closely enough, they would hear something colder in his tone. "Father looked to him as a father figure. Perhaps he might have steered him from some of his excesses."
Axel's eyes did not leave the body. "But that is a truth I will never know."
Cersei looked at her son in silence from the corner of her eye.
Axel Baratheon was no longer a boy, but a man grown, six and ten, with the bearing of someone older. His long hair, black with gold mixed in, fell to his back, some strands bound in tight braids.
He stood tall, at six feet, or near enough, and the maesters said he had yet to finish growing. Broad of shoulder and lean of form, his frame was honed and hard beneath his garments, the look of one shaped by hard training.
Yet it was not his height nor his strength that drew the eye.
It was the scar.
A cruel mark made by his brother's hand, cutting across his eye, an injury that had healed cleanly, and he was able to see out of it clearly. But the blue of it had bled into something darker, touched with violet where blood dripped into his eye.
Robert Baratheon had never liked the look of it, though time had done nothing to change it. Now Axel bore two different gazes, one green, bright with Lannister pride, and the other a marred blue-purple, darkened by the past.
"So, what is your point?" Cersei asked at last, her tone cool, though not without curiosity. "Why did you come here and seek me out?"
Axel's lips curved, faintly amused.
"Now come, Mother, that's too narcissistic, even for me." His voice carried a teasing edge. "I came to pay my respects on Father's behalf. He is so broken up, it took more than ten whores and twenty bottles of wine before he found sleep."
There was no mistaking the meaning behind it.
Cersei's expression soured, the disdain plain upon her face. She had never loved her husband, and the reminder of his cheating and with whores of all types, so casually spoken, always filled her with shame.
Axel saw it.
And he laughed.
"Well, I'll be gone now, Mother." He turned slightly, then paused, his gaze shifting toward the shadows. "Evie, dear, do not linger there. You are mine, and no harm will come to you while I still draw breath. No one would dare… would they, Mother?"
From a dark corner, a woman stepped forward, silent until now.
As Axel finished speaking, his eyes flicked back to Cersei.
She said nothing at first, only looked at him, before turning to leave. Yet before she passed fully from sight, her voice was heard.
"Do not sire any bastards, as your father does."
Axel's smile only widened.
"I think you mean Mother and Father."
The words struck true.
Cersei stumbled, for just a second, before quickening her pace, her composure cracking for the briefest moment.
Behind her, Axel's laughter followed, loud and unrestrained, echoing faintly through the halls of the sept.
"Dear, do you think it was wise to antagonize your mother like that?" Evie Frye murmured, her voice low as she nestled into Axel Baratheon's arms. "You all but told her you know."
She pressed nearer, her lips brushing along his neck before meeting his in a lingering kiss, bold and unashamed.
Axel exhaled softly, though his expression remained certain.
"Do not trouble yourself," he said, breaking the kiss only long enough to meet her gaze. "So long as what must come to pass does so, I shall be free to act as I will. None shall stop me… well, almost none." A faint smirk touched his lips. "Come. Let us take this elsewhere."
Without waiting, he swept her up into his arms. Evie laughed lightly as he carried her swiftly from the sept and into a nearby chamber, her mirth echoing faintly behind them.
Silence settled in their wake. Then, from the shadows, another figure stirred.
"Did they forget I was here?" Jacob Frye muttered to no one in particular as he stepped forward, brow furrowed in mild disbelief.
The great panther remained.
Persia let out a low, rumbling sound, something between a growl and a roar, her green eyes watching him with intrigue.
Jacob scratched at the back of his head, unimpressed.
"Well… that answers nothing."
With that, he cast one last glance toward the chamber doors before slipping back into the shadows, Persia following close behind, both vanishing into the dim corridor, bound for destinations known only by the gods and Axel.
[Author's Note: If you're confused about anything, stick with me; I'm making this as we go! Did you like the changes I made? Yes, no, leave a comment and tell me I will do what I can, so leave a review and tell me what you may want to see; and as you know, this is a harem, so who would you want in it?
Disclaimer: I have a rough idea of where this is going, but I haven't mapped out every single detail or an overarching idea. So if you have suggestions to make the story better or who you might want to see, please leave a comment and review! I hope you like the story. While I do use AI, I don't think it is slop, and if there is any, I will try to change it and or add humanity into it, but just give me a chance.
Ending Note: Thank you for the support. Have a great( if you're not religious) and or blessed day, and check out my other account where I publish Og novels. It's called Fiction_Dragon! :)]