At Winterfell, mornings started early even for northern standards.
The apprentices of the breadmaking master were heating the ovens at 3:30, the perfect temperature for the breadmaster to begin cooking at 4 a.m. Servants ate breakfast first, to have the strength to serve the Stark family through the day. That was always the way here, even if southerners or other clans did it differently.
And for the chief butler, today would be a busy day.
"Teela," called the raven-haired butler. Four-and-ten years old, a head and a half shorter than most men in Stark service, yet carrying an authority second only to the family he served.
"M'lord," stammered a little girl with a burn on her cheek.
The teen sighed.
"How many times, Teela? I am no lord. Call me Sebastian if you prefer, but in front of others you may refer to me as chief butler," he corrected her gently.
"Yes, M—"
The chief butler turned his masked face toward her. Even with the white mask hiding his expression, she felt the pressure radiating from him.
"Sir Sebastian?" she squeaked in mild panic.
"I'm not a sir, but sure. Improvement will come, just like the winter," he resigned himself.
He continued, handing her a simple list, the smart girl could thankfully read:
"Teela, check with the smiths and ask if they have enough coal. Check the kitchen as well. Talk with the stablekeeper and see if the babies are all right."
The girl looked a bit smitten by Sebastian's presence.
*Clap Clap*.
"Go, girl. Go," he ordered, and she ran straight toward the stables.
"This girl… she was supposed to do it in that order, not the opposite," he murmured.
"But you didn't tell her that, did you?" asked another teen with a cocky grin.
"No, I didn't, Theon. I am not infallible."
"Yes, yes, you're human and all that," Theon replied, entirely done with this conversation already.
"Most people would wish for a pleasant morning instead of interrupting one," Sebastian said smoothly.
"You should have woken me up," Theon grumbled, clearly irritated.
"You didn't ask."
"I did."
"Nope. After your… nightly affairs, you passed me in the hall and asked me to wake you up the next day."
Sebastian paused and then continued
"And I would, after today. Semantics, my Ironborn future lord. They can be the rise or the ruin of whole kingdoms," Sebastian finished.
Theon imagined the bastard smiling behind that mask. He would've challenged for a 'friendly spar' once or twice, but he knew he'd lose.
"When are you leaving?" he asked, not bothering with subtlety.
"Next week. I'm making the last of my preparations. Will you keep them safe?" Sebastian asked coldly.
Theon smirked at him. Sebastian only scoffed.
"If you'll excuse me, I still have preparations to finish. Your breakfast is in the kitchen."
Sebastian left.
Theon wandered into the kitchen and found it waiting for him: muffins, still warm with faint steam rising, and a… caffe? coffee? He still couldn't pronounce it well. A Dornish delicacy made with milk. On the surface floated a tiny foam squid.
Annoyed and amused, Theon could only stare at his breakfast and eat it while it was still hot.
"Cheeky fucker," he muttered, with a mix of resentment, embarrassment, and happiness.
_ _ _ __ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ __
Ned Stark's morning had been a good one. He woke beside his wife, a beautiful woman with pale skin, unblemished, her face soft in sleep, her body warm beneath the furs. A part of him wanted to remain there, and his "fella" wholeheartedly agreed. But the day had to start, and as Lord of Winterfell, he had an example to set.
He dressed, tucked the furs closer around his wife to keep her warm, and left the bedroom.
Outside waited a teen clad in an elegant self made suit (as he called it), raven haired and wearing a white mask that obscured his face. He bowed.
"A pleasant night, my lord?" he asked with the professionalism of a maester and the wickedness of a southern snake.
Ned did not answer.
"So, am I to expect a new wolf blessing your lands soon?" Sebastian added, not quite done with his teasing.
Ned Stark snorted. Sebastian understood the unspoken order perfectly.
"Very well. The kitchens have enough coal, the smiths need more, the horses are in good health, taxes have been halved for those who suffered worst in the snowstorm, and the evacuation teams of soldiers are already on their way. We have enough food, though more never hurts. I recommend allocating extra coin for my travels so I can return with supplies. Maester Luwin brought your correspondence; it's on your desk. All unimportant matters have been summarized in an adjacent parchment and only need your signature."
Sebastian paused, voice turning mischievous.
"And I also have pleasant news."
"What?" Ned asked, already pleased with the earlier report.
Sebastian jumped, breaking a piece of the ceiling, and dragged someone down with him.
A shivering child, no more than four or six, trembling not from cold but terror. His pants were no longer soaked with melted snow, but with a warm yellow liquid dripping onto the floor.
"I caught a naughty little bird," Sebastian said cheerfully.
Ned stood there contemplating and finally said.
"You have my blessing. Handle it" The Lord of Winterfell order.
"Yes my Lord" Sebastian bowed.
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Marryn's life had been hard. His mother, a whore in a brothel, birthed him and tossed him into the filth to die. He was rescued by a group of children who took care of each other. He grew up a beggar in the streets of King's Landing, begging to survive one more day.
Until they found him.
They cleaned him, fed him, taught him to read. And then he finally met him.
A bald man, perfumed — la, la… he couldn't recall the name. He smiled a kind smile, the kind the baker woman gave him when his stomach roared and she slipped him stale bread.
"From now on," the stranger said softly,
"you will be my little bird."
Marryn's eyes widened as the man continued:
"Worry not, my little friend, for I seek no love from children. I only want you to read something for me, and pass on a message. A little bit of work, for a great deal of kindness. Isn't that a bargain?"
His words wove around Marryn like strings.
"Go north. Your little brothers and sisters will guide you."
And so he went.
He traveled outside the city for the first time. The air was strange.
"Different, aye?" the teen beside him said.
"What…?"
"King's Landing is full of shit and piss. Gets into the lungs. This—" the teen inhaled deeply "—this is air worth breathing. Come on. The road north is long."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ - _ _
Snow surprised Marryn — no, Sparrow, his new name.
"Bury it. Forget it. Live, my little Sparrow," he whispered, repeating Lord Varys' kindness.
Snow was cold, white, beautiful, and deadly. Beautiful only as long as they found a tavern to sleep before nightfall.
"We're here," the teen said as Winterfell came into view.
"You'll apprentice under the baker. Remember Lord Varys' orders. Contact me if anything happens."
"Okay," Sparrow said. At the end of their journey, he realized he didn't know the teen's name.
"What's your name?" he asked.
The teen chuckled.
"Just call me Pigeon."
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ -
And so, Sebastian's journey began toward King's Landing, with a cute but terrified little Sparrow… and a stubbornly defiant Pigeon.
"Dumb waaays to die," sang an always cheerful Sebastian, much to the growing dread of his travel companions.