Chapter 5
The hunt had been successful and the king was in high spirits.
Killing things always did make him happy.
In truth, Robert had not changed so much from the man he once was, whatever had become of his former glory. He was happiest when he was fucking, fighting, or feasting. A man of open heart and easy laughter, with a warmth that made others love him. Such a man should have made a great king, yet Ned was beginning to see he was not made for it. Deprived of war, he had turned to wine and indulgence, and they had left him in ill health and a quick temper.
Their return to camp was preceded by the howling of a wolf. It set his teeth on edge, reminding him of the times Bran's wolf would howl after he fell.
"Your Grace, permission to ride ahead? That sounds like one of my daughter's wolves."
"We shall make a race of it!" Robert grinned and set heel to his horse's flank.
Ned was not in the mood for such frivolity, but he did desire to return to camp swiftly so he did likewise. Robert's whooping laughter ahead guided him better than his own eyes. Within the camp, nothing seemed to be the matter and Ned strode swiftly to where Visha was kenneled.
"Tom, where are my daughters? What is wrong with Visha?"
Fat Tom, as many called him, blinked in surprise. "Sansa is out riding with the prince and I saw Arya not an hour or so ago looking for you with some big lad trailing her like he got caught thieving."
Ned frowned. Something was wrong. He knew it. He could feel it. Visha gave another prolonged howl. Jory finally caught up, having been caught flatfooted by the king and Ned's impromptu race.
"My lord, is aught amiss?"
"Rouse the men. I am perhaps overwrought, but find Arya and Sansa and bring them to me at once. I will ask the queen where they are, but you should send searchers immediately."
"My lord," he bowed his head and then began shouting orders.
Ned hurried to the queen's wheelhouse. He was surprised to see Ser Barristan and what looked to be a young Robert reborn. The towering muscular man could only be Renly and Ned had to shake himself to ensure his eyes were not befuddled. He was not exactly like Robert come again, but it was close. A little shorter, perhaps not quite as wide, but the resemblance bordered on the unnatural. He had certainly never looked as much like Brandon or Benjen.
"You look worried, Lord Stark," Ser Barristan said.
"Aye," Ned said. "My daughters keep close to their wolves, and now Visha is howling much like my son's did when Bran fell. A father's worry, mayhaps, yet I wished it settled sooner than late. Tell me where Joffrey has taken Sansa riding."
The Hound was nearby and grunted. "The prince made mention of finding the spot where the king slew Rhaegar. Somewhere over that way," he gestured.
"My thanks," Ned replied stiffly. The Hound was not his brother, but no doubt he would also butcher babes if given the order.
"It has been a long journey," Ser Barristan said, "but I am of the Kingsguard. No matter how unlikely, if the blood royal is not secure, I will make it so." The legendary knight shouted for his squire to ready his horse and Ned already felt quite a bit better.
The queen stepped out, all radiant beauty and grace. She was overly prideful and had a sharp tongue, but no man could deny she made a resplendent queen.
"What is the matter?"
Ned explained and Cersei dismissed it. "Your wolfling is safe with my son."
"His sworn shield is not by his side. The only time any of my children's direwolves has ever howled like this was after my son fell."
Cersei's expression changed thrice in as many moments and then she called out for Jaime.
"Brother, find Joffrey. Now."
He looked bemused and Ned half-heard a soft spoken jest, but the man went to find his horse. Cayn, one of Ned's personal guards, rode up and said they found Arya.
"Take me to her."
Arya looked confused and utterly disheveled; the boy behind her looked terrified.
"What is this? Are you harmed?"
"N-no, and Mycah didn't do anything wrong!"
He gave her a perplexed look. "You are filthy, did you roll around in the muck? No matter, I am worried over your sister, those howls alarm me. Have you seen her?"
"Yes, about three hours ago. She and Joffrey were riding in the woods near a spot overseeing the Trident. But she's wrong, Mycah didn't do anything wrong. I asked him to!"
Ned gave his daughter another perplexed look and ordered Cayn to go ride that way and search for tracks. Turning back to Arya he asked, "What are you saying? What is Sansa wrong about?"
Arya looked to be near tears. "I asked Mycah to play swords with me. I'm faster but he has a longer reach, it isn't fair. But he didn't hurt me."
The boy, Mycah presumably, nodded his head. "She ast me to, m'lord."
"This is not behavior suitable for a highborn lady, but there seems no true harm done. Cease your tears, the boy did as you bid, why would I punish him for it?"
"That is what I was saying," she said wiping away at her face, "but the prince wanted to hurt him and Sansa said you should be the one to judge his guilt for hurting my fingers."
Ned stilled. "Was the prince angry when you left?"
"He was cruel and amused, I don't think he cared if I got hurt, he just wanted to hurt Mycah. I wasn't going to let him!"
He sighed. Reports from the yard had not been complimentary of Robert's eldest. The boy was overly proud, rude, and ready to taunt others with relish. But the idea that he might grow angry with Sansa and harm her… no, he wouldn't entertain such a thought without proof.
"Mycah, you have done nothing wrong, you are dismissed. Arya get cleaned and I will talk with Septa Mordane over… this," he gestured at her dirty clothing.
"Yes Father, thank you." Arya sounded grateful, then turned to her friend. "See, I told you all would be well, and you wanted to run off!"
Only all was not well when the riders returned carrying the dead body of Prince Joffrey and the limp one of his daughter.
***
Tyrion was drunk when his brother found him. It was nearly dawn and Jaime looked haggard in the firelight. Robert's rages and Cersei's wails could no longer be heard.
"Gods, what a night," Jaime said sourly as Tyrion handed him the wineskin.
"Aye," Tyrion said bitterly.
"I had to hold our sister down so the maester could give her milk of the poppy. She is senseless in her grief, blames everyone. The king, our Hand, the Kingsguard, the Hound, me."
Tyrion laughed darkly. "And yet it was she who suggested Joffrey entertain Sansa so she could speak with the councilors."
"She has a mother's grief, go easy."
Tyrion blinked at his brother. "Go easy? I am surrounded by incompetent and witless fools at every turn and can do nothing about it. Gods be good, does anyone have any sense in this damnable camp!?"
Jaime looked at him oddly. "You're drunk, but say on."
"Where to begin with this parade of follies? Oh, aye, let's start with the notion that a boy of twelve with gold, a priceless mount, and an expensive blade is safe in a land that still had brigands! Everyone is a fool for that alone. But let us see what else." Tyrion's voice was a harsh whisper.
"How about those imbecilic Stark guards? They came riding through the camp aghast at the horrors done to their Lord's daughter. In a fortnight's time everyone in the Seven Kingdoms will know that Sansa Stark was violated. When, if they had an ounce of forethought, they could have kept that news to the Hand, the king, and the maester. Gods be good, if the poor girl ever wakes, her life will be ruined."
Jaime winced. "You have the right of it. This feels personal for you, you didn't act this way when the boy fell."
Tyrion grabbed the wine from Jaime and took a hefty swallow. "She… she never looked down on me for what I was. Jaime, you never have either, but I can only count a handful who have done so in my life. I tell you true, brother, she possesses the mind of a maester. To be able to converse with someone who does not think ill of me is a wonder. I have only ever been able to find that when blood or coin were involved."
Tyrion did not mean to make his brother feel worse. He knew the truth; Jaime had lost a son. The haunting look of guilt when Tyrion had just now complained about how only certain few family members and whores had ever spoken kindly to him must have weighed heavily on him.
"Tyrion… I…" he trailed off. "Sorry, I do not have the words."
Tyrion ruefully shook his head. Gods, how he loved the kindness his brother still showed. Words might fail Jaime, yet the desire to offer comfort shone through plain enough, and that was more than most men ever gave.
"We were speaking of folly, so let us return to that. The Stark guards and others made sure to quickly scour the area for the villains responsible. They found the prince's horse, dead and Sansa's frightened mare, but no brigands. And now with all their riding to and fro there is no trail that can be followed! Did any think to check for tracks before riding around like witless headless chickens?"
Jaime winced. "I had not thought of that either. I was one of the searchers."
"The Stark guards found her first from what I have learned. You may have erred as well, but even if you had known better, it would not change the course of events."
Jaime took back the wine and indulged before handing it back.
"The Hound has a description of them."
Tyrion spat on the ground. "A pox on the fool. I heard of it, aye, and I doubt 'tis true."
Jaime sat straighter, "Why? He has a confession."
Tyrion shook his head, muttering about fools and then explained in a louder voice. "Joffrey and Sansa had dined at a holdfast. They spoke cheerfully of how kind the two were and how they were even paid in silver for preparing a simple meal for them. The Hound thought it was a suspicious amount of silver and put them to sharp question."
"Right, and then he made them confess their crimes."
"Do you know the whole of it?" Tyrion's voice dropped. "They told one tale at first. Then the Hound ripped off a finger from the poor farmer's wife, and suddenly they remembered being paid silver by armed men to point the way after the prince and the girl had supped. They could not recall faces, of course… until Clegane inflicted more pain. No doubt the dog hoped to stay in my father's good graces and escape any blame for the prince's death."
Jaime nodded. "Yes, I know that part. He questioned them until they confessed the truth. It wasn't some random folk who had appeared at their door demanding where they had gone, they had given word to their conspirators. They'll be executed on the morrow."
Tyrion raised his head to the sky.
"My sweet brother, I am fond of you, but on occasion you are as dense as the rest."
Jaime frowned at him and motioned for him to explain.
"They were being tortured, they would say anything to get them the agony inflicted on them to stop. What madness would it be to conspire with others to kill the crown prince, rape the Hand's daughter, and then remain in their homes. Most like, they spoke true at the first. Perhaps they bragged at hosting such notables and spoke of the silver they were given, and that led to Joffrey's death when some greedy blackheart heard them, but that is as far as any blame I can lay at their feet."
"Seven hells," Jaime muttered. "Do the maesters think the girl will wake?"
He shook his head. "They say there were signs she was struck in the head. You've been in enough jousts to know that sort of injury can be fatal or it can amount to nothing, with a hundred variations in between. The longer it takes for her to wake, the less likely she is to."
"Some small mercy at least, we can hope that she was struck and then they ravaged her."
Tyrion felt tears swim in his eyes. "Curse me for being a curious fool then, because I cannot have that hope." The thought of what Sansa must have endured, it twisted his stomach. "The maester recounted her injuries, among them were a shorn fingernail and blood was found under her nails. She fought them, Gods be good she fought them even as they…" Tyrion's voice cracked.
Jaime was staring at the fire morosely.
"Do you know what drives me mad, brother? That if I had come across those bastards, I could not have stopped it. I cannot even dream of saving the maiden. I would have spurred my steed fast as I could and fetched you, someone who can actually do something. Here I sit, drinking, and feeling sorry for myself while innocents are tortured and young girls are defiled and I have somehow made it about being a dwarf again. Seven Hells, I am accursed."
He needed to find a wagon to sleep this off. Tyrion gave his brother an awkward hug and waddled off toward his bed.
***
The opportunity was simply too convenient to pass up. I might never have had another chance to do away with Prince Joffrey. When he revealed just how troublesome it would be for him to become king, I knew I had to act. His sworn shield was not nearby and it was just the two of us. So, I killed him with an extreme plan in mind.
The problem in my situation is that there would be a large number of questions when the heir to the Iron Throne dies through violence. While few might initially suspect me, it wouldn't be unheard of for a surprise attack to kill. I needed a cover story and the one I decided to go with would have profound implications for my future.
It had to be done, and this might even be better.
A startling realization was that I could have been wed to someone who would treat me poorly, and I would have no legal method of dealing with it. Oh sure, if I was wed to some lesser lordling they may fear my father's wrath, but in general I had few rights. I would be expected to take part in my spouse's pleasures, be told what to do, how to act, and all of that sounded very bothersome when I gleaned more into Joffrey's character. Who else was hiding such irrational desires?
This act would jeopardize my ability to get a husband, but what of it? My father nor Robb after him, would turn me out from Winterfell. I had Visha, my library, a family that I cherished, and a decent amount of coin. Not marrying someone would weaken my family's position somewhat, but I had four siblings. And truth be told, killing Joffrey probably did more to stabilize this realm than anything else.
After killing Joffrey I had moved quickly. I gave the body another wound so it looked like it had been more of a struggle and then I killed his horse and slashed my own mare, but not enough to kill. I took my own coin purse, the ring from Joffrey's finger, and Lion's Tooth and tossed it into the Trident. Hopefully it would deposit his belongings far from here.
Next I harmed myself in a few ways that were quite personal. I wanted to make it look like there had been a struggle and that I had been violated by some criminal. Pain was something I had grown used to in my second life, but I must confess the deliberate infliction of damage to one's body is quite different than taking a wound with the adrenaline of battle.
It had to be done. I scratched a rock hard enough to damage the nail enough to actually peel it back some. I gave myself some bruises by driving the hilt into my thigh a few times and then did the most painful portion. Afterwards I tossed the dagger into the Trident as well.
I slammed my head with moderate strength to create a wound, but not enough for serious damage or even a true concussion. That would have been risky. Taking one last look at the scene, I had then slipped my skin and entered Visha. From there I had begun my howling and let events take their course.
My goal was to remain unconscious for a couple of days further selling what had happened. The tale that I wanted my evidence to leave would hopefully lead people to several conclusions. The prince had been attacked, likely by bandits or brigands. They had killed and robbed him while raping me and leaving me for dead. The self-inflicted wounds made it look like it had been a savage attack and the knot on my head would sell the idea I had been struck and gone still, letting the notion that miscreants assumed I was dead after completing their deed. Sloppy actions by despicable lawless folk foolish enough to attack the nobility.
By using my warg abilities, the maester would not be able to wake me. This would further sell the story and explain my 'memory loss' of the event. In many ways I was a good actor. After all, no one had ever discovered that I truly hated battle and was not all that patriotic toward the Empire in my second life. But despite that, I had no wish to playact at being a traumatized victim. By pushing forward the idea that I had no recollection of the events that took place I could not get caught in a falsehood or be overly questioned as to the details of the attack.
If time was spent examining the scene, there would likely be some evidence whatever I lie I opted for might not fit what was observed. But if I had nothing to share as a witness… it would make things simple. More than just that, I knew there were some holes in my story if anyone had the wherewithal to properly investigate the scene. But forensic science didn't seem to be a thing and I imagine in their haste to get me to a maester things would get muddled.
It was hard to watch through Visha's eyes at the suffering of my father and sister. I was a bit surprised that Arya didn't suspect something, but I made sure to playact the wolf, howling until they let me sleep next to me. I had a number of visitors, including both my father and sister who were regularly by my side. Tyrion, Mordane, Myrcella, and even the king all came by.
Three days seemed to be a good amount of time as I started to notice my thoughts grow a bit more… instinctual. I willed myself back into my body and gave Arya a bad fright as I violently gasped for air, my body feeling rather foreign.
All kinds of commotion were kicked off as Arya screamed for someone to come and then hugged me. The maester came in a rush and checked me over. Father arrived and I put on my best befuddled expression.
"Did I get sick? Did I miss the day with the queen and Myrcella?"
"Thank the Gods you woke up, Sansa, we were so worried."
They questioned me as the maester checked me over. I pretended to have a bit of 'brain fog' but I responded to his questions and followed his finger with my eyes as he checked for some basics. I explained I last recalled thinking I would wear my blue silks as they were my favorite. After the maester gave his seal of approval that I was no longer in danger, Father shooed Arya out.
"Sansa, my sweet child. You were not sick, you were attacked. You took a wound to the head and… more."
"Father, what is the matter? You look pale, and attacked? I… what happened?"
He looked down. "Gods… how do I even say this? Joffrey, your betrothed, he is dead and the ones who murdered him also ravaged you. You were beaten and… taken against your will."
I put on my best gravely shocked expression. "W-what? Joffrey is dead. And my… my maidenhead?"
He hugged me. "I am butchering this, forgive me, but this is important. You have no memory of what happened? None at all?"
I shook my head.
"There's nothing, Father. I'm sorry."
I really tried to get tears to come to my eyes, but they wouldn't come. I rubbed at my eyes to try to stimulate them through pressure.
"No, this can't be true, who would dare attack the prince? Is he truly dead?"
He nodded gravely. "He is. We have yet to find the monsters who did this, but riders and ravens have gone out. They will be found and we will see justice done."
He comforted me and embraced me and eventually let me be. That had been surprisingly difficult to do. I truly hoped I had fooled everyone. The next day or two would be crucial, but after that, without memory of the event, all I had to do was fake being in mourning for my dear betrothed.
***
Ned walked through the halls of Castle Darry and reported to the king. Renly and Barristan were speaking softly in a corner. Cersei was a pale shadow of herself. Robert looked little better. Great bags hung under his eyes and he was never far from wine. Ned knew the king had slept little these last few days.
"The maester informed me," Robert rasped. "How is she?"
"The Gods may have been merciful in some small way, Your Grace. She has no recollection of the attack."
"Merciful?" Cersei hissed. "Your useless child losing her memories is no mercy. Now we have even less assurance the culprits will be found."
"Watch your tongue," Robert demanded. "His daughter has suffered enough. We'll find the creatures who did this, and I'll kill them myself."
Ned's jaw tightened. He wanted to do it himself. That was a thought that had never crossed his mind no matter how many times he had wielded Ice to execute the King's Justice. But this time, he would have been glad to do it.
I still have my daughter, but he has lost his son. He has the right to it.
Renly stood from his chair. "What is to be done? Do we continue to linger here or do we go south to King's Landing? I imagine Myrcella and Tommen will wish to be home and not in an unfamiliar castle."
Robert grunted. "We will wait another day or two to see if our searchers have more success, but then we continue. Gods be good, what a disaster, first Bran and then Sansa. I feel as if I have brought a curse onto your house."
Ned felt a chill. He remembered the mother direwolf and the broken antler that had killed the she-wolf.
"If you had made Jaime the Hand, our son would still be alive," Cersei spat.
Robert quivered with rage. "You have a mother's grief, but have care, woman."
The thought of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, as Hand to the King sickened Ned. The very idea of it was appalling given that his father was Warden of the West and now Jaime was Warden of the East when by all rights it should have been Robert Arryn's position, even if he was too young.
"What is to be done with Sansa, Lord Stark?" Barristan asked softly.
Ned exhaled slowly. "If she recalls what happened to her… it would be best for her to return North. Be with her mother and the people she has known all her life."
"Perhaps this is premature," Renly said slowly, "but do you still intend to join your two houses?"
Cersei recoiled as if she had been slapped. "I will not have Tommen marry a defiled woman! The heir to your throne wed to a woman soiled by another man, unthinkable. Most like some diseased smallfolk who has poisoned her womb for all time and–" Cersei's words were cut off as Robert slapped her.
"Cease your poisonous words! Seven Hells, you are speaking about Ned's daughter."
"My lords, tempers are heated," Barristan attempted to say diplomatically, "perhaps it is best we convene the small council upon our arrival to King's Landing and discuss the matter when the wound of grief is less raw."
Cersei is correct, and by the look on Robert's face, he knows it too. It wouldn't be good for Sansa either. As just another highborn lady she will be subject of whispers, but as the next queen…
Robert nodded. "Out with you, all save Ned." Robert looked at him with haunted eyes, "I'll not keep you long from your daughter, but we should speak."
Ned remained behind and they talked. Robert unburdened himself about his failing with Joffrey. How he had not done more to rear the child properly and that he vowed to do better with Tommen.
"Ned, about the betrothal…"
"I understand, and I would not ask to see Sansa wed to Tommen even if you wished it."
Robert sighed heavily. "Thank you, you are a true friend. And we'll find a match for Sansa; she's still the Hand's daughter."
"She is not yet twelve, it would be best to consider where her hand would go to after some years have passed from this tragedy."
Robert nodded. "Leave me, be with your daughter. If you need anything from me, you have only to ask it. I am... sorry."
Ned lowered his head. "You are not to blame, Your Grace."
In truth, the Lannisters bear the responsibility. If Lysa is right, they poisoned Jon Arryn. Without that, Jon would still be alive. Bran would never have climbed that tower and fallen. Sansa would still be safe in Winterfell, untouched. When I find the proof I need, I swear by the Old Gods that Casterly Rock will pay a heavy price.
Authors' Note: I have four additional chapters available for Early Access on Patreon (Chapter 9 just got posted!) I've been super happy with the reception this story has received - thank you!
Chapter 6
Arya was always guarded by two Winterfell guardsmen as they finished the final part of the journey to King's Landing. She understood why and did not complain. Even if it meant no more adventures with Mycah. Everyone in camp was upset and mournful. Someone had defiled her sister in the worst way imaginable and Arya desperately wanted to stab the person who did it with Needle.
Strangely enough, or perhaps not so strangely, after all, it was Sansa. Her sister did not seem much changed by the assault. The lack of memory of the event made things quite odd. Arya could tell her sister was somewhat discomfited by the reactions of those around her.
People mourned Joffrey. Arya knew he was a nasty sort, but she hadn't wished him to die. Defending Sansa, even failing at it, was heroic she supposed. When they finally got to King's Landing it would be full of ceremonies and funeral rites for the prince. She wasn't looking forward to it.
Sansa had convinced their father to let Arya sleep in the same bed as Sansa. This was not for comfort or childish giggling, not that Sansa had ever done that, but for practicing their warg magics. Arya had been beside herself when she had successfully slipped her skin. Being Nymeria was so different! She could sense things, hear things, and smell things.
She wanted to go explore and track down every last little smell, but Sansa had calmly whispered and walked her through some mental exercises so she could retain her sense of self. It had been strange because she had never walked like a wolf before, but when she was within Nymeria's skin she knew how to do everything a direwolf could do.
When she returned to her body, it felt slow and half-blind.
"You did perfectly, Arya! Remember, this must be our secret, and you must always tell me when you intend to warg. We are operating blind without an owner's manual."
"Owner's manual?"
"An Essosi book on how to operate their queer devices. Today it matters little and less. The point is that I need your oath not to experiment by yourself. Do I have it?"
"Yes, Sansa, I swear it by the old gods and the new."
Her heart had soared, but as they then neared King's Landing, disaster struck. The guards had been more diligent and one had found Needle. Her father held the blade in his hand within his tent.
"This is fine work. A bravo's blade. Not typical for something Mikken would make, but nonetheless I see his maker's mark. Who gave this to you?"
Arya bit her lip and looked down.
"Did one of the guards give it to you? To make you feel more secure after… what happened to Sansa?"
Arya shook her head. "No, I have had it since Winterfell."
"Who? My patience has its limits. My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it."
"Promise you won't get him in trouble?" Arya asked hesitantly.
"Assuming there was no theft, I swear it."
Arya breathed out a breath she had not realized she was holding.
"Jon gave it to me as a goodbye gift."
Ned shook his head. "This is no toy for children, least of all for a girl. What would Septa Mordane say if she knew you were playing with swords?"
Arya sniffed. "Septa Mordane isn't right about a lot of things. Even Sansa says so." Her hands went to her mouth. Sansa would not like her saying that, but it was true. Her sister had told her that Mordane was a font of useful information, but to not trust everything she said because it was steeped in her beliefs of the Seven.
"The septa is doing no more than is her duty. Your mother and I have charged her with the task of making you a lady. You have improved much over these last few years, but now you are waving around a sword?"
"I don't want to be a lady!" Arya flared.
Her father sighed. "Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. My father called it the 'wolf blood.' Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch."
Were they wargs too? No, it is a meta… metaphor.
His voice sounded sad. "Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her."
"Lyanna was beautiful," Arya said with a sigh.
Everyone had said so. That sort of thing wasn't said about Arya.
"She was," her father agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time."
He was silent for many long moments and then returned the blade.
"You cannot wear it openly at court. If it makes you feel safer, I will allow you to be taught how to wield it. I will also have Jory teach you some things you might try to do if accosted without it. It is important, even more so within the city, that you stay by your guards at all times. You shouldn't ever have to use it, but you know our house words."
"Winter is coming," Arya replied dutifully.
"Yes, child. The hard cruel times. First Bran and now Sansa. Our sigil is the direwolf and then the snows fall and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. When we are in King's Landing, you will obey me and Septa Mordane without question. Eyes will be upon you more so than ever in your life."
Arya looked startled. "But why?"
"It is too early to say, but you are close in age with Tommen. The king still wishes our houses to be united, which would mean…"
She looked at her father in horror. She hated trying to be a lady. She could do the work – Sansa had shown her, and she could say her courtesies, but to spend her entire life surrounded by people like Septa Mordane? The horror threatened to overwhelm her.
Her father chuckled. "You will think differently when you are older. Tommen is a sweet child and nothing is decided as of yet. Just remember what I told you."
"Yes, Father. Thank you for letting me keep Needle."
***
Catelyn had only just arrived at King's Landing when Ser Rodrik had gone out to speak with the armorer. So much had happened of late and she had hoped to have some time to herself. Bran's fall, the burning of the library, the assassination attempt on Bran. Time to collect herself was not to be found as the City Watch had practically stormed her room and escorted her to the castle. Through the gates of the Red Keep and up into a tower, the guards ushered her inside the room with Petyr Baelish.
"Cat," he said quietly.
"Why have I been brought here in this fashion?"
After some pointed questions, Catelyn was informed it was the Master of Whisperers, Lord Varys, the eunuch who was responsible for ferreting out that she was in the city. Petyr questioned her as to why she was here.
"At first I thought it was because of… Sansa, but you must have left Winterfell before then. This sudden trip of yours bespeaks a certain urgency. I beg of you, let me help. Old sweet friends should never hesitate to rely upon each other."
There was a soft knock on the door before Catelyn could ask what he meant about Sansa.
The man who stepped through the door was plump, perfumed, powdered, and as hairless as an egg.
"Lady Stark," he said taking her hands in both of his, "to see you again after so many years is such a joy. Oh, your poor hands. Have you burned yourself, sweet lady? The fingers are so delicate… Our good Maester Pycelle makes a marvelous salve, shall I send for a jar?"
"I thank you, my lord, but my own Maester Luwin has already seen to my hurts." She turned away from the eunuch and back to Petyr.
"What were you saying about my daughter, Petyr?"
Her childhood friend went still. "Oh, Cat, have you not heard?"
An icy chill went down her spine.
No… what has happened!
"My sweet lady," Varys said softly, "the gods can be cruel. Prince Joffrey was slain while he was out riding with your daughter. No doubt the brave lad drew steel and attempted to protect your daughter. They did cruel murder upon Robert's son. Sansa is alive but was injured in the attack. They," he paused painfully, "ravaged her and left her for dead."
Catelyn felt herself grow dizzy and grabbed the table for support.
"No…" she could barely breathe. Petyr was there to help bring her to a chair.
"She is awake, Cat, and most like will be here soon with her father and sister. The maester who saw to her reports that save for her maidenhead, she will suffer no lasting harm."
It took several minutes for her to master herself. She could not appear to be weak before a creature like the Spider. Too much was at stake. When she had recovered her wits, she put all thoughts of Sansa firmly aside for the moment. She would grieve when it was safe. Catelyn needed to know why she had been summoned like this.
"I am guilty for having you brought here, kind lady. I wonder if we might trouble you to show us the dagger?"
Catelyn stared at the eunuch in stunned disbelief. He was a spider, she thought wildly, an enchanter or worse. He knew things no one could possibly know. Her thoughts went to Ser Rodrik, of the possibility he had been taken and put to the question, but Varys assured her nothing of the sort had taken place. His little birds had provided the information. She showed them the dagger and Petyr confessed it was his own.
But it made no sense. Petyr had not been at Winterfell.
"I lost it to our king betting on a joust." Petyr glanced slyly at Varys, "Have no fear, my friend, I do not accuse our king of sending an assassin after a boy. No doubt, he kept it with his other collection of weapons that he is fond of traveling with and showing off."
Catelyn's eyes widened. "Then it was someone who had come with the king's entourage to Winterfell. Who would have access to it? And why would they do that to my son?"
Petyr gave her a shrug. "Who can say? Much to our sorrow, the lengthy baggage train and column of knights, men-at-arms, camp followers, and more was not properly guarded. I think a better question would be what kind of twisted man would send a knife in the dark to murder an already injured boy?"
Catelyn caught a glint in Littlefinger's eye.
"You suspect something. Tell me."
He looked over to Varys who giggled. "I will know of it anyway."
Petyr shook his head. "I have neither proof nor any good reason as to why anyone would do such a thing. I merely suggest that it would take a man cursed by the gods, twisted and foul, bitter at the course of his life to conscience such a deed. Tell me, Cat, who among the king's party could be such a wretch?"
He means Tyrion.
She frowned. "If you mean Tyrion, I fear you may be mistaken."
He arched an eyebrow. "He is a droll fellow on the surface, but there are stories I could tell you of him. I own some establishments and he has frequented them often enough. I do not mean to speak too loosely about such matters with a highborn lady, but his lusts are many and depraved."
Catelyn wasn't sure what to think. Sansa had vouched for him and found him good company. Her daughter was as shrewd as any she had met. Surely if he was some monster, she would not have spent time with him in the library.
"I do not know what to think, but I thank you. Please, keep my presence here in the city a secret and when my lord husband arrives bring him to me."
Petyr smiled warmly. "I can do that for you, Cat. If ever you need anything from me, you have but to ask and I will do all that I can, if it's in my power."
***
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King, had not expected to be following Petyr Baelish of all people through the dangerous route he had taken him on. After the frustrating initial meeting with the small council, the master of coin had asked him to follow him, saying that Catelyn was in the city.
Even if he did not trust the man after his attempt to duel his brother for the hand of Catelyn Tully, Ned followed him. The descent down the side of the cliff through the use of narrow handholds had been harrowing. Littlefinger had made it look easy, but Ned had kept his face pressed to the rock and avoided looking down more than he must.
If this is some trick of Baelish to make me look a fool, I will wring his neck.
It had not been a trick, though the small man still nearly had the life choked out of him when he was taken to a brothel and had not explained the reason for stashing Catelyn there. The droll and impudent man had just said, "Your wife is inside," and left the words hanging, creating an obvious slander by implication.
A clean-shaven Ser Rodrik had saved the scrawny man's neck, and that had been quite the shock for Ned. He had never seen the man without his whiskers. Littlefinger then led a discomfited Ned through the common room where all sorts of open debauchery was taking place.
Catelyn embraced him fiercely, and Ned's head was a whirl of emotion and confusion.
Why was she here?
The means to arrive in King's Landing before the king was simple enough. A vessel from White Harbor to King's Landing over sea could make the journey far swifter than the overland route. Especially with how slow the king traveled and with the delay after Joffrey's death.
Catelyn explained what happened. The assassin in the night to kill his son Bran. Her injuries and how the wolf saved Bran. She even showed him the dagger.
"This blade was sent to open Bran's throat and spill his life's blood."
"But why would someone want Bran dead? The boy has never done harm."
His wife looked pensive. "Petyr has a few theories, none of them can be proven, and I do not know."
Ned looked at Littlefinger for an explanation.
"I was not at Winterfell and I can only guess as to why from what your lady wife has told me. With your son's penchant for climbing in odd places, perhaps he overheard something he should not. A plot to do you harm or some other treason. If we go with that theory, who among the Lannisters was not on the hunt?"
He tried to think back as to who was not there. The queen, obviously. He could not recall if the Kingslayer was there or not. As he tried to think back, Littlefinger interjected.
"Tyrion Lannister rarely participates in hunts if I recall. Do you remember a half-man wielding a bow or spear?" Petyr said with a smirk.
Ned slowly shook his head. The basic idea seemed sound. Bran was a good climber, and he mayhaps overheard someone meeting clandestinely, but Tyrion had often been in the library, which was not close to where Bran had fallen. The idea of the dwarf doing something like that seemed unthinkable. Sansa trusted him and had been rather direct in her assessment when Ned tried to cast aspersions against him as a Lannister.
It is rare for Sansa to praise someone for their wit. But she is still a girl, and if he is cunning, could she have been fooled?
"No, he was not on the hunt. You mentioned a few theories – what else have you considered?"
Baelish seemed a little bemused, but then launched into another possibility. The idea that this was not some conspiracy or deep treachery, but a more grounded bit of envy.
"Cat described for me how all of Winterfell mourned for Bran's injuries. That many prayed and beseeched the gods. Perhaps a twisted individual who has never known the fondness of the people did not like it. Someone who is but half a man."
"Have you some quarrel with Tyrion Lannister?" Ned asked.
"Directly? No. But I know some of his habits at the many brothels he visits. He enjoys his jests and japes and he has a cunning, if debauched mind. Many only see him as a dwarf, but I remind you, he is the son of Tywin Lannister, and the brother of the Kingslayer."
Gods, I can still see the bodies Tywin presented to Robert.
He remembered Rhaegar's infant son, the red ruin of his skull. It had been a horror that had led to a rageful argument with Robert at the time. Only the shared grief over Lyanna had mended the harsh words they had spoken to each other.
"You counsel, then, we should have him taken and put to the question?"
"Gods, no, do you Starks have naught but snow between your ears? That is the queen's brother and Tywin Lannister's son. Unless there is proof to be found, you cannot touch the Imp." The sly grin appeared on the man's face again, "At least not directly."
They talked further, but none of it was to Ned's satisfaction. Learning Catelyn had even told Baelish about the hidden message from Lysa troubled him greatly. The man enjoyed his amused smiles far too much for his liking. Ever since Robert had come to Winterfell he had felt unmoored. Bran had fallen and become crippled. Then an assassin was sent to silence him. Then Joffrey was killed, and his daughter… All this in the span of two months. He had known the south was a nest of adders, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined.
Ned turned to his wife. "My lady, there is nothing more you can do here. I want you to return to Winterfell at once. If there was one assassin, there could be others. Whoever ordered Bran's death will learn soon enough that our boy still lives."
"I had hoped to see Sansa at least," Catelyn said.
"That would be most unwise," Littlefinger put in. "The Red Keep is full of curious eyes, and children talk."
Catelyn shook her head. "Sansa would not. She will know to keep silent."
"You are right, but he does speak truly, my love. This place… I would not have you remain here a moment longer. The longer we keep our foes in the dark, the better.
Catelyn asked for a moment alone with Ned, and Littlefinger strolled to the door to give them their privacy.
"Don't be too long. It is past time the Hand and I returned to the castle, before our absence is noted."
When the master of coin closed the door behind him, Ned turned back to Catelyn.
"Once you are home, send word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under my seal. They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neck against an army. Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen his defense at White Harbor, and see that they are well manned. And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall have sore need of his father's fleet."
Catelyn seemed horrified at the thought of war, but Ned calmed her and explained that as the Hand he would investigate Jon Arryn's murder and the attempt on Bran.
They embraced and his wife then brought up Sansa again.
"Is it really better for her to be with you? I've been assured she does not remember the attack, but she will have whispers dog her every day at court."
"She wants to stay and be with Arya. The two have been cordial, but now they are as thick as thieves. Through tragedy, they have grown closer together. I would not split them without cause."
"Petyr was kind enough to suggest that he could find a match for her in the Vale. He has friends there, those who owe him favors. I told him I would discuss it with you."
Ned shook his head. "It is too soon. Wait some years, see how she grows, and in time the newness of it will be less keenly felt. Though no fault of her own, she will be looked at as damaged and will not marry highly, but perhaps she will have the opportunity to marry the man and not the station. She was given moon's tea to ensure no child came of such an act, so there is no urgency to see her wed."
"As you say. I will pray for you and the girls every night."
They kissed one last time and Ned left with Baelish back to the Red Keep.
Author's Note: Petyr changed his plan slightly now that Tyrion is with the party. He's still aiming to use him as a flashpoint, but the idea of lying about who won the dagger in such an easy to disprove way is even more perilous with Tyrion being in KL. That said, wtf was he even thinking in canon? Ned could have just asked Robert and then that would have been awkward.
Also - There are FOUR more chapters on Patreon (7, 8, 9, and 10!) for Early Access.