Chapter 9
Flying filled me with more joy than I thought I was capable of. My attempts to warg into an animal from an animal had been a success. Birds weren't as hard as cats in most ways, but control was awkward while flying. When I was fully in command, attempting to fly was ungainly, as I didn't have the proper instincts for it. When I backed off, rode it lightly, and let it do its thing, it was easy, but then I didn't have the control needed to direct it. There was a balance that I would need to maintain, or relearn how to fly with a bird's physiology, which might take a significant time investment.
The ability to fly was not just physically enjoyable, but I was already thinking about the utility of it. Hopefully, no conflict would start anytime soon, and if one did, I would not be anywhere close to the frontlines. But if I was… having the ability to scout the enemy from an aerial perspective was such a magnificent cheat!
With a start, I realized that I had been flying for far longer than I intended, and I returned to my body. Arya was looking worried and my body felt stiff. Not as bad as the several days while I was feigning a serious head wound, but noticeable, nonetheless.
"Oh, thank the gods! I'm going to be late for Syrio's lesson!"
I winced, that was unprofessional of me.
"I'm sorry, Arya, but my test was a success. Next time we practice our warg abilities, I'm going to have you try something new."
"Yes, yes, but I must go! Bye!"
I smiled. Syrio Forel was a harsh taskmaster, but I was already seeing improvement in Arya's balance. Her eyes noticed details, and she thought before speaking more often. Father had chosen very well with him. I only had an hour before I was supposed to meet with the king, and I had cut that a bit too close. Flying had just been that much fun.
I prepared a few more tanka, as Robert seemed to enjoy those. Doing gestures that ingratiated oneself with the CEO was always a smart play. Especially since common tactics like mirroring didn't work quite so well with different gendered roles and the sizeable gap between stations of king and noble daughter.
Visha padded beside me as I made my way to Maegor's Holdfast. We left the Tower of the Hand and crossed the lower bailey under open sky before passing deeper into the Red Keep through its courtyards and covered ways. At its heart stood Maegor's Holdfast, a castle within a castle, its thick red walls encircled by a dry moat and reached only by a narrow drawbridge. It was only about a five-minute walk, but I could have run it in two at full speed. I had kept up with my daily calisthenics and aerobic exercises, and I suspected I was far more fit than most noble ladies.
The drawbridge was always guarded, and today it was Ser Arys Oakheart who stood at the far end in white-enameled scale armor, a long white cloak of shimmering silk rippling at his back. Beneath the cloak he wore a cloth-of-gold doublet stitched with the three green oak leaves of House Oakheart, pinned at his shoulder with a golden leaf brooch.
I wondered briefly if the Kingsguard ever set aside their pretty white scales for proper battle plate like most rich knights wore. The overlapping scales looked striking and were probably easier to move in, but they had to be heavier overall and left more gaps for a thrust. Proper plate was far harder to pierce; even a man as strong as Sandor Clegane couldn't stab through a good breastplate. Perhaps a powerful crossbow bolt at very close range could do the trick, but most arrows and bolts would at best just dent or bruise. A heavy lance at full charge was one of the few things that could actually threaten it. Though, even without a clean penetration, the sheer kinetic force would likely knock a man senseless or leave him badly bruised with cracked ribs.
Ser Arys wore a helm. I appreciated the professionalism; I had seen a couple of the other Kingsguard not bother with it at times. He bowed his head, "Lady Sansa."
Around him stood six Lannister guards in their crimson cloaks. They were attired in mail shirts with boiled leather, as well as simple steel caps. The rampant lion of Lannister clearly displayed across their outfits. It had been surprising, at first, to see so few Baratheon colors about the Red Keep. When Robert had taken the Iron Throne after the rebellion, he had eventually granted his brother Renly Storm's End and dominion over the Stormlands. Even so, I would have expected at least a handful of longtime loyal retainers and Baratheon men to have found their way into the king's household guard, if only out of habit and old allegiance.
My second life caused me to constantly assess the military ramifications of different gear. For these guardsmen, I knew that mail struck a good balance between cost and function.
Against a sword, mail shirts were useful. A good edge might catch a weak spot, but most cuts would turn. The force still carried through, though. A strong blow could bruise ribs or crack bone even if the rings held. They were more vulnerable to thrusts, but it still offered protection. Arrows were less certain. At a distance, mail might be enough, but closer in… that was different. A strong bow could drive a narrow head through, especially if the links were worn or poorly riveted. A sharp spear thrust from a strong man could also do the trick. A proper crossbow was the worst, that would definitely smash straight through.
"Ser Arys, good day."
I always made it a point to address the Kingsguard by name when I saw them. Often, other people would just nod or not even that as they crossed into Maegor's Holdfast. The guards rarely challenged anyone they recognized, so normally there was no interaction.
I made my way to the king's private sitting chamber and settled into one of the heavy oak chairs, arranging my skirts with care. Sometimes Robert was late, but this time the door opened earlier than usual. Only it was not the king who entered.
Cersei Lannister stepped inside alone. Her golden hair seemed faded and less lustrous. Her gown was black, despite the traditional seven days of mourning having long since ended. She seemed thinner than when I had first seen her and the heavy pall of grief clung to her.
"And there you sit, with a smile on your face, while my son rots away." Her green eyes were filled with hate as they met mine. "Your tears have dried swiftly now that the funeral has ended. I wondered if you ever even cared for my son."
I made my features go somber and kept my voice soft.
"Your Grace," I said meekly, "it has been difficult, but I like to think that my prince would have me share stories of him with his father. The burdens of rule must have kept him away from my golden Joffrey, and he is eager to hear more about my short time with him."
"Burdens of rule? Do not jest about such things in my presence." The queen practically sneered at me. "It should have been you that died. It was your fault. If he had never been betrothed to you, he would have been safe."
There was little to gain from being antagonistic, but I also didn't want the queen to constantly blame me forevermore. My father would likely be the Hand for many years.
"The grief we share is a heavy thing, but I hope my prince would not blame me. As like blame Ser Barristan or Lord Renly for having come the day they did. We could have been enjoying lemon cakes and you could have been telling me on how to act like a proper queen." I let my eyes drop and summoned a small tear. "Now, my love has been taken from us, and I will never be queen. The thought of marriage to any other when I would have wed the greatest light of the realm, all else will be a diminishment, but even so because of what happened to me, I will not even have a match worthy of a Stark."
It was important to remind her that by all accounts, I was totally screwed as a woman. I didn't think it would work perfectly, as part of my monologue sounded as if I was bemoaning my lack of position than just grieving over Joffrey. But to my surprise, she tilted her head to the side and then a slow smile advanced across her face.
"That's right. You won't ever be queen. You will never sur–," she cut herself off, and then took an easy breath. "Yes, it will not be you."
Her grief has addled her wits. I'm not sure what she's getting at. Why is she even here, what was her purpose in confronting me?
"Yes, Your Grace. I had asked my father about Tommen and he explained that I was no longer… suited to be his bride." I let my voice quaver a bit. "I suspected as much, my mother taught me how the ways of court went, but I so wanted to still be part of your family. Ever since I first saw you leave the wheelhouse. I love my lady mother dearly, but when I compare her to you, I saw the vast difference between a lady and a queen."
I was perhaps laying it on a bit thick, but because she was grieving she probably wasn't quite as sharp at picking up social cues. After murdering her son, it was best to try to make further use of the act to give her the impression that I deeply respected her.
"Yes, well, at least you understand the truth of it."
I nodded sadly. "It is said that there is no grief like a mother's grief. Is there naught that I could do for you? The king thinks kindly of me, and I mislike the talk of you and him quarrelling. Is there anything I might do for you?"
She looked surprised and then narrowed her eyes.
"No," she said coldly and began to walk away, only to stop and then turn around with an attempt at a caring smile upon her face. "I'm sorry, child. You are grieving as well. I would like to ease the Hand's burdens where I may, if he has any concerns in his new position, any troubles that weary him, please allow me to help. Just tell me of them, and I will see what I can do."
That's a bit bold of her, asking me to act as a spy for my father? Best not to burn any bridges.
I smiled brightly. "Oh, there are some things. The heat is just awful compared to Winterfell. I know he mislikes it greatly. He also was not fond of the tournament occurring at all, and when everyone continues to call it the Tourney of the Hand even when he didn't wish to be honored in such a way, it bothers him. Hmm, let me see, he also misses my mother dearly."
The queen gave me a thin smile in return.
"If anything else of importance comes up, do speak with me. Until then, do not trouble your father. I know many noble lords who have their pride, they may not like the idea of women speaking about their… frustrations."
Of course I'd speak with Father later and advise him of the queen's attempt to gather information. It really was crudely done, but I reassured her that my father was not like that at all, but nonetheless I would take her royal advice.
After she left, I mulled over what the queen had been hoping for. Perhaps, a concern over Myrcella and Tommen and their eventual wedding matches? Was there an issue with my father attempting to right the finances? Was my father trying to push the king to play hardball on the rates of the debt owed to lords like Cersei's father?
It is time I learned more about the political issues that were truly afoot. I do not like being blindsided, and I am curious what my father is dealing with beyond the finances and logistics of the tourney, what other matters press upon him.
***
Ned Stark felt as though the problems mounting against him would never end. The small council had found yet more ways to spend coin the realm did not have. Janos Slynt, the commander of the City Watch, had pleaded for aid because his men were overburdened with all the visitors to the city. Rapes, robberies, drunk horse racing, and even a riot had broken out.
Ned had made the decision to have fifty new men added to the City Watch and then also added twenty of his own household guard to help keep the peace. He wished he had thought to bring more men, but had assumed an honor guard of fifty was more than sufficient.
The information that Jory had learned from the few remaining members of Jon Arryn's household had been minimal. Ser Hugh had not been helpful, but the others had given little more than rumors. He had learned that Jon and Stannis had been closely aligned and had often been seen together of late before his death and Stannis's departure for Dragonstone.
And why did he leave? There is so much I do not know.
Supposedly Stannis Baratheon, a very upright man who detested whores, visited a brothel with the Hand of the King, and some guardsman, but the name of the brothel was unknown. Ned had his men visiting the absurd number of brothels in the city, making inquiries. There was no chance that they had gone for the normal pursuits one had in a brothel.
It made him wonder if Stannis may have had a hand in Jon's murder. Or perhaps he knew he had been assassinated and feared for his own life.
But if that were true, why not take it to the king, his brother?
Nothing made sense. Robert may have been married to Cersei, but the way he treated Jaime and his own squires was contemptuous. If Cersei had poisoned Jon, he would have had her head. Or so Ned hoped. The relationship between king and queen was not a cordial one. The queen was proud and Robert openly slept with whores and fondled other women in her presence.
His daughter had told him that Cersei had attempted to ply her for information. When she had told him, he had warned her to stay away from the queen. What had followed was a gentle lecture from his eleven-year-old daughter on how that would be foolish. It would be better if she gave Cersei accurate information that was harmless. She had then begun asking questions about the political landscape and what all was going on in King's Landing that the queen had felt it necessary to try to pry secrets in such a clumsy fashion.
He didn't like attempting to deceive his daughter, especially because she was far too perceptive, but he couldn't tell her about the letter from Lysa. The more people who knew of it, the less secure it might be. He trusted Sansa completely, but the Spider had some twisted means of learning the secrets of the high and the low, and he dared not even utter something that could mean his good-sister's life.
Instead, he had told her of the more general problems and constant sly words and backbiting. Renly disliked Stannis and mocked his older brother openly in the small council. Petyr Baelish found reason to jest at everything. The king and the queen were arguing. People were sounding out the possibility of Arya marrying Tommen, and if not, then looking for ways to put a daughter of their own family in line to be queen. The Grand Maester hated Lord Varys. Jon Arryn had been acting queerly before his death.
Sansa had probed him about all of those issues, and he realized she might have just the right sort of mind to help him figure out the mystery of the book. He had given her the ponderous tome. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children. He had tasked her with reading it and letting him know if she discovered anything interesting or why the prior Hand had been interested in it.
She had accepted and Sansa had given him additional advice as well. She had bade him to speak with the individuals directly and map out what their thoughts were on the other advisors on the small council. Even hint that some had questioned the loyalty of one, and ask who that person trusted. What did Lord Renly think about the Grand Maester and Varys? What did the Master of Whisperers say about Pycelle? Did the animosity extend in both directions, or was it some petty grudge due to differing advice to the Hand or king?
Meeting the blacksmith and realizing that the apprentice was a clear bastard of Robert Baratheon had been a shock. Jon Arryn quietly taking care of Robert's bastard children was just the sort of thing the older man would do. Apprenticeship fees paid while their heritage was hidden so as not to embarrass the crown.
But then why visit with Stannis? And why even bother at all if arrangements had already been made years prior? And why was it worth his life?
Too many questions had no answers. Only his daughters gave him comfort. Sansa was happiest with a new book. Arya would sing Syrio's praises despite his harsh lessons. Both had written to Bran now that he had awoken, and he was proud of them for remembering their brother.
He chose to take Sansa's advice and met with Lord Renly.
"What can I do for the Hand of the King?"
"I have some questions about the small council. There seems to be some animosity and discord among them, and I would get your perspective."
The king's youngest brother stroked his clean-shaven, handsome chin.
"Disunity? Among the small council? Perish the thought. We are all fast friends." Amusement twinkled in his eyes, giving truth to the jape.
"Why does the Grand Maester mislike Lord Varys?"
"Who actually likes the Spider?" Renly laughed.
Take this seriously!
He was so sick of the endless parade of japes and jests. Could they not speak directly and forthrightly like honorable men?
"Is there anything specific that he has done that might upset Pycelle?"
Renly shrugged his massive shoulders. "Lord Stark, I really don't know. Pycelle is the queen's creature and Varys is only for Varys. He likes to be useful to us all. He dangles drips and drabs of information and never truly shares the full story."
So if the Grand Maester is the queen's man, then everything I learned from him about the potential for a poisoning could have been false. No, he wouldn't outright lie to me about something so easily disproven. Gods be good, how do I unravel this?
"Other than you and Ser Barristan, who can I trust on the small council?"
Renly looked surprised. "Why… no one. Littlefinger is like Varys, only out for himself. He's an amusing fellow, but there's nothing he won't do for coin. He'd sell his own mother if she would fetch a silver stag or two at the meanest whorehouse in Flea Bottom."
Ned frowned. Baelish had even said he had a reputation for having a dark heart and that he didn't want people to know he cared for things like his friendship with his wife. Though, even that was tinged with an unsavory air. He had tried to duel Ned's older brother for Catelyn's hand before the Mad King had him murdered for other reasons. He was lost in thought as Renly was eying him strangely. In the silence, the master of laws brought up another issue.
"The Knight of Flowers, my former squire, is having his sister come to King's Landing. I was wondering if you wouldn't mind having her spend some time with Sansa."
"Sansa enjoys speaking with other ladies; I do not see why not. But why is it your concern? What do you want?"
Renly laughed as if he had made a jest.
"Ah, so you are learning! Well, Lord Stark, can I share something in confidence with you? Unlike the others in King's Landing, if you give me your word, I will trust it."
Ned thought about it, and then nodded. "I swear it by the old gods and the new. I will not share what you tell me."
"Your daughter, Sansa, has met with the king a few times. He likes her little poetry it seems. I was hoping Sansa might teach Margaery the style and possibly even arrange to have her join Sansa for one of their little talks."
Ned frowned. The question about whether Margaery looked like Lyanna suddenly flashed in his mind.
Is that why he asked?
The disgust was writ on his face. "You want to supplant the queen for Margaery? It will be war with Casterly Rock! It will destabilize the realm and throw the issue of succession into turmoil."
Renly simply shrugged. "What can Tywin do? If the king sets aside Cersei, what can he possibly do? Would he raise the banners against the Reach, the Stormlands and the crown? And when Robert calls his banners would the North ignore the call? Tywin is no fool, he will sit and loom disapproving from the Rock and do nothing."
Or he'll have Margaery murdered.
"And what will be done with Tommen and Myrcella?"
"Tommen would have to take the Black, of course. He's a bit of a simple lad, so being a maester would likely not work. Don't you Starks find the Night's Watch honorable? It was a good enough place for… what was his name? Benjen?"
Ned clenched his jaw. The way Renly spoke had long since begun to irk him.
"As for Myrcella, well, she'll grow into her mother's beauty and be a fine match to a very loyal lord. Perhaps even a certain heir to Winterfell? You Starks are wed to your honor. You could be trusted not to challenge any children Margaery bears for Robert. Neat and tidy."
Ned shook his head. "This is madness, and…"
He paused. His mind suddenly realizing that if Lysa was right, and if the Lannisters had murdered Jon Arryn, in one sense this would be justice. Miring Sansa in this sort of plot felt vile. Tommen and Myrcella were innocent, but the way Renly had packaged this was neat. Myrcella would be cared for the North. Tommen could also be sheltered in part by his brother Benjen. The Night's Watch was an honorable calling, though the entire affair still felt dishonorable to its core.
"And?" Renly prodded.
"And… I need think on this. It is a heavy thing what you suggest. Regardless, I have given my word so I will not speak of this to Robert or anyone else. Sansa will no doubt wish to speak with Margaery and I will consent to that. Whether I agree she should facilitate a private encounter with Robert… that is another matter in its entirety. And you will not pressure my daughter to do so without my permission."
I do not have to decide now. Sansa suggested that it is better to hedge and allow time for consideration before giving a firm yes or no to a request. To be vague when honor allowed.
Renly rose and clapped Ned on the shoulder. "Thank you for hearing me out, my lord Hand. You are not a man to exchange honor for favor, but I believe our houses should stay bound in friendship. What happened to your daughter was a tragedy, but I am sure I could find a house within the Stormlands or the Reach that would be a suitable match. Especially if she helped crown a new queen."
***
It was time to see if Arya could take the next step in utilizing her warg abilities. I selected the gray kitchen cat for the test. She appeared to be of middling years, her most distinguishing feature being the network of scars earned in a past tussle with the vicious one-eared black tomcat that had long claimed the Red Keep as his personal domain. I had slipped my skin into her a few times and she was now perfectly accepting of it. No longer did it hiss or yowl, so I felt that this would be safe.
Arya looked at me uncertainly.
"But why would I want to? Nymeria is all I need."
"Because it may be useful and it will also help me determine if our powers are alike. I'm navigating in the dark. I need a sample size larger than just myself."
Arya accepted my explanation and lay down on her bed and then took a deep breath. Her eyes closed and I instantly felt… something. It was like an electric current had just hit a neuron and I was instantly jolted to maximum alertness. At the same time, the gray cat went berserk. It hissed, and cried, and then lunged at the sleeping Arya. It slammed into her and began to try to claw and bite. I grabbed it by its scruff and then it went utterly still as Arya's eyes snapped open. She gasped for air and then clutched at her head.
"Agh, it hurts. She didn't want me in her skin."
I released the cat who immediately rubbed its body against my legs.
What the hell?
"I'm sorry, Arya. I didn't expect that to happen. Can you tell me what it felt like?"
"It felt like I was being burned alive. I felt itchy and awful. It didn't have words but I could feel it screaming at me. Out. Out. Out."
Hmm, that was very interesting. The first time I had entered into this cat, it was not happy, but I had felt none of that. Was it that we had different levels of strength? Was it my stronger sense of self and personality?
Or am I thinking about this the wrong way.
The cat had been selected in part because of the multiple times I had ridden her skin, but also because it had started hanging around my chambers. My eyes widened.
"Arya, I think I might have bonded to the cat in the way I have bonded with Visha. I want to test something, but we need to set up a kennel for Nymeria."
"What? Why? She isn't going to hurt anyone."
"The cat tried to rip into you when you tried to warg into her. I have a theory that attempting to ride the skin of a creature that has bonded with another skinchanger will elicit this sort of reaction. If that's true, Nymeria may well try to lunge at me."
Arya's eyes widened. "Oh."
I was excited to be testing an actual theory. I would attempt to warg into Nymeria and that would be one test. Next, I would grab a cat that I hadn't yet slipped into, and have Arya repeat the effort to try to ride a cat. If Nymeria had a similar reaction, and Arya was able to warg into a cat that wasn't bonded with me, then that would be confirmation.
This is quite exciting!
Once we had the kennel secured and I double checked there was no way Nymeria could break free I lay down and let my awareness drift and jump into Nymeria.
It was unlike any attempt I had ever made. Nymeria instantly growled and I felt pressure in my metaphysical head. I metaphorically grit my teeth and bore it. I was human. I was not a beast. I would not let any creature, no matter how strong-willed, force me out of where I wished to be.
Nymeria tried to throw me off. Physically she moved around the kennel until I stilled that. It was hard to move her limbs. I had use of her senses for a moment before her internal mental writhing cut me off from them. I felt pain, but did not give in to it. I felt Nymeria's senses again and I saw Arya collapse back onto the bed and writhe and instantly ended my attempts at fighting the direwolf.
My human eyes snapped open and as I rushed to stand and check on Arya I fell over. My body was shaking and my head was pounding. I crawled and then leaned over onto the bed. Arya had stopped shaking and was groaning.
"Ugh, let's not try that again."
I laughed, happy and relieved that she wasn't hurt. I winced at my own pain.
"Experiment successful."
"That was successful?" Arya said incredulously.
I gave one short nod.
"Yes. Now we know that trying to enter into a creature that has already… bonded? Imprinted? Not sure what word we will want to use, will create a power struggle. It was interesting that I didn't have the same reaction that you did. I felt… something when you entered the cat, but it didn't cause me to begin shaking like you did. I wonder if it has to do with the strength of the bond…" I saw Arya's face, "No, I won't be testing it out, relax, Arya! I prioritize the safety of my test subjects – unlike other people."
Arya looked confused at my statement, but was too worn out to worry about it and just lay back down.
That sounded like an excellent idea. It had been very useful to suggest to Father that we didn't keep separate rooms. Slipping out of my human skin for an animal's was somewhat draining at times, but today had been far more exhausting. It was very productive, and when Arya was fully recovered, we'd find another cat I hadn't used. I suspected she would be able to ride its skin, but it would be good to get formal confirmation.
This power is incredible. I am looking forward to discovering more of its capabilities and limits.
Author's Note: If you are enjoying this story and want more, I have four additional chapters available on Patreon! Chapter 13 just got posted.
https://www.patreon.com/cw/failninjaninja