Chapter 69
SANSA STARK
Years ago, Sansa had prayed to the Gods to become a Princess. She had hoped to wed a loving and pious King, and give him plentiful heirs. She had believed in tales of knights and fair ladies.
Even back then, Cregan had often warned her about believing in such tales.
But now, after spending half a year in the capital as a Princess herself, she realised that her twin had been right about everything. The songs and tales that the septas and the maesters had sung to a young, naive Sansa had been fiction.
The words of her own mother, who had filled her head with fantasies about Princes and Knights, were a lie, for no such people existed in the real world. That the real world was an ugly and brutal place, where most knights were monsters, and most Princes brats, and that in this world shaped by men's desires, a woman's power lay in her words, manners, and beauty.
"Arya rides better than most men," the Queen whispered as she sat beside Sansa, as she nursed her swollen belly. The entire retinue sat behind them, preparing for the arrival of the King and the other hunters, as the Red Keep prepared itself for its first major celebration in five years.
And while the men hunted, her sister joined them as well, riding atop a horse as the captain of the Queen's guard, the Dame Brienne galloped behind her.
"She has been obsessed with it for years," and the years had brought them much closer to one another. With their mother's death, Sansa found herself becoming the pillar of the family, and though it was hard at first, she later began to get used to the new role and the duties.
Arya, as different as she was, began to seek her out, and though they remained as different as two ladies ever could be, they loved each other as any good sisters would. Father, Robb, Bran, and Rickon, she held them all together as her mother would have, helping them in what little ways she could.
"That and swordfighting," Sansa whispered, as the young Queen, who was a little older than Sansa, smiled.
"Yes, she is much like my mother in that regard," and Sansa had been surprised to learn about Queen Cersei's habits, and she could hardly fathom how a woman of that beauty and stature had been so much like her own sister in her youth.
"Mother had hoped that it was all just a fleeting interest," but it had been anything but. And then Arya had always known how to play father and their brothers. Four years ago, Cregan had gifted their sister an instructor to teach her water dancing, and now, four years later, Arya was as deadly with a blade as any good squire.
She did not participate in tournaments, though not for a lack of trying; her sister was rather famous for beating up quite a few squires who had been rude to her friends.
And as she saw her vanish into the woods, she sighed in surrender.
"Father gave strict instructions to her not to go into the woods," but when had Arya ever listened to him, and after their mother's death, he had never really had the heart to be too harsh on any of them.
"She will be fine, Brienne is with her," Myrcella assured her, and it was the only reason Sansa was not screaming at her.
"There is hardly a knight in the realm that could defeat her," and that was true, but Sansa would much rather be sure about her sister's safety.
"Lady," she called out, and the direwolf jumped to her side, ready for her command as she pointed towards her sister's vanishing back.
"Go and look after my sister," and a massive wolf ran after her, and all of them were bigger than them, and were ferocious and powerful enough to rip a man's body in two.
"Where is Nymeria?" the Queen asked, and much like her sister, Nymeria was both unruly and unreliable, unlike her precious lady.
"I have no idea," and that was why she had sent Lady after her, and another one of the direwolves sat besides the Queen herself, a little babe sleeping in its furs as the Queen continued to pet the massive animal.
"Sometimes I grow jealous of Aurora," the Queen whispered as she eyed the dark-haired boy sleeping soundly in that fur.
"He sleeps better in its arms than my own," and he was young still, barely a year old, and soon enough, Sansa would have a child of her own.
Her years of staying in the capital had opened her eyes to the truth of this world, and where once she had hoped for love and luster, she now preferred honor, respect, and stability.
Willas Tyrell was no mighty knight; he was a young man of few words and a disability that was even worse than her own brother's. But he was the future Lord of High Garden and would solidify the Tyrells to their side.
And though the match was more political than personal, Sansa had given it her own assent.
"How does it feel?" and she was older than the Queen Myrcella, but unlike herself, she had been married for half a decade and was a mother for more than a year now.
"What?" questioned the Queen, and the years had only added to her beauty. Her face was quite similar to her mother, and often times it felt that she was looking at Queen Cersei come again, except that the warmth and kindness she saw in it were rather scarce in the late Queen.
"Marriage?" she began, and though she had received many accounts of all this already, she did not put much trust in the ladies at court.
"Children? The process of making children," and the Queen chuckled at her words, her green eyes glittering in the Sunlight, as Sansa felt her cheeks flush.
"The process of making children," Myrcella repeated her words.
"Consummation, sleeping together, child making, sex, yet you choose those words!" she spoke those words like an uncouth maid, in between her laughs as Sansa shook her head in embarrassment.
"The 'Process of making children'," and Myrcella continued to laugh, as Sansa pinched the Queen's arm, trying to halt her embarrassment.
"Just answer me?" she begged, and the Queen nodded controlling, ending her laughs as she began slowly.
"I thought I already sent Aunt Genna to you for this," and she had, but she was older, and she would much rather hear the opinion of a peer.
"But she is old," and Myrcella raised a brow.
"That does not change much," she began, but seeing her desperation, the Queen sighed.
"It's nothing to worry about. It won't be as grand and miraculous as some would make it out to be, nor will it be as painful or awkward as others would claim. Everyone gels differently," and she had known that.
"Still, you will know what to do and when to do, as for childbirth," and the Queen went silent at that, for the birth of the Prince had been a somewhat troubling experience and had nearly cost the Queen her life.
Her own brother had raged at his counsellors and the women at court who had forced her to rush into having a child, and it was why he had then waited for nearly a year and a half before trying again for a second child.
"You are much older than I was when I gave birth to Rickon, so you need not worry about much. Hopefully, It will all work out well when the time comes," and Sansa sighed, for that was nothing different.
"And if you ever need any help, you can ask me later on," and indeed, for she would be staying in the capital after her marriage, for Cregan planned on making Willas his new Master of Laws.
Tyrion Lannister, the current Master of Laws, would be becoming the Hand of the King, for her father had finally had enough of the courtly politics and had made it clear to Cregan that he planned on heading back to the North by the end of the year, come Heaven or Hell.
"They are here," the Queen whispered, as Sansa looked up and saw the retinue coming back, and at the head of it was the King himself.
Gone was the thin, lanky boy, and in his place was a young man of good height and lean frame. Despite the years and the nature of his duties, he had made an effort to remain fit, and it showed, for unlike many others his age, he had a flat stomach and straight back.
His face had changed, losing its fat, and now hints of a beard could be seen growing on his chin, while the young man beside him was older yet thinner, with brown eyes and brown hair of the Tyrell family.
The two seemed to be laughing at a joke, and as they came upon the two of them, the servants, the lords, and the ladies behind them all bowed, as the King opened his mouth.
"So, who do you think won?" he questioned both her and the Queen, and the cart carrying the hunt behind them was covered with cloth to hide the prey that had been hunted.
"I have not known you to lose a hunt in five years," the Queen began, choosing her own lord and husband, who smiled.
"Well, you may be my brother, but I believe Lord Willas has bested you today," she whispered as she eyed the young Lord of Highgarden, who raised a brow at the praise.
"Such betrayal," Cregan gasped as he eyed the brown-haired man beside him.
"She is not yet married to you, and already she has begun to take your side," and he knew better than most that this was a ploy, a publicity stunt that cost her nothing but won her some goodwill from the lords behind Willas.
"But I am afraid I must disappoint you, my dear sister," Cregan added as the clothes were lifted to reveal a giant of a stag.
"This King still reigns as the Hunting Champion of these woods..."
0000
EDDARD STARK
Eddard was now counting the days he had left in this hellhole, and unlike many of his predecessors, he had little to no fond memories of the Red Keep, nor did he have any desire to ever return to it ever again.
"So, you have handled the matter with Lord Oberyn?" he questioned, and with his resignation, a common secret amongst the King's council, his replacement had already taken over much of the duties that he had despised for years.
"Yes, that matter is handled," the little dwarf answered, and despite his size and reputation, Eddard knew of no man with a sharper mind than the little Lannister Imp, though now they had a different name for him.
Tyrion Lannister may hold the name Lannister, but was more loyal to his son than any other man, even more than his own kin. Eddard did not know the reason for this loyalty, nor did he have the courage to ask, for he had stopped asking questions of Cregan years ago.
The King, he had learned, had never had much need of a Hand or a father, for he had only ever shown them only a glimpse of his true capabilities. And with the power and coffers of the Crown at his back, Cregan had shown him just how different of a child he was.
"Good, I have little patience for Dornish trickery at the moment," and he had nearly lost his cool at Cregan when he had told him of their treachery. He had been a second away from calling for their heads until their young King had presented him with an alternative plan.
It was around that time he had learned that, despite his claim otherwise, Cregan had little to no need of him. He was already a capable ruler and could steer the realm through this turbulent time on his own.
What he lacked was not good counsel, but age and credibility, and now, half a decade later, he had it all, and so Eddard did not have to stay in the capital anymore.
"I doubt anyone ever has any patience for Dornish trickery," the man teased, and he had little love for the Dornish, but he shared their plight.
"So, he offers them Clegane and Lorch?" and Tyrion nodded.
"The two of them are heading to the city as we speak, along with my father," and that was a surprise.
"Lord Tywin is coming to the capital?" and the little man grew stiff at the mention of his estranged father, but nodded nonetheless.
"Yes, he plans on attending the marriage and might also stay for the birth of the Second Child," and this would be the first time that the man would be visiting the capital in five years, and he could easily reason out why.
"He knows about my resignation," Eddard guessed, and unlike Cregan and Tyrion, he was no natural politician, but after five years of games and ploys and plots, he understood it all much better.
"Perhaps," and so the man could have come here demanding that Cregan make him his Hand, and it would not be the worst choice.
"None can tell what goes on in the mind of Tywin Lannister. Still, if you resign while he is in the capital, it could cause trouble for our King," and there it was, the strong loyalty of the little man.
"Cregan is a man grown now," Eddard answered, for he had made up his mind.
"He can handle such troubles," and the little man smirked.
"Still, men would give anything to be in your shoes. You are the second most powerful man in the realm, and yet you seek to relinquish it all," and he would have done so much earlier if not for his promise to his son.
"My battle here is over," and unlike the man in front of him, Eddard knew of the true enemy rising up in the true North, where the chill had become colder than it ever had in a thousand years.
"I am needed in the North," and while Robb had done an admirable job in sustaining the North, it was time for him to go and prepare his lands for the war to come, both from the East and the North.
"Cregan spoke those very words," he answered as those mismatched eyes narrowed, and the room descended into silence.
"We are on the precipice of war with the Blackfyres and the Golden Company, yet both you and our King remain insistent that you, his most trusted advisor, return to the barren North for some reason," and the man was smart enough to see through their lies.
"Why?" he asked.
"Have you asked Cregan that?" Eddard asked, and the man nodded.
"He has only said that it is not yet time for me to know," and then he would repeat.
"This secret is his to tell..."
.
.
.
.
But it was not only Lord Tywin who rode towards the capital. No, he was joined by Lord Harlaw of the Iron Islands, Lord Edmure Tully of the Riverlands, Lord Mace Tyrell of Highgarden, Lord Yohan Royce of Vale, and lastly the sickly Lord Doran Martell of Dorne.
And though this was no grand council, but all of them did not come for the wedding or a feast.
No, they arrived because their King had summoned them.
All of them.
0000
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