A/N I want to let readers know that this next month or so might be slow, but I plan to update more in December. Thanks for the reviews that people left asking to update, it helped motivate me to get going.
"Jon! Jon! Wake up!"
Jon's eyes flew open. He was still in his room at the Painted Lady. The curtains were drawn, and a shadow loomed over him: not a shadow, a girl. The small, petite figure at his bedside shook him roughly.
"Arya?"
"Jon! There's no time, you must help Father!"
"Arya?" Jon turned his gaze to the window; it was not yet light out. "Why are you here? How'd you find me?"
He swung his legs over the bed, and Arya pulled hurriedly on his arms. "Hurry! Hurry!" she whispered. She danced on her toes, her gaze darting left and right, as if searching for an unknown attacker.
"What's going on?" Jon asked as he pulled on a pair of pants and a black tunic. The urgency in Arya's voice had him moving quickly. He fumbled for his sword belt and Arya handed it to him.
"Father's been attacked!" Arya's eyes were wide with panic.
"What?" Jon's face paled as he jerkily tied the knots to his tunic. "When? Why?"
"Yesterday afternoon!" Arya was pulling on his arm again and the muscles in his right shoulder protested.
"Arya!" Jon grasped her by the shoulders and forced her to sit down at the table. There was too much he didn't know. Jon alone could not storm the Red Keep, like Arya clearly desired.
"Stop. Explain. Right now."
Arya wriggled against his grip, but eventually settled when she realized Jon would not budge. "Yesterday, Father and Jory went to the brothel." At Jon's look of disbelief, Arya scoffed. "I don't know why they were there. But when they left, the Kingslayer came with Lannister soldiers and broke father's leg! It's true! And now he's in bed and he hasn't woke in ages!"
By the end of her story, Arya was crying and reaching for Jon's tunic. Jon held her in his arms and shushed her, running a soothing hand through her tangled, muddy hair. Jon's head was spinning. Why would Jory and Lord Stark visit a brothel? His mind went to the blacksmith's boy that resembled the King. Robert's bastard. Everyone knew the King frequented the brothels more often than the small Council chambers. Could Lord Stark have been looking for further evidence against the Queen? It was the most likely explanation.
"Arya, calm yourself." He held her face in his hands gently and looked into her eyes. "Can you tell me why a knight of the Kingsguard attacked the Hand of the King?"
"Because Mother took the Imp!" She cried into his stomach and Jon's heart thudded painfully. "She lied! Mother took the imp to the Eyrie and they refused the Kingslayer passage through the Bloody Gate, so he came back! And it's treason to refuse the King's orders!"
So it has begun, he thought, the War of the Five Kings. Lady Stark took Tyrion Lannister. No, she stole him. Despite all of Jon's warnings to Lord Stark, he could not have prevented these events. Somewhere in his heart, Jon knew Tyrion was not to blame for Bran's fall, but it seemed Lady Stark was determined to find justice for her crippled son—even if the executioner's axe fell on the neck of the wrong, misshapen head.
"A grievous error," Jon spoke aloud, more to himself than to Arya. "This will begin a war… wait. How'd you find me?"
Arya pulled away from him then and furiously wiped at her tears. Jon let her use his sleeve.
"I told you I wanted to talk to you, but you never came." Arya glared at him then, eyes full of anger and Jon felt a twinge of remorse.
"I am sorry, Arya," he said, coloring his voice with regret. "Lord Stark and I… I haven't been in the Hand's Tower much and I didn't think you missed me. But we are together now, are we not?"
"Of course I missed you, you're my brother!" Arya exclaimed and Jon's heart warmed. He could not have loved her more. The sweet, wild little sister who looked so much like him.
Arya sniffed. "I have had so much to tell you. I have a dancing master, Syrio, and he told me to chase cats. I've got to be quick as a snake. I was chasing cats and…"
Arya proceeded to spin a long tale. Jon sat and listened, trying to piece together his sister's nearly incoherent story—punctuated by bouts of sniffing and sobs—about perfumed men plotting in the dungeons, Sansa's lion babies, and their father's investigations surrounding Lord Arryn and Ser Hugh of the Vale. The news of Tyrion's abduction reached King's Landing yesterday afternoon via a man of the Night's Watch, Yoren, who informed Lord Stark of his lady wife's actions.
"... Father was concerned. The Kingslayer was wroth, they all said. I was listening at the door—"
If anything happens, you know what to do. Jon would obey his father's last commands.
"Arya." Jon placed a hand on her shoulder. They didn't have much time, and Jon could piece together the story from there. "You've done very well. Thank you for telling me all you know. I think… I think now is the time we must leave the city. You, me, and Sansa. Father always intended for me to take you back North. And now, it's time. The city is too dangerous for you Starks."
"Thank the Gods." Arya flew at him again and Jon grunted at the impact. "I hate this place! I hate the court and stupid Sansa. I want to go home!"
"I'll take you there," he told her. "I will take you home. Stay here for now."
Jon left Arya with Ghost. Moments later he was banging on the doors to Thoros' and Sam's rooms. Sam woke and dressed slowly enough after a quick explanation from Jon. The son of Tarly yawned and bumbled around, searching for his things. Thoros was already dressed. The Red Priest had had a vision about wolves and lions and krakens, and was ready to depart at once. Jon took it all in stride. Thoros' visions were becoming a nightly occurrence—or so said the knight—and the Red Priest had sworn an oath. For now, Jon would trust his word.
Together, the three companions gathered in Jon's room. Arya stared at Thoros' sword with open curiosity, and the old knight patted its hilt. "Fear not, little Lady, t'will not spontaneously catch fire unless I will it." Arya grinned at that.
"What's the plan?" she asked, after introductions had been made.
"Sam…" Jon turned to his old friend and smiled sadly. "You are no great warrior." Sam blushed and nodded his agreement. "I want you to take what's left of my purse and find us a cabin or two, for the next ship to leave at dawn. It doesn't matter where they're going. We are leaving."
In the end, it was agreed upon that Arya would accompany Sam to the docks. Together, they'd barter for a cabin on whatever ship that would have them. Jon had taken half of his winnings from the Tourney and hidden it in a small chest under his bed. He'd used the money to continue paying the Painted Lady and for day-to-day expenses, but now the gold would pay for their rooms, and a captain's silence.
Jon gave the small chest to Sam. Sam was smart, and Jon knew he was more capable of this task than the task of rescuing Sansa.
Thoros and Jon would enter the Red Keep, silently, using Arya's secret passage. With any luck, by daybreak, Sansa, Arya, Jon, Sam, and Thoros would meet outside the River Gate, close to the Blackwater docks.
Jon hands were shaking by the time they exited the inn. On his back, he carried the small satchel he'd kept since Winterfell. Within it, he'd hidden the book of lineages and the red banner he couldn't bring himself to leave behind. At the last second, he'd thrown on the Stark tabard that Ser Jory had given him weeks ago.
This was it. In the last war, Sansa and Arya had been taken captive by the crown. Both sold as brides. Arya had gone to the slime, Ramsay Bolton, and Sansa to the Imp.
That will not happen, Jon thought. There will be no weddings, red, or otherwise. There will be no weddings. He allowed himself one final glance at the inn of the Painted Lady, and into the dark stables, where he would forever leave the brown mare his father had gifted him. It was time.
The trip to the docks was tense and quiet, the air filled with nervous energy. Their group stuck to the side streets. Jon urged them all to keep their hoods up, and their faces down, although it seemed a folly to hide their identities when a large, white direwolf was trailing after them. Jon did his best to keep Ghost under foot and in the shadows, often chasing him away from the main street.
Arya led the way down to the Blackwater. She skirted in and out of alleyways, resembling the cats she loved to chase. Jon wondered how she might have learned the streets, but then he figured it was just Arya's nature. No doubt she had escaped the Keep many a time to explore the city, as she used to explore Winterfell.
Eventually, they reached the docks. As soon as they'd passed the gates, Ghost bolted, sprinting into the Blackwater. Jon let him go and watched him disappear into the distance, knowing he'd return once he spent his energy.
Sam was the last to arrive. The lord's son was panting heavily and went to his knees to catch his breath. Jon and Thoros were only slightly better off and eager to depart.
"Lead the way, Arya," Jon said and looked anxiously at the dark sky. Still no sign of dawn, but he felt it approaching in only a few hours. The youngest Stark girl jogged away from the designated path, and waded through the mud. She led Jon and Thoros to a small crack in the walls, and pointed inside.
Jon peered into the darkness of the tunnel.
"Are you certain?"
"Quite." Arya pointed at a large, dead crab on the shore. "That was how I remembered where it was. It's a long way up, but stick to the center path."
"Take care of my sister, Sam," Jon told his panting brother. Sam nodded, red-faced. Unable to speak, he waved a quick goodbye. Arya embraced Jon one last time before both Jon and Thoros slid sideways through the crack and into the tunnel.
Jon would always remember the experience of crawling through that bitter, inky blackness. In the dark, it was hard to tell which way was forward. The passage was narrow and cramped, and the air was stale and sometimes downright repugnant. Jon had the distinct feeling they might be crawling through a sewer.
The journey was made bearable by Thoros' presence. After about three hundred paces, by Jon's count, the tunnel widened enough to allow Thoros to unsheathe his sword. He lit the blade with a muttered spell and Jon's eyes burned at the sight. The old knight grinned and gestured for Jon to lead.
The tunnel widened even further, and the cracked, uneven stone became smooth. Jon stepped forward cautiously, careful of the way his boots cracked on rat's bones and aware they might be approaching the Keep. The journey so far had been mostly uphill, over rough staircases and steep inclines. But now, the narrow corridor leveled. Finally, they stepped into a large chamber. The fire from Thoros' blade illuminated the room.
A dragon skull with eyes of fire.
Jon's heart leapt into his throat and he forced himself to take a calming breath. Thoros gravitated towards his side and together, they stared silently at the massive maw of Balerion, the Black Dread.
"Amazing," Thoros whispered. Jon could only nod, still slightly shaken at the sight.
That is what I must bring to the Wall. Jon touched a tooth tentatively. Was it his imagination, or were the bones still warm? This is the fire we need, to defeat the Others and the army of the dead. Am I mad?
Thoros took the lead now, having greater knowledge of the Red Keep and its layout. Jon followed silently. They passed more dragon skulls, each one smaller than the last, and then they ascended a great flight of stairs. After what seemed like an eternity, the stairs ended and Thoros held up his hand, extinguishing his sword. He signalled for Jon to follow, single column.
They crept through another five corridors, and down a flight of stairs before Jon heard footsteps. Fortunately, they were close to an open courtyard. They hid behind a line of tall bushes when a patrol of Lannister soldiers came into view. Jon held his breath until they passed, exchanging glances with Thoros.
Once the danger had passed, the two companions continued silently through the halls and into the middle bailey. The Tower of the Hand was in sight. Jon saw two of his father's guards positioned outside the side entrance. Silently, he approached.
Harwin, the son of the Master of Horses at Winterfell, took notice of him first. He was a stocky man, who'd served Lord Stark for many years. Jon shed his hood and revealed his face.
"Jon Snow," Harwin stated in surprise. "Why the midnight visit?"
"Jon. Ser Thoros," the man to Harwin's right said, and eyed them both suspiciously. Jon could not place his face, though he looked familiar.
"I have come at my father's bidding, Harwin." Jon nodded to Thoros at his right. "Ser Thoros has sworn to assist me in this matter."
"Your father's unconscious," Harwin said bluntly, looking at Jon with suspicion. "He cannot give orders."
Jon sighed, wondering how to earn this man's trust. He took a step closer to the entrance and lowered his voice. "Lord Stark and I had previously agreed that I would take my sisters North, should tensions escalate and the Capital grow too dangerous. Lord Stark urged the utmost secrecy in this matter. He was concerned about the welfare of his daughters, as I am concerned for my sisters. I swear to you, Harwin, this is the truth."
Harwin gave him a hard look. Jon returned the glare with equal ferocity. "I must bring my sister's North," he reiterated. "It is of paramount importance."
The old guard hesitated a moment longer before stepping aside. "Don't make me regret this, Jon Snow." Jon nodded and swept past, Thoros on his heels.
Jon climbed the steps to his father's rooms, needing to see his unconscious body himself. It was difficult to believe. The Hand had been attacked, and the Imp had been taken captive. It was all starting again, and he felt powerless.
Jon stopped outside the Hand's solar, recalling the last conversation with his father and the look of betrayal on Lord Stark's face, as Jon rejected his offer to reconcile. He grimaced in shame.
"Jon?" Thoros whispered. "We haven't much time."
He swallowed the protest on his lips and nodded, eyes searching for Sansa's quarters. The first door he opened was obviously Arya's room, judging by the mess and three cats. The next door over was freshly painted and boasted a wreath of roses.
He knocked politely. No reply. He called for her, "Sansa, it's Jon," and knocked once more.
"Go away," she mumbled sleepily. Jon fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Sansa, you must wake. I am taking you to Winterfell." He banged on the door. "Ready yourself." Jon waited until he heard her mumbled protests and her feet on the floor. His red-haired half sister opened the door only a crack.
"Jon?" she eyed Thoros in the background. The knight turned away. Sansa opened the door more completely to look at him. "What are you saying? I can't go North, I am to marry the Prince."
"Your father's orders," Jon said plainly. "I am sorry, Lady Sansa. We must away."
"But… no…" her eyes filled with tears, anger twisted her face. "No… I can't."
"Now, Sansa," Jon ordered. "I will not disobey your father. Our lives may be in danger."
"I'm supposed to marry him, though!" she cried, forgetting herself. Jon winced as her voice got louder. "I'm going to be Queen! I'm supposed to be Queen!"
Jon held up his hands in defeat and closed his eyes. This would be difficult. Jon had seen the looks Sansa had thrown Joffrey the first time around, in Winterfell. The girl was positively smitten.
"In a few months, or years," Jon promised, "I will take you South again. But for now, your father orders that you return North. You are young yet, Lady Sansa. There is time for all your dreams to come true. Please, we must away."
Sansa sniffed, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. She looked imploringly at her half brother. Jon sighed and tried once more. "Your father will straighten this mess out, and we'll be back before you know it."
Sansa wavered at the door, still gazing at him with wet eyes. Jon frowned and she finally gave in with a huff. "Fine!" Sansa snapped the door shut and Jon heard her gathering her things. "Go get Jeyne."
Jon did not know where Jeyne was, but with luck, tried the rooms next door and found success. The lady in waiting blushed red as a tomato to find Jon waiting outside her door and—after a confusing conversation—finally deduced his reason for waking her was not what she assumed, to Thoros' great amusement. Jeyne dressed and skirted into Sansa's rooms. Jon wandered into his father's room while Sansa and her handmaiden dressed, and looked down at Lord Stark's unconscious frame.
The curtains were opened, and a healthy breeze filtered into the room, making him shiver.
Despite the chill, the Lord of Winterfell was sweating, shaking slightly and mumbling under his breath. Jon approached the side of the bed and studied his father's stern features. Not so stern anymore. In his sleep, Eddard Stark looked more distressed than serious. The leg in question was wrapped in white gauze, and resting on a feather pillow. Jon observed the injury with morbid curiosity—and the full bottle of Milk of the Poppy—resting on the bedside table.
Jon heard his father mumbling and he knelt at his side.
"Promised…"
He leaned closer.
"Promised… Lyanna… Promised."
Jon recoiled as if slapped.
Lyanna, a small parchment fit for raven had said, my Queen of Love and Beauty. Tonight.
Cat does not know and I cannot break my promise, Lord Stark had written. I cannot bear the dreams. She is always whispering to me. Promise me, promise me.
I cannot break my promise.
Jon stood and left the room. He suddenly felt nauseous. I will not think these things, Jon thought furiously. I will not. I must get the girls to safety. Outside in the corridor, Sansa stood in her traveling cloak, Jeyne at her side, laden with boxes.
"We must travel light," Jon informed Sansa.
"I know," she replied. "I am."
Jon could only shake his head and took two of the boxes from Jeyne and placed them on the floor outside the girls rooms. Sansa looked ready to argue, but he silenced her with a stern look. Jon caught a fleeting glimpse of himself in the mirror and realized how much he must resembled Lord Stark.
"Fine," Sansa sniffed and looked forlornly at the boxes. "But I will not leave behind the Queen's dresses."
"Very well," Jon agreed. "Can you cover your face and hair?"
Jeyne pulled a black lace scarf from one the boxes and wrapped it around Sansa's head and mouth. Jon nodded his approval.
"How will we exit the Keep, Jon?" Thoros looked down the stairwell and stroked his beard. "I do not think I could find that passage again, in the dark. And I do not wish to become trapped in these walls."
"The front gates are still open, we will ride out," Jon decided. "It is easier to leave a Keep than it is to enter. We've no other choice."
They met Harwin at the base of the Tower, who insisted on joining their company. Together, they made their way to the stables and remained remarkably unharassed until they met the stable master, who refused them entrance until Thoros greased his palm with several coins.
Thoros glanced behind him and gave Jon a meaningful look. The stablemaster, distracted by the coin, did not see the knife that stabbed his side.
Thoros held the man's throat, preventing him from crying out, while Jon quieted Sansa, who had started to cry.
"You didn't have to! Jon!" Sansa protested, and Jon shushed her.
"Sansa, we must leave the Capital," Jon tried to explain, and ushered her inside the stables. "I assure you, it was necessary. Jeyne, take care of her."
Inside the stables, Thoros dragged the man's body behind a stack of hay barrels. It would not remain hidden for long, but it would buy them time. Jon's eyes searched for a suitable mount for himself and Harwin saddled his own horse. After a moment's hesitation, Jon took his father's horse, Night, a bay gelding.
Jon patted Night's flank and steered him towards the stable gates, pleased the horse accepted him as it's temporary rider and eager to leave the Keep. Reaching a hand down, he pulled a red-eyed, unhappy Sansa onto the horse behind him. Harwin took Jeyne, and Thoros appropriated a gentle brown mare. They left through the stable gates and rode for the postern gate, Thoros at their head.
Eight Lannister guards stood between them and salvation. Jon slowed Night to a walk and Thoros unhooded himself with a toothy grin.
"Ah! Daren! A fine night. Clear, cold air from the North, finally. Fancy a stroll through Shadowblack Lane with us?"
Thoros did not let up his horse's pace, they walked calmly under the murder holes of the gate. Jon's heart beat madly against his ribs. Sansa's arms tightened around his chest, making Jon's already shortened breath ragged.
The Lannister guard frowned at the Red Priest. He was a bushy fellow, with a few missing teeth and a scar below his right eye. Streaks of grey colored his golden beard.
"Thoros, aye. I know yeh. Fot with yeh at Pyke." The man spit on the ground at the mention of the Iron Island. "No strolls, I'm on duty. State your names and business. Now. Or I lop your heads."
Thoros still did not slow his horse, calmly walking through the gate. "Thoros, myself. As you know. And my jolly friends, Sam and Tyron, guards of Winterfell. Off duty themselves, returning these whores to Chataya's, as usual."
Sansa stiffed at the word "whore", but Jon understood Thoros' plan. So, with a twinge of shame, he reached a hand behind him and gently smacked Sansa's arse. To his amusement, Sansa yelped prettily and jumped. Jon let out a crude laugh and tugged on the red braid that had spilled out of her hood and over his shoulder.
"Always liked redheads," Daven commented, turning his attention away from the group and back towards the streets. Jon's horse passed unharassed, Sansa's nails now digging angrily into his ribs. Harwin followed and Thoros waved cheerily to the man Daven, wishing him a pleasant night.
"Long live King Robert!"
And then, they were riding in the streets, the Red Keep behind them. Jon felt a weight lift off his shoulders. Arya and Sansa, Jon chanted inside his head, Arya and Sansa. I have Arya and Sansa.
At the docks, Jon helped Sansa down from her horse and she quickly slapped him. "Jon Snow!" She snarled, "I am a lady! You deserve that and more. I should have you flogged!"
Harwin dismounted from his horse, Jeyne Poole in tow. The old knight was looking at Jon with a knowing smirk. Jeyne flushed when her feet touched the ground and she rushed to her lady's side. Out of the corner of his eye, Jon spotted Sam and the grubby Arya approaching.
"My deepest apologies, Lady Sansa." Jon bowed low, to appease her anger. "I would never presume to touch my lady again."
"I should think not!" Sansa huffed and turned away from him, grabbing Jeyne Poole's arm.
When Jon turned, Sam was at his side, holding a roll of parchment. Jon noted the missing chest of coins and the small smile on Sam's face. "I've f-found us a cabin, two cabins, on the ship bound for Maidenpool and it's a w-week long journey and the captain's name is Jogos Trios and he wants to talk to the man with the money," Sam said in one quick breath. "Er, that's you, Jon."
"Excellent. Good work, Sam." Jon clapped him on the back.
Sam blushed, "It was mostly little Arya who did the negotiating."
Jon grinned and ruffled his little sister's hair fondly. Turning to Sansa and Jeyne, he introduced Sam and the two ladies curtsied prettily for the son of Randyl Tarly. Sometimes, Jon forgot that Sam was a trueborn son, and himself only a bastard. He'd forgotten the last time a lady curtsied for him. Most of the time, it was Jon doing the bowing and scraping his knees. A strange bitterness filled his mouth, and he quickly explained their plans.
"To Maidenpool," Harwin joined their group and nodded. "And where to then, Jon Snow? So I've word to take to your father when he wakes."
"Riverrun," Jon decided. If he remembered correctly, Robb's army would gather at the Trident. The girls would be safest with their own blood, and Sansa had the Tully look. "Then North to Winterfell."
Harwin gave him a hard, cold look. Jon placed a fist over his heart. "I will guard my sisters with my life, good Harwin."
"Aye…" the guard gave Sam and Thoros a cursory look. "You do that."
Harwin roped together the horses by their bridles and led them back to the gate. Jon watched him go, wondering if he chose the right man to trust. Arya pulled on his arm, pulling him out of his reveries.
"Where's Father?" she asked, in a small tone.
Promised… Lyanna.
Jon frowned. "Still not awake, and besides, he cannot leave the city while still Hand of the King."
Arya and Sansa looked unhappy to be leaving without their father, but Jon insisted their departure was part of Lord Stark's wishes. Hopefully, when Lord Stark woke, he would see his daughters were gone and find no more reason to remain in King's Landing. Without Sansa and Arya as prisoners, the Lannister's position in the coming war would weaken considerably.
Weak enough to let Lord Stark go? Jon hoped. Could Lord Stark warn the king in time? Jon didn't know.
Sam led them down the dock and towards a large galley. Jon stopped counting after twenty oars. At the head of the ship, a painted bull's head faced the ocean. Jon gripped the hilt of his sword, Sweetsinger, for strength.
"Finally,"—Arya ran up the ramps and forward flipped onto the ship's deck, causing some of the dockworkers to stare—"we're going home!"
A/N Favorite scene from the television series? Mine is when Dany sacks Slaver's Bay.