Hey guys! I'm not dead and I haven't given up on Saoirse, but I have started a few new fics so my focus has been elsewhere.
I would like to thank each and every one of you for your continued support, even in my extended absence(s). This chapter is longer than the last, and I hope it's worth the wait! Let me know what you think!
The King
The funeral for the boy was a quiet affair; then again, most funerals for children were. For the first time in a long while, Robert hadn't woken with a raging headache and had skipped his usual breakfast ale. Well, most of it anyway. The North was famous for their dark, thick beer and he wouldn't be able to find it anywhere else so he'd had half of the goblet.
Robert applauded his restraint.
After the boy's coffin had been loaded onto the cart headed for the crematorium, Robert and Ned escorted an eerily stoic Saoirse to Ned's library. They had matters to discuss and papers to sign, and the sooner the better.
Saoirse sat staring into the fire, her skin casting a yellow glow about her. But for the dark purple circles under her eyes and wind-whipped hair, she would've looked radiant. Chilling, but radiant.
Robert glanced at Ned, who approached Saoirse's side and knelt so he was eye-level with her.
"Saoirse, I know you've lost much these last months but we must speak now. Are you with us?" Ned asked gently, enveloping one of her hands in both of his. Ned was always good like that; handling women. Oh, Robert could handle a woman, but not in the same, kind way that Ned could. Probably why his marriage turned out happier than Robert's marriage to Cersei.
The young woman nodded her head slowly and sucked in a large breath. Ned looked to Robert and nodded his head, prompting him forward.
"Saoirse Arryn, I hereby proclaim you as Lady of the Vale, Warden of the East, and Protector of the Vale. Please kneel," he said as he drew the ceremonial sword from his hip. Saoirse obliged shakily, rising from her chair and lowering herself in front of him. In that moment she reminded Robert of her younger self. She looked small, her eyes downcast. The men he had done this for had always held their heads high, pride in their eyes as they gazed up at their King. But those were different circumstances entirely.
He tapped each of her shoulders in turn, then affixed his seal on a piece of parchment Ned's maester had drawn up that morning. "By affixing my seal and signature to this declaration, your Ladyship is secured and final until your death or abdication."
She took the quill from him and signed the declaration herself. Behind her eyes was a hollow sort of look that gave Robert pause. Was she well enough to govern from her father's seat? This poor girl in front of him had lost so much in a short amount of time, and now she was the last of her kind. All the more reason for him to bring up the subject of marriage.
"Onto other matters then. How soon do you think you'll marry the Kingslayer?" Robert asked, leading her over to the long couch near the fire. Ned looked at her gently, sympathy evident in his dark Stark eyes and Robert reminded himself of all that they had lost as well.
"I'd like to stop at the Eyrie on our way back to the capitol. To spread their ashes," she answered quietly, staring down at her hands.
"Of course, but Saoirse what will happen when we return to King's Landing? Are you marrying Lannister or not?" Ned pushed. Saoirse looked up at the man and their eyes met, something unspoken passing between them before she directed her gaze to the burning fire.
"Is that all you needed me for, your grace?" she asked politely. Robert nodded and without wasting a breath for goodbye, she left the room.
"I don't suppose she'd be any more forthcoming with your wife?" Robert asked his old friend, who shook his head dolefully.
"No. I'm afraid not."
"Well maybe we give her a few days, then? Ask her before we leave?" he proposed. Ned agreed, and rolled up the declaration to return to his maester, who would send in on to Oldtown for record-keeping purposes.
With that, Robert hauled himself up from his seat and ventured back to his room. While he hadn't been very active that morning, he was suddenly exhausted and required a flagon of wine and a long nap.
Saoirse
Weeks later she still hadn't answered Robert and Ned's question. Partly because she didn't know the answer, partly because she refused to think about it in her grief. It was another reminder of how alone she was; she would have to marry and produce heirs if she was to have any more family.
Now she was scaling the narrow mountain passage up to the Eyrie - her birthplace, the home she hadn't seen in fourteen years. Bronson climbed up ahead of her, following the fleet-footed Mya Stone, and Hewl was behind her. Each carried an urn containing the ashes of her brother and father. The rest of the miles-long vanguard of the King was spending the night at the winter fortress, the lowest part of the Eyrie called Stone. They had passed the last waycastle, Sky, nearly an hour ago.
Taking a chance, Saoirse looked over her shoulder and took in the view. It was exactly as she remembered; rocky mountains stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions. The curvature of the earth served as her horizon, the sun approaching it too quickly for her liking. She planned to spend the night in the castle and descend the next day in order to not hold up the procession for too long.
The quartet reached the entrance hall of the palace and were immediately set upon by Old Maddy, the housekeeper.
"Oh, my Lady Arryn! All grown up and beautiful - you look so much like your Lady mother! I was so sorry to hear of your father's passing, child, and then the misfortune of your brother's loss as well! Are you back for good, m'lady, or - "
"I've come to give my father and brother the send off they deserve, then I will be heading back to King's Landing. I have business I must finish there," Saoirse explained, taking off her cloak and handing it to the servant.
"I've got your rooms all set, m'Lady, and - is that Bronson Royce? And Hewl! Come here, you two!"
Grateful for the distraction her guards provided, Saoirse slipped away into a quiet hallway and began wandering the chilled halls of her home. This was all hers now, the castle, the land, the servants and duties. She had no doubt she could handle it - she'd been handling the entire kingdom for nearly half a year.
But did she want it? Of course she did, it was her birthright. Her father had groomed her for this day. She didn't want to think of him, Robbie's death had given new life to the grief inside her. But with every corner she turned, every painting she saw, every tapestry she ran her hands over, she could feel him. His presence.
She hadn't picked her course with any real purpose, and now she found that her feet had brought her to two heavy oak doors. The doors to her father's study. With a great heave she opened one, the smell of musty books and dust pouring out of the room as she did.
The room had looked so much bigger to her as a child. She was constantly bounding in and out of it, piles of books in her small hands. Her father had joked once that he should get her a servant's wagon so she could take fewer trips. While he'd never fulfilled that promise, he had built her a stepstool so she could reach the upper shelves. Her eyes landed upon it, sitting in the same spot it always had near the large picture window. She crossed the room and took a seat on top of it, her fingers tracing the elegantly carved sides that were painted white to resemble clouds. Of course, age had taken its toll on the thing. The paint flaked off onto her damp palms and it creaked as she rose to her feet.
"Lady of the Vale," she said aloud to no one. The setting sun out the window filled the sky with a rainbow of jewel tones, and she sighed deeply. The castle - her castle - was breathtaking from the outside, but she'd always thought the views from the inside were the best. Saoirse would've been very happy to keep staring out of the window for the rest of her days, but she had a ceremony to perform.
Old Maddy found her first, "There you are, My Lady! We've got to get you up the north tower before that sun sets or you'll be stuck here another night! Come, come!"
Saoirse complied, and followed the matronly servant to the tallest tower and climbed the stairs, pausing every so often due to the elder woman's huffing and puffing.
"Maddy, you don't need to escort me. I am perfectly capable of -"
"No, no, My Lady," the red-faced woman panted, "I'll pay my respects properly."
"Very well," Saoirse said, continuing up the long staircase. Bronson and Hewl, along with others of the household staff were already waiting for them when they arrived on the Falcon's Nest, the large balcony at the top of the north tower. It overlooked the entire mountain range, and on a clear day Saoirse swore she could see all the way to the Narrow Sea.
The sun was a half-circle above the horizon and blazing terribly bright in its last gasps of daylight. Wind ripped through her thick cloak and blew loose strands of her hair about. She knew she must look a mess, but didn't care. She was in her own home, there was no need for her to impress anyone here.
A gentle hand on her shoulder made her turn. Hewl offered her the larger of the two urns. Her father's urn. The plain marble jar would rest in the godswood next to his ancestors after this. She let her fingers trace the words carved into the side.
'Jon Arryn, Lord of the Vale, Hand of King Robert Baratheon'
She stepped closer to the thick stone railing and raised her voice above the whipping wind.
"These are the ashes of my father, Jon Arryn," she started then paused, waiting for the response.
"May he be remembered," came a chorus from behind her.
"I commit his ashes to the wind so he may fly forever." Again she paused.
"Fly to the gods," the crowd chorused.
"Father, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Warrior, Builder, and Stranger, watch over him as he passes into the next life," she prayed as she pried the lid off of the urn. The next words were spoken by everyone.
"He will not be forgotten."
With both hands, Saoirse threw the contents of the urn with the wind at her back. A gray cloud that used to be her father billowed away as the wind caught the ashes, carrying him onto the next life. Bronson approached her with the smaller wooden urn she'd been able to find in Winterfell. She caught him in her periphery and her eyes filled with unwarranted tears. What a mistake it was to think that she had shed all of the tears she could over this.
She took the smaller urn, her hands shaking. The lid was closed with a clasp, which her fingers couldn't seem to manipulate. Bronson, who hadn't left her side, put his hands over hers.
"Let me, My Lady," he said quietly. She nodded and let him unclasp the lid. Something deep flashed in Bronson's eyes, and she thought it might be his own grief over the situation. Blinking away the tears, she flashed him a small smile of thanks and he stepped back.
They repeated the words and she tossed her brother into the wind, his ashes mixing with the lingering particles of their father. Lysa's body had been sent to Riverrun to be buried in the traditions of her home. For a moment, Saoirse wished she'd brought the woman's body to toss from the Moon Door so it may lay forever broken and bloody, but quickly dismissed the thought. Lysa wasn't worth the trouble.
The sun's last rays of light disappeared behind the mountains to the west, leaving the sky a mix of pale reds, yellows, and pinks. From behind her she heard the small cadre of servants and guards shuffle toward the staircase, but she remained standing where she was.
Her chest felt lighter than it had in a long while; her father and brother finally laid to rest, and she was on her own land, practically untouchable. A thought occured to her that she could simply not go back to the capital. She could stay in the Eyrie, send a message down to he waiting vanguard that she was staying and they should carry on. Ned would become Hand a little earlier than expected, and she could send for her things.
Best of all, she wouldn't have to marry Jaime. She wouldn't have to face him ever again. She could shut the Gates of the Moon and never have to deal with him - or anyone else - again.
High as Honor, my girl.
Her father's voice carried past her swiftly as the wind, gone as quickly as it had gone. She hated to admit it, but he was right. No honor lay in her half-baked plan. Running away from one's problems was a sign of cowardice and weakness, and she couldn't afford to be either anymore.
"My Lady," Bronson said from over her shoulder. "It's about to get much colder. We should go in for the night."
He was right, of course. The shades of pink had relinquished their spaces to shades of blue, a dark blanket started to creep over the horizon behind her. Once the sun went down in the Eyrie the temperature became almost punishingly cold this far off the ground.
Taking one last look toward where her family's ashes had dissipated, she followed her guard out of the wind and into the safety of the keep.
XXXXXXXXX
The next night, they were back at Stone. Maggy was loath to see her Mistress go, but Saoirse had placated her with the promise that she would return soon. Whether or not that was the truth, she had no idea.
King Robert and Ned had pulled together a small memorial ceremony in her absence. Tall pillar candles rested on every flat surface of the small godswood, giving the garden a lovely glow. It was warm, and Saoirse could swear she felt her father's presence. Robert told the story of his first meeting Jon Arryn when he visited Storm's End when Robert was a boy. How he'd run and hid when his father told him Lord Arryn would be taking him back to the Eyrie with him to foster.
Ned's story was more somber, about the day he'd found out his father and brother had died. Lord Arryn had comforted him, taught him what it was to be a man.
No one but Saoirse knew little Robbie well enough to speak, so he went unmentioned. Saoirse was fine with this. Not many had seen the potential Robbie had started to pursue in Winterfell. Most everyone in the room still saw him as a weakling. She didn't want him remembered in that way.
Like her own memorial, Saoirse lingered in the godswood long after the other mourners had left. It hadn't been a large group, maybe twenty or so, and they all came up to offer their condolences afterward. She'd thanked them with as much grace as she could muster, but she was getting worn out.
She sat in the glow of the flickering candles and took the time to relish being alone. They were to continue their journey in the morning, which meant wrangling the vanguard once more. She prayed for a quick journey, but something told her it would be anything but.
She heard a slithering of silk on the gravel of the godswood and turned toward the sound. The queen stood just inside the curved archway of the wood, her face neutral but beautiful. The light of the candles cast her face in a sharp contrast. Her green eyes held something dangerous as she glided over to Saoirse, who rose to her feet.
"Your grace," she said, curtsying lightly, "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Dispense with the niceties, you know why I'm here," Cersei snapped. Saoirse was taken aback. What had she done to the queen to elicit such a reaction? As a rule she always gave the queen a wide berth, even during their travels. She searched her mind for the last interaction with the queen and came up with nothing. At least, nothing that could offend her so.
"I'm sorry, your grace, but I don't know why you are here. Unless you wish to grieve my father, but -"
"I know you know about me and Jaime." The queen interrupted her, beautiful features darkening as she tilted her head toward Saoirse. Her red dress seemed to glow like an ember in the candlelight. If Saoirse wasn't careful, she would be set ablaze.
"What about you and Jaime?"
Cersei smirked and straightened her shoulders. "That my children are also his."
Saoirse felt as if she'd just been thrown back against the wall. Her breath left her all at once and her stomach churned.
Cersei was the mystery mother.
The queen.
His sister.
The mother of his bastards.
It was all Saoirse could do to not show the queen that she had, in fact, not known this secret. The blood drained from her face, but she kept her expression as unreadable as possible.
High as Honor, she reminded herself.
Before she could think of a response, Cersei continued with, "I've come to offer you something for your silence."
"What could you possibly offer me? What in the seven hells would I ever want from you?" A flash of anger spiked within her, but she pushed it down. She needed to keep a clear head.
"Littlefinger. He is quite loyal to me. So loyal that if I called him he would come running. I know where he is...all I have to do is send a raven. Once he is within the city walls he is yours to do with what you see fit."
Saoirse knew to tread carefully. Littlefinger wasn't loyal to anyone but himself, and the queen was a snake. To trust either one was folly of the most dangerous sort.
"How do I know you can deliver?" She asked, caution in her voice.
"You don't." Cersei moved further into the godswood, eyes flicking over the candles. Her face had returned to her permanently bored expression, as if this conversation was beneath her. In fact, this conversation could ruin her and both women knew it. All Saoirse had to do was tell Robert, and Tywin Lannister would lose two generations of family. Perhaps Tyrion would be spared, but that was it. This conversation was life or death for both of them, but Cersei acted as if they were discussing the weather.
That couldn't be a good sign.
Saoirse clasped her hands behind her back, reassuring herself that a dagger rested in its scabbard at the small of her back. "And what makes you so sure I won't tell Robert anyway?"
Cersei stopped her stroll and ran her long fingers over the flame of a nearby candle. "Because I am putting your father's killer and your would-be assassin right in your lap. Lannisters always pay their debts. Think over it, Lady Hand. I'm sure you'll make the right choice."
With that, she snuffed the candle out with the palm of her regal hand, turned, and left. As she watched the queen recede and was struck with the sinking feeling that she should've stayed in the keep.
AH So now Saoirse knows about Cersei! Ahhh why would Cersei come forward and offer up Littlefinger like that? Does she have any dastardly plans? Of course she does, she's Cersei. But you'll have to wait until next time!
In the words of House Stark, "Reviews are Coming"
Wait, that's not right. Oh well, leave a review anyway!
XOXO, Meghan