Hey. Sorry this one took so long cause I know I promised that I'd write more now that summer's here. It's just that this part is sooooo boring! It took me forever to get through it. I really can't wait to get to season two cause that's my favorite season and I have a lot planned for it. It's also when the M rating is really gonna kick in and you'll all get to see my darker side lol.
The Truth Revealed
When the King and queen arrived I was ordered to leave Ned's room. I fought to remain by his side but King Robert wouldn't have it. I don't believe I've ever seen him so angry before. He's always either drunk or completely uninterested in his surroundings. Never involved enough to care. It's different now.
I can't hear anything besides muffled grumblings as I pace back and forth before the door. I stop when I hear an increase in the volume of their conversation followed by complete and utter silence. A few seconds later the door swings open and I'm face to face with the queen whose cheek is swollen with patches of red creeping its way to the surface of her face.
The door clicks closed behind her and I remember my manners.
"Your Grace," I say with a slight bow before moving out of her path.
She says nothing, merely pushes past me and down the hall, cupping her cheek as she goes.
A few minutes after that the door swings open to reveal the King who is staring in the direction of Ned's bed shouting, "Seven Hells! Don't start with her again! The girl will die and I'll hear no more of it."
Is he talking about the Targaryen girl? Did Ned bring her up?
There's a moment where King Robert just stares blankly into the room. Then he raises his hand in the air and points a frustrated, shaking hand at Ned. "Put on the badge, and if you ever take it off again I swear to the Mother I'LL PIN THE DAMN THING ON JAMIE LANNISTER."
He stomps his way out of the room and down the hall without even noticing me slip past him and back into Ned's room. In the room I find a bewildered, mangled, sweaty Ned Stark still staring at the place his friend once stood. Even though I have taken it I can tell he doesn't see me.
"Ned?" I say, taking a step closer to his bedside.
No response.
"Ned?"
Now I'm at his bedside and I carefully lower myself beside him on the bed. I lay my hand down on his arm and he jolts to attention.
"Eliza?" He mumbles with a scarily weak voice.
"How are you?" I ask, stroking his lower arm.
"I've been better," he groans trying to reposition himself higher up. I help position him to prevent him from stretching his wound anymore and he notices the bandage around my arm.
"Are you alright?" he asks.
"Yea," I smile. "Just a scratch really. I can't believe I let that damned guard sneak up on me."
"You shouldn't have come," he sighs. "I should have left you here with the girls."
"What happened to 'when something dire happens I want you at my side'?" I smile cheekily but Ned looks unamused.
"We should have had more guards," he sighs again. "Just the two of us and…" Ned's eyes glance up at me asking the silent question.
I can't look him in the eyes as I respond.
"Jory died before he hit the ground," I speak only just above a whisper, as if avoiding saying it out loud will make it any less true.
Ned turns his head away but grasps my hand. I squeeze it tightly; the only form of comfort we can offer each other at the death of our friend.
"We have to leave," Ned says suddenly, releasing my hand and turning to get up from the bed.
"Right now?" I question, slightly confused. I jump up and run to the other side of the bed where he's attempting to swing his legs off. "Didn't his Grace just reinstate you as Hand? We can't leave now. Unless you want him to pin the bloody thing on Jamie Lannister."
"We have to get the imp back first," he says. "Sort out all this mess." He pushes up and succeeds on standing for all of two seconds before he comes crashing down on top of me. I wrap my arms under his and lock them around his back to support his stance before carefully sitting him back down on the bed.
"Ned," my voice is stern. "You need to think rationally. We can't leave Kings Landing, not now." I reach over to the other side of the bed where the Hands pin sits. "You are the Hand of the King, and Lord Varys has made it very clear what will happen if we leave. I know you. If we leave and something happens to Robert, you will never forgive yourself."
"The imp."
"I have met with Lord Tyrion. He is clever, and never closes his damned mouth. I doubt any true harm will come to him in such a short amount of time." Gods, I hope I'm right.
"We need to stay here," I continue. "Where we can protect the King and the Kingdom."
Ned sigh and groans a little in pain before responding, "I know your right, but I'm worried that Cat will do something foolish."
I can't argue with him in that regard. Catelyn has always put her family above everything else, and right now she believes Lord Tyrion is responsible for the attempted assassination on her son…
I have to believe she realizes how much more dangerous it is to kill him than to keep him in her custody.
It took a while for me to fully convince Ned that he had to pin the Hand's Pin back onto his chest. By the time I did he was limping around the palace on a cane, me at his side. I refuse to leave it after everything that's happened. Ned's making foolish mistakes, I need to watch out for him now; make sure he doesn't make anymore.
Since King Robert had left for his hunting trip Ned has been in command. Today a small group of elderly commoners arrived at the palace, and from the looks of them they have a horrible story to tell.
"They burned, almost everything in the Riverlands," the elderly man, I'm guessing the elder of the village they've come from says. "Our fields, our granaries, our homes!" Tears are splashing around in his eyes as he stands before the Iron throne, upon which Lord Stark sits.
"They took our women," the man continues, "and then they took 'em again. And when they was done, they butchered them like animals. They covered our children in pigs… and lit them on fire." My stomach tightens with the image.
"Brigens most likely," Master Pycelle mumbles on Ned's far left.
"They weren't thieves," the old man pipes up. "They didn't steal nothing. They even left something behind, Your Grace."
"This is the Kings Hand you're addressing! Not the King! The King is hunting," Maester Pycelle bellows upon Neds improper identification. Out of the corner of my eye I see Ned scoff under his breath.
I turn back towards the elderly men when I hear a sloshing sound. On the floor is a heaping, rancid pile of fish and blood. The court groans in disgust and I see many ladies cover their faces with cloths to avoid the putrid smell that is enveloping the room.
"Fish," Lord Pyter chirps beside me. "The sigil of House Tully." He then leans across where I'm standing towards Ned and whispers, "Isn't that your wife's house? Tully, Lord Hand?" He speaks louder than a whisper, obviously wanting more than just Ned and I to hear what he says. Feeling the tension rise as Ned and the weasel stare at one another I step between them. I eye Lord Baelish warily being sure he sees my hand wresting on my sword. He eases back into his chair and continues to take note of the proceedings of the court.
"These men," Ned bellows, tapping his finger impatiently against the iron throne. "Were they flying a sigil?" The man looks at him blankly so Ned rewords his question. "A banner?"
"None your," he gulps down the wrong label and bellows out the proper one. "The one who was leading them, taller by a foot than any man I ever met. I saw him cut the blacksmith in two. Saw him take the head off a horse with a single swing of his sword."
With each descriptive word he says the image of the man comes to my mind. When he mentions the horse there is no doubt in my mind who this frightened old man is describing.
"The Mountain."
I state his name without meaning to and the entire court looks at me. It is not my place to speak here, however I can tell they all know that I'm right. I look to Ned for his response.
"You're describing Ser Gregor Clegane."
"Now why should Ser Gregor turn Brigen?" Pycelle grumbles eyeing me. "The man is an anointed knight."
An anointed knight who nearly killed a young man and pressed his brothers' face to a fire.
I take a deep breath to prevent myself from arguing with the old man out loud.
"I've heard him called Tywin Lannister's mad dog," Lord Baelish states, arguing with the old man. "I'm sure you have as well."
It's my first time hearing that the Mountain has connections with the Lannisters, although I'm not at all surprised. The killer of men and the blonde devils seem like a perfect match for one another.
Once more Lord Pyter leans across me and loudly whispers to Ned. "Can you think of any reason the Lannister's might possibly have for being angry with your wife?"
This time Ned visibly shows his annoyance with Littlefinger and I take that as an incentinve to push him back into his chair.
"You open your mouth one more time before this court, and I'll escort you out myself," I growl into his ear. He chuckles, making my anger fume but raises his hand up to me in defeat before settling back into his seat.
"If the Lannisters were to order attacks on villages under the King's protection it would be."
Hearing the damned old man defending the Lannister's, I can't help but speak my mind.
"They attacked the Hand of the King in the streets of the capital for all to see," I state sternly, boldly. "What makes this any different?"
My words lull Maester Pycelle back into silence.
Ned eyes me warily, a silent warning to watch what I say, before he turns back to the old village men.
"I cannot give you back your homes, or restore your dead to life," he says and the men sniffle and stare down at their feet. "But perhaps I can give you justice in the name of our King Robert." The village leaders head perks back up at this, and both he and I are staring at Ned, although our mindsets may be slightly different. He looks hopeful, while I no doubt look concerned for the decision it sounds Ned is about to make.
"Lord Beric Dondarrion!" Ned calls out, and a man moves his way before the throne.
"You shall have the command," Ned says and the knight nods in reply. "Assemble one hundred man and ride to Ser Gregors keep."
I let out a breath when I realize that Ned is only asking the knight to return that damned bastard to Kings Landing. Not ask him to do something foolish like return with his head.
The knight nods once more, "As you command."
Ned shifts in his seat and reaches out for his cane. I move forward as he rises onto his feet, prepared should he slip or fall. I expect us to be exiting the hall now, but instead Ned speaks again.
"In the name of Robert and the House Baratheon, in the first of his name, King of the Adel's and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and protector of the realm. I charge you to bring justice to the false knight Gregor Clegane and all those who shared in his crimes."
I command you to return with the scoundrel Ser Gregor Clegane, I finish in my head.
"I denounce him and attained him. I strip him of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death."
Or he could say something like that and give the Lannisters even more cause to want him dead.
I restrain myself from speaking because I know that if I opened my mouth right now, I'd speak to Ned the same way I do in private and back home. My earlier outbursts were acceptable, but shouting at the Hand of the King that he's a complete twat is not something I should do right now. Luckily I don't have to say anything, Maester Pycelle – or course – has something to say.
"My Lord! This, this is a drastic action. It would be better to wait for King Roberts return."
I can't believe I'm agreeing with a Lannister sympathizer.
Please Ned, listen to reason.
"Grand master Pycelle," Ned bellows, implying for the old man to shut up and the man quickly backs down.
"Send a raven to Casterly Rock," Ned commands of Pycelle. "Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to court to answer for the crimes of his banner men. He will arrive within the fortnight, or be branded an enemy of the crown and a traitor to the realm."
The entire court gasps and whispers amongst themselves at Ned's declaration, and I'm restraining myself from smacking him upside the head.
If it had been under any other circumstances, I would be overrun with joy at this treatment of the Lannisters, but under these circumstances… Ned, what are you thinking?
Ned bows his head and the court is dismissed. He starts making his way down the stairs and I scurry after him as quickly as I can, Lord Baelish close behind me.
"Ned, do you really think that was…"
"A bold move my Lord," Baelish interrupts me and if it hadn't been for every eye in the room locked on our small group, I would have jabbed my hilt into his gut.
"And admirable," he continues, "but is it wise to yank the lions tail? Tywin Lannister's the richest man in all the Seven Kingdoms." This is strange. Littlefinger is giving Ned good advice…. Why? He doesn't seem like the kind of man to do something like this. Especially not for Ned. I can tell just by the way he looks at Lord Stark that he has a hidden agenda. I don't trust this damned weasel.
"Gold wins wars, not soldiers!" Lord Baelish finally shouts as Ned and I scurry away.
"Then how come Robert is King, and not Tywin Lannister?" Ned retaliates.
Once we're out of the hall and far from the crowds I shuffle in front of Ned forcing him to stop in his tracks. He looks at me bewildered.
"What are you thinking?" I ask.
"I'm thinking that this Kingdom is falling apart and Robert isn't doing anything to save it. I'm the Hand of the King, it's now my responsibility to protect both Robert and his kingdom."
"You realize," and I hate to say it, "Lord Baelish is right. Now isn't the time to be tugging on the lions tail. Especially when one of the lions has already taken a bite out of you." I indicate to his wounded leg.
"Of all the people to disagree with me, I never expected you to."
"There's a time and a place," I sigh. "Now is not the time."
"It's now or never Eliza."
Ned then pushes past me and makes his way down the hall.
Due to our disagreement Ned has barred me from his office. With my sudden abundance of free time I decided to check on the girls. Arya was training and when I attempted to join in she insisted that she didn't need a babysitter, assuming that her father had sent me. So I decided to spend the remainder of the day with Sansa.
At this point her lessons were over and she and the Septon were practicing their needlework in our living quarters. Septon threw a sowing set at me in an attempt to teach me, something I've been refusing for years, and still refuse to do now.
I lean up against a pillar altering my view between Sansa and the sky.
Sansa is still rather frustrated and remains utterly silent since the moment I entered the area, and no doubt she's been just as quiet prior to my arrival. Her frustration still lingering from the previous day.
"You wear your hair like a southerner now," I say, observing the intricate braids that sit atop her head. Much like the young girls that giggled at her whilst we were traveling here I can't help but notice.
Sansa ceases her sowing and glances up at me. "Why shouldn't I? We're in the South."
I fidget slightly against the pillar. "It's important to remember where you come from," I say shifting my gaze back towards the sky. In the back of my mind I picture something I haven't seen in a long time; a small green door leading into a tiny little shed filled with hay dirt.
"I'm not sure your mother would like these new styles," Septon says yanking me away from Bravos and back into Kings Landing.
"My mother isn't from the North," Sansa quips.
"I'm aware of that," Septon says solemnly, placing her sowing down in her lap.
A few moments of silence go by as the old woman looks at Sansa with a small, sad smile and the red-haired girl stitches. Finally growing annoyed with her, Sansa snaps, "Why do you care? Do you even have hair under there?" She indicates to the cloth tied tightly around Septons head and it's then I realize that even I myself have not seen her without it.
Septons smile grows slightly brighter. "Yes," she chirps, "I have hair."
"I've never seen it," Sansa says.
"Would you like to?" Septon asks.
Sansa raises a brow and flatly says, "No." She goes back to her sowing before turning back in Septons direction. "Where are you from anyway? The North or the South?" she asks.
Septons smile finally reaches her eyes. "I come, from a very small village…"
"Oh wait, I just realized I don't care," Sansa says flatly before beginning her needlework again.
"Sansa," I say harshly.
"Eliza," she replies coldly eyeing me.
"Don't be rude," I scold, but the hidden harshness in my tone gets through to her and she drops her head down.
Behind me I hear footsteps and I push off the pillar hoping it's Ned. I am unfortunately mistaken.
Trotting into our room is none other than Jofferey Baratheon.
Sansa and Septon quickly rise up from their seats and greet him accordingly. I on the other hand lean my shoulder up against the pillar once more and roll me eyes.
The prince nods towards Septon and his eyes linger on me for a few seconds, once again staring me up and down. I feel a shiver run down my spine at his cold blue eyes.
"My prince," Sansa says, and his gaze shifts off of me and onto her.
"My Lady," the boy says with a small bow. "I fear I have behaved monstrously the past few weeks." I roll my eyes and see Septon giving me a reproachful look.
"With your permission," the boys says jingling a necklace in front of Sansa that I can't quite see. I'm almost disgusted by the exuberant smile that plasters across Sansa's face – the first smile I've seen her make in weeks – due to him. She turns around so that her back is facing the Prince as he secures the chain around her neck.
"It's beautiful," she chirps, turning around so I can get a better look at it. "Like the one your mother wears." I can't help but think that it was her Majesty that recommended he give her the piece of jewelry.
"You'll be Queen someday," Joffrey says and my insides recoil. "So it's fitting you should look the part. Will you forgive me for my rudeness?"
"There's nothing to forgive," Sansa quickly replies.
Not a few days ago she was still crying over Lady's death and wailing over the fact that his royal princely-ness wasn't speaking to her at all. Just because of a necklace and a poor performance of kindness she's just going to forgive him? Ned is right, she isn't ready for the capitol.
"You're My Lady," Joffrey says placing his hands on Sansa's shoulders. My fingers twitch at my belt. "One day we'll be married in the throne room. Lords and Ladys from all over the Seven Kingdoms will come. From the Last Hearth in the North to the Salt Shore of the South. And you will me Queen of all of them."
With each word that leaves his lips Sansa's smile grows brighter and brighter till I nearly want to slap it off of her. She is just a child.
"I'll never disrespect you again. I'll never be cruel to you again," he continues and a voice in the back of my head chirps out a warning. Shouting at me that it's a lie.
"Do you understand me?" he asks and I notice his fingers tighten around her shoulders.
Sansa nods, not noticing the change in pressure.
"You're my Lady now," he says, his right hand moving up and cupping her cheek. "From this day, until my last day."
I knew it was going to happen the moment he placed his hand on her cheek, but when he actually leans in and kisses her… I hadn't even noticed I was pulling my sword free until I felt Septons hand wrap around my wrist and stop me. I nod and she slips her fingers away and I let my sword slide back into place. I roll my hand into a fist and cross my arms over my chest, locking my hand with my opposite arm.
Every inch of my flesh is burning and it takes all of my willpower not to stick the boy in the back as he exits the room.
Sansa's fingers trace the outline of her smiling lips as he goes.
I leave the room before I say something that will put her back into the hole of despair she's been in since we arrived. I'm glad she's back to being her usual cheerful self, but knowing that the cost was having that boy's lips on hers… I can't stand it.
The Godswood is the only place in the castle I feel I can go to and not have eyes peering at me. My fingers trace across the face carved into the pale bark of the tree before I kneel down and lean up against its trunk.
I wonder how Lady Catelyn is doing. If she has snapped back into reality and let Tyrion go. I hope she's made it back to Winterfell by now and is helping Robb. The stress of being the protector of Winterfell and defender of the North must be a heavy burden. Especially without Catelyn, Ned, or myself there to help him. The only one he has is Theon… and unless Robb has decided to take care of the North from beneath a woman's skirt, he's useless.
Then Jon pops into my head. It's been a while since I've thought about him.
I hope that he's doing well up at the Wall. What he envisioned it as is most likely not what it is. The respect and dignity that once belonged to the title of a Knight's Watchman has been diminished over the years. Jon may be one of the few honorable men that has taken the black.
I just hope he's finally found what he's been looking for there. I hope he's happy if not content.
"What are you doing here?"
I jump at the sound of Ned's voice.
"I just," I look from Ned, to the weirwood tree. "I needed somewhere that felt more familiar." My fingers once again trail across the tree's face as Ned makes his way closer.
Ned's head dips in understanding, he himself probably being here for the same reason. Standing underneath the white and red of the weirwood almost creates the illusion that we're home.
Ned slowly wobbles his way over beside me and wrests his hand on the bark above my shoulder; securing both his stance and mental state.
"It's almost like being home, isn't it?" His voice is sad as he caresses the tree.
I nod my head.
His hand slips from the bark and he limps away from me and back towards where he came. He call's over his shoulder, "Retrieve the girls and meet me in my study."
I jump up to my feet and call out, "What's happening Ned?"
"Something you've been trying to convince me to do since we first set foot in this damned place."
The girls and I have been waiting in Ned's office for longer than I expected. I had pulled Arya out of a late night training match with Syrio and she wasn't happy about it. Sansa keeps rolling her eyes with every complaint that comes out of her younger sisters mouth.
I'm leaned up against Ned's desk fiddling with the pages of the Chronicle wondering why Ned asked me to bring the girls here so suddenly.
When Ned finally walks in I stand more at attention. Ned nods and me and I return one.
He looks to the girls with a solemn expression.
"I'm sending you back to Winterfell."
Both confession and joy well up within me.
For Sansa however, only sheer contempt.
"What?" she cries. Ned attempts to argue but Sansa quickly cuts him off. "What about Joffrey?"
I roll my eyes.
"Are you dying because of your leg?" Arya asks worried. "Is that why you're sending us home?"
"What?" Ned says aghast. "No."
"Please father! Please don't!" Sansa begs.
"You can't," Arya, surprisingly agrees with her sister. "I've got my lessons with Syrio! I'm finally getting good!" I'd expect she'd be more than happy to return home. I suppose leaving Syrio would be the only difficulty for her, but I didn't expect that to be such a large factor.
"This isn't a punishment. I want you back in Winterfell for your own saftey," Ned says, and my curiosity in knowing how he finally came to the realization that the girls should leave is peaked.
"Can we take Syrio back with us?" Arya asks.
"Who cares about your stupid dancing teacher," I smirk at the fact that Sansa still hasn't realized Arya's "dancing" lessons aren't really dancing lessons. She really is too foolish to remain here.
"I can't go!" she continues. "I'm supposed to marry Prince Joffrey! I love him and I'm meant to be his queen and have his babies!"
I let out an agitated sigh as Arya scoffs, "Seven Hells." I think I even see Ned's lips quirk up for half a second.
"Sansa," I say pushing off from the desk and kneeling in front of her. "When you're older, your father and mother will make you a match with someone who is truly worthy of you. Someone brave, handsome, and strong. Like in the songs you love."
Sansa shoves away my hand laying on her knee and jumps to her feet. "I don't want someone brave and gentle and strong! I want him!"
As I rise to my feet Arya and I lock eyes and smirk.
"He'll be the greatest King that ever was!" Sansa continues, trying to argue with her father but clearly failing by the look he gives me when I stand beside him.
"He'll be a golden lion and I'll give him sons with beautiful blonde hair!"
Ned stiffens beside me and the mirth in his eyes disintegrates.
"The lion's not his sigil idiot!" Arya scolds Sansa. "He's a stag like his father."
"He is not! He's nothing like that old drunk king!"
Now my body stiffens.
I picture King Robert beside his son and… Sansa's right. Both in looks and behavior, that boy is nothing like his son. Robert may be a drunk and a fool, but he is an honest and kind man. Joffrey… is cold, and has this feel about him that makes my toes curl and all of my instincts boil.
They are nothing alike.
"Go on girls," Ned suddenly speaks pulling my consciousness back into the room. "Get the Septon and start packing up your things."
The girls both growl in protest but Ned ignores then making his way behind his desk. As I watch him I can see that something has clicked inside his head.
"Come on girls," I say, motioning the two out the door. "Do as your father says. We'll leave at noon tomorrow."
The girls grumble until the door closes behind them and then I bolt to the side of Ned's desk.
"What is it?" My voice comes out in a rush. "Sansa is right. Joffrey is nothing like his father. Not is mentality nor appearance." Suddenly the image of the bastard newborn at Lord Baelish's establishment plops into my mind; the dark haired child.
My thoughts instantly go to the Chronicle, and no sooner do I go to mention it does Ned have it open and turned to the page on House Baratheon.
"Lord Orris Baratheon," Ned reads, "black of hair."
His finger skims down to another name. "Axel Baratheon, black of hair."
Again and again each name proclaims the child black of hair. From the first name of the house all the way through.
Finally we reach King Robert. "Robert Baratheon, black of hair," Ned reads.
His finger stills on the next name and I find myself having to read it out loud just so we can be sure our theory is correct.
"Joffrey Baratheon," I breathe. "Golden haired."
Ned falls back in his chair and as he does the books pages flutter shut.
"So," my voice is just a whisper. "This means that."
"Joffrey isn't Robert son."