NOTE: Hi guys! I'm back!
I'm kind of scared now to be frank ^^'
The last chapter didn't seem to be well-loved. I mean, without any comment on it I can't be sure if I did good or no... And to be frank I spend the last two weeks wondering if I hadn't made a mistake with this chapter. Maybe I changed too many things on the Wall. Or maybe I was not as clear as I thought I was with this chapter.
So now I'm scared XD I really hope you'll enjoy this...
I don't have many things to say about this one. It's a long one, for sure. I try to cover the tourney and to add the things I change without going back and back in the scenes we all know. I also try to put everything in place, for the good of the plot! So now things are all falling in place quickly. I know a lot of you wonder what I plan to do with Ned and Cersei and everything that happens at the end of season 1. Well we are slowly coming here! Thigs are about to get interesting.
Anyway, I really hope you'll like this! See you down there!
Chapter 13: Clever girl…
Year 298 after the Conquest, month Seventh and eighth.
Kingslanding.
Kyria
Clever girl.
That was how everyone liked to call her those days. Father always called her that. Mother used to do it, Maester Luwin too, often when he found her in the library, back home.
It didn't feel true anymore. Not like it did at Winterfell when it was just her and her family.
She didn't feel clever. Not now, not here. Not South, where everything kept pulling her attention, like small excited children running around asking to play.
She couldn't think. Not like she did back home. She felt wrong here. She had so many things to think about, and so little time to do so. She had to think, she needed to think to be clever now more than ever, and yet, she couldn't. There was always something else.
Days were confusing, melting in each other, so much that the line between them was nothing more than troubled water.
One day she learned that someone had tried to kill Bran while he was still unconscious, then came another day and Bran has woken. Then came another day and the sentence fell: he could barely walk. Without help, it was almost impossible for him to stand up, let alone walk. A solution had been found the day after. A device on his leg, gifted to him by the imp from what Father was saying.
All those things happened at different times, yet for her, it felt like one lonely very long day.
She felt restless. Not unlike she was back home. She had hoped, maybe foolishly, that coming South with Father would have changed that. That actively deciding to try everything she could to change those dreams, and her family fate would change that. It didn't.
It didn't help, it made everything worse. She had so many things to do, to think of, to change. So many things she could do. Everyday thousand ideas were invading her, again and again. All the time. When she crossed someone on a corridor, she thought what if. When a knight bowed to her in the garden, she thought why not. When some lady of the court chipped her courtesy with a false smile on her face, just to be well seen by the Hand's daughter, she thought maybe...
She thought, every day, every time. But it was all she was doing. Nothing more.
The truth was, she didn't know what to do. She was afraid. Afraid to make a mistake. To make things worse.
And if only that was the lone problem.
No. No, it couldn't be so simple. Being in Kingslanding had the wonderful side effect of teaching her a very hard lesson. She was nothing. Just a girl with a name and a house that came with it. Just a girl with a good type of blood running through her veins. A blood and a name priceless up North, but as useless as the dust on her shoes.
It wasn't even completely true. She wasn't only useless for what she intended to do here. She was desired. A face pretty enough with a good name on it. A woman. A price to gain for favors given to the Hand of the King.
A good price to add on one Lord's arm. Nothing more.
She didn't grow up in a place like that, she didn't know how to deal with it. How to play. No matter how many books she read about, it, she never truly experienced politics. Not first hand. Not like here.
She was useless here. And she had been truly stupid to think otherwise. Stupid and naive.
She tried so. She tried as much as she could. To help, so support. Anything she could. She couldn't ignore her father's always more tired face. She knew she had to try…
Every evening when Father came back from his day, looking tired and defeated, she tried to talk to him, to make him talk maybe, to confess himself. She wanted to relieve him from whatever was weighed on his shoulders.
"Father..." she asked softly. "Is everything alright?"
He blinked a couple of times and looked at her, his face softened. He grabbed the hand she had put on his shoulder and rubbed it with his fingers.
"It's alright darling, do not trouble yourself,"
She pressed her lips. That was not what she wanted to hear.
"Are you sure?" she asked again.
He nodded and kissed her hand. Kyria sighed and put her cheek against her father's hair. He was good at making her feel like a youngling. Why couldn't he just stop being so stubborn and talk to her? He hugged her back with a soft smile.
"You know you can talk to me," she said softly. "I'm not a child anymore,"
He chuckled and pat her arm.
"I know my dear. But it is nothing you can make better that easily,"
So there was something wrong...
"Father...I'm sorry but I disagree," she said softly. "I don't think you can solve everything by talking to me. But at least you can share something with me." he was about to open his mouth, but she didn't let him. "I know that I know nothing of what might be happening in the small council. But I do know you, Father. I know you don't like it here. I don't like it either. And I know you despite this place. But Father, I can help you, if you let me." she pressed his hand a bit harder. " Let me help you, Please."
Part of her wanted her Father to explain everything. To finally have something to work with. Some information, anything. Just something useful so she could finally start helping her family. Something to help her understand this place a bit more, and the reason why this place felt so frightening.
That was a lot to ask and she knew that. But still…
She hoped. Foolishly maybe.
"It's nothing Darling..." he said again.
Of course, it wasn't. But what else could she say? She didn't want her Father to close up to her. Besides what would be the point? Burdening him with even more worries besides his own? No, she wasn't there for that.
With a resigned sigh, she took place comfortably in front of the slowly burning fire and opened the book she had brought with her, where she had last left it. She read quietly for a couple of hours, peacefully enjoying her father's presence on her back.
Frost joined her, at some point. He sniffed her feet curiously, undoubtedly wondering why did she steal the best place in front of the fire.
She smiled and rubbed his soft nose.
"You're jealous, boy?" she asked with a smile.
Frost snorted, his face close to what she supposed would be a frown for a human being. He whined a little, pleading his cause with all the strength hidden behind his large eyes. Kyria giggled. It was worth a try, she couldn't blame him for that.
"Come here," she said softly, pointing at her legs.
Frost sniffed at her legs curiously, then walked slowly around her, his head low and bumping against her as often as his path permitted it. When he was satisfied with whatever this was, he took place behind her, so her back would rest against his side comfortably.
Kyria smiled and rubbed his large head now resting against his paws. Then she went back to her reading.
"What are you reading?" asked Father after a time.
Kyria smiled behind her hair. If it wasn't for the warmth of the fire in front of her, she could have believed to be at home. In the Godswoods where they spend so much time talking.
"A book about Religions in Braavos,"
"Braavos hm?"
She nodded, looking up to his eyes.
It was good to see that smile on his face.
They talked quietly about her book, she would read a paragraph or a sentence, and then they would talk about it. They would talk about religion, then culture, differences. At some point, they started talking about the Wildling back home. It was strange to think about. It always moved something in her gut. She couldn't explain it.
She had learned not to try to explain everything when it was about her… gut feelings. It was easier this way. For her headaches as well as her sanity.
At some point, Nymeria took place next to her brother, her silent step unperceptive until she lay against Frost's larger flank. She sniffed him curiously and he nipped her hear as a response.
"Do you think that means Arya will join us soon?"
Father chuckled and pat her head. His hand slipped on the long locks falling on her shoulder. She had let them free on her shoulders that night, tired of all those braids she had to put in her hair to discipline it a little and not look like a mad women half the time. She did love her hair a lot, but keeping them so long had its inconvenients.
"Maybe..." answered Father.
The movement of his hand was stopped by a chambermaid who tried not so quietly to rearrange whatever is needed to be rearranged somewhere behind them. Kyria briefly looked at her. Long enough to notice the flash of blue that her eyes gave when she looked in their direction.
Was she a spy too?
Was everyone around this Keep the spy of someone else? She was afraid of knowing the answer to this question…
Repressing her frustration at this idea, Kyria took her lecture back where she left it, trying to ignore then annoying thought. She didn't want to think about this now.
When she looked up, maybe fifteen minutes later, Lady had joined what looked more and more like a puppy pile and was watching her with great attention. Kyria huffed and scratched the she-wolf's ear with affection. Such a sweet thing. Even in her monstrous weight, she looked delicate.
"They all seem to like the sound of your voice my dear," observed Father.
"You think so?"
He nodded with a tired smile.
"They always seem to do so, didn't you notice?"
"Not really. I just thought they were the same with every one of us," she explained slowly.
Father shacked his head slowly.
"Only you and Robb have that effect on them."
"Really?" smiled Kyria. "so what we are the alpha pair?" she snorted, amused by her idea. "How strange."
Father escaped a soft huff behind her, drawing her attention away from the pages of her book.
She looked at his face, saddened by the new wrinkles that had appeared again on his skin. It was strange to see this face who used to never change back home growing older day after day.
She hated what this place was doing to her Father.
"I should get some rest," he announced with a scratch on his growing beard. "And so should you, my girl. It's getting late,"
"Yes Father," nodded the young lady absentmindedly.
Ned kissed the crown of her head, one calloused hand resting in the girl's soft cheek. Then, with a last used smile, he quit his seat and made his way to his room.
"Father," she called.
"Yes, Kyria?"
"You- If something is bothering you… you should talk to someone. Even if it's not me." she said awkwardly.
A dark shadow crossed his eyes.
"There is no one to talk to in this viper nest."
"But-"
"Good Night Kyria. We have some long days ahead of us," said Lord Stark on his way to the door.
Kyria closed her mouth, glaring frustratingly at the floor.
Well, at least she spent some time with her father. That was always something, isn't it?
Determinate to ignore her way too loud heartbeat, Kyria went to her room. There was nothing else left to do tonight. Leaving the book on the corner of her table, she slowly undressed, one lace after the other, lost in her mind. Then, with only her thin shift, she curled herself under the covers like a child after a nightmare. The tourney in her father's honor coming closer and closer, there was this feeling of urgency crawling in the back of her mind. Like a beast locked up in a cage waiting impatiently for the hand who's feeding him to make a mistake. To set it free.
She didn't sleep well that night. Her dreams were full of white faceless silhouettes and raging scream resonating all around here. She didn't want to understand what they were saying. It felt better to called it the cry of a sheep for the rest of the herd.
Sheep didn't cut heads after all.
Except they did… All night long. And it was one of those she couldn't blink away.
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Today was the big day. The day all the keep had been waiting since they arrived. The tourney.
Kyria wasn't one of those who waited impatiently for this. She'd rather had stayed all day buried in her bed, or the library. Sweet sweet library.
Unfortunately, not everyone shared her dispositions regarding the coming event.
As so, Kyria found herself shacked awake by a rather impatient hand, owned by no one but her darling little sister.
Sansa's face appeared on top of Kyria, a wide smile on her pretty face. She was still wearing her nightshift, but her hair was already dressed prettily, in something very close to those southern's ladies. Kyria wasn't sure she liked it...
Well at least she didn't seem to want to torture her with the same kind of hairstyle.
She liked her simple braid like it was thank you very much.
Besides, it was useful to keep attention away from her.
"Wake up Kyria! I had the most wonderful idea for you this morning! You are going to love it you'll see! Go on, wake up! We are going to be late for the tourney!"
"Sansa, it's too soon for that yet. The tourney won't start before late morning," she grumbled, eager to bury herself back under the blanket.
"But there is no time! I still have to dress up and to take care of your hair and your dress and then there is Arya too!" she shacked Kyria's shoulder again, impatient and loud, "Kyria! Wake up!"
"What are you talking about? Go prepare yourself and leave me be! What are you, my handmaiden?"
Even though she couldn't see from under her cocoon, Kyria could have sworn she heard Sansa roll her eyes.
"No but I am your sister and I know how to make you look pretty!" she said impatiently. The south seemed to have a bad influence on her… "Come on Kyria wake up! Please, for me!"
… That was playing unfair and she knew it.
"You're not playing fair," she mumbled.
"I know but please! I am certain you are going to love this! I thought about it just yesterday and Sara helped me pick the flowers so they could be fresh today!"
"Flowers?" repeated Kyria, discovering an eye to glare at the bubble of energy that couldn't stop popping in the middle of her bedroom.
Sansa's smile would have blinded the sun.
She didn't have much of a choice...With a heartbreaking groan, Kyria let go of her sheets and allowed her sister to drag her out of her bed. The girl enthusiastically did so, not wasting a minute before forcing her sister into the dress she chose for the day, a dark blue skirt with a lighter bodice stitched with pearls and lines similar to the color of the skirt. Her sleeves were longer than what she was used to, closer to her skin around the shoulder also. But she did like the thick belt, almost similar to a corset against her belly.
Sansa clapped happily, admiring her work with Kyria's outfit.
"Perfect! Now I only need to do your hair!"
"Thank you, Sansa, but I think a simple braid will be enough."
She couldn't have looked more offended if Kyria had kicked a puppy in front of her. Or ate the last of her precious lemon cakes. Whatever was best.
"A braid? But Kyria! Your hair is so long and shiny and pretty! Why would you want to braid them? I can't let you do such a thing!" she protested, most eagerly.
"Sansa-" tried Kyria.
"No this won't do! Sara, Jenny and I spend a lot of time choosing which flower would end up in your hair! Just like we did with mine!" she pointed her head, effectively orned with a couple of pale roses, that went beautifully with Sansa's red hair. Were they the same color as her dress? "I won't let you ruin our work with a braid! How awful!"
The girl pouted. Kyria rolled her eyes in the reflecting glass.
"You are getting rather theatrical dear sister. I wonder if the South has a bad influence on your quiet temper."
Sansa blushed, a little pout on her pretty face.
"But Kyria! A tourney! We never went to a tourney before! And I am to be queen someday! I have to be perfect today! Just as you and Arya do! So that when people will look at us, they won't see Northen Savages!"
"We are not Northen Savages. There are no Northen savages South of the Wall." protested the older sister.
"I know but they don't!" said Sansa. "Do you think me deaf? I hear them. That's what they call us. All around the keep! They think we do not belong South of the Neck."
They weren't wrong if Kyria had anything to say about it.
"I want to prove them wrong!" announced Sansa with an unfamiliar determination.
This place was affecting her sister. She seemed to be… blossoming, somehow. She couldn't tell exactly what brought this change in her, the South, the people, the accomplishment of her lifelong dream to come in such a place… It could be many things truly. But it worried her. Kyria knew this was not a good place for her sister. Like for the rest of their family. She believed that the sooner they were away from this place, the better it would be for all of them.
But seeing Sansa like that… more lively than she ever was back home… Kyria couldn't help but doubt herself…
What if being South was what was better for her little sister? What to do then? A bit lost in the complications of this situation, Kyria held Sansa's gaze on the glass. Silent and thoughtful.
Was it selfish to wish they never had to leave home? She wasn't sure anymore...
Sansa smiled.
"You'll see sister, we are going to be perfect!"
she clapped her hands and, as some kind of signal, Sara and Maerys opened her door. The blond handmaiden had something blue in her hands, and a wide smile on her face.
It took a minute for Kyria to recognize the flower.
"A Winter rose?! Sansa have you lost your mind?" she cried when the flower was close enough.
Sansa's face flushed with hurt, but Kyria didn't let it slow her and add:
"Don't you know the symbolism behind Winter roses? So far south with that!? This is madness!"
"What are you talking about Kyria? Winter roses are of the North, I thought it would be of good taste to remind people that we are from the North, although we are not savages! Just like my roses are white like snow!" explained passionately the little girl.
"I understand, but Sansa, don't you know who was the last person who wore Winter roses in her hair?!"
Sansa blinked owlishly. She looked like Robb for a moment.
"I know you spend time on this sister but I can't in good conscience appear in front of the court with the same roses that started the Rebellion or Robert and ended up with our aunt death!"
The girl paled drastically, a hand flying to her face. Before she could talk, however, Sara giggled happily.
"Oh do not worry my lady! No one ever cared about Winter roses in ladies' hair! You won't be the first one for sure! Some even ask the gardeners to plant more bush so they have plenty of choice concerning their hairdressing!" she shared happily.
Kyria's eyes sharpened immediately. She highly doubted every word coming from that pretty mouth. A lot of ladies with blue roses in their hair? With The symbolism behind it? She didn't think so. That was a big fat ugly lie. Still, the blond creature kept going.
"Besides," she added, "we all agreed to this dress because of the perfect match with those roses. Look at the bodice! The bird on the shoulder! He rests on a rose! Could you imagine a more perfect association?"
Kyria looked at her dress. She could indeed notice a tiny bird on her right shoulder, who's little head was half buried inside the silhouette of a large rose, who ran down her back. She touched it with the tip of her fingers and looked up.
Sansa was pleading with her, along with Sara and the other pretty think on their heels, Jenny she thought she was called.
She didn't know what to think. She knew, deep down that this was the worst idea Sansa ever had. To have a Stark Daughter with Winter roses in her hair was begging for trouble. From the King, surely, but from Father too! He lost his sister after all, and Kyria knew he loved her very much. She knew very well that blue roses were linked to Lyanna Stark for the rest of the eternity. As long as there will be talking about Robert Baratheon's rebellion.
That was known as such. And, so soon after it… no, it would be a farce for another Stark to have such a thing in her hair right under the nose of the man who fought an entire country for the last Stark with blue on her hair.
Promise me…
No. No, she couldn't do that. She couldn't put her Father in such a situation. She looked up, to Sansa's face, and the roses on the maid's hands.
"I can't let you put those in my hair." she decided finally.
"Kyria!" protested Sansa.
"No, Sansa listen. The King was betrothed to our aunt. Then Rhaegar Targaryen noticed her in a tourney just like this one. He put a crown of winter roses in her head, and then took her away and raped her! And now you want me to present myself on a tourney, in our Father honor, my hair dressed with the same flowers that brought so many heartbreaks in the Kingdom? Sister, you should know, better than anyone the offense that clothes and hair can make if mistakenly gathered."
Sansa looked at the maids around her, as if for help. Both girls exchange meaningful glances. It made Kyria wonder. Why were they so eager for her to wear those flowers? They worked for the Queen, of that Kyria was sure.
Did that mean the Queen wanted her to make such a misstep? Did she want Kyria to- To what? What could she gain from such a thing? It was no secret that the King still loved aunt Lyanna. His behavior when he arrived Winterfell was proof enough. And if he was still attached to her memory almost twenty years after the Rebellion, surely mere months after it, on the early hours of his wedding with Cersei, it had been worse.
Kyria tried to picture the scene. A woman as prideful as the Queen, to be looked down in favor of a ghost. Twice if she believed the rumors about Cersei and the Targaryens. She mustn't have taken this well… Well, Kyria knew she would not take this well and she held no pride in her good looks. Or at least nothing compared to the Queen's vanity.
But that made no sense…
Unless… Unless she was trying to create discord between her father and the King?
No… Flowers couldn't be enough for such a thing…
Couldn't they?
This was not the point anyway. She was not going to do it. End of discussion.
"Kyria, please! It would be so pretty in your hair! And Sara is right, what wrong could that do?"
"My lady do not fret! I am sure everyone will admire our work!"
No. Whatever was the Queen's reason, she couldn't let her do that.
"If you want to put flowers in my hair, make them white roses. Or any other kind of blue flowers if you really must. But I won't accept Winter roses."
She couldn't risk it.
Sansa tried to bargain with Kyria for a long moment, but her sister wouldn't have it. She was decided on the matter. In the end, Maerys saved the day. She appeared in the middle of Sansa's plead, with one big white rose and a handful of little blue flowers. She quickly arranged all of it to fit in her hair, and the result was as perfect as always.
It was pretty enough to stop Sansa from complaining. Although, Kyria's sharp eyes didn't miss the quiet exchange between the handmaidens who had taken a step back at Maerys's arrival. She had to watch her back with those girls. She could feel it.
"Now go sister. You won't have time to prepare otherwise. You already spend way too much time with me." smiled Kyria.
Sansa squeaked, and flew out of the room, her cascading red hair flowing behind her. Except for the part that held the pretty pink roses. Once alone, Kyria arranged her small pendant -a Direwolf head- one last time, before stepping out of her room.
"A shame, those flowers were so pretty..." sighed Sara rather loudly.
"Wear them then."
The girl blushed.
"My lady I could not-"
She stopped her sentence, and Kyria smile, a malicious glint in her eyes. Caught you. She left the girls with their faces red and embarrassed, quite proud of herself.
Clever girl indeed.
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The tourney was supposed to last all day. With a short break around midday, just the time for them to eat some food, only to start again in the afternoon, and last until the end of the day.
A long day indeed.
According to Father, it would have lasted longer had the King had his way. But Father had insisted that if he couldn't cancel the thing, he would at least have a small tourney. It was important apparently. Although Kyria didn't know why.
So, for this thing to last only one day, they all agreed to keep only the joust and forget the melee. Kyria wasn't sure if this was a good thing. From what she understood of the process, both things were bloody and wonderfully pointless. A way for those southern Knights to appear strong and smart she supposed.
Although she wouldn't bet on a knight's worth if a tourney was his main tool when he had to measure his self-importance.
But who was she to judge?
She was only a young lady who spent all her time reading books about all the things she could find even slightly interesting.
It had been hard to convince Arya to come along. Only the perspective of real knight fighting with a real lance had been enough for her. The place was sited right outside the city, in a large piece of land, covered with sand to drink the fallen's blood. Or so had said one knight as Kyria's party passed him.
Lovely.
"Aren't you a bloodthirsty little thing." had laughed Jory when overhearing them.
Arya had pouted wonderfully.
Oh, it was impressive for sure. And one small month at the capital wasn't enough to cure her of her innocent northern eyes, used to wide spaces and smaller castles.
Except for Winterfell. Winterfell was huge. A secret part, deep in her heart convinced her house was the biggest of all the castle ever built on the Seven Kingdoms. Harrenhall be damned.
It was foolish for sure, but oh so comforting.
The grandiose of the place, the large banners, floating on the wind, the soft warm Summer air, the bright sun lightening the dresses of all the ladies around. They were like flowers, brights, colorful, easy to the eye. They even smelled like flowers.
Kyria couldn't mock them. Her sister had taken good care to transform her into such a plant. As she had done herself. Only Arya escaped the little blossoms in her hair. She hadn't been so lucky with the dress unfortunately for her.
Small mercy of life.
Yes, the most impressive sight for innocent northern eyes, was the crowd. Lords, Ladies, knights, squires… Much more than the entire population of the North if she could say so herself.
Or, well, it felt so.
Kyria observed it all with sharp eyes. The peoples, the banners slowly floating into the wind, sigils carved in her memory with the accuracy of the books she had read about them, the armors shining in the sun. Kyria's eyes followed one, as he moved slowly with the wind, as red as blood and decorated with a familiar golden lion.
Lannister.
"You look very pretty today my dear," whispered Father against her ear.
He was escorting her, his arm secured around hers, as her sisters were escorting each other behind them, Septa Mordane's watchful eyes following every single gesture from her little charges.
Kyria smiled.
"You'll have to thank Sansa, Father, she insisted."
She didn't see her, but Kyria heard quite distinctively the happy giggle Sansa escaped behind them. Father answered something, but already, Kyria's attention was elsewhere.
She could see the crowd parting like a rock was thrown in the middle. The waves of the dresses accentuated the water-like feeling Kyria had of all of them.
"NED!" boomed a very recognizable voice.
"Your grace." bowed Father, a small smile on his face.
Kyria did the same, a bit tenser maybe. The king opened his arms wide and took Father's hand. His face was open and joyous. Or from what Kyria could tell, it was quite hard to say with his skin so puffed.
But it started to be a common problem with the King.
"Good afternoon your grace." pipped Sansa.
"You look very pleased this morning your grace," observed Father, his eyes slowly following the line of the King's face.
King Robert laughed. He did look very pleased. She hadn't seen a smile like that on the puffed face since Father welcomed him home.
"Of course I am you old fart!" Fart? Kyria blinked. Twice. The batting of her lashes almost loud in the moment of silence that followed. "Think about it, Ned! Our first Tourney together since the last war! And this one exclusively for you! If this is not an occasion to rejoice, I bloody hell don't know what is!"
...Old fart? And this man was their king? Seriously? Somewhere behind her, close to Septa, she heard a barely disguised snort. Loud and cheerful. Again, she didn't have to turn to know who it was from.
"Your grace, as much as it seems to please you, I must warn you again. This is not necessary. The crown can not afford such a thing."
"Barh!" said the King. He almost shoved his tongue in his disgust. Kyria blinked again. Three times. Seriously? "Details! I am the King by the gods! If I bloody want a tourney, I have one! End of discussion! It there is one good thing about all of this mess is that I can bloody well do as I want!"
Kyria fought to keep her face straight. And to say that man was King…
As if he just heard her think, his small puffed eyes fell on her. He blinked. She blinked too, feeling quite foolish for working her lashes so much since he came to them and bowed prettily.
"Your grace," she said.
"What is it in your hair girl?" asked the man crudely.
Father was looking too now. Kyria's heart lost a beat. What was that? Since when he gave a damn about what happened in her hair?
"Blue flowers and white roses your grace," she answered truthfully.
The King hummed, his eyes traveling from her face to her hair, and for a horrible moment, Kyria was sure she had been fooled. That somehow, despite her insisting at checking her hair before leaving, Sara or Sansa had successfully put those dreadful Winter roses in her hair. Her hand hitched to take one of her locks and play with it, just to have something to focus her mind on.
She didn't of course. Bur good gods did she wanted it.
"Flowers hum? Not Winter roses?"
"No your grace. That would be… bad taste." she said, again, truthfully.
She didn't have to lie there.
"Kyria," said Father.
She looked at him, but his face didn't show anything. It took her a moment too long to understand her misstep. Of course. Stupid girl! If the King was not thinking about her aunt before, he would certainly now! Stupid foolish girl!
Clever indeed! What a joke!
Sansa, blessed her innocent soul, unaware as she was of the tension slowly rising between them, smiled and opened her pretty mouth.
"It was my idea your grace." she chipped. "didn't it look lovely with her dress? It's so rare to see Kyria wearing something so pretty. And with her hear in such a way!"
"Indeed..." grunted the king.
Kyria prayed for a quick exit. The gods didn't listen.
"We didn't think of this arrangement at first, bur Kyria hated the idea of Winter roses so we had to do something else!" continued the girl, with all the bright innocence of someone not yet used to the subtleties of conversation. And the price of the things unsaid.
The King's eyes were almost burning now. He kept looking up to down at her, his face more serious than anything else she ever witnessed. It sent a cold chill through her body.
"That's for the best," he said finally.
There was an edge on his voice, something almost dangerous. She couldn't say how, however…
Kyria took a deep – thankfully discreet- gulp of fresh air, only now noticing she had stopped breathing for some time now.
The King nodded one last time, more to himself than anything else, and took his leave. Quiet and thoughtful.
Kyria wasn't used to it, but she could have sworn she felt his gaze follow her as she walked again, on her Father's arm. The sensation didn't put her at ease. Quite the contrary.
Her hands were still trembling when she took her place next to her Father. She spared a look in Sansa's direction. Her lips were tightly closed and she couldn't even start to think of something she might want to say to the girl. She was too angry.
Good gods couldn't she had shut her mouth? She knew, of course, that she made the same mistake only moments ago, but to mention Winter Roses? As her first intention for her sister's hair? Had she even listened when she talked earlier?
"Are you alright Kyria?" asked Softly Sansa, as if she had heard her thought.
"Why did you talk about the Winter roses?" she hissed back, her voice as low as possible.
Sansa blinked.
"I thought-"
"I didn't want Winter Roses in my hair so the King wouldn't think about Aunt Lyanna. Did you even listen when I said why I didn't want them or you just don't care?"
"Kyria!" gasped Sansa.
"He could have felt insulted by what you said, Sansa. To so carelessly forget your family history… What were you thinking?"
The girl blushed and didn't comment further.
It took Kyria a couple of minutes to regain her composure and start to think again rationally. She realized then that she may have been a bit too harsh with the girl. She didn't think wrong, she had good intentions after all. But the idea of attracting too much attention, unwanted attention to her had frightened her.
She was already in a difficult position with the Queen and the Crown Prince. She didn't want to alienate the entire royal family.
Slowly, she looked at her sister. The girl's head was low and she was playing with her fingers.
A part of her felt bad for her sister. For her harsh word and the pain, she caused by it. But she was tired of Sansa's carelessness. Of her naivety and this determination of her at always thinking the best of every single person wearing a crown on its head.
She told her again and again, that the crown didn't make the man or the lady. She told her again and again that she needed to be careful, to trust only her family for she knew they won't betray her.
It was like talking to the wind and try to make it stop blowing.
"I'm tired of always warning you of the same things Sansa," she said softly. "It's like you forget everything I ever told you as soon as you see someone with a crown on his head. Are you that obsessed with Power?"
"I'm not!" the girl protested, a little bit too loud.
"Then why do you persist in such manners?"
"I- the King and the Queen-"
"The Queen would have killed Lady if the King hadn't stopped her. And she would have done the same to Frost and Nymeria. It would do you well to remember that when you talk to her."
From the corner of her eye, Kyria noticed the pallor of her sister's completion as well as the trembling of her lips.
She felt bad distressing her little sister like that. But Sansa didn't let her many choices. She refused any other solution. She seemed determined to live in a song of her very own.
As she sat there, reflecting on all the things that went wrong recently and all the things that could have been even more wrong, people were slowly gathering around them, all of them rich and important. She recognized the handsome face of Renly Baratheon, Littlefinger of course, as well as several houses, all colorful and looking richer than the next. At least Sansa had been right on this point. The tourney was a show for those in the galleries as well as those who were participating.
In the middle of this sea of importance and wealth, a simply dressed man tried to make his way to them. He looked awkward and out of place. As so Kyria couldn't take her eyes off him. What was he doing here?
"My Lord hand." called the man, finally in front of them. "A Brother of the Nights Watch demand to see you, my Lord."
Kyria looked at the man more closely, a pale slimy thing with white skin and pitch-black hair and waited for Father's answer.
"What does he want?" asked Father, tired.
"I'm afraid he refused to tell me my lord." said the man, looking strangely annoyed.
Kyria felt her eyes sharpened. Why was he so vexed? Did he like to have information? To sell them to the best master perhaps?
Or maybe he already had a master? Oh stupid, of course, he had.
Father sighed, tired and nodded.
"Alright. I'll see him," he said.
He absentmindedly kissed Kyria on the temple, rubbing her shoulder with his hand. His hand then touched softly Sansa's head, and Arya's hand, that she had held to him. Both girls looked at him with big eyes. They didn't seem to have heard the man.
"Father?" asked Arya.
"Enjoy the tourney. I will join you later."
With one last pat on Arya's little head and a finger on Sansa's chin, Father disappeared in the crowd, to the Red Keep. Kyria's eyes followed him until she couldn't anymore, wondering what was going to happen again to her poor father.
"Why would a man of the night's watch want to see Father?" asked Arya. "Do you think something happened to Jon?"
"Father is the Hand of the King," said Kyria. "I suppose the Night Watch need to go to him for their recruits."
"You think? Aren't the member of the Night Watch volunteers? To protect the Wall and the realm of men or something like that?"
Kyria smiled. Sweet summer child. Of course, that would be Arya thought of the Night Watch. She could guess easily from whom she got her information.
"That may have been true before. In the beginning," she started, "but now the Night Watch is often the alternative to a Death Sentence. Or any other kind of sentence including the removal of a body part."
"Lady Kyria!" protested the Septa.
"It's not because it's hard to say that it's-"
"Not the truth." ended Sansa for her, rolling her eyes.
Arya giggled. Kyria blushed. Alright so maybe she was saying that a bit too often those days. But what else could she do? It wasn't her fault if no one was listening to her when she talked. Someone in this place needed to tell the truth after all.
"You'll learn young lady that not everything is supposed to be shared. And not all the time." said the Septa with a strong voice. "Sometimes the truth is not to share, but to keep close to your chest."
Kyria blinked, astonished. She manages to control herself enough not to attract attention, but she could have sworn her heart stopped for a second. For once she had nothing to say to the woman.
It was true. Not every truth was good to hear. Or to tell. And not everyone should hear it. She thought back at her dreams and bite her lips. Wasn't it the same? If they were indeed what she thought they were, this was a truth she didn't want to share with just everyone. She didn't want everyone to know either.
Both Sansa and Arya were now looking at her, but Kyria didn't say anything. She didn't know what to say, to be frank. For once, the Septa was completely right. Not everything was good to share.
"Kyria?"
"What?"
"You… you agree?" hesitated Sansa.
"Yes," she confessed.
"But, you just said that it's not because-"
"Not everyone wants to hear the truth." she cut Arya before her high pitched voice attracts too much attention. "and not everyone is supposed to hear it either."
"Are you saying that lying is good?" asked Sansa, a frown on her pretty face.
"Sometimes it's necessary."
"Lying is never necessary." said the Septa. "don't be absurd."
"Now that is contradictory Septa," she said with a frown of her own.
"Sometimes young lady, silence is the best answer."
Hun. Better not talk then lie?
Why not.
Kyria was still meditating in this strange conversation when the tourney began. A couple of jousts took place without her taking notice. She vaguely remembered one of them, falling quite spectacularly from his horse, mostly because of the funny noise he made when he touched the grown.
But then, as she started to feel pretty bored by all those games, something new happened. A massive shadow suddenly hides the sun. She looked up, only to see a giant silhouette, perched on an equally giant horse. His mane was long and straight, falling on his muzzle and partly hiding the reins.
Kyria gulped. This man was dangerous. His armor was heavy, large heavy-looking were iron plates covering his chest and legs. She didn't know much about armors but she was sure she never saw anything like this.
"Who is that?" asked Sansa with a frown.
"Ser Gregor Clegane." whispered a voice behind them.
Kyria felt the blood leave her face. Baelish. What Littlefinger was doing right behind them?
"Lord Baelish!" saluted Kyria, her voice colder than what she expected.
She bites her cheek, cursing her damned tongue. Control Kyria, keep your damn control!
"Lady Kyria," said back the man.
She could hear the smile on his voice. Kyria gripped the fabric of her skirt to stop her from reacting.
"This man," whispered the man, "is Ser Gregor Clegane." his voice, as soft as it was, still caught her sisters' attention. "the Hound's older brother."
With the same sweet voice, the man then took great care to explain in many details the sordid story of Gregor Clegane, and his role in the disfigurement of his little brother, one Sandor Clegane.
Her heartbeat fast in her chest, as she heard the soft voice whisper in her ear. The words were harsh, but the voice…
The voice was the worst.
I did warn you not to trust me.
Nervously, her eyes went back to the imposing silhouette, now ready for its joust. She couldn't calm her heart.
"I won't tell anyone, I promise." pipped Sansa next to her.
She sounded frightened. Softly, Kyria linked their hands.
"No please don't. The hound doesn't like to hear about this story."
"Then why did you tell us?" asked Kyria right back, her voice bite more than what she had attended.
Again with control...
Littlefinger took his time to answer. Kyria didn't dare turn her head.
"Well my lady, I have to confess a… weakness of mine," he said softly. " I never resisted a lady's curiosity."
...And she was supposed to believe that? That someone like him would confess any weakness? To little girls? No. It was a game. A smart one, she could give him that. But she could see through it.
"Besides, you are new here, I only want to help you understand better where you are."
Hun. Now that may be more believable. And confirmed Kyria's suspicion. He wanted their trust.
Silently, Kyria looked back at the joust.
One little minute later, she wished she had looked away. Or even better, she wished she had accompanied her father back at the keep. She didn't need to be an expert in jousts to know how bad this was.
The entire thing was spectacular and quick. As quick as a breath or the blink of one's eye. A moment ago both knights were crossing themselves one first time, followed by the usual gasps of the crowd. The horses turned around, the exitation was high. And then there was blood and cry and a silent as heavy as death itself into the entire place.
People stood around them. Then, back on their sit. Sansa cried. Kyria's hang hurt at her grip. Arya grabbed the fence in front of her, Septa brought her back close to her.
It was a strange spectacle. Where chaos and silence seemed to flirt together, softly, harshly around them.
And in the middle of this, a knight was on the floor, slowly blooding out. His neck pierced by a sharp piece of wood. Bubbles popping out of his mouth. Body shaking and gasping desperately for a relief that didn't seem to come quick enough. And all the eyes were on him.
Kyria's eyes were on the stick, but others were on the face and the life that left it soon enough. The girl's eyes traveled slowly on the stick, as it slowly drank the blood from the wound directly, like some kind of monster only heard in stories and legends. A wooden stick. So innocent looking.
It was all it took.
Disturbing.
And, in the middle of this confusion that seemed to pledge the entire place, the silky voice slowly whispered in her ear. Invisible in a crowd of troubled people. But there. Just behind her.
"Is it the first person you see dying Lady Kyria?" hissed the snake behind her. "impressive isn't it?"
It took her a minute to answer. A minute to blink away the fascination pulled by the blood still drank by the little wooden stick. She wondered what might happen once it turned entirely red. Was it going to bleed too?
"Yes." she shushed.
"You never get used to gruesome death like that. It'll always move something inside. A curious mix between disgust and… fascination." the man continued, the last word whispered with reverence. Kyria shivered. What was wrong with this man? "there's a beauty, in the way the blood goes out of the helmet, slowly drank by the dirt and the sand. By the wood of the spear. The way the limbs stop shaking after a time." there was something wrong with the way he whispered it. In his voice. Like he was showering her with words of love and promises of affection. But it was death coming out of his mouth. Death spoke of like a lost love. Adored. Revered. Disturbing.
"I often wonder if one sees something as such coming. What was he thinking, as the jousting spear was coming closer to his face." something moved behind her, close to her hair. "close to his death. I wonder, how you react, what you think when faced with your own end so… vividly."
Her hair, she realized. Baelish was touching her hair. She froze, her body locked like a mat, rigid and solid. Why was he talking like that? What did this man want from her? Why was he telling her all of this?
"You are known to be intelligent Lady Kyria. I like to think you are. I wonder where you gain this spirit of yours. Your mother perhaps. She is a smart woman after all."
Kyria's heart beat fast in her chest. Faster than it ever beat before. Her mind was rolling a thousand miles at a time, without nothing coming from it. What was happening here?
White face, dark hair. White face, dark hair. Rolling, rolling, rolling.
She blinked. No, no not now. She couldn't be overwhelmed by this right now. Not now, not ever. She couldn't. She just couldn't.
"Your Father, however..." he hissed. "well I never get the appeal of those northern men. Slow mind, quick temper… and annoyingly curious. I suppose it's a family treat."
He could have wrapped his disgusting long fingers around her throat, and the threat wouldn't have been that menacing. Her heart was beating faster than ever. Her entire being completely aware of the warm breath on her neck. The soft voice on her ear.
He paralyzed her like a snake paralyzes his prey before eating it.
Trust me, trust me…. Trust me, my dear…
"Why are you telling me this?" she whispered.
She cursed the trembling in her voice.
He touched her hair again. Kyria didn't dare move. People were sitting again around them, and the joust was about to start again. Her sisters were back in their seat, slowly whispering to each other under the watchful eyes of their Septa.
"I made a vow you know. To your dear mother. I said I would protect your family."
"From who?"
He chuckled.
"You are a clever girl. The way you managed to defend yourself from the Queen's accusation, back in the Kingsroad was a sight to behold. Not many young people would have this… easiness with words." again with the tone. There was something there."It's a rare gift. To be able to play with words so easily. Something I admire. Something you and I seem to share."
Kyria shivered again. Disgusted at the mere idea of sharing aything with this man. This disturbing sickening man who kept playing with her hair, whispering to her like a lover in the crowd.
"What's your point?" she asked softly. "there must be a reason for you to tell me all of this."
"Clever girl." he smiled. She could hear his smile. "I only wish...to help you. Those are dangerous waters you are trying to swim on. A helpful hand may be welcomed."
A helpful hand…
Trust me, my dear… Trust me…
She could almost feel the fingers on her pulse now. Around her neck. Threat. Danger. Everything inside her wanted to run from this man. From his soft words and his soft touch on her hair.
Go away Go away!
"Besides," he continued. "your Father seems to be very eager to… attract attention to himself. A dangerous idea in a city like ours."
Go away. Go away. Far far away from him. Go away, go AWAY!
"It would be… saddening for your father to lose this."
Lose?
"Yes, to lose. It is a difficult game he is playing. Losing is so easy..."
A game?
What game?
Politics? It must be politics. Was it a game for him then?
As much as she wanted the answers, Kyria kept her mouth shut.
She wouldn't have trust any answer coming from this man anyway.
Only a fool trust Littlefinger.
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The tourney stopped soon after. The knights needed rest. And food.
Septa took the three Stark daughters back to the tower, where they were to rest and wait for the other half of the tourney.
Kyria didn't stay long with her sisters. She took the first opportunity Septa Mordane gave her, to find her father's office. She needed to talk to him.
Baelish's acidic words had woken a fear in Kyria that she couldn't contain anymore. Fear for her Father and her sisters. She couldn't delay it with excuses and blindness she needed to act. Do something, anything.
She found Ned Stark alone in the room. His back at the door, his eyes locked in the window with silent contemplation. For a brief second, he reminded her of Jon. He used to do that too. Back in Winterfell, when she dragged him to the library to study with her. He looked outside when he was troubled. Robb did it too. Less often yes but still.
Something was wrong.
"Father?" she asked softly.
"Kyria?" he said back. "What are you doing here?"
"The tourney is over for now. It will start back on the morrow," she said softly.
He looked at her.
"Why?" he asked softly.
"One of the knights died. A wooden bit on his throat," she explained softly.
Lord Stark nodded. He looked even worse than only an hour before. A deep frown was digging between his eyebrows. She waited patiently for him to acknowledge her again.
"What is it Kyria?" he asked softly. "What can I do for you?"
"What happened? What did the man of the Night Watch want?" she asked softly, taking on of the chairs for her.
"He had… a message for me."
"What message? From Jon?"
Ned opened his mouth, but then stopped. He looked at her.
"It is no trouble for you darling."
Kyria bites back a scream that begged to come out of her throat. She needed to control herself. She couldn't get angry, Father taught her that. Don't talk while angry. Never talk while angry.
She took a minute to be completely calm. Control. Control Kyria.
"Father, how old am I?" she asked softly.
Ned Stark smiled.
"You could be eighty and still be my little girl Kyria."
She almost rolled her eyes. As sweet as the feeling was coming from her stern Father, he was eluding the question and both of them knew it.
"Father, I am five and ten. In less than a year I'll be off age," she said patiently. "I'm no child anymore. And, I understand that you don't want to burden me with your duties or trouble me with your troubles, but Father… I want to help you." she took his hand that was resting on the table. "please, let me help you. You don't have to talk to me about everything. But at least talk to me. Tell me what troubles you."
Father sighed and rubbed his temple.
"It's nothing that should concern you." he looked up then, his pale eyes crossing hers. "But you are right. You're no child anymore. And I saw, back home how you helped your brothers. How you managed Robb and Jon with their studies. My clever girl." he smiled, his warm hand cupping her face. "It's true you've grown a lot… More than what I wanted to see I suppose."
Kyria smile, excitation building in her heart. Did that mean she succeed? Was Father going to finally trust her with his burdens?
"In this case, you might be able to help me."
Yes! Yes! In that case and any other!
"What is it then?" she asked softly.
Just as quickly as he gained it, Father lost his smile. He rubbed his temple again. The skin was red under his fingers. He might have done that for some time already.
"The man that came to me, is a recruiter from the Night's Watch. He traveled from the Wall with Tyrion Lannister." he started. "He… His journey to Kingslanding was troubled by a surprise meeting."
"A surprise meeting?"
"Your mother."
Kyria blinked. Mother? Why would Mother be on the Kingsroad?
"Mother? Why would she-"
"She brought me something," he said quickly. "On her way back, she found Yoren, the man of the Nights Watch, with Tyrion Lannister." he paused. " She… Your mother made a bad decision."
"What decision?"
He sighed again.
"It's not necessary to keep it for myself I suppose, everyone will soon be aware of this," he said looking tired. "Your Mother thinks it is Tyrion Lannister that tried to kill Bran. So she took him."
Kyria blinked.
"She took him? What, just like that? But-"
Tyrion Lannister was the Queen's brother! He was one of Tywin Lannister's son! Why would she-
"It didn't- Why? It didn't make any sense. Why would Mother do such a thing? With you here..."
Kyria stopped, knowing that her voice was louder than she intended. She needed to control herself.
"I don't know why she did it. Other than by revenge. But she did it." he looked up then, putting his eyes right into Kyria's with a seriousness she never knew. Not directed at her at least. It was a strange feeling. Intimidating.
Revenge? But for what? What could have done Tyrion Lannister to anger her mother in such a-
…
Bran? Could this be? But Why? How would she be so sure that Tyrion Lannister had anything to do with Bran?
"Kyria," said Father after a time. "I might need your help after all."
"My help?"
Ned nodded.
"I want you to prepare your sisters. We might need to leave this place very quickly in the following days. I want you to prepare them for this idea."
Kyria blinked. Leaving? They were about to leave?
She could hardly believe it. It was… It was wonderful. To go back home. She would love nothing more than that. Go back to Robb, to forget everything, her dreams, her worries, the Lannister. To finally go back home!
It was wonderful. Maybe too much. Too good to be true a part of her whispered in the dark of her mind.
"There are many things I don't know about this place." said Father with a sigh. "too many. I came here out of duty. But it was a mistake to brought you all with me." he rubbed his forehead. "You should have stayed home. All of you."
They should have indeed… On that, she couldn't disagree.
Kyria blinked and looked back at the door.
"Will you come tomorrow? It would not sit well with the King to miss the event he asked to be organized in your honor."
"Aye, I suppose. And I intend to leave soon… The least I can do is try to make a good impression."
Kyria smiled. It was the least he can do indeed. If they were really about to leave, then the Kings needed his ass kissed a bit.
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The day after that, the tourney started again. As if it never stopped in the first place. They were all back on their sits, Father imposing presence displayed between Sansa and Kyria.
There weren't many things to say about the jousts that started this thing again. Just like the day before it seemed dull and a perfect waste of time and resources. But then, maybe she was a bit too used to the northern custom to see the appeal of such games…
Or she just wasn't in the mood...
She did notice though that the King seemed in a particularly sour mood this day. He had arrived with Father sometime before the joust, his face grumpy and grumbling whatever that was under his heavy beard. Lovely.
Even if Kyria couldn't care less about the joust and was enjoying her quiet discussion with Arya more than anything else, she did notice Sansa's dreamy sight as well as the blood-red rose that ended up in her hand. Courtesy of a young knight dressed in the fanciest armor Kyria ever had the pleasure to witness.
Huh.
However, her attention was as sharp as a blade the moment the Mountain came back, enormous and as pleasing as he had seemed the day before.
He was supposed to fight against the knight that gave Sansa her rose. Sansa's plaid for the knight's life, as sweet as it was, made Kyria want to roll her eyes. Of course, she would want Father to save the knight… With such a nickname as he had, she should have guessed...
"And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you take your friend?" asked Littlefinger behind her.
Kyria turned just in time to see Lord Baelish make a large movement of his arm, in the general direction of the joust. Her eyes followed the hand and found the said knight, his helmet now put on his face. Kyria blinked, then swallowed back a snort. Did he meant that Lord Renly and-
Oh my... Was it even a thing? Was it possible? What a disturbing thought... Interesting…
They jousted. The mountain lost, to the surprise of… well, everyone. He didn't like it.
When he cut the head of his horse, Sansa hides her face in Father's shoulder. Arya stood, her little cry lost in the crowd.
Everything went very quickly then. The Mountain asked for his sword, and start to hit. The hound came then and hit back just as strongly. It was a sight to behold.
"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF YOUR KING!"
Just as quickly, everything was over. And Ser Loras was pulling up one of the Hound's paws, a bright smile on his handsome face.
Sansa clapped happily, her rose still in her hand, all thought of the poor horse sacrificed for his master's anger forgotten. Kyria watched her with pensive eyes.
"That was impressive," commented Arya.
It was.
She dreamed again that night. The same as the first one. The head rolling and rolling. She bites her cries in her pillow, and against the fur of her wolf. She had hoped that with the new of their supposedly imminent departure, her dreams, this one, in particular, would disappear. She had thought her father's decision would have stopped it.
It went right back at her face that night. And the one after.
And all the others for the weeks that followed. Always the same. Same crowd, same white silhouettes. Same rolling head. Same words.
Everything.
They couldn't leave soon enough.
She did as her father told her. She spent the days following the Hand's tourney preparing her sisters to the idea that they might go home. They didn't like the suggestion. Not one bit.
"Why would I leave? I am to marry the prince and have his babies!" protested Sansa one day.
"Syrio is here. I don't want to leave. Mother wouldn't let me continue my training." had said Arya not long after.
The worst in all of this mess, was that both were right. In their way. She understood them. She didn't want to leave either, to be frank. Not if it meant leaving their "dancing master" behind. So she came with another idea.
One day, as both Sansa and Arya were leaving the room where they trained under their dear Braavosi dancer, Kyria stayed back.
Syrio looked at her with curious eyes
"The lesson is over, child. Why are you still here?"
"I wanted to talk to you. If you don't mind."
One of his eyebrows disappear behind the heavy curls of his head.
"Do you? And what would you want with Syrio Forell?"
Kyria hesitated, her eyes back to the door her sister just went through.
"My father talked to me recently." she started, her eyes still on the door. "He said we may leave the city soon."
"Soon? And how soon exactly?"
"I don't know yet." she said. " but I wondered… Would you be… interested in coming with us?"
"Oh?"
"Arya appreciate your training. As do I. And I'm sure Sansa will come to appreciate it just as much."
"Aye you children are indeed interested in dancing." smile the first sword. "but why should I follow you?"
Kyria looked at him then, choosing her next words carefully.
"You want to. You do not seem like a man who would abandon the training of someone like Arya, would you? She's a gifted apprentice."
"She is." nodded the man.
He studied her, his eyes small and calculating.
"Will you stay by Arya's side until she mastered her training?" asked Kyria her voice serious.
He looked even more calculating. She could almost see the wheels inside his mind. She waited for his answer. Anxiously she had to say.
"I will." Syrio finally vowed.
"Is it a promise?" she asked.
Syrio smiled, and bowed, his arms wide and inviting.
"On my honor as the first sword of Braavos."
Kyria looked, one more minute. She tried to guess if he was serious or not. She hoped he was. She didn't want Arya to lose him. She liked him. And she liked his lessons even more.
"Alright then," she said finally. "I'll tell you when we leave."
"You will, child." he said, smiling. "But careful." he had after a second. "Wanting to leave is not the same thing as leaving."
Kyria blinked.
"I will stay with young Arya until she no longer needs it. But this is a dangerous place. Maybe leaving it will be more difficult than you imagine."
His voice was slow and more serious than anything she ever heard from him. It moved something inside Kyria. A fear she wanted so badly to ignore. It overwhelmed her for a second. Drawing tears behind her eyelashes. She managed to control her self, but barely.
Not knowing what else to say, she weakly nodded and fled the room.
This place was rotten. She felt it every day. Father did too. He must have if he wanted them to leave so badly. If only they could leave soon.
She was deep in her thought when she found her father in the main room. Agitated, and furious.
"Father?"
"We can't stay here Kyria," he said harshly. "I resigned as Hand of the King. I cannot do that anymore."
The last of his sentence was spit like venom from his mouth. Harshly, he put his things in a truck, his hands quick and strong.
"What happened Father? What's the matter?" she asked worriedly.
"The Targaryen!"
Kyria blinked. What? The- But they weren't even there! Why would that be a problem?
"Why? What do they have to do with everything else?"
"Varys." he spitted again, angry and almost hateful. " The Masters of whispers has spies everywhere. Here, in Dorne, the Reach, the North, the bloody end of the world. Everywhere!" he snared. To Kyria he never looked more like a wolf, baring his teeth like he was about to bite someone. "His little birds told him the Targaryen Prince want to sell his sister for a Dothraki army."
Kyria blinked again. Dothraki? Why?
… Oh, of course, she knew why. He wanted his Father's throne. But the Dothraki never crossed the Narrow sea. They feared it. They disliked any water their precious horses couldn't drink.
"Robert wants to send assassins to them. He wants to kill them before they can gain this 'army'."
"But- The Dothraki would never cross the Narrow sea," said Kyria.
"Aye, that's what I told the King. He didn't listen. He wants to kill children. Like he did with-"
He loudly pushed his books in his trunk, cutting his sentence.
"Princess Elia's children," said Kyria for him.
She gets it now. Father didn't want that to happen. It wasn't… it wasn't honorable. It was cunning. It was politics. He didn't want to even think about it. Did he fight with the King on behalf of the Targaryen children?
"Will he do it?" she asked.
Father nodded.
"We shouldn't have left Winterfell. Go get your sisters Kyria. We're leaving."
Kyria nodded. She needed to go back to Syrio first. Thanks the gods she didn't wait till the morrow to ask him what she asked.
She was about to leave when the door opened again.
"My Lord." said the man, pale and dark of hair. "Lord Baelish ask for you."
"I don't have time for this."
"He said it's important. It's about Jon Arryn." said the man.
Kyria's heart stopped at the same time her Father's hand freeze in their movement. No.
No, no he couldn't. They had to leave. They had to leave now. This couldn't wait.
Alarmed she looked at him. His shoulders were tense. His back on her. But he had stopped moving. No. No, no he couldn't! He couldn't do this! Not now!
"Father..."
"Stay here Kyria. Prepare your sisters. We are leaving in the hour."
"Father don't," she begged.
He stopped midway to the door.
"Don't go, Father. You said it yourself. We need to go. We can't stay here anymore. Baelish will only slow us in this."
"I have to talk to him."
"You cannot trust him Father!" she cried desperately. "No one should trust Littlefinger!"
"Kyria this is not your-"
"But it is! Father believe me, please! You can't trust that man."
He went back and Kyria hoped. He took her face in his large hands and slowly kissed her forehead. Kyria held back a weep. No, no no! They were about to leave!
"I'll be back in an hour. Then we'll leave. But I need to know Kyria."
"No you don't," she whispered brokenly.
Father left.
One hour later, a servant went to Kyria and her sisters. With news of an attack. Their father was to be brought back in his chambers, to be taken care of.
They couldn't leave now. As Sansa anxiously asked for precision, Kyria gripped Frost back, fighting her tears as much as she could. They couldn't leave now.
Oh, Father… why didn't you listen…
TBC.
So? What do you think? Good? Bad? Awful?
Please, please tell me what you think! I'm really nervous now I think I said that already but I am not someone with a lot of self-esteem so anything you could say about this would help me!
I'm not begging but I'm close to it xD I know it's pathetic!
Anyway, as I kind of like this chapter. I feel like I start to show how much Kyria is losing the small control she has on everything and that she's very scared about that. But I'm worried that I was a bit too much. With Baelish and Sansa in particular. I hope you'll be able to tell me what you think about all of this!
I wonder if I should try again with other points of view. Do tell what you think about that ^^' I try to update every couple of week, so normally the sext chapter will be during the first weekend of february! At least you'll have a date now ;)
See ya next time!