NOTE: Hi guys!
Another chapter! Yay! (rhm...)
I won't say much here because I left a very big not at the bottom so I'll only answer your wonderful comment for now :3
Shade:I'm happy to see and read your opinion over what happened to poor Ned and the repectution on the girls and their dynamics. It's true that it will impact them but unfortunately, they won't really have the time to deal with all of it. I hope you'll like this!
M: Thank you xD Although I'm not sure the last bit is a compliment!I don't want to be too tromatic! But I needed to put things differently for the rest of the story. I hope you'll like this!
Alright, enjoy your reading folks! Good luck!
Chapter 20: Disaster
Year 298 AC Tenth Month
Kingslanding
The Hound.
The little fucker was ecstatic. He had been like that for days, of course, gleeful little cunt. Way too proud for having cut down the wolf's head. Or asked his lackey to do it. Didn't really matter. The cunt liked blood. And screams. And pain.
But today was another level of sick joy. That was worrying on its own. The hound watched as the little fucker's feet barely touched the floor while he walked. The Hound watched silently, obedient dog. He wondered how far he would go today.
The execution day had been as awfully delightful for the boy as he had thought it would be. More so even, for the display of the Stark girls had been the cherry on top of his cake. The perfect touch to his masterpiece. The pain, the agony in the screams had delighted him. So much that for one moment Sandor had thought the boy had wetted his pants like the green prick he was.
Wouldn't have surprised him if he did. The little fucker was mad. The Hound knew it. He had known it for years. Couldn't have been otherwise with such a mother.
But then again, a dog does not judge his masters. He watches. He learns. Never judge.
The boy enjoyed his new status. Immensely. He had an entire city full of new toys and he would never shy away at the opportunity of playing with them. The minstrel with his funny little song and his funny little tongue was just a step. He was not going to stop.
Had he cared a little for those disgusting people, the Hound would have pitied them. But he didn't care. Bunch of fuckers bloodthirsty and famished for gold and power.
Nothing was good in this city. It smelled like shit, it sounded like shit and most of the time, shit happened. The poor, the rich. No difference. Everything stinks the same. In a sense, they had the King they deserved. A little shit.
Not that good old Robert had been any better. But at least the man had known how to drink. It sounded good to Sandor. If not for the rest, he would have been alright by his books. But then so did most of the shitty people of the court. If not for the rest…
The Hound didn't like lies. To others, to himself. In any shape or form, he hated them. Useless cunt lies. Like Littlefucker or Varys. Knights lies. The Hound, never.
The truth was bad enough on its own.
"Come dog! It's time I go see my lady! She must miss my presence dearly!" exclaimed the boy, a wide smile on his twisted face.
And to think they thought him ugly.
The Stark girls had been locked up in their room since their father's death. No one had seen them at court. But servants talked. They said they were half-mad with grief. Crying and moaning in the night, as if to call their beast in the cells below the Keep. Sometimes they answered. They said the little one had lost her voice and her mind to her father's blood on her cheek. They said the oldest one had transformed into a beast, savage and violent, ready to bite anyone daring enough to come closer from them.
They said the middle one was broken like a doll.
She looked pale enough to be so. Small soft and weak. Like a little doll. With bird ones. It was almost painful to watch. Her red hair made her look like a corpse, as did her pretty pink dress. As the boy King waited for her to exit her apartments, Sandor caught a glimpse of the two others. Like for the execution, the oldest was clinging in the youngest. But, instead of fighting, the wolf pup stayed motionless in her sister's arms, her empty eyes following the middle girl.
The last one wasn't better. Her hair looked unkempt and ran wildly around her face and figure. As the sun glimpsed behind them, her shadow cast on the floor looked like one of a beast. Large and furry. Threatening almost. The Hound looked at it a moment, almost waiting for eyes to open on the floor and look at him with the same hardening intensity the oldest Stark was looking at him.
She was odd. Crazy indeed. Those two large eyes lost in the middle of that hair were enough for a good horror story like only Northern folks knew how to tell.
The Hound looked away. Madness indeed…
"My lady Sansa!" pipped the boy with trepidation. "Come walk with me! A lady should walk with her King don't you think?"
The girl didn't answer, her large eyes full of pain and sorrow.
"Don't you think?" he asked again, the edge of his voice cringing on the words like nails in the glass
"Y-yes your grace." She chirped, scared shitless.
Good little bird thought the Hound.
The door shat behind her and she jumped, like a rabbit caught by the wolf. It made Sandor almost snort. This little thing was no wolf. Scared little girl,l afraid to be alone. A tiny little bird with pretty feathers and still no idea of how dangerous the pride was around her. He pitied her.
They made their way around the red keep, surrounded by four other Kinguards, included dear old Ser Trant who towered on the little bird like a starving beast. She seemed to shrink a bit more with every step. The Hound watched silently, vigilant of every soldier close to the boy king.
They passed a bunched of people all of them dropping their gaze as the little cunt crossed them, his nose in the air and smugness pulsing out of him.
"It's a wonderful day isn't it my lady?" he asked eagerly, his bright eyes drinking on the poor sight of the broken girl in front of him.
The girl didn't talk. Her bright head bobbled a little, but from the look on the boy's face, it wasn't enough. Far from it.
"Isn't it?" he asked again.
She stayed quiet. Joff twitched. His mouth sneered. But he didn't act. Surprisingly. He frowned, and turned his back on her, sniffing like a child unsatisfied. The Hound watched as the boy resumed his route, his little betrothed on his heels. He didn't act. He didn't complain. He didn't hit the girl for her insolence.
The little cunt was never nice when he could be. He was planning something. Of that Sandor was sure. It took Sandor only a moment to understand what the little fuck planned to do.
To hear the girl scream her distress seemed to please him immensely. She tried to escape, tears already gathering on her long eyelashes. She moved her head in an attempt to escape the view of her dead father's head put on a pike next to those of every single member of the Starks household.
"Look, look! This one is your father of course! The price in my collection. This one is your Septa, and this one is your sister's maid! Yours is here, on the other side. Look at it!"
"Please don't!" she begged.
"LOOK AT IT!"
Trant gripped her, his large gantlet crushing the flesh of her upper arms. She squeaked and cried harder. It wouldn't help. Stupid girl thinking her tears could save her from the boy. He yearned for them.
"Please don't, your grace-" she begged still between sobs.
"Ser Meryn! Make her look! I want her to watch it! Make her! Now!" ordered the boy.
The man's large hand grabbed the girl's small face and forced her to look. The sobs throating their way out of her mouth were high and painful to hear. She was breathing fast, faster than she should have been. It was fucking annoying for Sandor, but the little Cunt seemed to like it enough.
The hound expected her to continue her useless crying, but somehow, she didn't. I happened suddenly. One moment she was crying uselessly, then something snapped inside her. She blinked the tears from her eyes and slowly, moved them to look. The Hound didn't need to look to know when she found her father's head, the shock moved her entire body, like a punch in the gut. But she looked.
It was almost hypnotic to look at her. The way tears stopped rolling down her cheeks, the way her face is made blank as a stone. He watched as her back straightened, growing taller, stiffer, more composed. Like a doll. Something hardening behind those eyes. Slowly crushing the distress.
Huh… Not so fragile so… Not exactly what he expected.
Joff, satisfied, continue in his ranting of introducing the girl again with the heads of her entire household. Her eyes followed his pointers, and Sandor watched silently. Intrigued by the steel who slowly transforms the water of her deep blue eyes into cold unforgiving ice.
The girl isn't as stupid as she seemed to be. Nor weak apparently. Huh.
"How long do I have to watch?" she asked suddenly, her eyes back on her father's head.
Joffrey didn't like that, stupid cunt, and sneered his answer.
"As long as it pleases me."
Judging by the tone of his voice, the game did not amuse him as much as it did when she was crying. Little shit.
Joff looked back at his trophies.
"When my grandfather and my uncle will win the war against your treacherous brother, I'll put his head here too! I'll have it brought to our wedding and I'll make you kiss it!" he said gleefully.
The little girl twitched and her gaze changed again. The Hound was almost impressed. She had balls.
"Maybe it's your head he'll bring us." She said back, blinking her cold gaze on the King's face.
"What did you say?" he groaned menacingly.
"To me and Kyria and Arya. Maybe he'll bring your head to us," she said, spitting almost the last words like poison in her mouth.
Balls. Stupid, but balls.
"What. Did. You. Say?" the boy asked again, trembling with rage, his face turning an interesting shade of red.
She didn't answer, her chin was high and proud. The hound watch with growing interest, sensing the shit about to go down.
"Who do you think you are, talking to me like that? I am your King!"
"And you killed my father!" she spitted back. "You promised mercy and you killed him!"
"I gave him the mercy of a quick death! He deserved far more like the Traitor he is! I should have ripped every single member of his body and make him eat them like the northern beast he is!"
"The only beast here is you!" she groaned back quite fiercely for such a little thing.
The boy is purple as his point. He shacked his little fists, took a step back, and then turned around, to finally come back in front of the little lady.
"Mother said a King should never strike his lady." He said, apparently full of regrets. "Ser Meryn."
Sandor put his hand on the pommel of his sword, more like a reflex. He didn't move more. He was the boy's dog, he wasn't some kind of knight or other shit like that. And he didn't really care if the silly little chicken couldn't keep her mouth closed.
With one large swift of his hand, Trant slapped the girl. One, two, three times. Each one was stronger than the other. Whatever sound or protest she may have been swallowed back by the hiss of pain that escaped her.
The sly fucker would have kept going if the boy King hadn't stopped the all thing after the fourth one.
Her head stayed down, all will of fighting the boy apparently hit out of her. For now.
"I would have you killed along with your useless sisters. But mother said I still have to marry you. A King should respect his word." He said conversationally, walking back on the bridge, closer to the heads. "So, as soon as you've to bleed I'll put a child in you. Mother said it shouldn't be long now. Your sister bleeds at four and ten didn't she?"
Her head was still low. The Hound waited. Two piercing eyes shone through her falling hair. She looked mad. Like the other one. Trant pushed her forward.
"You'll never have me." she growled hatefully.
The boy snapped.
"I AM KING!" he howled. "I TAKE WHAT I WANT! PUNISH HER! PUNISH THE LITTLE TRAITOR!"
Meryn hit her again. Sandor felt his eyes twitched. He seemed to enjoy that. Another fucker.
Finally she broke. A loud sob escaped her mouth and Joffrey made the fucker stop. He smiled, delighted, and foolishly turned his back on the girl. SHe shacked
Sandor saw it coming. He could practically hear the thought in the girl's head. Jumping and planning. She looked down, then back at the boy. She wanted to push him. Stupid girl. She wouldn't make it out alive. The guards all around would break her before that.
She took one step forward and Sandor acted.
He pushed her back, grabbing the girl almost as strongly as Trant had done before, and made a show of putting his dirty clout on her face. She was shaking under his hands, but she took the thing.
From the corner of his eyes, Sandor saw the little cunt look back, still smug. Stupid little shit.
"So. Will you obey now? Or do I need to teach you another lesson?"
The girl kept silent, her eyes down on the dirty clout in her hands.
"Answer your King." growled Trant.
"Yes your grace."
He snorted. His eyes lingering longer on her slender neck, white and delicate. Again, Sandor could almost hear him think.
"Tomorrow you and your useless sister will be at court. The people need to see what traitors look like. Ser Meryn and my dog will see to have you there." he threatened again, his voice calm and airy.
As if he had not screamed his own head out a minute before.
"Yes your grace," she said again.
"Perfect."
Without another word, he walked past her and leave the place. The hound followed him, dutiful dog.
"Ser Meryn," called the boy, "bring her back to her chambers. My lady is quite tired and doesn't need any more of the good of my keep." He ordered, satisfied. "Dog, go with her."
Trant mumbled his goods and Sandor nodded.
With that it was done.
The stupid little girl tried to give him back the thing, dirtied with her noble blood. Sandor grunted.
"You'll need it more." He only said. "Do what he wants girl and save yourself the pain."
Trant grabbed the girl's arm again and took great pleasure of twisting it all the way through her chambers. Fucking cunt.
She trembled on her legs all the way to her room. Surprisingly, she didn't cry. The Hound couldn't help but watch her. Something was different, in the way she seemed to hold herself. He wondered what it was.
They reached the rooms and promptly unlocked the door. Trant threw the girl inside it with a satisfaction so clear on his face, Sandor wondered if the guys wasn't going to split from that alone like a green little boy. Wouldn't really surprise him.
The two other Stark chicks immediately ran to their sisters, panic clear in their faces.
"Sansa!" cried the oldest.
She still looked like a wild animal. Disheveled and crazy looking. Her bloodshot eyes jumped right on his burned face, then Trant's.
"Who did this?!" she groaned.
The little girl behind her was gripping her sister's arm, trying to pull her closer. The little bird all scared and silent.
"The girl should learn how to speak to the King." Was all the answer Trant decided to give.
Horseshit.
"The King should learn how to be a King instead of a pathetic little boy." She growled right back.
Sandor watched with mild interest. He wondered if she would snap and bite the fucker. Would be entertaining.
Trant reacted immediately, his sword half out of its pommel, purple veins pulsing on his ugly head.
"You dare?!"
"I dare what?" she snapped back. "What are you going to do now? Kill us? Your pathetic little King wouldn't have anything to trade to my brother's wrath! He'll crush him like the stupid boy he is!"
The Hound almost winced, when Trant's hand hit the girl's cheek. She turned her head back, freezing him with her gaze for a moment. Hatred and furious anger burning inside her.
"Treacherous bitch." Spit the fucker, furious.
He held his arm again, ready to strike when Sandor stopped him.
"Come on Trant, we've got work to do." He grunted, pulling the arm away.
"Let go of me dog! Who put you in charge?"
"The King want us back, don't make me throw you at his feet." He threatened.
The man grunted frustrated but didn't seem to want to test him. Coward. He looked one last time at the Stark bitched, all three of them watching back with barely restrained anger. No doubt had they been men they would have fought them by then.
He couldn't say why he cared, not that he really wanted to take the time to think about it, but he felt compelled to wait for the fucker to leave, before talking again.
"He'll report that to the King. I hope you know that."
The little girl growled something suspiciously sounding like words. But they didn't made sense. What was wrong with this one?
"I don't care." Said the oldest. "He could say what he want, that little shit will get what he deserve in the end. Even if I have to strangle him in his ugly chair myself."
"That's treason."
"He can't kill us. We're hostages." Said the little bird, wrapped around her little sister.
"DIdn't stop him for your Father. Won't stop him for you too."
"It can't be worse anyway."
"You sure about that?" he grunted.
She blinked and look at him, her wild hair hiding half her face. Fear. Now she was scared. Stupid girl. A bit too late for that.
He locked the door behind them, trapping them back in their pretty cage, and left.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
The next time he saw the Stark girls, they were at court. He watched as the King and his dear momma gleefully removed old Selmy from the Kingsguard. The man indeed knew how to leave with a bang. He was loud and dramatic and rang true to every word out of his mouth.
And he would have certainly cut through every other sick fucker he used to call brothers had he wished it.
Following the old knight out of the throne room with his eyes, Sandor was momently caught with a patch of bright red he had missed before.
And here they were, looking grim and pale and almost as crazy as the day before. Or maybe slightly less fucked in the head. Dressed like perfect little ladies. Except for the maddening eyes. Red and puffed, almost bruised. They looked pathetic. And disturbed.
The little bird's face was purple and puffed. The oldest one had a large blue cheek. Gifts from Trant. Both of it. They watched as Selmy left the room, not sparing anyone even a single glare.
"Ah my ladies!" called the boy King, waving to the Stark girls to come closer.
They looked at each other, painfully awkward in their hesitation.
"I said come." He repeated, pumping his fist in the pommel of one of the melted swords.
The middle girl jerked, pinged her little sister's sleeve, and stood forward. The little one was glaring furiously at anyone and anything. The oldest looked like she wanted to bit the first hand who dare come to close to her face.
"I assume you're over your father's pathetic end by now," Joff said joyfully. "No one should lose any time crying over a traitor. He got what he deserved. Didn't he lady Sansa?"
The girl kept quiet, her eyes down. The wince of her face said enough for Sandor. The girl didn't want to be hit again by Trant. Smart.
"The King asked you a question." Groaned Trant from his glorified post in front of the King's ugly chair.
"Yes, you grace." She said numbly.
He snorted, falling back on his chair like a disappointed child. Then he pulled forward again. The Hound kept watching, intrigued.
"Tell me, my lady, does the idea of justice satisfy you? Having traitors like your Father lose their head while the public rejoice for the man who carry the sentence? Aren't you happy to have such a man as your betrothed?"
"You are not that man." Rumbled the oldest girl taking a step forward.
The boy jumped.
"What?" groaned the King.
She took another step pulling herself in front of the middle girl.
"You are not that man." She repeated loud enough for the entire court to hear. "You are not even a man. Just a boy not strong enough to pass the sentence himself. I don't even think you can swing the sword."
"How dare you?!" boomed Blount his sword half out, ready to strike.
Sandor snorted. Of course, he would.
"I am your King you fool!" shirked the boy. "How dare you talk to me that way?!"
"The man who passed the sentence should swing the sword." Boomed the Stark. "You couldn't even hear our Father's last words. Or were you too busy enjoying your illusion of power while leading gleefully your brand-new Kingdom to a war with at least one other major family of Westeros?"
"HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME LIKE THAT? I AM YOUR KING!" he shirked again, his voice higher. "I'll have your head removed like I did to your traitor Father! I'll skin your beasts alive and make you eat them while my Kingsguards teach you the lesson you should have learned stupid woman!"
The little one rasped something too distorted to be words. The middle one took a step back. The oldest took a step forward, almost daring the King to execute his menace.
"You'll do nothing boy." She said back. "You can't carry the sword to pass your sentence. You can't even hit a girl by yourself. Do your precious Kingsguards also shit for you or are you able to do it yourself?"
Some of the people around the court puffed a laugh, strangled behind their hands.
"SILENCE!"
He stood, finally, one hand high, ready to strike. She didn't move.
"You can't kill me. I am all that you have to stop the War against my brother. Me and my sisters. Without us, there is nothing stopping Robb to ravage your grandfather's armies and make you sing like the pathetic little boy you are."
"SER MERYN!"
The knight struck the girl. She laughed.
"You can't even hit me yourself! Are you afraid of little girls Joffrey?!"
"I AM YOUR KING! I WILL PUNISH YOU! PUNISH YOU LIKE THE TRAITOR WHORE YOU ARE!"
"Come here then!" she said, her arms wide open. "Punish me yourself, little boy!"
Was she mad? It wasn't even provocation at this race. It was suicide! Did she really think he wouldn't have her arrested and killed? He executed the Warden of the North, she was a simple maiden, without any support or family. He was going to crush her.
The other two seemed less sure of their sister's display. The middle one pulled her sleeve, whispering what Sandor assumed was a warning or a plea to stop. But the girl kept laughing, calling the King a boy and a fool.
The strangest in all of this was no doubt the King. Joffrey was angrier than ever before, purple, shooting, throwing his arms away like a hurricane. Spitting everywhere. But, odder, he didn't act. He didn't call his guards to strike the girl again, or even him, to shut the fool up. He kept trying to intimidate the girl, repeating again, and again he was the King. Each time made her laugh louder. Finally, after two good minutes of the display, the door opened, revealing a servant who ran haltingly to the King paper in hand.
"Your grace! A message from the front!"
"GO AWAY! GO BEFORE I KILL YOU TOO!"
The man took several steps back. The Stark girl muted her laugh, a mocking smile still wide on her face. The middle girl was white as death at this point.
It took the intervention of the Queen Mother to calm the boy. She appeared, looking distressed and strangely pale.
"I WANT THEM DEAD!" he said again. "SER MERYN! HIT THEM! HURT THEM! MAKE THEM PAY!"
The man obeyed. The slap was loud and had the good grace to stop the girl from laughing like a mad… girl.
Meryn hit her two other times before Joffrey was calm enough to leave the room. The hound followed him.
He was left in front of the door, while the King and its mother joined the other members of the small council. The Hound grunted and stood outside the door. Good dog waiting for its masters.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Varys
A disaster.
There was no other way to describe this.
Everything since the unfortunate death of Lord Eddard Stark had been spiraling into a burning disaster, not unlike the one built just before the demise of the last dynasty who sat on the Iron Throne.
And that was him, the poor spider who was left to see the Kingdom falling into another War, promising to be as horrible as the last ones. Already news was alarming for the realm.
The Queen had just left the council chamber, following a guard to the throne room where apparently the lady Kyria was antagonizing the King. That particular piece of information was odd to Varys. The girl had struck him as a bright mind with a lot of potentials to be a great player in the game. To anger a King as volatile as Joffrey right after her father's execution for treason, and while her brother was starting a rebellion seemed very stupid.
But then, grief could do a lot of things to someone. Especially someone so young.
Then, he also has heard of the beating the young lady Sansa went through by ser Meryn. Maybe the young Kyria wanted to protect her sisters by leading the King's fury on herself. Not a particularly good plan, but still… believable.
While waiting for the Queen to come back and resume their complicated meeting, Varys allowed himself to think back of everything happening around him.
A disaster.
In all honesty, he hadn't really thought this plan of sending Ned Stark to the Wall was truly going to work. It had looked a bit too good to be true.
The days before the judgment could have given him hope. But one spared look at the new King was all that was needed for him to know. Even with every promise the King made to young Sansa, Varys couldn't miss the vague tone of the words. Justice and Mercy did not always mean survival.
So, naturally, nothing happened as announced.
The sentence on his own had been a mistake. Putting this child on the throne was an even biggest mistake. However, where the disaster truly took place, was with the children. In retrospect, he should have guessed it. Children were always paying the consequences of their parents' actions.
Besides, every Stark Varys had ever met was strongly attached to family. Why would those girls had been different? And the little one was fierce and wild still. Of course, she would try to save her Father.
Unfortunately, it resulted in the display they had the displeasure to admire. Transforming Joffrey's… doubtful show of power into the birth of what could easily be a martyr, dying for his family and children.
The silence, after those heartbreaking screams had been a good show of the fiasco that would certainly follow. The almost thick tension that accompanied those girls back in their carriage had been even more significant.
Had he been a better man, Varys certainly would have tried to comfort those poor souls. But as he had said poor Lord Stark, he was no hero. He couldn't interfere more than he already had.
Instead, Varys thought. It made no doubt to him that whatever Joffrey had thought to do with this public execution had failed and threatened to even backfire right on his face.
The deepness of all this pain had impacted the crowd. Varys didn't even need to look closely to found the gaze of the people, following the Starks back in their golden cage. That silence, dragging on with every moment of contemplation of the sadness and sorrow that weighed down the atmosphere was more meaningful than the King's little display arriving just before.
Those children had moved the audience. To have to see that man, so resolved to his fate, rise and fight again at the mere idea of his girls being hurt while he still breathed... It couldn't have been more perfect. Or horrible.
Just like he said. A disaster.
People could relate to this. The love of a father for his daughters. The love of daughters for their father. It happened everywhere, with anyone. They could see themselves in the Starks. And in so, they could feel their pain as their own. And the blood clashing with their pale skins would last longer in their minds than any message the King had wished to send. Purity tainted by men's cruelty.
The place had been full. And deadly silent. There had been more than enough people around here, for the tale of what happened here to be spread all around the Seven kingdoms. And such a tale was perfect for songs.
As Lord Tywin liked to remind them far to often, a good song could be just as persuasive as any threat or plea. If the words were right.
"What happened out there?" asked Maester Pycelle, his trembling hands taping the table.
"Matters of court my lord." Answered Varys. "Things like that can take time, as we all know."
"With the new of Ser Jaime's situation, I thought the Queen…" shuttered the old Maester, "well she might be very distressed by her brother's… situation."
"He had been taken prisoner by Robb Stark Maester, you can say it." Said Lod Baelish quite impatiently.
Was he nervous? The situation was quickly spiraling for sure. But a man like Baelish, so… close to his ladder, would certainly rejoice to such a situation. Such chaos.
The news of Ser Jaime's situation certainly didn't help their present situation. Having The Stark girls into custody was giving the crown an advantage in the conflict against the North. Now that they have Ser Jaime things didn't seem so clear. The Kingslayer was the golden lion, the lone member of the Lannister family no one ever tried to attack before.
They still had the advantage, with three girls into their custody, one of which the King was supposed to marry. But the capture of Jaime Lannister still had importance for them, and consequences for the conflict.
The door slammed against the wall, allowing the Queen Mother to storm inside the room, preceded by her son whose fury seemed to radiate out of him. His purple face was puffed his eyes huge and bloodshot, all in all remarkably similar to the late King Robert on his most… sanguine moments.
"I WANT HER DEAD! I WANT HER PUNISHED! I WANT TO RIP THAT SMILE OUT OF HER STUPID FACE!" he shirked, pointing a menacing finger to the table.
"Do not trouble yourself, my love, we have plans for her. She will pay, I assure you." Cooed the Queen, her long finger gripping her son's shoulder and caressing it like one does a small animal.
They did? Varys felt himself blink slowly in confusion. Then it clicked.
Oh...
The King raged for another long moment, passing back and forth into the room, promising twenty different ways to make the Stark girls suffer. He had imagination, no one would deny that. When he finally calmed down, he pined his mother with a furious look and barked his need of an explanation.
"What is to be done to punish the Stark whore?" he growled.
Varys repressed a sigh, knowing the task of explaining the situation to their young King fell on him. He braced his long sleeves closer to himself and start talking quietly.
"Not a fortnight ago, my little birds sang me a troubling tale of a transaction made beyond the Narrow sea." He started slowly. "They sang of a foreign King and his little sister being convinced to treat with a Horse lord to gain an army and make their way back in our lands."
It took Joffrey a moment to gather the meaning of such a tale. The boy didn't inherit his grandfather's sharp mind for sure.
"Why should I be bother with Targaryen scums?!"
Oh, at least he knew whom they were talking about.
"Apparently," continued the humble spider, "the groom whom they wished is a peculiar one. The Dothraki are commonly known to be ferocious. And very religious people. They worship the earth their horses walk in and disrtust anything that could hurt their precious beasts. And the water from the Narrow sea can not be drank" he paused, for the effect and the attention, then carried on his explanation. "Khal Drogo is known to be fearless. Nothing had ever stopped this man, not even his gods. With a Targaryen princess as his bride, and a good brother lusting after your throne your grace, nothing could theoretically stop him from crossing the Narrow sea with his forty thousand men and ruin the Seven Kingdoms as they did the cities that used to compose the know Dothraki sea."
And that was putting it mildly. The tales of the mighty Khal Drogo were numerous and bad enough to send shivers down the backs of every wealthy man and woman in Essos. One of the best killers alive.
The blond boy snorted.
"And so? I don't care about barbaric fools and Targaryen scums? Are you stupid?! I said I wanted to punish those bitches! I want the Stark whore to be dealt with!"
"Shh, listen, my love," hushed the Queen, her hand softly stroking her son's hair. "This is precisely why we are telling you this. Those Targaryen's fools have given us the perfect opportunity to get rid of the Stark whore!"
"NOW! I WANT HER GONE NOW!"
" Certainly M-my Lord," babbled the old Maester, his trembling hands shaking against hi"s chains.
"I AM YOUR KING YOU OLD RAT!" shrieked the boy.
Varys had to pull off his head to avoid the boy's angry hand pointed at the Maester.
The man shacked so hard he almost fell out of his chair.
"O-o-of course y-your grace p-p-pardon me I a-am but an old man." He shuttered.
"Maybe we should dispose of you as I did with old Selmy?" threatened the boy.
"My love," hushed the Queen seemingly unbothered by her son's aggravating behavior, "we can put her on a boat tonight for Pentos. She'll be thrown at the barbarian's feet and be raped by all of his pride like the little whore she is. We will even send her her wedding meal if you want. Those beasts they call pets will certainly be good enough for savages like this. I'll order them killed before the departure."
"I apologize your grace," interrupted Lord Baelish, "but we won't be able to prepare the girl's departure before tomorrow. We have many things to see done as you well know."
The King laughed suddenly, his face lightened with a delighted smile.
"But she'll be gone! She's going to be raped by savages and their horses! She'll eat the flesh of her pets she loves so much! I will announce her! I will put her in this ship myself!" he commanded. "I will push her to her death and torture and admire the desperation on her stupid face!"
Varys watched the boy with mild interest, his thought turned to the poor lady who's fate was currently discussed. He may need to have a chat with the girl… Hopefully before her departure.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Later that day, the humble spider slowly made her way to the chambers currently holding the remaining Stark pups in the Red Keep. He had a lot of things to think of. Mainly: purposes.
Oh, this was indeed a disaster. Too many things were happening at the same time for the poor spider to be able to wrap his web around all of them. He had to make choices and put his paws in the right places.
The most pressing matter was no doubt the Stark girl and her incoming travel. He and his good friend had plans for the Targaryen children. Plans they had crafted for months before good old Robert learned the disturbing news of Princess Daenerys upcoming nuptials.
For years now they had tried to protect the last Targaryen as much as they could, and this wedding could very well be the perfect occasion for them to regain some of the power the Rebellion had cost them.
In that aspect, Robert Baratheon's death had been rather unfortunate and very ill-timed for him and his plans. That the Queen take the lead to the small council, even temporarily and suggest such an alternative for those nuptials was very unfortunate.
In that aspect, to have Lady Kyria married to a Khal would not help his plans at all. But then… maybe it could. To have someone with the Targaryen, someone from their country, someone smart enough to know how to play the game and with a good motivation to help those children… maybe he could work this at his advantage.
Besides as much as he wished she was, Princess Daenerys wasn't exactly born in Westeros, despise her Mother's best wishes and effort. She had been born in Essos while her mother and brother had already been exiled, month after the end of the Rebellion that dethroned her family. In the strict sense of the term, and despise her brother's wish and her blood, she was from Essos. Having been born and lived there for her entire life.
It nullified her status as a Westerosi Princess. And if the rumors about the mighty Khal Drogo were true, the man would not be fooled by flying words.
In that aspect, lady Kyria was the best choice. But then again, blood meant little to the Dothraki.
He could not stop the… transaction to happen, just as he couldn't force the Dothraki to make his choice. Since the orders had been given, nothing could change those facts. However... he could still mold the situation to his advantage.
Which is why, while the night was full and the keep quiet, the humble spider slowly made his way to the chamber.
He entered by one of the many passages known only to him and his little birds and was welcomed by the lovely sight of three little wolf pups cuddled around each other in a bed ready to swallow them. The oldest one eyes blinked open as soon as he put a foot inside the room.
He put his hands back inside his sleeves and waited patiently for the lady to understand what she was seeing.
Slowly, she extracted herself from the pile of Stark on the bed. Her white nightshift was thin and simple. For the sake of sensibility, she wrapped herself in a large shale, with what seemed to be rather vibrant colors.
With her wrapped in it, the thing almost looked like a blanket. Large and dwarfing her. She looked soft and vulnerable. Lost...Poor child.
He waited for her to come to him.
"Pardon my intrusion my lady, but I'm afraid time is against us on those terrible times."
"Lord Varys." She said back. "what happened?"
"I'm afraid your time in the capital will soon come to a very short end." He announced slowly.
She looked around, studying the room and the girls cuddled in the bed.
"I thought so… What had they planned for me?" she asked softly.
"I'm afraid you'll be… disposed of in an incoming boat to Pentos."
"Pentos?" she cuddles the fabric closer to her, one of her long lock obscuring her face momentarily.
"Yes, unfortunately, your little quarrel with the King in the throne room had let a very strong dislike of your rather delicate person. The King has ordered your immediate departure, and, if impossible, the subject of a solution more efficient and definitive regarding your…living conditions."
She snorted. "the little boy wants me dead."
Varys felt one of his brows go higher on his forehead.
"I assume this kind of speech had been the… amusement of the day in the throne room if I am correct."
She smiled. Changing her face into something ugly and dark and disturbing. He chose not to comment. No more than what he already did.
"I will, of course, try to assist you in any way possible. As you know Essos is… familiar to me. But I'm afraid I won't be able to do much more for you, my dear Lady."
"You've done enough already. And to be perfectly honest I wouldn't have been comfortable with my debt to you increasing even more." She said smoothly.
Ah yes, that was why this girl was so interesting. She knew how things worked. She had potential. Pushed in the right direction, she might have been what was missed in his numerous plans for the future of the Realm.
And if not, no ally was ever worthless.
"A good reasoning my lady, but unfortunately, you might need as much help as you can get. Essos is an unforgivable place for young ladies of your breeding."
"Indeed…" she rasped, dry as the wind.
Again, the humble spider felt the need to offer the comfort he could.
"I am truly sorry for all of this my lady. Do understand the deepness of my sympathies. But this game is harsh and it does no one any good to come into it unprepared."
"Don't I know that Lord Varys. A wise lesson, one my Father might have enjoyed much more with his head still on his shoulders."
…Indeed.
He said as much. She snorted another twisted smile and looked back at her sisters.
"Will you help them? To the realm of your possibilities of course."
Varys blinked. He took a moment to study her, wondering about the changes he could see inside those eyes. She was looking at the bed, with yearning and fondness, as if she was already far far away from her loved ones. Interesting.
"Weren't you being afraid of the cost of my help just then my Lady?"
"A cost I am scared to pay. But it won't be me you'll help then Lord Varys. Everyone should pay for their own bargains."
Very interesting...Tempted, he asked his question.
"My lady, if you would, indulge me for a moment."
Big doe eyes looked back at him.
"Yes?"
"I would like to offer you a little riddle of my… conception."
"A riddle? Right now? Really?" she asked doubtfully.
"I'm afraid I won't have the opportunity to do that anymore after tonight my lady."
She looked at him, suspicious.
"Why would you need to give me a riddle?"
"A way to better understand your character, my lady. And I myself am quite fond of riddles."
She took another moment to decide. Then, she took place in one of the chairs in front of the dressing glass. She looked even smaller with the fabric of her shale pooling around her on the furniture. Her long hair flowing around it like liquid fire. Or blood...
"Go on then."
"Three great men sit in a room. A King, a Priest, and a Rich man. Between them stands a common sellsword. Each great man bet the sellsword to kill the other two. Who lives? Who dies?"
She blinked, not expecting such a thing maybe. Varys was quite fond of this little riddle of his. It was tricky and the answer generally told him a lot about the person he asked it.
He was pleased to see her think. To his utter fascination, her gaze soon was lost in the dressing table, her mind rolling the words, studying them with great concentration. It was almost frightening, how much she seemed empty on this instant.
She batted her eyelashes prettily a couple of times and directed her razor-sharp gaze right into his eyes.
"You speak this riddle a lot, don't you? To many people."
He was taken aback for a moment. Immediately he wondered. What was she trying to do?
"I like to know how people tend to answer it. When necessary." he chose to say.
"You'll ask it again. Soon. To someone else. A small man with a tall shadow…" she said almost dreamily.
She looked away again, pensively, and Varys felt his bones froze. A disturbing suspicion growing inside him.
"It's possible my lady. But I like to concentrate on the present before I think of the future. Currently-"
"You'll help them." She said, with finality. "my sisters. You'll do it. Not as much as you could but more than you should. Maybe you'll do them the same courtesy you did me."
She looked at him again, and Varys felt the words stop on the very tip of his tongue. This conversation was spiraling out of control and he couldn't, for the life of him, understand when it stepped out of the road.
Without a word from him, the girl stood up and quietly start arranging the sheets around her sisters, covering them with great and silent care. Varys felt confused.
"I see it is pointless to insist on the subject." He said, almost hesitating.
"Power resides where men's believed it resides. A trick. Clever." She said and it sounded like a quote somehow.
His quote. Except he never told her this. His hand gripped themselves under his sleeves. Something was happening here.
She looked up again, right in his eyes. The light burning inside them reminded him of the fire and the words that plagued his thought still so many years after. She looked ethereal standing there, in her shale and little shift. Her long hair around her. Beautiful in an artistic way. Like a painting.
Beautiful and strange. And he thought of the warlock who changed his life.
It wasn't the same, but what happened here had nothing to do with normalcy.
"I know who you serve my Lord. I'll remember it." She said.
"And who do you serve, my lady?"
She didn't answer. Nor did she need to. She dropped her gaze and kept on fussing around her sisters. Varys took it as the answer it was and vanished in the shadows of the night.
The conversation kept playing in his mind for some time after that. Kyria Stark… there was something with this girl.
Opportunity.
Whatever else it was he could feel in her, Varys could recognize potential in this girl. She was clever and full of wit. And wise enough to keep it for herself. Maybe the Queen knew that too.
A shame, really, the fate that awaited her in Pentos… She could have done so much at the capital.
But then again, the Queen regent seemed just aware enough of the girl's potential to feel the need to dismiss her from the siege of power. Still, he wondered. Essos was a land of possibilities for those who knew how to play their cards. With the right escort, she could come back home one day.
Maybe with a little help from her homeland… who knows?
Work little spider work, spread your web, wide and far. And wait for the threat to tremble.
OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOo-GOT-oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO
Arya
When they woke up, the day after Kyria's rather fantastic display at court, Arya knew, immediately, that something was wrong. Worse than before.
Sansa was wrapped around her like it was every night now, and the smell of her hair tingled her nose, making her want to sneeze. To think that last year that same smell of roses and lemon was one of her tools to mock her perfect sister. Now with everything else, it gives her comfort and reminded her of home. Something she felt like she really needed after… After everything.
Kyria was up.
It happened often for Kyria to be awake while they still slept. But she never left the bed before they were all up. Something was different.
Her eyes blinked open. Kyria was up yes. Standing still in front of the large window. Her back facing the bed. That long ugly shale of hers wrapped around her. One tip pooling at her feet, the bright green color even brighter with the white of her shift. She was looking at the sea.
Slowly, she tried to stand up, one hand already on her throat, ready to make it work this time.
"K-"
She cough. Another failure.
Immediately, Kyria turned around and poured a large cup of water. She then sat on the bed behind Arya and gave her the cup.
"Shhh" she hushed softly, her delicate hand stroking Arya's hair, "don't talk darling. You know you need to spare your throat for a couple of more days if you want to heal."
Arya tried to protest, but just like those past days, her voice didn't agree with her thought. Since the day they killed her father, she could barely talk. Kyria said it was because of how much she had screamed when it happened. And she knew she had screamed a lot that day. She remembered feeling like it lasted for hours. She hadn't be able to stop herself, nor her voice for coming out.
It was slowly getting better, but for her, the entire process was too slow. She never noticed before how much she could talk in a day. And every time she tried to throat some words, it hurt like hell, and all the progress she felt she made was reversing to square one.
She slowly drank the mercifully cold water while her sister kept stroking her hair. A part of Arya wished to shoo her away, to claim she was no baby, that she didn't need to be brood like a fragile little thing. But they had killed Father, and they were alone in this city with no one no Mother, no Robb or Bran or Rickon and they had their wolves and-
"Shhh" said Kyria again. "Arya, shhh…"
Fresh tears rolled out of her cheeks, and she swallowed a strangled sob, the memory of the blood-
"Shh, it's alright darling, let it out. I know, I know it hurt, I-" her voice broke too and Arya's hair felt damp where her sister's cheek was touching them, " I miss him too…"
They stayed like that for a while. Sansa woke up at some point, her eyes red and puffy, like almost every morning. Sansa cried herself to sleep more often than not. She rolled herself in a tiny ball and pillowed her head against Kyria's knee.
They stayed together, wrapped like that, with Kyria's enormous shale slowly crawling around them like a blanket. She hated this thing. Kyria had bought it in one of the markets she went to visit with Sansa right before Father's... It was ugly and useless and so full of embroidery it would have been better set on a wall somewhere. But Kyria spend a lot of time wrapped in it these days.
After a time, half an hour maybe, Arya's eyes dried out, as did Sansa's and Kyria's. They stayed in silence, watching the sun slowly going up.
"They're going to send me away." Confessed Kyria with the sweetest voice.
Arya's head turned so fast her neck cracked rather painfully. Sansa straightened her face twisted with anguish.
"What? What are you talking about?" asked Sansa.
"Ky-"rasped Arya.
" Someone came to me last night. An ally… of a sort." She explained slowly. "He told me of the Queen's plans for me. They are going to sell me to Essos, to some Warlord or merchant that could benefit them."
"But- You said it couldn't be worse!" whined Sansa.
"I was wrong. I was foolish." She said bitterly, "with those people it can always be worse."
She pressed their shoulders suddenly, her eyes hard and serious.
"Listen to me, both of you. With me gone you'll be alone in this city. I don't know for how long."
"W-what-" started Sansa.
"Kyria-"rasped Arya.
She pressed harder on their bones.
"Listen to me, I made a mistake in the throne room. Since the day we left home I tried to look as dumb, weak, and pliable as I could. So, they could not see me as a threat. But I didn't do a good job at it. Not at all." She looked in Sansa's eyes, then Arya, "you need to do better than me, do you understand? You need to give them what they want to see. Even if it's not true, you need to be what they want you to be."
"What are you talking about?"
"The weaker you are the safer you'll be. Do you understand me? It's not just physically, your mind must look weak too."
"M-mind?" tried Arya, frustrated beyond reason.
Oh, how she wished she could talk! This broken voice was a nightmare! And Kyria with her cryptic words and odd behavior was not helping at all! What was that now? Leaving? Being sold? There were so many things in this she didn't get it wasn't even funny. Why did she need to appear so smart? Stupid.
Everyone knew Kyria was smart. No big deal! But what use could it have if she keep talking like a freaking walking riddle!
Her big sister breathes by her nose, and held Sansa's chin with delicate fingers.
"With me gone, you'll be the oldest Sansa. Do you know what that means?"
The girl shakes her head, tears quickly filling up her pretty eyes. Arya knew though. She was going to ask Sansa to take care of her or something like that. Which was stupid. Arya would take care of her sister, it was her role. She was the fighter. Sansa was the pretty princess that needed to be rescued. Why was Sansa the one who get those advice? What was even those advice?
"I- I should- I should protect-"
"You will need to think about both of you. Not just you. When the snow falls and the white wind blows, the lone wolf die but the pack survives."
Sansa nodded tears in her eyes.
"Do you understand?"
"We- you said we only had each other-" sobbed the redhead. "You said we needed to protect each other here and that we should- we should- we should be smart about what we say and did-"
"Aye I said that." Nodded Kyria.
"But you- you- you were not smart when you talked to the King yesterday. You were angry and you angered him and you- you were not smart about it."
"Was I?"
"No Kyria you were not! You angered him and you did it intentionally! He is the King! He can do as he pleased and he- And you did it purposely! Why would you do that? I told you- I told you about-"
"About Ser Meryn slapping you silly for the little boy's amusement." She said bluntly.
Sansa slapped her shoulder.
"You said we couldn't talk like that! You said walls had ears!"
"They do." She said again. "And tell me, why would I talk like that if I knew that?"
"I don't know! Why would you!"
"Think Sansa. I know you are smarter than you look. Think."
"I don't know! I don't know!" she cried in distress.
"Because he's a little boy!" she groaned. Right on Sansa's face. "He has no power without fear. He is a little boy that enjoys other's suffering. I didn't give him that. I show no fear and I bite back when he tried to break me. That what it is. It was as to how, just like everything else here! He couldn't kill me, not so soon after Father. As mad as he is, he couldn't. That's the only reason why I did it."
"But- You said-"
"I know what I said Sansa!" she stood up, pushing away both her sisters.
Arya bites her lips, annoyed at both of them and at her inability to talk. Annoyed at Sansa for whining and crying while Kyria obviously tried to say something, to explain why she was so stupid yesterday. Annoyed at Kyria for being stupid to begin with. Annoyed at her own stupid voice and throat who just couldn't work!
"This is what I am talking about. You need to be smart. To twist yourself so they see what you want them to see. It's a game! A game of manipulations and appearances. It's all about showing your hand at the right time. And-"
"Oh enough with this!" cut Sansa standing out of the bed and away from Kyria.
"It's all you're always doing! You talked and make those grand speech about being smart and playing the game and I don't know what else! And I'm sick of it! I don't care about their games and their politics and who is good at it or not! I don't care! You're saying you're going to leave! You'll leave us alone in this blasted place! And I don't want you to go! I want to go home with you and Arya and Nymerya and Frost and Lady! I want Robb to come here and take us all home!" she sobbed frustration and anger burning in each word.
"It's not about what you want Sansa. It's about surviving! You need to be smart and to think and to survive so that we can all be back home someday! You'll be alone here! And no one will help you but yourselves! No one else!"
"Stop it! Enough! I don't want your lessons! You're always giving us lessons and you're talking and talking and showing how smart you are and how much you think about everything! Just Stop! I don't want your counsels, I don't want any of it!"
"What do you want me to do then Sansa!" cried back Kyria.
Oh how she wished she could talk!
"I want you to stop thinking your smarter than everyone else! I want you to stop talking to us like we are too stupid to understand what is happening around here! I want you to stop being so cryptic and- and I don't want to hear about this stupid game!"
I'm sorry sister but it won't stop. You're in the middle of it and it will not stop because you want it to. And they won't send us home because we ask nicely. This is a war. We are prisoners. Hostages. Disposable if necessary."
"Stop! Stop talking like this! I don't want to hear it! I don't!"
Surprisingly she stopped. Arya looked at her, expecting another endless tirade about how dangerous this was how important it was for them to be smart and blablabla. But Kyria just shacked her head and dropped she shale. She went on her stuff, intending to dress up and get ready for another awful day. Her long hair was painfully tangled around her and once again, Arya wondered why she was bothering with that hair. They were too long and annoying.
Sansa sobbed some more time and Kyria dressed silently. And Arya stayed on the bed, silently fuming on her situation and how much she missed talking. And needle. She wished she had Needle with her.
When she finally prepared herself, it was quick. She only had two dresses for herself since they had put them in those chambers. The Queen and her minions had taken everything that could remind them of Winterfell and the North. Leaving only things southern looking. Arya's things had came from the north with the exception of the two annoying dresses Sansa had made for her.
Sansa had more dresses, as she had made more things similar than southern fashion. Kyria had a couple of more things too, but all their furs and other stuff were gone.
Once dressed they sat up in different places around the single room and waited.
Honestly, Arya was not sure what they were waiting for. It was frustrating. Why couldn't they try to think of a way to keep Kyria here? Or for the three of them to escape this place? She had tried already but with them three she was sure they could have done it.
But no one was moving. And with her stupid throat, she could not even try to talk her sisters through the beginning of an escape. It was just so frustrating!
So with nothing else to do, she drank her water. At least she could try to heal a bit. Kyria had said honey would have helped but they barely gave them food twice a day and rarely for more than one person, so she didn't really think the healing of her throat was a part of their priorities. Sometimes Arya wondered if they wanted to starve them on top of everything else. Of if they just… forgot?
Couldn't say. Didn't really care right now. Too much was happening around the place for her mind to process all of it.
After hours of silent waiting, three redcloaks opened their door and stood around it. The clicking of their armors breaking the heavy silence of the room. Then, in the middle of them, came the Queen in the brightest red dress Arya had ever seen, her golden hair freely floating around her face. Arya wanted to sneer at her. But she didn't spare her even a glance. Her feline eyes found Kyria almost immediately.
Arya took a step closer to her.
"Do you know what will happen now little girl?" asked Cersei with a soft voice.
"I don't your grace." Answered Kyria calmly.
Lie. She said someone told him about their plan. Arya's back chilled at the thought. Was she there to send Kyria away? Or to kill her?
The though ran chill on her. SHe couldn't. She couldn't do that couldn't she? Kyria was important, an hostage. It would be stupid to kill her.
But the Queen was stupid... No. No she couldn't.
"No of course you don't." smiled the Queen.
She paused, watching smugly at each of them. Her eyes slowly evaluating them. Arya wanted to burst those eyes with her fingers. To ruin that face and destroy everything that woman had. SHe hated her. She hated her like she never hated anyone before.
"You made quite an impression to the court." She started. " I suppose you must feel very clever. Angering my son in such a way."
"Not really." Said Kyria.
She looked like she wanted to say something else but somehow kept quiet. Sansa stood closer to Arya, so much she felt the need to look up for her sister's blue eyes. She looked worried.
"Of course. Nothing is ever done with ill intentions with your folk." Observed the Queen, slowly passing in front of the dressing table. She picked up a hairbrush and looked at it curiously. Arya recognized it as Sansa's. "The Honorable Starks. You are known to do the right thing. Always the right thing. Like when your treacherous Father attacked my brother in a street of our city. Or when your treacherous Mother kidnapped my other brother in a tavern, like some baseborn bandit."
Arya's blood pulsed through her brain, blinding her vision for a moment. Her throat let out a grumble that sounded like something Nymeria would have done. How dare she. This- this bitch! Say something like that about their parent!
The Queen ignored them entirely, both her and Sansa. Her eyes were glued to Kyria, whose tensed back seemed to grow stiffer with each breath.
"The King had decided on your fate little girl. You proved yesterday how unfitted you were for our court. You behaved like a savage. We can not allow such a thing around the King."
"Of course not. One beast is enough." Purred Kyria.
Sansa squeaked. Arya almost barked.
The Queen's eyes steeled. Her face twisted in burning rage as her fingers pressed against the brush. But then, she seemed to calm down and smiled again. Arya's blood ran cold in her veins.
"You think yourself so clever… Yet you talk with such disrespect of the most powerful man in All the Seven Kingdoms… He is the King girl, he can do whatever he pleases with you. And he will." She put the brush down and grabbed Kyria's face between her long bagged fingers. "In one hour you will be in a boat to Essos where you have been sold to a Horselord to prevent the wedding of Daenerys Targaryen and the potential threat of her and her beggar brother coming back in our lands and trying to steal what is my son's birthright."
"WHAT?" rasped Arya, unable to stop herself.
Her throat protested and almost immediately she as lost in a fit of coughing that shacked her entire body. The taste of blood was strong in her mouth. Sansa's cool hands were soon around her, holding her steady and helping her drink her water.
Horselords? The Dothraki? No! She couldn't go there! The Dothraki were like Wildling! Worse even for they had no wall to keep them in check! Kyria couldn't go there! She couldn't!
The Queen barely spare her a glance. She forced Kyria to look at her as she continued.
"You will be escorted by ten of our redcloaks whose work will be to ensure you do your duty to the crown. You will Marry the savage and let him fuck you like the little wolf bitch you are. And you will do everything you can to ensure he never crossed the Narrow Sea. Am I clear, little girl?"
"Are you that scared of me your grace, to force me so far away from your court?" sneered back Kyria.
Cersei's mouth twisted and her nails pushed the tender skin of Arya's sister's cheeks, almost piercing it.
"Do not be foolish, little girl. You are flowered, and now that your treacherous Father is dead it's up to the King to decide of your future, as a ward of the crown. And he had decided that for the good of the realm you will play the perfect whore to a Savage in Essos to stop Targaryen scum from usurping the throne. And you will do as we say, little girl. One wrong move and the redcloaks will have your head. Just like my son had your father's."
Kyria didn't answer, and after a moment, while Arya's cough finally stopped, the Queen dropped the girl's face and took a step back. She looked at them again, satisfaction shining through her eyes.
"Oh," she added after a moment of silence, "one last thing. Your pets will be served as your wedding feast. I ordered my men to bring back their heads for our walls. They will fit nicely next to your father's head."
"WHAT?! NO!" rasped Arya.
"Your Grace!" sobbed Sansa immediately.
"You won't touch them! Never!" growled Kyria.
The Queen ignored them all. With one gest of her hand, she ordered her lackey to take Kyria and ask for handmaidens to pack her belongings. Kyria fought against the armored men, threatening Cersei to make her pay if one hair was found out of place in the wolves' fur, but she ignored it.
Arya screamed again, forgetting her throat and tried to reach the Queens, hands first ready to nail those fucking eyes right out of their socket. Sansa's cries were useless in the back grown as was her attempt to stop the men to move around the room.
All of it was pointless and before long the door closed again to their screams, taking the Queen the redcloaks and Kyria with them. Her sister's voice resonated in the corridors on the other side of the door for a long moment after. But in the end, it faded too.
"They can't do that! They can't! Frost and Nymeria and Lady, they didn't do anything wrong! They're good!" raged Sansa, her delicate hands trying to open the door.
Arya kept banging against it, hoping beyond hope for the blasted thing to finally open and allow them to go save their wolves.
But the door remained closed. And no one came.
When the night started to fall that evening, Sansa and Arya had left the door and were desperately grabbing the window, their eyes watching the boats who slowly left the port of Kingslanding. Knowing that in one of them, was their sister. And the corpses of their beloved companions.
"That's not fair!" sobbed Sansa, "that's not fair."
Arya nodded, her mouth open to a scream that didn't come.
Hours later, when sleep finally claimed both of them, the night light found the two Stark sisters wrapped around one another, hidden under the large shale that had covered their sister, just the night before.
TBC.
I know, I know, again with a horrible chapter... And I'm sorry about it! But be brave folks it's almost over now! Only two remaining chapters plus an epilogue before we finish this book! I'm so excited!
So this is basically me realizing I needed to put in place the rest of the story if I wanted all of it to make sense in the end with the second book and everything else xD So there is a lot of plotting and foreshadowing and explaining in one chapter xD
He's also very long. But it's a combination of the second part of the last chapter I had to remove for the sake of continuity and another one who was supposed to happen later. I decided to concentrate them both into one single chapter so we could go on with the rest. Some of you said to me you found I took too much time in my story with a lot of talking and not as much action as I could have put. So I try to change that a bit.
I am very proud of the scene between Varys and Kyria. It was a last-minute thought and I like it a lot. For those who wandered, yes she had a vision en she says the last bit, after the riddle.
Anyway, what do you think? Good? Bad? Awful?
I was a bit scared about Arya, as she is portrayed very differently in the show. But in my mind she didn't have the time to deal with her grief over her father in the show, she couldn't cry or really take the time to feel it, as she had to flee right after. There, locked up with her sisters she can deal with it. That's why she's crying. I'm not sure about this so if you have any input... I'll like it!
I wait for your opinion!
Like always thank you a lot for your support and for enjoying this story, I hope you'll like it 'till the end and I will see you next time!
Bubyyye!