Sorry this took so long, but it's here! I've had a very busy year, so I won't take up time with excuses. Just a heads up, I have no idea when the next chapter will be ready. Until then, enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own anything from Game of Thrones.
It had been a long ride following the events near the Ruby Ford. Even longer for Jon due to the pain he felt once he was back on his horse. Despite Robert's strength behind each lash, the young bastard pushed past the pain and rode along with all the other vassals of House Stark. As he did, some of the vassals he rode with kept a close eye on the Lannister vassals that rode next to them; even going as far as to flank them while Jon rode on the other side, as per Jory's order.
Thankfully, the remainder of the journey went on without any other fuss. Although, Ned could easily see the storm clouds over his daughters' heads. Ever since he put down Lady, Sansa had become cold and distant from him. The only person she seemed to allow in her presence was her dotting septa; though, even she received the cold shoulder from the teenager. As for Arya, Ned could clearly see his youngest girl had been angry at the Lannisters every day since that night. She tried to help out as best she could when Jon was still feeling the majority of his pain, and Ned was proud of her for that. However, he saw nothing but hatred on her face whenever she saw the royal family, their vassals, or even the color red. It greatly concerned him how someone so young could already hold such anger.
Nevertheless, Ned maintained his ever neutral expression when he was near the prince and his mother. Between what happened to four of his six children and the warnings he received from his wife and son, Ned was beginning to feel a similar sensation creep up his spine; something he only felt before going off to battle in the rebellions he fought.
Once the Warden of the North made his way through the gates of Kings Landing, he put those thoughts aside and mentally prepared himself for his new life and duties in the shit-smelling capital. After dismounting his horse, a greeter approached him with a bow.
"Greetings, Lord Stark. Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honor of your presence has been requested." he said before Ned turned to his guards and family.
"Get the girls settled in. I'll be back in time for supper. Jory, go with them. Jon, come with me." Ned ordered.
"Yes, my lord." Jory nodded before looking to Jon, "You heard him, Snow. You'll take over watching them when you get back."
"Yes, Commander." Jon nodded as he dismounted, biting back a hiss of pain as he did.
"Lya, forgive me, but I must be certain." Ned prayed, watching his boy head over to him. That is until the greeter spoke to him again.
"If you would like to change into something more appropriate?" he asked awkwardly.
In response, Ned kept his eyes locked as he simply took off his riding gloves and marched ahead. As they were led inside the Red Keep, Jon looked around in amazement at the castle he would have grown up in. Ned couldn't help but imagine a different life where he would have visited his sister and her family as often as he could. It went so far that he almost saw a phantom of three-year-old Jon laughing and running into the open arms of his smiling mother, lifting him up and kissing him as she did before her eyes locked with Ned's.
Unfortunately, the happy vision was abruptly ended as the doors to the throne room opened for them. From there, the images of Jon's siblings and their mother's corpses being laid before Robert filled his mind, and the anger Ned felt at the brutal murder of such innocents. Even in the back of his mind, the imagined screams of his father, Rickard, and desperate choking of his brother, Brandon, echoed through his ears.
As they entered the massive room, at the steps leading to the Iron Throne, Jamie Lannister sat, sharpening his sword with his arrogant smirk and emerald eyes set directly at Ned's cold gaze.
"Thank the gods you're here, Stark." the Kingslayer said, "About time we had some stern, Northern leadership."
"Glad to see you're protecting the throne." Ned neutrally replied.
"Sturdy old thing. How many kings' asses have polished it, I wonder? What's the line? 'The king shits and the Hand wipes'?" Jamie mockingly asked.
While Jon looked infuriated at the thinly veiled insult at his father, Ned remained calm as he gave his retort.
"Very handsome armor. Not a scratch on it." he noted.
"I know. People have been swinging at me for years, but they always seem to miss." Jamie smoothly replied in arrogance.
"You've chosen your opponents wisely, then." Ned said.
"I have a knack for it." Jamie replied, anger building behind his eyes, "Must be strange for you. Coming into this room; and with your bastard, no less. I was standing right here when it happened. He was very brave, your brother. Your father, too. They didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody deserves to die like that."
"And you just stood there and watched." Jon spat.
"Five-hundred men just stood there and watched, boy." Jamie calmly corrected, "All the great knights of the seven kingdoms. You think any one of them said a word, or lifted a finger? No, Lord Snow. Five-hundred men, and this room, were silent as a crypt. Except for your grandfather's screams, your uncle's choking, and, of course, the Mad King laughing and clapping like a giddy, young child. And later, when I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as Rickard burned and Brandon strangled himself to death. It felt like justice."
"Is that what you tell yourself at night?" Ned finally asked, "You're a servant of justice? A hero? That you were avenging my family when you shoved your sword through Aerys Targaryen's back?"
"Tell me, if I had stabbed the Mad King in the belly instead of the back, would you admire me more?" Jamie mockingly asked, "Would that make me a hero in your eyes, then?"
"…Hmm, you know? I'm reminded of something, myself, now that we've brought up the past." Ned said with a fake, and cruel smile; something Jon had never seen on his father's face before, "You see, I was standing right there when your father brought in the corpses of Elia Martel and her babes."
At these words, Jamie's arrogant smirk began to fall into a look of dread; almost as if he was haunted by them.
"If I recall correctly, Princess Rhaenys was rather fond of you during your brief time as her grandfather's Kingsguard. How, out of the seven greatest knights of the realm, she would always pick you over the others as her guard. How you would watch over her as she played with her mother and grandmother in the gardens." Ned recalled while Jon looked at him in surprise and Jamie looked at him in fury, "I wonder, did you still fancy yourself a hero when you learned your father's monsters slaughtered her and her family as you let your own ass polish the throne?"
Utterly stunned at Ned's retort, Jamie said nothing. He just stood there and used all his strength to repress the memories he had of the children he failed. As he did, Ned stepped forward and whispered one, final warning in his ear.
"Never speak of my father and brother to me, again, Kingslayer." he coldly warned before pressing onward. Once they were in the room, they were both greeted by the members of the Small Council: Varys, Master of Whispers; Renly Baratheon, Master of Law; Petyr Baelish, Master of Coin; and Grand Maester Pycelle. Oddly enough, neither Stannis Baratheon, the Master of Ships, nor Ser Barristan were present.
"Lord Stark," Varys greeted with an offered hand from his Essosi robes.
"Lord Varys." Ned greeted back.
"I was grievously sorry to hear of your troubles on the king's road. We are all praying for Prince Joffrey's recovery." the eunuch said in sympathy.
"A shame you didn't say a prayer for the butcher's son." Ned dryly remarked without missing beat before moving on to greet his king's youngest brother, "Renly, you're looking well."
"And you look tired from the road." Renly retorted with a friendly smirk as they briefly hugged, "I told them this meeting could wait another day, but-"
"But we have a kingdom to look after." Littlefinger interrupted, "I'd hope to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me?"
"She has, Lord Baelish. I understand you knew my brother, Brandon, as well." Ned replied, inwardly smirking at the embarrassing, one-sided fight the scrawny man had against his late brother.
"All too well." Baelish replied with a fake smile, "I still carry a token of his esteem; from navel to collarbone."
"Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with."
"It wasn't the man I chose, my lord. It was Catelyn Tully, a woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'd agree." Baelish replied.
"This is getting awkward." Jon thought to himself as he stood by and watched the interactions.
"I humbly beg your pardon, my Lord Stark." Grand Maester Pycelle intervened.
"Grand Maester," Ned nodded politely.
"How many years has it been?" the old man asked, "You were a young man, then."
"And you served another king." Ned reminded, no offense intended in his words.
"Yes. Not to question your actions, my lord. But, this is a meeting of the Small Council. Guests are not, typically speaking, allowed to attend." Pycelle informed, nodding towards Jon who just continued to stand and watch.
"I understand." Ned nodded, "Jon, go and find Jory. Report for your duties."
"Yes, my lord." Jon bowed to his father before nodding to the other council members, "Good day, my lords."
"A bold move to bring your bastard along with your daughters, Lord Stark." Littlefinger remarked with an arrogant smirk as Jon left.
"We of the north do not waste time clinging to misguided beliefs on a person's name, Lord Baelish. We judge men and women based on who they are; be they brave warriors, or scrawny cravens." Ned coldly retorted as he took his official seat and pinned his new badge to his leather vest.
Meanwhile, Jon had made his way to and up the tower of the hand. After reporting to Jory, he entered the foyer of the tower and found his sisters sitting with their septa at on the balcony overseeing Blackwater Bay.
"Now, let's try this again, Arya." Septa Mordane sighed, losing her patience with his youngest sister, "What does the Maiden teach us?"
"I've already answered this one; why do I have to do it again? Have Sansa answer for a change." Arya snapped in annoyance.
"Because you did not precisely recite the passage from the scripture." the older woman retorted, looking down her nose at the girl, "And as for your sister, she already knows the passage by heart; as a proper lady should. Something I clearly need to work on you more. Perhaps learning wisdom from the Crone will do you some good and make you less of a barbaric lout."
"Perhaps you should take your own advice and refrain from insulting your lord's daughter." Jon suggested, gaining their attention. When they looked to him, they all noticed the unpleased expression on his face above his crossed arms.
"Oh, you're here, are you?" Septa Mordane sneered.
"Obviously." Jon retorted.
"Ugh. What a rude thing to say. Look well, girls; this is the kind of behavior bastards display towards their betters."
"Well, that certainly does not apply to you." Jon snapped back, "I didn't come here to trade banter with you, Septa. I'm here to watch over my sisters."
"Your half-sisters." Septa Mordane corrected with her nose held high, "Who just happen to be in the middle of an important lesson regarding the one, true faith; not that barbaric fantasy savages like you worship."
"You mean like Lord Stark?" Jon asked with his eyebrows raised in warning, "I'd be careful about what you say about the old gods if I were you, Septa. They may not have as many rules as your gods, but their consequences for blasphemy are far worse than yours. Don't forget, there are plenty other women of your faith down here Lord Stark can offer your position to. Girls, if you want to head anywhere in the keep, you need to let me and Jory know first so one of us can escort you."
"Can you escort me anywhere but here?" Arya asked, heading over to her big brother.
"We are not finished here, Arya." Septa Mordane snapped.
"Apparently, she is." Jon smirked as he led his youngest sister across the room, so he could still keep an eye on Sansa. For a brief moment, they locked eyes with each other before Sansa looked back to her teacher. It had been that way ever since the morning after Jon's punishment. Whether it was out of guilt or resentment, Sansa had not said a single word to her older brother. While Jon had been empathetic about it, it only made Arya even more angry at her only sister.
"I'm never going to understand why your mother insists on that woman teaching you that ridiculous faith." Jon scoffed as he walked with his arm around her shoulders, "It's like trying to teach a snail to run!"
After letting out a rare giggle from her mouth, Arya drew a look of concern when she noticed Jon biting his lip in pain. "How's your back. Do you need to sit down?"
"I'm alright, Arya. Don't worry." he assured with a thankful smile. But out of concern, Arya sat near a window by the little garden near the tower, knowing her brother would at least stop walking. "So, did you practice with your gift today?"
"No." she admitted as she ducked her chin towards her chest.
"Arya," Jon said, using a tone similar to their father's, "I told you, you need to practice with it every day. Every day you don't train, is a day you grow weaker. If you're not going to take this seriously, I'll take it back. Do you understand?"
"…Yes." the girl choked, her voice trembling on the verge of tears. Fearing he went too far, Jon dropped his stern disposition and reverted back to his big brother persona. Although, he was smart enough to realize her change was not due to his warning.
"Hey, hey. What's the matter?" he gently asked, raising her face to meet his.
"I-I haven't practiced since-since Mycah and you…" Arya stuttered, trying her best not to burst into tears like a weak, little girl; even if that's all she wanted to do in her favorite brother's arms.
"Arya, I want you to listen to me very carefully." Jon gently instructed as he brushed her loose hair behind her ear, "What happened that day was not your fault. I told you, my job is to protect you from anyone who would dare to harm you; regardless of their family name, their title, or even if they have a crown on their head. I don't regret a single thing I did. Now, why don't you get changed into your britches and you and I can go down to the training ring for some practice; sound good?"
"Okay!" the girl beamed before running as fast as her dress would let her to her new room. As she did, Jon informed Jory of where they were going and received the commander's permission. However, given Jon's injuries, Jory decided to send another guard with them as an added precaution while he, himself, would look after Sansa. For the rest of the afternoon, Jon instructed his baby sister on the basics of swordplay. There was not much he could teach her given the design of her sword was not best suited for Ser Rodrick's teachings. Still, it was best for her to at least know how to properly hold a weapon and recognize some basic footwork. Just before the sun began to set, Jory's guard informed them it was time to return to the Tower of the Hand for dinner with Sansa and Ned. Much to Arya's dismay, and irritation, Jon would not be able to join them. He needed to have his wounds looked at and properly cleaned after sweating all afternoon in his thick, Northern pads and armor.
The mere reminder of her brother's wounds alone absolutely infuriated Arya; and being able to see Lannister colors and soldiers around every other corner of the Red Keep certainly did not help lighten her mood. Ever the short-tempered She-Wolf she was, the girl decided to take out her frustrations on the flesh of her venison cutlet at the dinner table. Although, it was obvious whom she preferred it to be.
Having grown annoyed at the noise her sister was making, Sansa finally spoke to her sibling for the first time since the Trident. "What are you doing?" Still angry at her only sister for not defending their brother, Arya ignored her and continued to stab at the meat.
"Enough of that, young lady. Eat your food." Septa Mordane curtly lectured.
"I'm practicing." Arya informed the cloth covered hen.
"Practicing for what?" Sansa asked.
"The prince." Arya replied.
"Arya Stark!" Mordane scolded/gasped in horror at the very thought.
"He's a liar and a coward!" Arya snapped as her stabbing pace increased, "He killed my friend and got Jon flogged."
"The Hound killed your friend." Sansa excused.
"The Hound does whatever the prince tells him."
"You're an idiot!" Sansa sneered.
"You're a liar! And if you told the truth, Mycah would still be alive and Jon wouldn't be in pain every time he moves or even breathes!"
"He shouldn't have drawn his sword against Joffrey. He's lucky to be alive." Sansa said for her betrothed.
"How can you say that? He's our brother and you don't even care that he's in pain or that they tried to kill him without a second thought!"
"Stupid Horseface." Sansa scoffed with a roll of her eyes. In response, Arya retorted with the only title of insult that could come to mind.
"You're not better than a Kinslayer!" Arya shouted as she jammed the knife into the table as hard as she could. Just when it seemed her tutor was about to scold, and or punish her, Ned entered the room with a look of concern on his face. Given the volume of both his daughters, the Quiet Wolf heard the majority of their conversation from down the hall.
"What's all this about?" he asked sternly towards his daughters, "Why am I hearing the two of you insulting each other clear across the keep?"
"Arya would rather act like a beast than a lady, my lord." Septa Mordane smugly replied.
"I am not speaking to you, Septa; I am speaking to my daughters. And have a care for how you speak of my youngest, lest you wish not to speak at all." Ned darkly warned with a look as cold as the Wall itself, "Now I asked the two of you a question. I expect an answer." Shrinking under their father's glare, neither girl found the courage to speak. "Very well. Go to your rooms, both of you. We'll speak later."
When both his girls had left for their respective rooms, a distant memory of Ned's late father suddenly jumped from an ocean of memories, like a mackerel leaping out of the water to catch its buzzing dinner. It had been when Ned still lived in Winterfell as a boy and had randomly overheard the end of a lecture his father had given his sister Lyanna. After sending her away, young Ned heard his father exhale in exhaustion something to one of his bannermen. Something that rang true through the decades back into Ned's ears and out through his own mouth in a mutter.
"War was easier than daughters."
Knowing better than to grab a hot kettle fresh off the stove, Ned gave each of his daughters time to themselves before he would speak to them. In the meantime, he gathered enough food for two and headed his son's room where his wounds were being tended. Typically, Jon would have stayed with Jory and the other guards given his station and birth. However, since he was the personal guard to the daughters of the Hand, Ned used that as an excuse to give his boy a room near theirs so he would be closer to protect them. When he entered the small room, he caught a glimpse at the ten wounds left by Robert on his son's back. They would all become scars, and scars were expected on the skin of a Drengr of the North, but Ned would never cope well with the idea of any of his six children being injured like that.
"Ah, Lord Hand." Grand Maester Pycelle greeted, "Quite the surprise to see you here."
"These are the quarters of my son, and daughters' retainer, Grand Maester. Why shouldn't I be here?" Ned asked, his cold a bit colder than the old man expected.
"Erm, yes. Well then, you'll be pleased to know the lad is nearly healed completely. I'm impressed he's been going about as well as he has. How I wish I was as spry and young as him. Not so wrinkled and feeble as I am." the old man wearily chuckled as his acolytes finished applying Jon's new bandages. Once they were done, it was just the Quiet Wolf and his pup left in the room.
"Feeling alright?" Ned softly asked his son.
"Better than when I got 'em." Jon dryly joked as he winced and put on his tunic, "The girls were at each other's throats again, weren't they?"
"Aye. That's one way to put it." Ned nodded, "I brought you some dinner in case you were hungry. Care if I join you?"
"Of course not, Father." Jon replied. As Ned was setting their plates, Jon discreetly let loose a smile of pure joy at the small gesture made by his parent. Given they were both men who let others do most of the talking, they simply sat in silence for the first five minutes as they ate. It was then that Ned finally decided to speak up.
"How are you adjusting to the Red Keep? It's easy to get lost here."
"Hasn't happened yet, so, I'm grateful for that." he replied earning a soft chuckle from his father.
"And what did you think of the Iron Throne?" Ned asked. Truth be told, he was terrified to ask this question. While he believed in his son, there would always be a part of him that worried about losing him to his paternal blood, or anything that could awaken it. But seeing his son shrug his shoulders as he tore off a piece of bread eased some of his worries.
"Didn't look all that comfortable to me." Jon honestly replied.
"No, it doesn't, does it?" Ned smirked in relief, "I can only imagine Aegon the Conqueror thought to make his throne more intimidating than comfortable when he had his dragon melt down all those swords so long ago."
"Were you alright being in there?" Jon quietly asked, slightly nervous on asking the question. "That is where Grandfather and Uncle Brandon died."
"Son, if I couldn't handle being in the same room where my father and brother were killed, I wouldn't have taken this job. But to answer your question, I'm fine. Thank you for asking."
"I just can't believe the Kingslayer had the nerve to throw that in your face like that." Jon spat in disgust.
"Ser Jamie is an arrogant man, Jon. All of House Lannister is thanks to Lord Tywin. They believe his accomplishments, and the fear he imposes extends to them just as much as it does him. As though it is the name Lannister, not Tywin, that grants them so many boons."
"That's stupid." Jon remarked, ever the blunt Northman.
"Not exactly." Ned corrected, "You know what led to Lord Tywin whipping out House Reyne of Castamere, yes?"
"Of course. Everyone does. Anytime a minstrel plays the 'Rains of Castamere' everyone hearing it is reminded." Jon shrugged.
"Aye, but do you know why Lord Tywin went to such lengths? Pride." Ned explained.
"Pride?"
"Aye. The lion is a proud animal, and represents pride. They are strong, fast, and even feared and respected by the animals it is known to eat. House Lannister is the living embodiment of those beasts, just as we are the living embodiments of Direwolves. The Reynes intentionally insulted that pride, and Tywin's family; but most of all, they insulted him. If you insult Tywin Lannister, you insult his family and his legacy. And if you insult either, or both of those, you insult him. He does not take kindly to insults, and as Warden of the West, and now good-father to the king, he can retaliate in ways others cannot and get away with it."
"That's not right." Jon said, his teeth almost grinding in anger.
"That's Tywin Lannister." Ned nonchalantly replied as he continued to eat, "He is a firm believer and enforcer of the rules; he just doesn't believe they apply to him."
"Then he is a coward!" Jon spat.
"In some ways, he is. But never underestimate him." Ned warned, "He served as the Mad King's Hand for seventeen years, and managed not to be tortured any more than cruel taunts by the madman he served. And, he is the only man who can truly claim to have won Robert's Rebellion."
"But Robert is king. And you and the other rebelling lords survived." Jon reminded, confused at this statement.
"Aye. And though he was not reinstated as Hand as he would have liked, and expected, his forces and treasury barely took a hit, and his descendants will rule all of Westeros through his daughter's marriage to the king. Not only that, he's the only one who did not lose someone he loved before or during the war. And that is something I can never claim."
"Is that why you accepted the king's offer? To keep Tywin from becoming Hand again?"
"Not in the ways you are probably thinking. Don't get me wrong, Tywin Lannister is a cruel man who will answer for much when he goes to meet his gods. However, he was very successful as Hand of the King when he served Aerys." Ned clarified, not out of fear or respect, but out of acknowledgement of a fellow Warden that would always be an enemy just waiting for the white flag to be burned.
After finishing supper with his son, Ned decided to finally speak with his bickering daughters, starting with his youngest and most wild. With a knock on the door of Arya's chamber, Ned calmly waited for her to answer. However, her outburst was not something he would let slide.
"Go away!" she shouted hotly, unaware who was on the other side.
"Arya, open the door." Ned ordered with fatherly authority. When she did open the door, looking somewhat timid, the Quiet Wolf realized how delicately he needed to handle things. "May I come in?" he politely asked while noticing her sword, "Who's sword is that?"
"Mine." she firmly said.
"Give it to me." he said before inspecting it, "This is Mikken's work. Where did you get this?"
Refusing to lie, but also refusing to get her brother into any trouble, Arya said nothing as she expected to be scolded. However, Ned Stark was a man who knew his children well. Given how close his youngest daughter was to his adopted son, he was quickly able to put the pieces together. Were it not for the fact he had come to lecture the girl, he would have let a proud, fatherly smile break through his stoic face. "This is no toy, you know. Little ladies shouldn't be playing with swords."
"I wasn't playing! And I don't want to be a lady." Arya said in defiance just like her late aunt once did.
"Come here, pup." Ned said patting the spot next to his seat, "Now, what do you want with a sword, hmm?"
"It's called Needle." Arya proudly defended.
"Ah. A sword with a name." Ned said, impressed. "And who were you hoping to skewer with Needle; your sister? Do you know the first thing about sword fighting?"
"Stick 'em with the pointy end!" Arya replied, finally earning a laugh from her father. Not one of mockery, but one of pride and love just for being herself.
"Well, that's the essence of it, yeah." he laughed. Seeing that her father had not come to scold or lecture her like she expected, Arya finally let her walls down and came clean.
"I've been trying to learn. I asked Mycah to practice with me at the Trident. I asked him, and then Joffrey got mad and hurt him before Jon defended us. It's my fault what happened to them."
"Oh, sweet girl, no, no." Ned soothed his pup as he held her close, "You didn't kill the butcher's boy, and you didn't flog your brother."
"I hate them! I hate all of them! The Hound, the queen, the king, and Joffrey and Sansa!" Arya shouted, her heart aching with so much hate.
"Sansa was dragged before the king and queen and asked to call the crown prince a liar." Ned gently defended.
"So were me and Jon! He is a liar!" Arya argued loudly.
"Shh, darling, listen to me." he gently said, "Sansa will be married to Joffrey one day. She cannot betray him. She must take his side even when he is wrong."
"But how can you let her marry someone like that?" Arya asked, more than just confused, unaware of her father's plans to investigate into the Lannisters.
In order to protect his sweet, summer child for just a little bit longer from the bitter cold of winter, the old wolf dodged the question and tried to make his pup see the importance of what he was trying to say. "Arya, you are a Stark of Winterfell. You know our words."
"Winter is Coming." Arya nodded.
"Yes, those are the words we tell our bannermen, and our people to remind us all that all that is good and warm must come to an end. You were born in the long summer; it is all you have ever known. Winter is, truly, coming and that is when we must stay true to the true words of our House: when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Summer is a time for squabbles, Arya. It is in winter that we must protect one another, keep each other warm, and share our strengths. In winter, we must protect our family, our pack. Sansa is your family, your pack, just as much as Jon and the rest of us are. I am so proud of you for defending your brother. But do not let Sansa become the lone wolf in winter because of summer squabbles."
"I don't hate her. Not really." Arya admitted, feeling a bit guilty for how she behaved, "But it feels like she doesn't want to be part of the pack, sometimes. I don't understand why she hates Jon so much."
"Sansa does not hate Jon, Arya." Ned gently assured.
"Yes, she does!" she miserably argued, "Why else wouldn't she say anything to him or speak up for him? All she did was call him a stupid bastard the whole time at the Trident. She's never said one nice thing to him her entire life!" she said, earning a few soft chuckles from her father, "Why are you laughing?"
"Because long before you became your brother's little shadow, Sansa held that position." he informed, earning a surprised look, "Oh, aye. There was a time when your sister wanted to spend every moment with your elder brothers, Jon especially. He was less shy about his music back then and, oh, how she loved to her him sing and play his harp. Every time she caught them playing and pretending to be the great kings and knights of old, she would pretend to be a princess in distress, and Jon wouldn't hesitate to play the part of her devoted knight. He'd pick her flowers, lay his cloak over puddles, and carry her on his back just to hear her laughter."
"So, what happened?"
"One day, she was taught what Southerners think of bastards, and she never gave it a second thought." he sadly replied over the connection his children had lost, "But despite all that, your brother has never stopped loving her, or seeing her as part of our pack. To call her no better than a Kinslayer is not something to say so easily. You are too young to know what our gods demand we do to Kinslayers, but it is not a lenient punishment. I'm going to speak with your sister about all this, too. No more name calling from either of you, especially that word, alright?"
"Yes, Father." Arya nodded before they gave each other a tight hug.
"Ek love þú, minn smár vargr." Ned whispered in her ear before kissing her cheek.
"Ek love þú too, Faðir." she happily said back. To anyone south of the Neck, it would have been garbage. But to those who knew the Old Tongue, they would have heard a loving father telling his little wolf he loved her, and she loved him back. It was a warm, tender moment; but like all things warm, it eventually faded into the cold as Ned prepared himself to speak with his eldest daughter.
"Sansa?" Ned asked after knocking on the door. When he received no reply he knocked again with a bit more authority. "Sansa, open the door." It enough to make her open the door, but the look on his daughter's face indicated she was still reluctant to comply. Not out of fear, but, based on her expression, out of resentment. "May I come in?"
"Do I have a choice?" she bitterly asked with sarcasm oozing from her small mouth.
"You do, depending on how you want this conversation to turn out." Ned nodded, implying to her a warning to watch her attitude. Receiving the message, Sansa stepped aside to let her father enter the room. "You and your sister. Like night and day, you are. Seems that's the case in the south just as much in the north."
"She called me a Kinslayer." Sansa hotly reminded in her defense.
"Aye, she did. And you got in a few good jabs at her, too." Ned calmly retorted with a pointed look, "We agreed that would not call her that anymore. Remember?" Looking ashamed, Sansa avoided eye-contact with her father as she remembered the last time he scolded her for calling Arya horse-faced. Ned rarely ever scolded his daughters, especially Sansa, but that was the worst one she ever received from him, and she never forgot it. "Have you ever thought that she keeps pestering you because of how you treat her? And how you've treated Jon lately? I told her about how the two of you used to be. She could hardly believe it. Have you forgotten those times?"
"No." Sansa softly admitted in guilt as she sat on her bed.
"So, why haven't you been speaking to your brother?" he gently asked as he sat next to her. At first, Ned expected to hear some confession of guilt from his red pup, but the words that came out of her mouth shocked him to his core.
"He hurt Joffrey."
In that moment, Ned was both shocked and appalled that Sansa was more concerned about the crown prince than her own brother. True, the brat may have been bitten by her sister's wolf, but her brother had been beaten and lashed because of the actions of that boy. "Sansa-"
"They ruined everything!" she ranted, "Everything was going perfect until they showed up. Why does Jon insist on making her even more of a beast than she already is?! If he hadn't been teaching her how to swing a sword, they never would have ruined my walk with Joffrey. He hates me now because of them, and now he'll never want to marry me! Why can't they just be as they're meant to? She's supposed to be a lady like Mother and I, and he's-"
"What?" Ned coldly interrupted her whining, "He's supposed to be what? Back in Winterfell mucking out horse stalls, or cleaning the floors? You do realize he could have been killed for what he did, don't you? He knew fully well the consequences of his actions, and he did it anyway to keep you both safe. Had he been anyone else's son, he would have. Joffrey drew his sword against your sister. From how Jon described it, with as wildly as he was swinging, Joffrey could have easily killed her, or you had his grip loosened. Do you really think your brother risked his life just so he could ruin your chances with the prince? If you truly believe that, then you have forgotten how much your brother loves you."
"Joffrey could never hurt me!" Sansa loudly defended, "No one wields a sword better than the crown prince. He was defending himself from Arya!"
"Who was armed with a stick!" Ned retorted, "Your sister was armed with a piece wood against someone bearing live steel with the intent to kill her, or at least wound her. Had it not been for your brother, your sister could have been killed."
"Joffrey would never." Sansa scoffed in disagreement. It was honestly very frightening to the new Hand how naïve his daughter was being. But it was even more frightening how she had not once said any defense for either of her siblings. He wanted to believe she understood the importance of family, values both sides of her blood cherished and held tight. He refused to give up on her until she did.
"Look at me." he softly ordered as he guided her face back in his direction, "This place is not like the tales and songs you grew up listening to. Not one person in this keep or city is a gallant knight or chivalrous hero. The capitol is filled with self-serving snakes who will infect the innocent with their poison at every chance. Our family was ripped apart by people like that in these very halls. Because our pack was divided, it was nearly destroyed. I've done what I can to keep that from happening; to teach you all the importance of keeping our pack together and strong. But it cannot if we allow petty, summer squabbles to keep us apart. Our words ring true the most in places like this. Winter is coming, Sansa. Lions do not keep outsiders warm. Our pack is divided now, and we need to do more for each other in order to keep it as strong as it were back home. This place will never be safe for a lone wolf. Never let anyone from our family become the lone wolf, Sansa. That means you must be there for your brother and sister."
"I-I will try, Father." Sansa nodded, tears brimming in her eyes over the heartfelt words her father gave her, and the guilt pooling in her stomach. Seeing that his words had taken root, Ned gave a relieved smile before pressing a soft kiss against her forehead and a gave her a loving hug.
"All my love goes out to you and your siblings, little pup. But one day, winter will come for me, and I need you all to be there for each other to keep our pack strong without me. Winter will always be harsh for the unprepared. That cannot apply to any of you."
The morning following Ned's confrontation with his daughters, a meeting had been held to further discuss the upcoming tourney to be held in Ned's name as the new Hand. Although he was completely against it, for various reasons, both moral and practical. After its conclusion, the former warden was stopped by the Grand Maester before the Iron Throne with a message from home. As he read it, he was interrupted by the Master of Coin.
"Good news?" he asked with his ever arrogant tone, "Perhaps you should share it with your wife?" he suggested.
"My wife is in Winterfell." Ned reminded.
"Is she?" he rhetorically asked.
"If you know something to the contrary, Baelish, tell me." Ned ordered.
"I would very much like to, my Lord Hand. However," Baelish began before leaning in for a not-so-discreet whisper, "The Red Keep is not the best place for such discussions. Perhaps we could speak someplace else? My own establishment in Flea Bottom, for example?"
"…Very well." Ned relented, though not out of trust. Only an idiot would trust Littlefinger.
"Grand." Baelish smiled before walking away and coming to a halt, "Oh, and you might want to bring your bastard boy with you. As your daughters' protector, it pertains to him, too."
Later that day, ridding to the filthiest place in all of Kings Landing, Ned Stark and Jon Snow dismounted their horses in front of one of the capital's many, many brothels. Though he had been to the brothel in Wintertown once before, Jon was still a virgin, so the sounds of all the moaning and screaming whores made him as red as an apple; and the whores outside the building winking at him and trying to give him seductive looks made him bow his head in embarrassment. As they approached the brothel's owner, from the corner of his eye, Jon could tell his father was growing angry at the man.
"I thought she would be safest in here. One of several such establishments that I own." Baelish informed as he grew an amused grin at Jon's reaction to the place, "There's no need to be embarrassed, lad. Boys of your status are conceived and patrons here all the time." Not even a second after the insult was made did Ned grab the weasel by the throat and slam him against the wall of the building he owned.
"You're a funny man. You know it?" Ned asked, literally shaking in anger as Baelish was choking and desperately trying to break free. "A very funny man!"
"Father, please!" Jon pleaded before the voice of the one woman he dreaded to see and hear caught their attention.
"Ned!" Catelyn called out from the floor above. Seeing the face of the woman he loved, the Quiet Wolf completely forgot about the man he was willing to strangle and headed directly inside. Once inside, eager to feel the love of his wife, Ned quickly approached her and threw his arms around her. As he did, Jon and Baelish joined them. For a moment, Catelyn's eyes met with Jon's, but neither stayed locked for more than a second. It was a blessing that Ser Rodrick Cassel had escorted her, for it gave Jon the excuse to look away and properly greet his old teacher.
"I just received your letter this morning. What are you doing here, Cat; in a place like this?" Ned softly asked.
"Believe me, I don't wish to be here, either." Cat agreed with a scowl.
"Forgive me, I meant no disrespect." Baelish said as he cleared his sore throat, "Better to be in a place where Varys' little birds cannot hear a song past a man or woman's grunts, groans and moans. Did you bring the dagger with you, Cat?"
Waiting for permission from his lord's wife, Ser Rodrick revealed the weapon that had nearly killed the second-youngest son of House Stark. Had it not been the brand to claim his brother's life, Jon would have been able to appreciate its beauty much more. It was a 12-14 in. Valyrian steel blade set with a ruby above the grip and decorated with gold and Dragonglass. It was a weapon of pure beauty; truly a marvel. "Do you know who's dagger this is, Petyr?"
"Indeed, I do." he smirked as he held and examined the blade, "There's only one dagger like this in all of Westeros; a relic from the treasure troves of House Targaryen. It belongs to me. Or it did, until the tournament on Prince Joffrey's twelfth nameday. I lost it to the Imp, Tyrion Lannister after his brother was bested by Ser Loras Tyrell in the joust."
"You're saying Tyrion Lannister sent an assassin for my son?" Ned coldly asked.
"That can't be." Jon remarked, unfortunately earning everyone's attention; something he absolutely hatted because of his shyness. "Um, Tyrion Lannister went north with Uncle Benjen to see the Wall. He'd still be there, even now."
"Nevertheless, Lord Snow, the Lannisters are resourceful. It is not impossible for the imp to send word to a catspaw to kill your brother on the road to the Wall; even in the company of your esteemed uncle. But whether or not it is true, to claim the queen's brother tried to kill your half-brother would be treason, still."
"But we have proof; we have the blade!" Cat stressed in desperation.
"Which Lord Tyrion will claim was stolen from him." Baelish politely countered, "The only man who can say what is true has lost his throat, courtesy of your son's wolf. These are dangerous waters you are treading, Lord Stark. But for the cherished friendship I share with your wife, I will try to keep you alive. A fool's task, I'll admit. But I've never been able to deny your wife anything."
"We can trust him, Ned." Catelyn assured, "I've known Petyr since we were children, he's like a little brother to me. He would never do anything to break my trust. He's a true friend."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain." he playfully smirked. As the adults began to leave the room, with Jon being the last to follow, Baelish called out for him just before he could leave. "Lord Snow? A word, if you please?"
"Aye?" he asked the man who insulted him earlier. Still wearing his smirk, the Master of Coin sheathed the weapon and offered it to the young man.
"A gift for you, as an apology for my earlier barb outside." he said.
"Is this some kind of trick?"
"You don't trust me? Good. You're learning fast, then. Never trust anyone in this city, boy." Baelish discreetly warned, "But no, this is no test. I believe this is a weapon worthy for the task you've appointed yourself with: protecting the Hand of the King's daughters. A quest as noble as yours deserves only the finest weapons of the greatest quality, and there's none greater than Valyrian steel. Well, except, perhaps Dawn, but I cannot offer you what I do not possess. Who knows? Had your father been a man of greed like me, and kept such a legendry blade after slaying Ser Arthur Dayne, you could have been able to wield that weapon one day. Especially since, if the rumors are true, he might have been your uncle."
Not wanting to give the bi-pedal weasel the satisfaction of an outburst, Jon did his best to keep his composure and accepted the blade with a neutral look on his face. "Thank you for your generous gift, Lord Baelish." he evenly said. After finally leaving the cum-scented place, the Bastard of Winterfell saw his father say his goodbyes to his wife before she and his teacher rode back to the North. After mounting their horses, the father and son slowly road back to the Red Keep as the sun began to set.
"So," Ned began having taken notice of Jon's new weapon, "Littlefinger gave you that blade, did he?"
"Um, aye." Jon nodded before looking sheepish, "If it offends you, Father, I won't bear it."
"No, it does not offend me, son. It looks good on you." Ned said with sincerity before thinking to himself, "He probably would have been given it by his sire had things turned out differently." It was in that moment Ned saw more non-existent ghosts; of Jon dressed in Targaryen colors riding through the streets with his older half-brother after a triumphant return. Before the guilt could consume him, Ned shook those ghost out of his mind to continue the conversation. "I suppose it's fitting for you to have a new weapon, considering your sister has one now."
At those words, Jon's head jerked towards his father in panic over being found out. His expression alone was enough to make Ned bark with laughter. "It's alright, you're not in trouble. There was no stopping that girl from grabbing a sword one of these days. I'm sure she was more than happy to know her first came from her big brother."
"I…I just felt like she would have been happier coming down here if she was allowed to start training." Jon blushed.
"Aye, but with that blade, our style of fighting won't do her much good. Which is why I've taken the liberty to find someone with a way better suited for her. Tomorrow morning, I want you to bring her to this person. Maybe you can learn a thing or two from him, as well."
"Aye, Father." Jon nodded. When that morning came, Jon had no idea the kind of…uniqueness this new teacher was going to bring. Still, he was happy to have gotten the ball rolling in bringing out his sister's inner Drengr.
"What is it Father wants to show me?" Arya asked as they walked through the Red Keep.
"It's a surprise." Jon cryptically replied.
"So, you don't know, either?" she playfully asked.
"Do you want the surprise, or not?" he asked once they reached the door. Earning a nod, he laughed and opened it to reveal a small, Essosi man with curly hair and bronze skin with his back to them.
"You are late!" he informed, his voice thick with his foreign accent as he held two wooden training sword. When he turned to face them, Jon could tell he was a man with much experience. "Tomorrow, you will both be here at mid-day."
"Both?" Jon asked.
"Who are you?" Arya asked.
"Your dancing master, Syrio Forell!" the man said with a wide smile before tossing her one of the swords, which she failed to catch. "Tomorrow you will catch. Now, pick it up." When he saw her hold it, he tisked in disappointment, all in good nature, though. "That is not the way, boy. We do not use two hands like for a great-sword. We use one!"
"It's too heavy!" Arya argued.
"It is heavy as it needs to be to make you strong." Syrio instructed as he gave a demonstration of his strength and speed. "One hand is all that is needed. Stand sideways, you are standing all wrong! Make yourself a smaller target. A boy as skinny as you should never stand like a wall when fighting. You are a reed in the stream, with a grip as delicate as a gentle breeze. Too weak or too strong and you will drop it. The steel must be part of your arm. Can drop part of your arm? No! Nine years Syrio Forell was First Sword of Bravos, he knows these things. You must listen to me, boy."
"I'm a girl!" Arya hotly defended, earning a snicker from her brother off to the side.
"Boy, girl, does not matter. You are a sword. You are-"
"A needle." Arya smirked at her new favorite person.
As it so happened, Syrio was impressed by her response and gave her a proud look and friendly chuckle. "Just so! Now, remember, children, this is not the dance of Westeros we are learning. The knight's dance; hacking and hammering! This is the Bravos dance; the Water Dance. All men are made of water, did you know this. If you pierce him, he will bleed out and die. Now, you will try to strike me. First you will try, then your hairy sister there will try."
"Sister?!" Jon exclaimed while Arya burst with giggles.
"Are you not?" Syrio taunted as if they were old friends, "One as pretty faced as you cannot be a man. Unless you are Valyrian, which you are not."
"…Aim low, sister." Jon instructed in the Old Tongue. After he did, the lesson began, and Arya began to wildly charge at her friendly instructor. As she did, Ned entered the doorway and looked fondly at his daughter having fun. However, that joy began to fade as memories of his childhood in Winterfell suddenly flooded his ears and reminded him of the last daughter of House Stark who wielded a blade, and what befell her.
So, was that worth the wait? I like to think the changes I made made up for some parts that were lacking from the characters. Ned was a bit more verbal with Jamie for starters. Honestly, what did you think of his retort involving Rhaenys? That little detail is going to play a vital role in Jamie's character for this story as we move forward. Frankly, it's also something we needed to hear more about in the show. I don't know if Jamie was remorseful about Elia and the children (in either version), but it always seemed like the one thing that defeats his argument about being called a man without honor. True, he did not know Tywin was going to do that, but he still chose to fight for his father at every turn AFTER learning he did. Family ties or no, he made his choice to stand with Tywin as time went on. Me personally, if my father ever willingly murdered innocent children, I would have, at the least, cut off all ties with him. Jamie can try to justify himself all he wants, but he still chose to fight for the man who murdered innocent children because they got in the way of his ambitions. And if any of you try to rationalize that, you are just as despicable as they are.
Now, as for Sansa...why the hell did Ned never lecture her like he did Arya?! Seriously, she was a spoiled brat that needed a come to Jesus meeting and Ned never even considered she might have said something rotten to Arya! I've always hated Sansa, especially in season 1, and that right there was one of the reasons. I'm trying to keep the bashing on a low level right now, but there is no way I am not going to call out that little snot on the brat she always was!
Now, for Jon. There was a reason why I gave him the dagger (which will be getting a badass name later on, not catspaw like in some fics), and it will play a vital role in his legend. He is, at some point, going to receive Long Claw; I just haven't decided between the two ideas I have for that. One can happen during the war, the other after the Red Wedding. If I don't do the former, it will be the later. But I can say this, he WILL wield both at some point to symbolize his title as the Dragonwolf he was always meant to be. Which also means, no, Arya will not be the one to kill the Night King. That was a good twist, but it wasn't what we needed.
Until next time, stay safe and healthy!