Arya
Sansa had been insufferable since the Hand's Tourney. Arya loved her sister (because she had to), but Sansa wouldn't stop talking about how wonderful it had been to be crowned and gossiping with Jeyne Poole about all the handsome knights that Father might betroth her to. They were doing it right now, giggling like the girls they were. Arya just ate her food and wondered what it would be like to have a friend who liked fighting and archery as much as Arya did. It must be nice to have a best friend.
Oh, Arya had Brunhild. But the Visitor was more akin to a teacher than a friend. What Arya would have loved was someone her own age who happened to share all her interests, like Sansa had with Jeyne. She could chat with Bran to a degree, the young boy dreamed of being a famous knight like Loras Tyrell or Sandor Clegane. But Bran didn't take her seriously because she was a girl. No one took her seriously because she was a girl.
Arya didn't make idle boasts. She truly wanted to become the first female knight in the Seven Kingdoms. She'd break that barrier, and maybe in doing so she'd inspire other girls who had fighter's spirits to do the same. Arya didn't have big dreams of changing the world, but she did dream of a world where she could be who she wanted to be.
Father finally arrived. "Thanks for starting without me," he said without sarcasm. Father was so often locked up in meetings with the Small Council that waiting until he arrived to start meant a cold dinner. Father kissed her, Bran, and Arya on the head before taking his place. Winter got his own place setting at the table because he was so big, and he ate his meal with surprising manners for an animal, albeit one smart as any person.
Arya went up to her room after dinner and took out the sword Brunhild had gifted her. It was made from Fog, but Arya had the feeling it was just as good if not better than a sword made of steel. It was called a rapier, long and thin and meant for quick slashes and lunges rather than big, heavy blows. She'd named it Needle. Arya went through her forms, repeating what Brunhild had taught her to reinforce what the mind-link had given her. Just because she knew it in her head didn't mean her body was used to doing it. She needed to practice constantly so that the moves would sink into her bones and muscles so she could move without thinking in the quick struggle of a fight.
There was a knock at her door. "Arya?" Father called.
Arya paused after a lunge that would have pierced a tall man's heart. Arya laid Needle down on her bed and went to answer the door. "Yes, Father?" she asked.
Father let himself in, crouching to scratch Nymeria behind the ears. Arya didn't think Nymeria liked the Red Keep. It was too hot with all her fur. If only the Visitors could make a bodysuit for a direwolf. In fact, Arya would ask about that in the morning or some other way of cooling Nymeria down. Arya didn't like how tired and thirsty Nymeria was since they'd moved to King's Landing.
Father looked at Needle. "May I hold it?" he asked politely, respecting that it was Arya's most treasured possession.
"Yes, Father," Arya said obediently.
Father held the seemingly delicate yet still deadly weapon. "Arya… You're only 9, but I think you know yourself well enough to answer this question. Do you really want to be a knight or sellsword?"
"Yes," Arya replied without even having to think about it. "It's all I want, Father. Sansa was born to be a lady. Robb was born to be the next Lord Stark. Bran was born to climb. I was born to fight."
"Do you remember the tourney? How the people booed and insulted Brunhild? You would face that everywhere. No one would take you seriously. You'd be considered a freak, Arya. You'd face opposition and unfair treatment wherever you went."
"I remember," Arya said. "I also remember them cheering her name when she won. I just have to prove that I know what I'm doing and my talent will speak for itself. I know it'll be a hard life, Father. But it's the life I want."
Father sighed. "Oh, Arya. You have the wolf blood. My brother and sister had it, and it led them to an early grave. I love you, I want you to have the best life you can have. And I'm just not sure a life as a woman warrior in the Seven Kingdoms is best for you."
"Would you rather I was safe or happy?" Arya asked pointedly.
Father paused. "That's a very good question, Arya. Yes, part of me wishes to marry you off to a lord and you'll spend your days safe in his castle and your sons will go on to be lords and knights."
"I'd be miserable, Father. I'm not Mother or Sansa. I don't want to just be a baby factory and I hate all the things a lady has to do." Arya took a breath. "If I were a boy, we wouldn't even be having this conversation. You'd be encouraging me to be the best warrior I could be."
"True. But you're not a boy, you're a girl," Father sighed.
Arya tried a different tack. "If Robb or Bran came to you and said they wanted to sew clothes and sing and write poetry and wanted to do all girl things, what would you do?"
"I'd wish them the best on their chosen path," Father admitted. "I see your point, Arya. But have you thought about what this will mean for your future? You may never get married or fall in love or have children."
"Maybe not. But I'd rather be alone and happy than have a family and hate it because it was forced on me," Arya said with full confidence.
Father laid Needle back down on the bed. Then he knelt to give Arya a hug. "Very well, my little fighter. I will do all I can to help you become a knight. But it's still years before you can even squire for a knight."
"That's okay, gives me more time to practice," Arya said brightly, incredibly happy that she finally had Father's support beyond just allowing the lessons with Brunhild.
"Mayhaps in ten years it will be you winning a tourney," Father said jokingly. But his words stirred something deep in Arya. One day, she would compete in a tourney. And she'd get to at least the top 8 or die trying.
Father left and Arya practiced some more until she was tired enough to go to sleep.
Ned
Ned walked out of another long Small Council meeting. He would be sweating to death if he wasn't wearing one of the Visitors' bodysuits under his clothes. He felt cool and fresh as if he were walking through Winterfell rather than the Red Keep. But the comfort of the nigh-magical piece of clothing couldn't distract Ned from his worries.
There had been a raven from Tywin Lannister, demanding an explanation for his daughter's enlistment into the Silent Sisters, his son being forced to take the black, and his grandchildren put on house arrest. The language of the letter made it very clear that Tywin didn't believe or was in denial about the accusation of incest between his son and daughter. The meeting had largely been about making plans in case the Westerlands called the banners and attacked. Ned, the letter in his hand, went to find Robert.
Prophet met up with him. "Robert is… occupied at the moment, Ned," the Visitor warned.
"You mean he's in bed with some whore," Ned sighed, coming to a halt. "Damn him. The Westerlands could secede over what Jaime and Lannister did and how Robert punished them. And he's busy ploughing some poor working girl."
"She's hardly poor. By our estimation, she's the 4th most successful prostitute in King's Landing," Prophet enlightened Ned. "For the record, Littlefinger owns every brothel in the city and most in the Crownlands."
"Good to know," Ned groaned. "How am I going to make that weasel pay for what he did to Jon Arryn?"
"Keep in mind, Ned, you are Hand of the King. You can act with all the authority of the Crown and the only one you have to answer to is Robert. You could order Petyr Baelish executed right now and see it done," Prophet pointed out.
Ned blinked. "That… hadn't occurred to me. And when Rob asks what the seven hells I'm doing, you can tell him Littlefinger is guilty. He'll believe anything you say without even having to see proof."
"There's a saying on my world: 'Better to ask forgiveness than permission.' I feel it would apply to this situation."
Letter from Tywin tucked into his pocket to deal with later, Ned tracked down the closest pair of guards. "Find Petyr Baelish and arrest him for conspiracy to murder Jon Arryn," he ordered. "Bring him out into the yard of Maegor's Fast." Ned then went to the Tower of the Hand to fetch Ice. As he came out into the yard, Littlefinger was just being dragged out by the guards.
"Stark! What is the meaning of this?" Littlefinger demanded.
"On his knees," Ned ordered, the guards forcing Baelish down until he was kneeling. "Consider this your trial, Baelish," Ned said solemnly.
"Trial? What was my crime?" he asked with a very believable confusion, but his eyes were panicked.
"You gave Lysa Arryn Tears of Lys to poison Jon Arryn. Do you deny it?"
Baelish struggled in the grip of the guards. "If, I say, if I did, how could you possibly know that?"
Prophet, who had shadowed Ned the whole time, opened his palm and made a hologram. It showed Littlefinger handing a small glass vial to Lysa Arryn, and then changed to show Lysa pouring the contents into Jon Arryn's cup when no one was looking, and then showed Jon Arryn fevered and dying in his bed. "We were watching," Prophet said plainly.
Littlefinger snarled at the Visitor. "Curse you freaks from hell!"
"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, I do sentence you to die," Ned said solemnly. Then he raised Ice and removed Littlefinger's head.
The guards dropped the body once it stopped twitching. The headless corpse fell to the ground, leaking blood from the open stump of the neck. Ned turned to the two guards. "You acted swiftly and competently. Thank you for your service." Having learned that gold spoke louder than words in King's Landing, Ned gave them both a gold dragon from his purse. The guards thanked him and returned to their posts, leaving Ned and Prophet beside a body and its head.
Ned went back to the tower and ordered two of his own men to dispose of Littlefinger's body. He cleaned Ice and stored it away. "Is Rob still 'occupied'?" Ned asked Prophet.
"The prostitute has left and he's lying sated in his bed. This would be a wonderful time to give him some bad news," Prophet said with a wry grin. He seemed to be becoming more and more… human the longer he interacted with the people of Westeros.
Ned nodded. "Please, come with me." Then Ned resumed his earlier trip to Robert's bedchamber. He found an uncomfortable looking member of the Kingsguard posted outside the door. "Let me in," Ned said directly. The bodyguard stepped aside. Ned walked into a room reeking of sex, Robert looking like he might take a nap in his bed. "I see you're free to discuss matters of state now," Ned said coldly. He'd lost much respect for his friend and foster brother as Ned was forced to shoulder his entire workload.
"Seven hells, Ned, I just had a half-decent fuck. Don't come in here to make me count coppers or sign some order to end a feud or whatever," Robert moaned like a small child forced to get out of bed.
"Two things we need to discuss: I executed Littlefinger, and Tywin Lannister is set to declare war against you. Which should we start with?" Ned asked pointedly.
"WHAT!" Robert yelled. He got out of bed, flashing his naked body at Ned and Prophet and got dressed in a nightshirt. "What the fuck were you thinking, killing my Master of Coin?" the king demanded.
"He's the one who provided the poison that killed Jon Arryn. I was thinking I was removing a criminal from the world," Ned said with any reticence.
Robert blinked. "He… Jon was poisoned?"
"Prophet, please show him," Ned asked. Prophet dutifully showed the same three holograms he'd shown Littlefinger.
Robert was turning red. "That bitch! I'm going to march to the Eyrie and throw that poisonous cunt from the highest tower! And Ned! You couldn't have waited for me to execute him? I would have wanted to see his head roll!"
"Time was of the essence. Who knows when he could have fled the city to escape justice?" Ned defended himself. "Now, if we're done with that, there's the small matter of your Warden of the West threatening to rebel."
Robert rolled his eyes. "Tell that bastard he's lucky I didn't have those two and their spawn killed. If that's not good enough for him, remind him what I did to the Greyjoys when they tried to secede. And tell him, I want this down word for word Ned, 'if it's a fight you want, it's a fight you'll get'. Am I clear?"
"I'll write the letter myself," Ned said, knowing that such an aggressive reply was exactly in Robert's character and exactly the wrong thing to say to Tywin. But the King's will be done.
"Good. And Prophet! You're better than Varys. How are the dragonspawn?"
"Viserys Targaryen was made to ride in the carts at the back of the herd, a major insult in Dothraki culture. He's becoming increasingly unstable and erratic. Daenerys and Khal Drogo have a surprisingly healthy relationship, given their age difference. She is approximately 5 months pregnant," Prophet relayed.
Robert turned crimson. "THE WHORE IS PREGNANT?!" he bellowed at the top of his not inconsiderable lungs.
Prophet was unfazed. "By your own laws, the child will be considered Dothraki, not Targaryen. You should be more worried about Viserys fathering a child than Daenerys giving birth to one."
The Visitor's rational words went in one ear and out the other. "Get me Varys! I want that bitch dead! I don't care if we have to pay for a Faceless Man, I want her and the dragonspawn in her belly killed!"
Ned looked at his king in horror. "Rob, she's 14. She was born after the Rebellion ended. She poses absolutely no threat to you."
"Her blood is evil! The world will be better with her dead!" Robert fired back.
"With respect, King Robert, if you send an assassin after Khal Drogo's wife, that could be the stimulus needed to convince him to invade the Seven Kingdoms. Whereas if you do nothing and leave her alone, Khal Drogo will most likely stay in Essos. The Targaryen dynasty was destroyed with your rebellion. Your reign is secure," Prophet said soothingly. Then his voice hardened. "And quite frankly, killing them won't bring Lyanna back. For the love of all the gods, let her go and move on."
Robert clenched his teeth. "Get out," he ordered the Visitor. Prophet turned and left, leaving Robert alone with Ned. "... When did I become afraid of a child halfway around the world?" Robert asked Ned.
"I don't know, Rob. And it scares me how much you still hate anything even remotely related to Rhaegar," Ned said. Then he took a chance. "If he'd gotten Lyanna pregnant, you'd have killed the baby with your own hands, wouldn't you?"
"Yes. And I'd have enjoyed doing it." Robert closed his eyes. "Seven hells, when did I become the kind of man who'd murder babes?"
"I don't know, Rob. But you don't have to stay that kind of man. You can change for the better. You can be the king you were meant to be, instead of… this," Ned said plainly.
Rob snorted. "Only you can talk to me like this, Ned. I love you more than my blood brothers. If you say I need to change, I'll believe you."
"You need to change. Rob, you have me putting out your fires and taking the heat for it. I am trying to do the job that you were meant to do. The Hand was meant to be an aide, not a replacement to the King. You're not a boy anymore. You can't ignore the world for food and drink and pleasure. The Realm needs a good king, not a good Hand," Ned said, pleading his case.
Robert sighed. "I'll try, Ned. But can I keep a little of the food and drink and pleasure?"
"Throw a feast every night for all I care, a wench or three waiting in your bed. Just be King during the day and help me help you run the Seven Kingdoms," Ned stated.
Robert sighed. "Seven hells. I need to get married again, don't I?"
"I'll make a list of eligible ladies," Ned said. "Any changes you want to make to the letter to Tywin?"
Rob sighed. "I'm sure you have a better way of saying what I told you to write. You handle Tywin how you see fit. Fun as it would be, a war is the last thing we need."
Ned nodded. "I'll leave to write it now. Thank you for trying. That's all I ask." With that, Ned left the bedchamber.