Wren had been dreaming, she was sure of it. Moving images flashed before her in this dreamlike state. A girl with pale hair and a growing belly rode on a horse with large, tattooed, and muscular men with long intricate braids.
The next shifted to that of her brother, Bran, awake and working on his lessons in his chair. Wren wished she knew if the dream was true or not of her broken brother.
The floor shifted underneath her to see her sister Arya looking out at the sea facing away from her. She tried to call out to her littlest sister, and it appeared to have worked. Arya turned, but Wren screamed when she saw the faceless blank stare of her sister looking straight at her.
She woke from her restless sleep with a scream in her throat. Taking in her surroundings, she remembered she was in her room at King's Landing. Her father had not yet woken from his coma after being attacked by Jamie Lannister. She had been the one to write to the families of the soldiers who had been slain by the queen's twin, including her father's personal attendant and her good friend Jory. Her heart broke for the families who would never see or hear their loved ones again.
She quickly got up out of bed, splashed water on her face, and changed into her gown for the day. She had plans, plans she could no longer put off, and they needed to be followed to the letter. Her instincts were screaming that her family needed to leave quickly. Her father had quite his job as hand to the king, then apparently their mother had kidnapped the imp, and now her father was in a coma. The queen had been stalking the halls waiting for news, any news, of her two brothers while the king roared his rage at the circumstances.
She was discreetly getting the things her family couldn't bare to be parted with packed, food organized, and their funds sorted. Tabs had to be paid, and animals needed to be readied.
Later that day her father finally woke from his injuries. She rushed to his rooms to find the queen leaving, her face bruised and her lip starting to bleed. Wren curtsied to the queen, her head bent low, but the queen appeared to not notice her as she rushed away down the hall.
She knocked on her father's door, only to be told to wait outside. Eventually she was allowed in and tended to her father.
She wet a dry cloth in cold water to wash away the sweat from her father's brow.
"He's made me the hand once more little bird" her father groaned out. "I would much rather have you girls' home and away from here, but I fear letting you all out of my sight."
Wren bit her lower lip, thinking of how best to explain to her father what her gut was screaming. "Wouldn't it be better to send us off with someone trustworthy? I fear if we all stay in this city that we will be lost. Things feel so much more dangerous than when we first got here."
Ned Stark took his eldest daughter's small delicate hands into his two strong callused ones before giving them a squeeze. "If I let you go, there's no way of knowing you'll be safe. All my best men are gone. Best we stick together I think."
"Father, are you sure-"
"I've had my say. Now, help me get out of this bed. I have court to hold in the king's stead."
"Father?"
"He is going hunting to help clear his mind. Once he returns, I'll talk to him of our concerns."
Wren let the conversation drop as she gathered a walking cane, fresh bandages, and a change of clothes for her father.
After what felt like an eternity, they made it to the thrown room which was crowded with a large body of people. Around the iron thrown, which gleamed in the firelight room, Littlefinger and Grand Maester Pycelle waited to hear the complaints of the people.
Stained glass windows allowed the afternoon's light to filter into the throne room's chamber. Sand rock pillars with green ivy painted onto them filled the hall, as did the torches and incense scones. People were divided into three categories. Those who were presenting an issue to the king, or in this case her father, those who were noble overseeing the conversation, and then the servants of the castle.
They were mostly simple requests for more food, better jobs, and basic quality of life enhancements. However, the final man to approach for the day was a different story.
The man was covered in soot, clearly worn from his travels, and looked to have lost everything.
"They burned most everything in the Riverlands: our fields; our granaries; our homes. They took our women, then they took 'em again." The man's voice broke with that sentence. He took a moment to collect himself, clearly having practiced his speech to ensure he could get through it. "When they was done, they butchered them as if they was animals. They covered our children in pitch. And lit them on fire!" the poor man started crying, having lost his strength with the memories that flashed behind his eyes. He gripped his hat and looked towards the ground for a moment to reign in his emotions.
Grand Maester Pycelle, bored of the conversation, piped in. "Brigands, most likely."
The man presenting his case looked up at the Grand Maester, his face determined. "They weren't themes. They didn't steal nothing. They even left something behind, your Grace."
Pycelle, with his elderly raspy voice, interrupted once more in irritation. "It's the King's Hand you're addressing, not the king" he said, pointing towards Ned. "The king is hunting"
Wren, off to the side, watched as a second man with red hair brought forward a bag, dumping it out in front of her father. Fish, decaying and putrid, covered the stone floor.
"Fish. The sigil of House Tully" Littlefinger announced before whispering something loudly to her father that echoed in the hall. "Isn't that your wife's house—Tully, my Lord Hand?"
Wren snorted, but quickly covered her face with her hand after realizing what she had done. Littlefinger knew her mother from when they were children. It sounded ludicrous to think he sounded unsure of something he damn well knew.
Her father simply stared at the man he detested before turning his attention back to the man before him. His deep strong voice rung throughout the chamber. "These men, were they flying a sigil?" Upon seeing the confusion on the mans face, Ned clarified. "A banner?"
"None, your. . . Hand. The one who was leading them. . . taller by a foot than any man I've ever met, saw him cur the blacksmith in two, saw him take the head off a horse with a single swing of his sword."
Littlefinger whispered more quietly to her father once more, so Wren couldn't hear it this time. After Littlefinger finished his whispered comment, her father looked at the man again.
"You're describing Ser Gregor Clagane."
Grand Maester Pycelle interrupted once more, sounding confused. "Why should Ser Gregor turn brigand? The man is an anointed knight."
Littlefinger, never one to stay quiet, added his own thoughts on the matter. "I've heard him called Tywin Lannister's Mad Dog. I'm sure you have as well."
Maester Pycelle continued on, but sounded weary this time. "If the Lannister's were to order attacks on villages under the king's protection, i-i-it would be—"
"That would be almost as brazen as attacking the Hand of the King in the streets of the capital" Littlefinger chimed in.
Maester Pycelle grumbled and fluffed for a moment or two without being able to muster up a comeback. Ned, having had enough of the banter, came to a decision.
"I cannot give you back your homes, or restore your dead to life, but perhaps I can give you justice in the name of our king, Robert. Lord Beric Dondarrion" her father called out to the crowd. A man in dark brown leathers stepped forward, looking confused but focused. "You shall have the command. Assemble 100 men and ride to Ser Gregor's keep."
"As you command."
Ned moved to stand up, relying heavily on the cane Wren had fetched for him to use to keep off his wounded leg. Although he appeared wobbly at first, he eventually found his footing and stood firm as he addressed his audience.
"In the name of Robert, of the House Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, I charge you to bring the king's justice to the false knight Gregor Clagane and all those who shared in his crimes. I denounce him and attaint him."
The crowed started to murmur as her father continued. Grand Maester Pycelle looked at Ned Stark as if he had just lost his mind.
"I strip him of all ranks and titles, of all lands and holdings, and sentence him to death."
"My lord. . ." Pycelle started to say as he stood up from his chair. "This—This is a drastic action. It would be better to wait for King Robert's return."
"Grand Maester Pycelle" Ned stated, disregarding everything Maester Pycelle had just said.
"My lord."
"Send a raven to Casterly Rock. Inform Tywin Lannister that he has been summoned to court to answer for the crimes of his bannermen. He will arrive within the fortnight or be branded an enemy of the crown and a traitor to the realm."
Wren just looked on in hidden horror as her father nodded to everyone to dismiss them. After every lesson her father had ever taught his children, she was shocked to see him provoke an enemy so openly and while standing in for the king, son in law to the family her father had royally pissed off.
All Wren could do was shake her head and pray to the old gods. She would find solace with them as well as guidance.
Her family was going to need it, and every ounce of self-preservation they could muster.
She returned to her rooms to continue her letter to Jon.
"Dearest brother,
Our father appears to have lost his mind. He has ordered Lady Stark to kidnap the imp, he provoked the Kingslayer, has managed to get nearly half of his men killed, and been stabbed in the leg with a spear. Now he is provoking their father, the king is off hunting, and everything is too wild and unsteady to feel any sort of safety or comfort here.
I wish we were all home. Back under the canopy of leaves of the woods that surround our home. Bran is healthy again, all of our wolves rolling and wrestling together. Sansa screaming at Arya for messing up one of her dolls, and the blacksmith yelling at the cook for some cheating done the night before.
Thorn is hiding between my legs under my dresses now, regardless of where I go. I hope ghost stays as close to you as my Thorn is. Something is going very wrong here brother. I worry for our family. Please, for the love of the old gods, stay safe. Stay on this side of the wall. Make connections if not friends. Do not make any rash decisions. Our father is having us pack tonight to leave. I hope actually get to.
I love you.
Forever yours,
Wren"