A Wolf with a coat of Darkness – chapter 15
I do not own ASoIF/GoT or Warcaft/WoW
Rated M for everything wrong with the Cult of the Damned and the Scourge (including but not limited to cannibalism, human experimentation, murder, rape, slavery, torture, sadism)
Much to her surprise, yet in line with her hopes, Eddard Stark came to her doorstep the next day.
"Sansa…" he began, his voice heavy. "I am sorry. My reaction was…"
"I understand, father, truly I do. Mine was the same, in the beginning."
Eddard nodded mutely before speaking.
"It's just…magic." He said, his voice a mix of wonder and disbelief, prompting a small smile for Sansa as she again produced a flame in her palm.
"The southern faith and the maesters claim that all magic is gone from the world and only the gods remain." Ned shook his head.
"They are not wrong…" a thoughtful expression adorned Sansa's face. At her father's confused face, she continued.
"The air, it feels…dry. Empty. Occasionally I will feel a whisp of energy, but other than that, nothing." She shook her head to emphasize her point. Ned bowed his head before looking up at his daughter:
"I would like to hear your story again."
Sansa gave him a pained smile, but obliged him nonetheless. While there were some good moments, she in general did try to avoid thinking of her time with the cult. This time, as she talked, Ned would ask questions every so often.
"And then we linked the house with the keep and waited for you."
"Linked?"
"Yes. Would you…like to see?"
Not a minute late, they stood in the dark storage room of the house, Ned holding a lantern as it illuminated his confused features. Vaguely, he saw the rough, carved outline of… something rectangular on the far wall. He nearly dropped his source of light when his daughter made a small cut on her finger and put a drop of blood in the base of the wall.
"Apologies, father. I should have warned you." She said with a smile, her blue eyes shining with mischief in the lantern light.
"As I said, there is not much magic in the air, thus it needs to come from somewhere. Besides, having it activated in such a way, it helps to keep it hidden." Sansa explained. "It was all Myrandas' idea, really."
"What if…someone was to splatter blood on it?" Ned asked despite himself, swallowing hard.
Sansa shook her head.
"It won't be enough. You need to know the words, the spells. Just like runes, simply carving the symbol is not enough." As she finished speaking, the wall began to shimmer before solidifying into a room. There was no flashing light, no great explosions or dark chanting rituals. It was just as if there was a door leading into another room of the house.
Mutely, he followed his daughter through, leaving the lantern behind as the new room was covered in sunlight. The noise of the city quickly dropped and was replaced with silence. He kept following Sansa as she exited the room and made for a staircase going up. Before long, he stood on a tower looking over the surrounding woodland, his mouth agape.
But then he saw it and almost collapsed. In the distance, peaking over the trees were the distinct spires of the Red Keep.
"Sansa…" her father whispered out after finally regaining his bearings.
"I know, father. I know what you will say. About magic, that I should lea-"
"Yes, I do. But because it will draw eyes to you. Especially here, in King's Landing. People believe magic to be parlor tricks done by jesters and fools."
"Smoke and mirrors." She said in understanding.
"Aye, smoke and mirrors. And when they find that it is real, they will try to kill you or worse."
"The faith has no sway over me, I follow the old gods. Used to, anyway."
"It is not the faith that worries me."
"Then, who are 'they'?"
Her father remained silent for a long time, looking away from her. After a drawn-out silence, his shoulders slumped before he looked around, as if making sure that they were alone.
"The Lannisters."
"The Lannisters? The queen's family? Impossible. Why would they?!" Sansa asked in disbelief.
"They already hold most of the court, most of the power. Every second person in that damn keep is a Lannister."
"But you are Hand!"
"Jon Arryn was Hand." For a moment, she looked confused before her eyes widened in horrific realization.
"You don't mean…"
"Your aunt, Lysa, believes it to be so. She sent a letter to you mother. It was what convinced me to come down south."
Sansa shook her head in disbelief.
"If you knew the previous Hand to be -killed- then why did you come down south?!"
Ned's eyes hardened for a moment before answering.
"Jon was like a father to me and Robert. A lot of people tell me it was just age, but I have to know, for certain." He sighed out "Just, be careful with your magic. Let no one else know."
"Do you really think it is that dangerous?" asked Sansa, the warning from the previous house owner echoing in her mind.
"Aye." He nodded. "But I want to recognize you before the court, I want you to return home. Your mother misses you greatly."
"If it is that dangerous, I will not leave you! You or Arya!"
"Your siste-"
"My sister what? If it is that dangerous, why bring her? Hmm?" Sansa was surprised at herself, pushing back against her father.
"Arya is here on the king's request. Robert hopes for a match with the crown prince." Both fell silent for a while before tenderly, Sansa reaching our and grasped her father's hand.
"Father, please. I can help you."
"I already lost you once. I will not do so again. My decision is final."
"As is mine." Responded Sansa with surprising steel in her voice.
"Maybe we can ask that Jon person what really happened." Suddenly spoke up a third voice, both turning to see Myranda's head poking from beneath the stairs. At their surprised gazes, she gave them a smile of mischief, basking in her ambush.
"How long have you been there?" questioned Sansa.
"Long enough to know that if your father found the truth, he would gladly go home." She said, turning to Ned. "I am right, aren't I?"
"I still cannot refuse the king. He asked me for my services. I must oblige."
"You cannot refuse the king, but can't you refuse Robert? Wasn't he your childhood friend or something?" pressed Myranda
Sighing out, Ned responded:
"Sometimes, I feel like that might be even harder." He was silent for a moment, before continuing. "You said to ask Jon. What did you mean?" Ned asked with suspicion, already having an inking what it meant.
"Well…we would summon his soul and ask him."
"No." flatly said Eddard.
"Father, it i-"
"I said no. We will not drag Jon's soul into this. Let the man rest." He said with some anger in his voice.
"So what would you do? Hmm? Go about and around asking how he died? You are the Hand, everyone is looking at you!" bit back Sansa with some anger. "Nothing would happen to him if that is what you are worried about, I swear it!" she continued, defending her craft.
"Swear? You learned this magic for but a few months and expect me to tru-" he stopped himself before saying something he would regret but the damage was already done.
Hardening her expression, Sansa said:
"I will not be leaving." The two frowning Starks stared at one another, silver eyes against blue.
"Recognize her, then." Spoke up Myranda.
"What?" both asked in surprise.
"She will not leave and you want to keep her safe. I would imagine the best place would be in the Red Keep, as your daughter, with your guards nearby."
"That would be putting her in danger, straight into that den."
"I would put myself there. Robert already favors us." Responded Sansa, prompting Ned to raise an eyebrow as if asking 'Does he, really?' but the northerner said nothing.
Both Sansa and Myranda wondered why had the lord Hand called for them specifically and urgently.
It was still the early hours of the morning, most of the Red Keep remaining in a blissful sleep. The clicking of their heeled boots eventually led them to a chamber adjacent to the throne room, a small, unassuming side room used for minor visitors or preparations.
Eddard Stark was there, sitting down behind an empty table save for a single box, two Stark guards behind him. On the other side of the table sat a man of the Watch if his dark clothes were anything to go by, curly short white hair on his head. Next to the watchman sat what Sansa initially though to be a child, but later realized to be a short man in dressed in Lannister red with golden lions upon his clothes.
'Tyrion Lannister?' Sansa mentally questioned, trying to remember the name of the infamous member of the house of lions.
"These are the experts?" questioned the little man, his voice a mix of mockery of genuine curiosity,
"Aye." Was the short, tense response from her father.
"Well, I do hope they know their craft. I am not one from Grumkins and snarks, but that thing…"
"Just get it over it before it rots away completely." Grumbled the third man.
At her father's nod, Sansa moved towards the box on the table, Myranda but a step behind her. slowly, she lifted the lid and was greeted by a single, pale, half-rotten arm. An arm that was moving on its own. Even as her eyes widened in shock, on instinct she tightened the mask around her face.
Sansa took the appendage by the forearm, lifting it out of its prison and turning to Myranda.
To the men in the room, the two hooded, masked girl discussed rapidly in hushed whispers. So engrossed in their conversation they were that when the younger one lifted her arm and tendril of dark, purple energy leaked down from her hand and onto the severed one, neither of them noticed the gasps that echoed around the room.
The severed arm spasmed and trashed under the magic, the older girl barely managing to keep her grip on it before the younger one lessened her dark magic.
"Where did you get this?" asked the older one, her blue eyes just visible beneath the hood jumping between the three men. It took some time before the Watchman answered.
"A dead man at the wall."
"At the wall…" the girl mumbled, seemingly becoming lost in memories. Regaining her composure, she spoke with surprising authority.
"The king must know of this."
"Know of what exactly? What is it?" asked Tyrion.
"Robert will need more than a hand to be convinced of whatever is it that has you concerned." Filled in Eddard.
"Father, please! Trust me! This is bad!"
"…father?" mumbled out Tyrion, remaining ignored.
Frowning at his daughter's slip up as his eyes wondered over to the dwarf of the Lannisters, he nevertheless addressed the older girl.
"Please, calm down." He began gently before shifting his voice to authority. "And explain."
"This" she lifted the still twitching severed arm for emphasis "is the arm of an undead."
"Great experts, lord Stark. It would seem they posses working eyes." Grunted out the Night's Watch man.
"We would call this a direct control undead." Interrupted the little girl, glaring at the dark-clad man. "No soul, limited mind and dependent on the one that raised them for everything but the simplest of things: walk, kill and other basic things."
"It is good for us because if we kill the one that raised them, they would all die.-"
"I am sensing a but coming." Mumbled Tyrion, just loud enough to interrupt the explanation. With a glare, the now-exposed Stark daughter continued.
"BUT it is also easier to raise enormous numbers, quickly."
Despite glaring at them, the dark-clad man asked:
"How enormous?"
"Depends." She responded, before beginning to pace, idly returning the arm into the chest. "Depends on the power of the necromancer, whether he is doing it alone or as a group ritual, whether there is an outside source of power…" she began to list as her voice drifted with each word.
"How much?" pressed Eddard.
Her eyes looked at him before roaming across the other people in the room, Tyrion seeing hesitance and fear in them. An audible gulp sounded.
"Each of us alone can raise thirty, maybe forty. Together." She gestured to the younger girl next to her. "A hundred. Maybe a hundred and twenty. Any more would be hard to control."
"So you can do this? You are a…necromancer, I believe the term is?" Tyrion found himself asking.
Both girls mutely nodded.
A long, tense silence filled the room. Eventually, with a sigh Eddard leaned back into his chair.
"Robert will need more than this."
"Agreed." Responded Tyrion.
"You cannot just let the matter be!" exclaimed the younger girl, lowering her hood and mask, the older one following suit.
"Apologies, my ladies, but dear old Robert will not be convinced by a half-rotten hand." Said Tyrion, tilting his head sideways as he looked at them. "And even if he was, what? You cannot expect the king of the Seven kingdoms to send an army based on a twitching piece of meat and the word of two girls that, from what I've heard and am currently seeing, have lied to him already. Or am I wrong, lady Beatrice?"
"Enough, lord Tyrion." Spoke up Eddard.
"The truth is hard and unpleasant, but you misunderstand me, lord Stark." The dwarf's mismatched eyes shifted from the two girls to the Hand of the king. "I was there when it happened. I believe it, though I am not sure exactly what it is that I believe. You just said it yourself. Robert will need more. The kingdoms need more."
The smaller girl began to violently shake her head as tears appeared in her eyes.
"You don't get it." She said, her voice cracking. "With every moment wasted, their forces grow. The more time they have, the more they make. The more they make, the more they kill, the more bodies they have. It's an ever-increasing power, feeding itself as it grows strong."
"And the stronger it grows, the faster it does so." said Sansa. "Her home was destroyed by undead. A whole kingdom, destroyed completely in less than a year."
Seeing the tears, a somber expression found itself to Tyrion's face.
"All the same, this is not enough." He spoke.
"Then what would be?" asked Sansa.
"A whole body. Alive, obviously. Or not. Depends how you look at it. Maybe one of those necromancers."
"If we could capture such a thing, we would have already sent it down." Grumbled the Night's watch man.
"I will see what I can do about having some men go north with this lovely fellow and capture one for us." Said Tyrion while gesturing to the dark-clad man.
"Stop by Winterfel, ser Alliser. I will send a raven to my son, letting him know to lend you a few trusted swords as well." said Eddard, nodding towards the now-named watchman.
"This will take months! We cannot wait that long." Said Sansa.
"Unfortunately, we must." Said Tyrion before a gleam entered his eyes. Hopping from his seat, he waddled closer to the two girls. "Though we will not be idle. You will come clean before the king. With everything. Including your…magic."
"Careful, Lannister." Spat out Eddard.
Half-turning towards the northerner, the Imp spoke calmly.
"I am trying to help you, my lord. Or would you rather have your undead experts have to explain why they lied to the king when the moments comes to convince him of the bigger picture?" he turned back towards the two girls. "And to say nothing that people just might accuse them of causing it. One battle at a time."
"Still!" he continued, his voice much more jovial. "as you said, we have months. Plenty of time for you to decide how to do it."
A day later, Sansa stood in the throne room before the king, her father and Myranda on each of her sides.
"All this time, you were Ned's daughter? Why didn't you say anything? I found your father mad with grief in Winterfel!" roared Robert from the throne.
"It wa-wasn't my intention." Trembled Sansa. "I was not lying when I said we were kidnapped, your grace." She said, now unmasked, but in her usual attire, bowing before the king.
"We barely managed to come back to King's Landing when we learned that my father is to become Hand. I thought it would be best…to wait for him here."
"But you did lie to your king?" questioned the queen from beside her husband, her green eyes narrowed.
"We did not." Spoke up Myranda. "We were kidnapped. We were taken to a cult. We were made to do terrible things."
"And are you really Myranda Wrynn? Is there even a house Wrynn?" further asked Cersei.
"There is, but I am Myranda Moore. No relation to house Moore, that I know of."
"BAH! Wrynn, Moore… why all this skulking?" while Sansa tried to find the correct words to respond to the king in a courtly fashion, Myranda once again beat her to the punch.
"She had been missing for how long? If A Sansa Stark had come to the gates of the keep and demanded to speak with her father, the lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North and Hand of the King, what would have happened?"
A tense silence hung in the room for all knew the answer to that. She would have been turned away if she was lucky. A light beating if she was not. And if she was really unlucky…
"Enough, Robert. She is back and that is enough for me." Spoke up Eddard.
"Aye, let this be the end of it." Responded the king.
"There is one more thing that I believe you should know, your grace…" trailed off Sansa.
A small impromptu feast was held that day, much to Ned's charging and Sansa's delight. People were suddenly very interested in her and while she basked in the attention, the past few months had her focused on drawing as little attention to herself as possible. And thus, why she enjoyed it immensely, each new person that came to meet her and to express how happy he or she was at her return despite never having met her put her on edge.
In a way, it was just like her dreams. The entire realm, toasting to her. Cheering for her. Lords and ladies flocking. To her. A grand feast, joyous music, soul-filling food and all the courtesy and shine of the south. All of it for her. The many castle cooks were quick to make a colossal number of lemon cakes, her father eager for her to have atleast that much despite his dislike for the event. A mountain of cakes that she had already put a significant dent in their numbers. Oh, she remembered the taste in her mouth when Myranda said she did not like them. Thou when the initial aghast, shock and horror at the statement of her friend wore off, she reminded herself that they did not have to agree to everything, the red-head eager for them to remained close.
When she had moments of breathing room, she was able to observe Myranda as she entertained the younger prince and princess, both been barely younger than her. She almost laughed as her friend recalled the story of how they took over the keep, if with a few minor changes.
"Sister." A voice startled her from behind.
Sansa turned to see Arya standing but a pace behind her, her old septa and a few unknown girls trailing behind. Just as she had already seen in her visions through the undead bird, she was once again dressed prim and proper, her hair done up in elaborate braids and her dress flawless. When grey eyes met blue, a plethora of emotions clashed.
Sadness, anger, accusation, relief maybe even happiness.
Despite been younger, Arya was not that smaller than Sansa, maybe a head lower. And thus, it came as a surprise to all when the red-head rushed forth and scooped up her younger sister in her arms, lifting her up in a bear hug, if only for a moment. Physical strength was not her attribute.
"I have missed you!" Sansa said with genuine happiness, closely inspecting every part of her sister's face, as if seeing her for the first time. Arya in turn remained silent and she could see how her eyebrows would scrunch up before relaxing, only to scrunch up again, over and over.
"Come, let us talk!" Sansa began to pull her away, nonetheless conscious of how her sister acted. Of how…reserved she was. When the septa and the other girls tried to follow, Sansa fixed them with a flat look. Even despite knowing the septa and aware of how she should act in court, she still asked a simple:
"Yes?"
"I am to chaperone Lady Arya at all times."
"I would like to speak with my sister. Alone."
"Lady Sansa, your lord father instructed me to attend to her and ensure she acts as a proper lady." For a moment, Sansa regressed to her child self from what must have been half a year ago now and the red-head felt her head bowing in acknowledgment and surrender. But then Myranda came next to her with a happy, joyous and uncontrolled:
"Is this your sister? I have heard so much about you!" that statement seemed to rekindle her fire as she rose her eyes and challenged the much older woman.
"As I said. I would like to speak with my sister, alone." Without waiting for a response, she began to pull her out towards the gardens. On her way, she saw Myranda fall behind and suspected it was on purpose. It was Arya that actually spoke up first:
"That girl… she is your friend?"
"Yes. A very close friend. A sister, I would even say." Happily responded the red-head, realizing her words too late. "Sorry, I did not mean it like that, truly. It's just we have been through so much together…"
Arya's face remained flat and impassive and slowly, Sansa's enthusiasm and excitement began to dwindle.
"What is wrong?" she finally asked.
"You don't have to pretend, you know. They can't see us here." Said Arya.
"Pretend?" asked confused Sansa.
"Yes. Pretend. All this 'Oh, I missed you, dear sister'. You don't have to do this, not with me." Said Arya, her voice continuously taking on a harder note.
"Arya, I truly did miss you!"
"Well, I didn't!" exploded the younger sister, finally showing emotion. "And do you want to know why? Because, suddenly, I was no longer allowed to run free! I no longer could do what I wanted! "It is not safe!" " she berated on, her voice steadily rising. "And with you gone on your grand merry adventure across Essoss, I was left alone with that septa."
Sansa bit her tongue as she knew full well what all that meant despite ready to argue about her own 'Adventures'.
"Come tomorrow to my house in the city, I have something for you. Fathers knows where it is."
"Father would not let me." Bit back Arya.
"I will convince him." Argued back Sansa.
"Ofcourse you will… you always were the favored daughter." Mumbled Arya just loud enough for Sansa to hear before walking away.
As she watched her sister walk away, Sansa collapsed onto a nearby bench within the gardens, sighing loudly. A few moments later, Myranda joined her on the bench but said nothing.
"Everything I feared is coming true." said Sansa. "Father does not trust me or my…abilities, half the court looks at me with suspicion as if I am playing some great game and Arya… she hates me."
"She does not hate you." Dismissed Myranda. "I mean, I don't know her, but I doubt she hates you. As for the rest, how long did it take you to be fine with everything? You even argued against Sir Boo!" this brough smiles to both girls, lightening the tension.
"They will come around." said the younger girl. After a while, Myranda continued:
"When she comes tommoro-"
"If she comes." Interrupted Sansa.
"If she comes, will you tell her everything?"
For a moment, Sansa remained silent before answering.
"I fear she will never trust me if I don't. What happens when she learns of it later from someone else?"
As the initial shock of the court wore off, things rapidly changed for the two girls. Fear was replaced with awe. Distrust became unkempt ogling. For several day small impromptu feasts were held in the gardens of the keep, nobles coming to observe as the two girls demonstrated their skills. Target dummies from the training yards below were brough up as the small crowd cheering and clapping with every little spell the girls did.
Every little thing, every movement, every spell no matter how mundane was followed exclamations from the masses and while initially Sansa immensely enjoyed her spot in the middle of it all, everyone looking at her with awe and respect, she began to grow weary of it. With every request for a fireball or an ice spike her patience wore ever-thinner. She could clearly see the beads of sweat running down Myranda's forehead from her constant teleporting, the girl occasionally heaving for air.
They felt like jesters. Like trapped animals for the amusement of others.
In the end, despite everything, Sansa found herself lying again. She claimed that they were at their limit, unable to perform more spells for atleast a fortnight.
"A clever lie" rang out a voice as the crowds dispersed. Both winded girls turned to see Tyrion walking towards them. As the two of them collapsed onto a nearby bench, their eyes followed the dwarf as he took a goblet of wine from a nearby table before moving to one of the training dummies. The tiny man inspected the damage, a solid breastplate cleanly pieced by a large, slowly-melting shard of ice before turning to them.
"It was a lie, wasn't it?" he asked with genuine curiosity, their tired state of being beginning to give him doubts. While Sansa said nothing, Myranda simply conjured a small fireball within her hand, giving the Lannister a smirk.
"Why are you here, lord Tyrion?" asked Sansa despite herself. The small man almost looked offended.
"You, my dears, are the most exciting thing to have happened here since the dragons died out!" he waved his arms around as if to emphasis his point.
"People laughed and clapped and cheered at us..." Sansa mumbled. "We are entertainment to them."
"People once laughed and clapped and cheered as dragons circled above them. And yet, those magnificent creatures brough the whole world to heel."
"Are you saying we should go and conquer Westeros?" jokingly asked Myranda.
"While that would be indeed entertaining-" the dwarf again looked towards the destroyed dummy "-and maybe very much possible, it is not what I meant."
"I have been compared to worse things than a dragon from my sister." Said Sansa with a small smile.
To this, Tyrion toasted, lifting his cup in a salute before taking a long drink. As he lowered it from his lips, a twinkle appeared in his eyes.
"Would you… would you like to see them?" he asked.
"See what?"
"The dragons."
The two girls, the Lannister dwarf and several guards descended ever down into the bowels of the keep. Outside light began to dwindle before disappearing all together, though both girls simply produced flames in their hands instead of looking for torches or lanterns. Not long after, the air became cold and damp. And out of the darkness emerged the first dragon skull.
Both girls had seen the baby dragons in Scholomance, but this was somehow different. Those things in the cursed school were stunted, small and meek. Sure, their carried plagues and their breath corroded everything it touched, but this… that thing before them was a monster.
Even now, possibly centuries after all the meat had rotten away from its bones, the dragon still appeared to be grinning in malice. The one skull that stood before them was maybe as big as a horse if not larger. In awe, Sansa extended her hand and ran her finger over one of its fangs, admiring the texture, yet sensing something beneath the surface.
While it was true that skeletons without even a miniscule patch of flesh could be raised, there still was a time limit. Eventually, even bone rots away unless properly cared for. And given when the last Targaryen dragon died, the red-head was honestly surprised that it still stood. Yet as much as that surprised her, it was the small, barely-detectable energy that lingered beneath the surface that captured her attention.
Lifting her hand from the skull slightly, she cast a simple spell, the room receiving a new blue glow from it.
"As much as it would be exciting to see a reanimated dragon head, I think it would be bad for our health, mine in particular." Spoke up Tyrion "Razor teeth and soft flesh are rarely a good combination."
Sansa smirked at the half man, her blue eyes gleaming from magic.
"Fear not, my lord. I was simply checking something." She turned her head back towards the skull. "There is still magic in them."
"The maesters always said that magic died with the dragons." Mumbled Tyrion, prompting a scoff from Sansa.
"You cannot kill magic. That would be like killing the air."
"Hmm, then perhaps we can look into what magic there is in Westeros? I mean, there is quite a bit of time until our black friend returns from the North."
"What do you mean?"
"The Wall, the isle of Faces, the Seastone Chair on Pyke, Dragonstone, the smooth walls of Storm's End, the foundations of the Hightower. Gods know what else is there."
Both girls remained silent for a while, looking over at the little man. Finally, Sansa spoke up.
"You are quite invested in this."
"Hmm." Hummed Tyrion in agreement "I already told you. You, my dears, are the most exciting thing to happen in Westeros in quite a while."
Apologies for the update delay.
Thank You for reading.