Chapter Eight
–
A refusal to face reality allows
it to stab you in the back.
–
Disclaimer: I own no rights to the Game of Thrones series written by George R.R. Martin. Eleonora, Nyx, and Moon are my own inserts, but I own no other characters.
–
"Did you enjoy your midnight tryst with the Stark whore?" asked Cersei, elongating her elegant, gazelle-like neck as she stared deep into the early morning glow.
Jaime rolled his eyes and released his twin with an audible HUFF. He laid on his back, staring through the sheer canopy drape overhead. He scratched his bare chest and then adjusted his neck to look at the back of Cersei's head.
"What would you have me do, Cersei?" he inquired. "Would you have me disobey your husband? I knew the girl was going to sneak her way to the festival, and it would have been my head if something had happened to her."
"And how did you know she would be there?"
"She was forbidden to go because it was too dangerous for a woman of her stature," he replied, "so I knew then that she would be there. It's her nature to be defiant, she has more wolfblood than the lot of them."
"Wolves mate within their pack, remember," said Cersei, still keeping her back to her brother. "She is no exception."
"Are we wolves then?" he jested, released a hollow laugh.
"She may laugh at your tiresome jokes, or smile that pretty little smile just the way you like," she said, "but do not let her beauty and charm turn you as foolish as the others she casts her spell upon."
"Are you jealous, Cersei, are you truly?" Jaime scoffed, rolling back over to engulf Cersei against him. "You believe I've fallen under the spell of some northern whore? You know my eyes have never wandered, and they certainly would not for the likes of her."
"That is reassuring," she replied, "and I suppose it matters little. My spies tell me she is quite taken with someone within her pack, for quite a long while actually, and quite the scandal if my little birds were to chirp. I imagine Lord Stark may not be overjoyed to learn his eldest, unwed, daughter and the Captain of his House Guard are very much in love."
Jaime swallowed a knot of hot lava that traveled painfully from his throat to the pit of his stomach where it erupted into flames.
–
The air smelt particularly overwhelming of salt in the morning, even though the archery was positioned near the furthest point from the sea in King's Landing. The pair gathered odd gazes from several knights practicing their craft as they approached. Jaime towered more than a head and a half taller than Eleonora, but she radiated a quiet confidence that left little room for intimidation. They claimed the last remaining straw target lane not occupied by a knight. She slid on her leather armgard and grabbed one of her heartwood arrows. Eleonora locked the nock on the bowstring and aligned her arrow on the shelf just as she had thousands of times before as naturally as if she were taking a breath. The arrow struck the red painted bullseye and the familiar wave of pride swept over her tiny frame. A small smile crept across her lips as she reached for another arrow.
"Did you teach yourself to shoot a bow to fend off and possible propositions of marriage, Stark?" said Jaime, leaning his back against the wooden fencing beside them with his arms crossed, coyly admiring the eldest Stark daughter fire another into the bullseye with little effort.
"Oh, yes, to keep them away from my —how did you put it before—indomitable cunt?" said Eleonora with a smirk. "I would show you the necklace I made of all the cocks I've shot clean off over the years, but I've unfortunately left it behind at Winterfell."
"What a shame," Jaime snorted. Any other woman would have slapped him ten times over by now, but for some reason the Stark girl seemed to share his deeply dark and sardonic sense of humor.
"I have always been small, even for a girl," she started, pulling back on the bowstring and releasing the arrow successfully again. "I learned very young the only way I could possibly prove myself as a threat is if I devoted every moment I could to the only defense I could master from a distance. Very few men would be intimidated by a woman, even fewer by a woman of my size which is quite alright. I'll use their willingness to underestimate me to my advantage."
"Your youngest sister seems anxious to follow in your shadow," said Jaime, his arms crossed as his head followed her arrow striking the bullseye again.
Arya reminded Eleonora so much of herself at that age. Neither cared much for dresses or dolls. Eleonora grew up with Theon, Jon, and Robb which made her masculine habits much more acceptable than they were for Arya after Sansa was born. Part of her wished Arya would fall out of love with swordplay and fall in love with pretty things like Sansa. It was safer, and she wanted to protect Arya for as long as she could. The thought of her youngest sister putting herself in danger during battle or facing the emotional turmoil experienced after her first kill.
Eleonora had practiced every day with her bow when she was Arya's age, something she discovered to have a natural ability for. In time her control improved, and she began to practice with her archery more so than anything else. She rode a horse like she was born a centaur, just as her Uncle Brandon had been. The horse beneath her strengthened her archery skills and gave her the confidence to hunt live prey. Her skill with a sword was decent but nothing compared to her brothers, but she was reminded that for a woman, she was quite an impressive fighter. However, no one dare tarnish her skill with a bow with the phrase "for a woman."
"I hope not," said Eleonora after a long pause, gnawing on her thoughts as a familiar pain radiated in her chest. "Maybe she'll grow to manage a household or have a family of her own. That never felt like an option for me."
Eleonora had been a child, barely twelve when she killed her first, a memory she held close to her consciousness. Black Walder Frey was passing through the Wolfswood, returning from a journey to Deepwood Motte on behalf of his great-grandfather, Lord Walder Frey. Lord Stark offered him a warm bed and a hot meal for the night. He accepted the meal, but declined to stay as he preferred the company of whores in the bed of a brothel. He joined them for dinner when the sun set where he drank too much, swore too loud, and was quick to argue with any and all of the House Guard who dare not share his opinions. He carried a lecherous reputation and a foul scent of sweat and ale.
He had leered at the young beauty, Eleonora Stark, over the cusp of his ale all evening, drawing the quiet and growing concern of Jory Cassel. She remembered his eyes were hollow like a gust of wind; appearing so dark that they seemed as two lumps of coal, as black and as wild as his wiry beard. She had dreamt of his eyes, how piercing and cold they were, long after she snuck away to her chambers that evening. Her belly full and her mind so heavy with sleep that she did not wake when Black Walder, drunk and unwelcomed, entered her bedchambers and locked the latch behind him. It was not until she felt his large figure climb atop her, his belt already unbuckled and his manhood visibly yearning for her maidenhead, did Eleonora finally wake from her slumber.
A slight gasp was all that managed to escape her lips before Black Walder's large, calloused palm covered her mouth to silence any notion she had to cry out. He thrust himself into her, her eyes watered and widened in pain. Her mother had told her that when she would someday have her husband that there would be a slight pain, but this was certainly not what either of them had in mind for the eldest Stark child. He buried his mouth into the crook of her neck, muffling his moans of pleasure as he finished inside her and collapsed atop the small girl. She did not move or breathe a syllable as his hand slowly slid from her open mouth. A significant amount of blood had collected between her legs, staining the white linen of her slip.
She couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She felt a burning sensation growing in her chest, so hot that it felt cold. He slid his hand between her legs, a wicked grin upon his face as her knees knocked together. He soaked his hand in her blood and slapped his chest with his red painted hand as if she were some sort of battle prize. Not a moment later, he was throwing his smock back over his head and buckling his belt. The burning sensation was slithering from her chest into her throat. He leaned in near her ear, his deep and powerful whisper was hot in her ear, "I imagine you didn't enjoy your first fucking as I did, but I promise you, little wolf, you will grow to like it. Someday you'll even ache for it."
He slid his discarded sword into his holster and left Eleonora dark and alone in a pool of her own blood. She stared, unblinkingly, at the stone ceiling above her. She had never been overpowered or violated in such a way. She was humiliated and shamed by a Frey, the most savage, lewd, and favorite grandchild of the Lord of the rivermen. How could she look her father or mother in the eyes again after that beast of a man had been inside of her? They would be broken at the notion. She would not allow them to look at her any differently than they had mere hours before. Black Walder Frey would not take what was not given to him. She had slipped through the North Gate undetected by a distracted Wyl and Big Tom before she noticed she had forgotten to dress or put on her boots. She had only snatched up an arrow and her favorite bow as she ran out into the frigid night.
She had caught a glimpse of Black Walder upon his great black horse near the crest of the path to the kingsroad, no doubt retreating to find a warm bed within a local brothel. She was running now though Black Walder's horse was at a walk, her cheeks stung with icy tears. Just as the moon peeked through the clouds to say he prayers, Eleonora planted her small frozen feet, aimed her arrow on the shelf, pulled back her bowstring and released just as she had so many times before. As fate would have it, just as she had so many times before, she hit her target - bullseye. The arrow pierced through the base of his skull, the arrowhead protruding through his mouth. She saw his struggle for just a moment, desperately grasping at his neck before falling from his steed. Eleonora ran to his body to ensure he was indeed dead. She grabbed the reins of the panicked horse, calming it as she knelt to observe her kill. The black eyes that had haunted her were open and empty of life, the hand that had covered her lips was now covered in his own blood, and the mouth that had whispered into her ear was now eternally silenced with an arrow.
Eleonora began to shake, trembling from emotion. She sobbed into her bloody palms, now lost in a world she no longer knew. She didn't know how long she sat in the cold before she felt two warm hands on her shoulders.
"Release me!"
She shuddered at the touch, pushing herself forward, crawling until she pivoted onto her backside. She tugged Black Walder's dagger from his belt and pointed it at the man. It was Maester Luwin, the Maester of Winterfell. He seemed only to notice the large blood stain between her legs and barely the newly dead Frey beside her. He knew what had happened then, she did not need to tell her story.
"It's me, Eleonora," he said, removing his fur lined cloak. "Maester Luwin."
Eleonora slowly lowered the dagger but did not release it. That dagger belonged to her now, the dagger with the pretty blue handle. Maester Luwin wrapped her small frame up on his furs and lifted her into his arms. The thought of what horror had happened to the small mouse of a girl he had watched grow up before his eyes was almost too much for him to bear. He took a sharp intake of breath.
"Maester Luwin, please," she begged softly, "no one must know."
The maester covered Eleonora's head as he carried her through the Hunter's Gate. Black Walder stole her maidenhead, and Eleonora stole his life.
He disposed of Black Walder's body, set free his steed and the mystery behind his disappearance was never uncovered. Maester Luwin kept his word and never spoke of what he saw that night, and he never told a soul when four months later, he cut out the corpse of the baby Black Walder left behind. That too, he would take to his grave.
"Alright there, Stark?" asked Jamie, genuine concern in his voice. He noticed Eleonora hadn't spoken in several minutes, her focus suddenly shifted.
"Yes," she replied suddenly, shaking the memory loose from her skull. "It always seems like the memories you want to forget are the ones that always surface so clearly and when you least expect them."
–
There was no denying the heat; Ned could feel the silk tunic clinging to his chest. Thick, moist air covered the city like a damp woolen blanket, and the riverside had grown unruly as the poor fled their hot, airless warrens to jostle for sleeping places near the water, where the only breath of wind was to be found.
"You seem to be feeling yourself again," said Lord Eddard, smirking as he entered through the open doorway of his eldest daughter's bedroom. She sat on the corner of her bed, Arya leaned into her lap as she hastily braided the small girl's mop of hair. Mira was brilliant at many of the daily maternal tasks that Eleonora had previously fulfilled but Arya's unruly mane of hair, like Arya herself, was a beast tamed by few.
"A good night of rest does wonders," said Eleonora, biting on the last bit of string to tighten the hold on Arya's hair without turning around to face him. "You should attempt it for yourself, father. Arya, hold still, I'm nearly done — there."
Arya hopped up from her sister's lap, "I can't be late for my dancing lesson."
"No, we can't have that," said Eleonora, taking her youngest sister's face in her hands and kissing her forehead quickly before Arya sprinted off down the hall. "Off with you then."
Eleonora clapped her hands on her knees and stood up. She wore fitted brown leather trousers with boots tied up to her knees, a white linen blouse that hung off her shoulders, and an intricately detailed matching leather overbust corset. Her hair was tied high on the top of her head and fell down in loose waves down her back. She had a bit of red on her cheeks from the sun's kiss. Ned raised an eyebrow, "Where have you been?"
"I had my designated Lannister escort me to the archery range this morning, so I could fit in a bit of practice," she said, leaning over to adjust her boot straps. She paused for a moment and stepped over to her desk to retrieve an enormous ancient-looking leather bound book. "Oh, Grand Maester Pycell sent this for you just after I returned. I nearly forgot. The messenger mentioned you had asked for it."
"Did Jaime Lannister see this brought in?" asked Ned, pulling the door closed behind them after making certain no listening ears were wandering outside.
Eleonora raised a curious brow, "No, Jaime needed to return his longbow to the keep. Jory is standing in his place until he returns. The messenger arrived after he had left. What is the matter?"
"Possibly nothing," said Ned, taking the dust ridden Malleon's tome from her hands and took a seat at the desk, opening to House Lannister. Eleonora loomed beside him, her hand affectionately placed on his shoulder.
Lord Eddard turned the pages slowly, hoping against hope that something would leap out at him. The Lannisters were an old family, tracing their descent back to Lann the Clever, a trickster from the Age of Heroes who was no doubt as legendary as Bran the Builder, though far more beloved of singers and taletellers. In the songs, Lann was the fellow who winkled the Casterlys out of Casterly Rock with no weapon but his wits, and stole gold from the sun to brighten his curly hair.
"Lord Arryn requested this book before he died," said Ned quietly as he continued to read the pages. "I want to know why."
"Wasn't he quite ill?" asked Eleonora. "It could have been any reason—"
"I am beginning to believe it was not an illness that took him," said Ned as Eleonora's eyes widened slightly and heart pounded.
"Poison?" she breathed, so quiet that Ned could barely hear her words. "You think the Lannisters murdered him?"
A sharp rap on the door heralded Jory Cassel. Ned closed Malleon's tome and bid him enter. Rising, Ned opened Eleonora's cedar chest and hid the book under a light linen tunic. He nodded at Jory to speak freely as he paused with his news upon noticing Lord Eddard did not excuse himself upon his arrival.
"Lady Stark, Ser Jaime Lannister has returned to his post," said Jory slowly, noticing Eleonora's perturbed expression as she lowered her eyes away from him.
"Thank you, Jory," she replied.
"Certainly, milady," he bowed, his eyes lingering onto her a second too long.
Eleonora hurried forward behind Jory and latched the door locked after him. She took her father by the arm and led him to the furthest corner of her room, away from the door or any windows and lowered her voice to a whisper, "What aren't you telling me?"
"Your mother has taken Tyrion Lannister prisoner," said Ned with a heavy breath, "to await the King's Justice."
"What?"
"At the crossroads, north of the Trident," he went on.
Eleonora furrowed her brow and placed her open palm on her chest, "I don't understand. Why was mother traveling south of Winterfell, and why in the Seven Hells would she seize Tyrion Lannister?"
"A cutthroat came in the night to murder Bran," said Ned, and Eleonora's palm shifted to her open mouth. "Bran's wolf killed the man, but the blade was left behind — a very expensive, ornate dagger once belonging to Tyrion Lannister."
"Certainly there must be some sort of explanation," said Eleonora, shaking her head. "Tyrion Lannister is the least menacing of the lot of them. In fact, I find him to be rather kind—"
"He is still a Lannister no matter his stature," said Ned.
"His namesake matters little to me, father," she said insistently. "I do not think Lord Tyrion capable of something so malicious not because of his small stature but because of his integrity."
"He spends more time drowning in ale and lying with whores than—"
"Are we speaking of Tyrion Lannister or King Robert now?" she frowned, raising an infuriating eyebrow as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her father went to speak again, but she interrupted him. "I mean no disrespect, father. I simply believe it is unfair to assume Lord Tyrion would do something this abhorrent just because he has less than affable vices and a father with a lethal reputation. He was kind to me, to our entire family during his stay at Winterfell. I refuse to believe he would harm Bran, and I think mother has made a horrible mistake. You must stop her before she does something that it cannot be undone."
"Eleonora, the dagger the cutthroat had in his possession was Tyrion's blade," said Ned again.
"You honestly believe he is stupid enough to give his own blade to a cutthroat?" she scoffed. "No, father, the true culprit wanted Tyrion to be blamed for their crime, and mother has allowed their plan to succeed to fruition."
Ned released a heavy sigh before continuing.
"Eleonora, your mother believes Bran may have seen something in that Tower the day he fell," he said. "She believes he may not have fallen at all but rather he was pushed. And now those who want Bran dead, want to make sure he never wakes to reveal what he may have witnessed that day. Tyrion aside, she is confident it is indeed the Lannisters who are behind this."
"Which still wouldn't explain why Jaime Lannister saved Bran," she insisted. "He is the only reason Bran lives—"
"Do not let your recent fondness for him—"
"I have no fondness for Jaime Lannister," said Eleonora fiercely, blushing her embarrassment at the thought. "I have my own mind."
"Haven't you ever asked yourself why he just so happened to be near the Tower that day?" asked Ned, cupping his daughter's cheek in his palm. "He was recovering from his injury, yet he was out there. He could have pushed Bran from that Tower, saw that you found him soon after, and attempted to conceal his crime by saving Bran's life. I am quite certain he did not anticipate Bran to ever regain consciousness even if he did survive."
"If all that were true," said Eleonora, looking up into her father's face, "then what could Bran have possibly seen in that gloomy, decrepit, Broken Tower?"
"Only Bran and whomever was in the tower know what happened," said Ned, "but your mother did find something — a lock of long, yellow hair."
Eleonora did not breathe for a long moment. She knew what her father was implying, and she wasn't certain she could believe all of this could be true. What an elaborate conspiracy, but there would be no family better to pull it off than the Lannisters. Perhaps the time she had spent with Jaime Lannister had numbed her to their villainous ways. Yet, she could not imagine the man she had started to know could do something so evil to a child — to her little brother.
"Do the Lannisters know mother has him?" she asked after gnawing on her thoughts for a long while.
"No," said Ned, "not yet, and we must keep it that way for as long as we can."
–
Jory draped Ned's cloak across his shoulders and clasped it at the throat with the Hand's badge of office. "The armorer lives above his shop, in a large house at the top of the Street of Steel. Alyn knows the way, my lord."
Ned nodded. "The gods help this potboy if he's sent me off haring after shadows." It was a slim enough staff to lean on, but the Jon Arryn that Ned Stark had known was not one to wear jeweled and silvered plate. Steel was steel; it was meant for protection, not ornament. He might have changed his views, to be sure. He would scarcely have been the first man who came to look on things differently after a few years at court... but the change was marked enough to make Ned wonder.
"Is there any other service I might perform?" ashes Jory.
"I suppose you'd best begin visiting whorehouses," said Ned with disdain.
"The men will be glad to help," Jory laughed lightly. "I believe Porther and Wyl have made a fair start already."
Ned's favorite horse was saddled and waiting in the yard. Fat Tom and Jacks fell in beside him as he rode through the yard. Their steel caps and shirts of mail must have been sweltering, yet they said no word of complaint.
His daughter appeared upon her mare as they were to depart. She wore her brown leather riding pants and knee high boots, a leather boned corset laced around her large white tunic. A white linen hood hung down her back, in preparation for the poor weather approaching King's Landing.
"Escaping to the North without me?" said Eleonora in jest as she trotted Moon by her father and his men. Jamie Lannister walked his steed close behind her. There was little Eleonora could do to separate herself from her Lannister escort after her father's suspicions. She struggled to believe what he suggested could be true, and she didn't quite know why.
Lord Stark seemed unnerved to have Jamie see him and his men. Jamie eyed them in an odd way.
"Just off to tour the city a bit more freely," said Ned with ease, "I cannot rightfully call myself the Hand of the King without a firmer grasp on the city scape. Where are you headed?"
"Very well," said Eleonora, "I am going to look at colt for Bran in a stable near Blackwater Bay. Rumor is that a draught horse just gave birth. If he is able to ride again, a horse like moon would give him a smooth and easy ride. You know how rare draught horses are in the North. There aren't many horses like Moon above the Neck."
"We'll just have to send a man North to deliver the horse to Bran if you're impressed with the colt," said Ned with a smile. "Try not to empty your entire purse."
"I won't be gone long," said Eleonora, climbing atop Moon to gallop on after Jaime. "The air smells of rain and the skies tease a storm is coming."
Ned trusted his daughter, but he could not allow her to know where his duty called him that day. He needed to understand what Lord Arryn was uncovering, and he would need to begin his search for the truth in the most unlikely of places — Silk Street.
—
"He's beautiful," said Eleonora, holding the newborn colt's grey snout in her hands, resting her forehead affectionately on the horse. "Bran will love him. What do you think?"
"Are you certain your brother is even capable of riding again in his condition?" said Jaime, leaning against the post just outside the stable.
The colt Eleonora heard talk of was more beautiful in person than she could have ever imagined. He was healthy, strong, and carried an air of confidence in his posture that she knew Bran could benefit from.
"He may not be able to walk, but he'll ride. Robb writes me that Maester Luwin says Bran grows stronger ever day," said Eleonora, smiling confidently to herself. She looked back at Jaime, "does that news disappoint you?"
"No," he said defensively. "Why would it?"
"You don't seem to like when I bring up my little brother," said Eleonora.
"Apologies for not wanting to hear depressing updates on a cripple boy I hardly know," said Jaime through gritted teeth.
"Yet I hardly know your brother, and I enjoy any snippet of an update to his health and happiness you divulge," said Eleonora, cooly. "What's the matter with you today?"
"It's too hot, and I'm in a foul mood," said Jaime.
"Opposed to every other day when you're jubilant and whimsical?"
"I need fresh air. The stench of the city has nearly soured my stomach," said Jaime, peeling out of the stable and leaving his horse tied to the post. He snakes down the ally to the stairs leading down towards Blackwater Bay. The stone wall had blocked the breeze and crisp free air. The wind took his breath away but seemed to resuscitate him.
He descended the steps down to the rocks below. It was only a moment before he heard Eleonora behind him. Her face appeared somewhat concerned as she reached the rocks. The waves were calmer than they usually were that day and perhaps the sea knew something they did not.
"Some escort you are," she teased. "I was attacked by no less than ten armed assassins within the moment we were separated. I shall bring up your behavior to the king."
Jaime half-smiled, "I am worried for my brother."
"Tyrion?" she breathed, feeling the pain of a knife stabbing her gut.
"Do I have another brother I don't know about?" said Jaime. "I haven't received a letter from him in quite awhile, too long."
"You're frightened," she whispered.
"I'm not frightened, Stark," he scoffed. "I am merely concerned for his well being. What my brother lacks in height and battle scars, he more than makes up for with intelligence and wit. He's never been in a predicament he wasn't able to talk or trick his way out of."
Eleonora swallowed hard, "I thought him to be kind." Jaime turned his head to look at her, truly look at her. "When we were at Winterfell, I witnessed him behave incredibly just and decent when he did not know I was near. I will not forget that. I believe it's what you do when no one is watching that truly reveals what lies in a man's heart."
"No one was kind to him when we were children," said Jaime candidly, "except for me. Not my sister. Not my father. No one but me. I couldn't fathom… and I can't fathom even now as I stand here with you how lonely that must have been for him, this small imp of a child who didn't ask to be born, who was blamed for his own mother's death as if being born was his greatest crime. He was gawked at, teased, but worse than any of it — he was ignored. It was as if treating him as though he didn't exist would erase him from the Lannister legacy. I never understood that. Why punish someone for existing?"
"He reminds your father of your mother's death, doesn't he?"
"And my sister," said Jaime, a sour taste in his mouth. "He never let the way people treated him hold him back. He was always immensely considerate and good-natured even when he had no reason to be. He knew his mind was his strongest survival tool, so he read every book he could get his hands on to be able to wield his intelligence like a sword."
"Still, even now, I am the only person in the Seven Kingdoms to have love for him," said Jaime. "I don't want anything to happen to him—"
Eleonora sprung forward and hugged Jaime's large frame, burying her head in his chest. He was so taken off guard that he nearly toppled over. Eleonora knew that it wouldn't be long before Jaime found out what her mother had done, and he would likely never speak to her with such candor again. He would blame her for being a Stark even though she actually cared for his brother. She couldn't believe the man she had somewhat gotten to understand would do harm to Bran no matter her father's accusations. The man she had started to piece together was complicated but a heart did beat inside his chest just as hers did.
Jaime's hands were raised for a moment, uncertain to what Eleonora was doing. When he realized she was embracing him and felt her cheek against his heart, he slowly and almost cautiously wrapped his arms around her in return. He pressed his chin on the top of her head and stared out at the sea. His heart ached for his brother and surprisingly what he had done to hurt hers. He was so sure what he needed to do to protect his family in that moment but what followed was completely unexpected.
"I'm sorry," he whispered near her ear. Eleonora pulled her head back and rested her chin on his chest to look up into his eyes, those big, beautiful blue eyes that could see straight through him.
"What did you say?" she breathed.
Loud footsteps interrupted them. They separated instantly as if their tender moment of friendship hadn't transpired. It was a small group of Lannister men. Rain began to fall as they descended the old stone staircase, weathered from salt and sea.
"Ser Jaime," said Tregar, looking suspiciously at Eleonora. "We were sent to find you."
"I'm merely escorting Lady Stark," said Jaime, "I haven't thrown myself into Blackwater Bay."
"May I speak with you a moment privately?" said Tregar, "It is urgent."
"Very well," he grimaced, stepping close to the top of the stairs as Eleonora's eyes followed him. He leaned in close to Tregar's mouth to hear his message. Eleonora tried desperately to read his lips. After he spoke for a moment, Jaime's hand found his jaw. He had an expression of shock and anger growing across his handsome face. When his exchange with Tregar ended, Jaime looked down at Eleonora with a very obvious look of disappointment.
"What's the matter?" she called, lifting her hood to cover her head as the storm had awoken. "What's happened?"
He did not say another word to her, simply leading his men through the stonewall opening, and disappearing into the storm. The only word Eleonora had made out from Tregar's message was, "Street of Silk."
—
Thunder startled the horses as Ned and his men departed Littlefinger's brothel. His mind weighed heavy on him now from his findings. He needed to return to the Red Keep quickly. The rain was falling harder now, stinging the eyes and drumming against the ground.
Rivers of black water were running down the hill when Jory called out, "My lord," his voice hoarse with alarm. And in an instant, the street was full of soldiers.
Ned glimpsed ringmail over leather, gauntlets and greaves, steel helms with golden lions on the crests. Their cloaks clung to their backs, sodden with rain. He had no time to count, but there were a half dozen or so, a line of them, on foot, blocking the street, with longswords and iron tipped spears. "Behind!" he heard Wyl cry, and when he turned his horse, there were more in back of them, cutting off their retreat. Jory's sword came singing from its scabbard. "Make way or die!"
"The wolves are howling," their leader said. Ned could see rain running down his face. "Such a small pack, though."
Littlefinger walked his horse forward, step by careful step. "What is the meaning of this? This is the Hand of the King."
"He was the Hand of the King." The mud muffled the hooves of the blood bay stallion. The line parted before him. On a golden breastplate, the lion of Lannister roared its defiance. "Now, if truth be told, I'm not sure what he is."
"Lannister, this is madness," said Littlefinger. "Let us pass. We are expected back at the castle. What do you think you're doing?"
"He knows what he's doing," said Ned calmly.
Jaime Lannister smiled. "Quite true."
"Where is my daughter?" said Ned. "Have you no honor at all that you would abandon your King's order so flippantly?"
"She is more than capable of taking care of herself, and you know that," said Jaime. "I'm looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don't you, Lord Stark? He was with us at Winterfell. Fair-haired, mismatched eyes, sharp of tongue. A short man."
"I remember him well,"replied Ned.
"It would seem he has met some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed," said Jaime. "You would not perchance have any notion of who might have wished my brother ill, would you?"
"Your brother has been taken at my command, to answer for his crimes," said Ned Stark.
Littlefinger groaned in dismay. "My lords—"
Ser Jaime ripped his longsword from its sheath and urged his stallion forward. "Show me your steel, Lord Eddard. I'll butcher you like Aerys if I must, but I'd sooner you died with a blade in your hand." He gave Littlefinger a cool, contemptuous glance. "Lord Baelish, I'd leave here in some haste if I did not care to get bloodstains on my costly clothing."
Littlefinger did not need to be urged. "I will bring the City Watch," he promised Ned. The Lannister line parted to let him through, and closed behind him. Littlefinger put his heels to his mare and vanished around a corner.
Ned's men had drawn their swords, but they were five against six. Eyes watched from nearby windows and doors, but no one was about to intervene. His party was mounted, the Lannisters on foot save for Jaime himself. A charge might win them free, but it seemed to Eddard Stark that they had a surer, safer tactic. "Kill me," he warned the Kingslayer, "and Catelyn will most certainly slay Tyrion."
Jaime Lannister poked at Ned's chest with the gilded sword that had sipped the blood of the last of the Dragonkings. "Would she? The noble Catelyn Tully of Riverrun murder a hostage? I think... not." He sighed. "But I am not willing to chance my brother's life on a woman's honor." Jaime slid the golden sword into its sheath. "So I suppose I'll let you run back to Robert to tell him how I frightened you. I wonder if he'll care." Jaime pushed his wet hair back with his fingers and glanced back at his captain. "Tregar, see that no harm comes to Lord Stark."
"As you say, m'lord."
"Still... we wouldn't want him to leave here entirely unchastened, so" —through the night and the rain, he glimpsed the white of Jaime's smile— "kill his men."
"No!" Ned screamed, clawing for his sword. Men closed from both sides. Ned rode one down, cutting at phantoms in red cloaks who gave way before him. Jory put his heels into his mount and charged. A steel-shod hoof caught a Lannister guardsman in the face with a sickening crunch. A second man reeled away and for an instant Jory was free. Wyl cursed as they pulled him off his dying horse, swords slashing in the rain. Ned galloped to him, bringing his longsword down on Tregar's helm. The jolt of impact made him grit his teeth. Tregar stumbled to his knees, his lion crest sheared in half, blood running down his face. Suddenly Jory was back among them, a red rain flying from his sword. Ned limped forward, a bone certainly broken in his calf.
Jacks had raised his sword to hack the hands that had seized his bridle when an arrow struck the source of the hands on the neck. An arrowhead shot through Tregar's eye socket and nearly poked Jacks' eye as he collapsed forward. The arrows soared through the air like vultures, feasting on flesh until the lion was the only enemy left standing. Jory knelt on all fours, his shaggy hair coated in blood that stung his eyes. He had a sizable gash across his face, a deep slash across his shoulder, and suspected at least a few broken ribs but was otherwise alright as he attempted to catch his breath to little avail.
"Jaime," said a quiet voice that commanded his attention.
Eleonora's long, black hair was covered by a thin white linen hood that had begun to soak through. Her face was expressionless, but he could see her chest rising and falling with much haste. She held one last arrow in her bow, aimed at Jaime's heart. He knew she would not miss. She never missed her target. Jaime looked at her for a moment and smiled, amused, dropping his sword hand down so the tip of his sword made a loud clang on the cobblestone street. He slowly walked towards Eleonora, her arrowhead following his heart until he stood right beside Moon — looking through the rain onto her face.
"Did you know? Did you know all this time your mother kidnapped my little brother?" he scoffed when she didn't reply, but quiet enough so only she could hear before shaking his head. "Of course you knew."
Without hesitation, Eleonora slid her arrow back in her holster and dismounted Moon, choosing to leave herself defenseless. She pushed Jaime back against his chest, hard, twice, "Did you push my little brother from that tower?"
Jaime coughed a laugh and turned his head to the side to avoid her eyes. She knew now where his honor rested and it was with his family, and no matter how many brief glimpses of light had flickered from his heart — Eleonora knew now that it was cold and it was as black as the bay.
"Look at me," she seethed. Jaime turned his eyes on to hers with great difficulty before she asked him again, "Did you push Bran from that tower?"
"No," he lied. "The boy fell and I saved his life, a critical fact you appear to have forgotten."
"Why else would a cutthroat come to Winterfell to kill Bran if they weren't worried what he would say when he woke up?" said Eleonora, the rain pooling on her long eyelashes before falling after each blink.
"Perhaps he was sent to perform a great kindness," said Jaime callously, with an air of infuriating humor in his voice. "You Starks have your wolves, when a pup falls lame, you put it out of its misery—"
Eleonora opened her palm and slapped Jaime so hard across the cheek that she felt the sting down to her elbow. Jaime chin rested inward against his shoulder from the force of her strike. He kept his eyes closed for a moment, allowing a sadistic smile to slither across his lips before adjusting his posture to face her again. He rubbed his cheekbone and cocked his jaw open slightly, spitting out half a mouthful of blood.
"You think because you're the daughter of the Hand of the King, this pretty, witty little thing that all the noblemen want to fuck — most notably Robert Baratheon, that you're untouchable," he breathed, moving in close so he could grip Eleonora's wrists in his hands to hold them by her side. She turned her head away from him in disgust, but he only moved in closer still to whisper in her ear.
She heard Jacks move towards them but Eleonora shouted for him to stay back. Ned flickered in and out of consciousness, battling to wake himself. He peered through the blood that kept his eyelids glued shut and saw Jaime gripping Eleonora an inch from him in the pouring rain. Jory's jaw tightened as he tried to climb to his feet to no avail. He wanted to kill Jaime Lannister for what he had done and for laying one finger on Eleonora.
"No one is safe in King's Landing," said Jaime, his breath warm against her ear. "No man, no woman, no king—"
"Aye, says the Kingslayer," Eleonora seethed, tilting her head to the side to glare up into his cool green eyes.
"You're right," he smirked. "I am the Kingslayer, and if I could so easily kill a king what makes you think I wouldn't just as easily kill you."
"Because I have no doubt, if you truly had wanted me dead," she said, looking him square in the eyes. "I would be dead already."
Jamie released Eleonora's wrists with a jolt and disappeared into the adjacent alley without another word. Nothing followed him but Eleonora's eyes. Littlefinger and the City Watch found them there in the street, a rancid scent of blood and sickness in the air. Faces watched from candlelit windows, and people began to emerge from alleys and doors, but no one left their views.
"The King's Hand and the Captain of his House Guard need to be seen by Grand Maester Pycelle immediately," said Eleonora's, kneeling to cradle her father in her arms as she helped them lift his unconscious frame on a litter.
Somewhere the gold cloaks found a litter for Jory, but the trip back to the castle was a blur of agony, and Ned lost consciousness more than once. He remembered seeing the Red Keep looming ahead of him in the first grey light of dawn. The rain had darkened the pale pink stone of the massive walls to the color of blood.
Eleonora's bottom lip quivered slightly, taking her father's hand into hers as she walked beside his litter, tears running down her face were disguised by the rain. She looked back one last time to the alley Jaime had fled, her breath escaping her lips like a dragon's puff of smoke. The rain fell down and down.
–
Review.
—
Coming soon: Ned knew all along, and Nora heads North.
—
