A Wolf with a coat of Darkness – chapter 13
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)
One could almost hear the distant commotion as the king's party entered the capitol. Word swiftly spread throughout the city and Sansa rushed through the streets, the narrow pathways quickly becoming more and more crowded. Out of breath, the red-head nevertheless pushed on, shoving people out of her way as Myranda and their knight were on her heels, yet both failing to keep up.
The chatter became unbearable, the occasional cheer almost deafening as it resonated all around.
The banners were the first thing that Sansa saw, straight up ahead, briskly moving to the Red Keep. Crowned stag, golden lion, white direwolf. Pushing forth, the red-head began making out people, man at arms, mounted soldiers, knights.
A row of city guards blocked her warpath, drawing her attention. Some were using their bodies to block, others had their spears down in warning, shouting obscenities. Before Sansa could raise her head up, the column moved on as it climbed the hill towards the Red Keep.
She tried to push through the crowd towards the keep though with little success. Slowly, the people around her fell silent and parted, nothing but the heavy screeching from the armor of her knight resonating in the air, but it was all too late. With horror and guilt did she watch as the last of the baggage train passed through the portcullis, a colorful force of gold cloaks and Man-at-Arms barring the way,
The noise of the street returned to norm, the mob of people that had gathered to greet the king dispersing, disappearing in side alleys like rats scurrying into dark sewers, having collected what little charity the passing nobles had thrown their way. The red head lowered her hood as she remained in the middle of the street, tears brimming in her eyes as they lost sight of the column beyond the gate. Her gaze roamed the many spires and towers as her friend came to stand next to her, taking her hand in her own. When the Baratheon banner rose upon the short, round tower, Sansa wiped away the unshed tears.
She remained there for a while, snapping from her trance only when an angry cart driver began yelling at her, though he quickly fell silent when the knight turned to him. Moving to the side of the street, she continued her contemplation. Just what was she to do now? Even now she was not certain what was her original plan. Stop the column and jump before them. 'Hey, father, it is me!'. She needed to think of something. To actually prepare. Right now, she was a nobody. They would not let her into the keep, let alone near the Hand, near the second most powerful man in the realm.
'I'll wait for him to come out.' She reasoned. Back in Winterfel, her father spent most of his time within the castle, but he did venture outside the walls occasionally. Maybe she can make an appeal. Make up an outlandish story that will get her before the Hand or the King. Memories came of the many times her father held court and the many, many, endless peasants as each came forth with his annoying request.
She shook her head. She would have to make up a story. An outlandish, dire story to get herself before the Hand of the King of the Seven Kingdoms. What if they brought her before someone else? The king? Someone from the small council? What if she got caught in the act, in the lie? Depending on the severity, flogging would be the mildest of punishments.
Sighing heavily, she knew there was only one option remaining. She would wait. Maybe, just maybe, if an opportunity to get inside presented itself, she would take it. But for now, she would wait.
Turning back to their home and with Myranda at her side, she shared her thoughts with her.
"How would you know if he left the keep? I mean, we can't exactly watch the gate all the time."
"I don't know." Sansa whispered in defeat as she slowly moved back to the house, dragging her feet and kicking the occasional pebble.
The painful hours stretched on into endless days as Sansa waited for anything and everything. A sign, a whisper, a word, a proclamation. But nothing. The red head had become snappy in a short span of time, responding sharply to even the mildest of comments even from Myranda.
She spent hours each day watching the gate, her feet hurting, yet she nevertheless continued her silent vigil, be it sun or rain. What annoyed her the most was how uncaring the people around her were. The king was here! The HAND was here! And there was nothing happening. Were they not wondering what was happening in the massive red castle?
A nearby innkeeper at a roadside that she stayed in for hours every day even began giving her free drinks, calling her his best customer. More than once had Myranda came by and tried to bring her home with little success, Sansa snapping back angrily at even the thought.
But by the second week, her anger and despair boiled over. And when on the way home she spotted a dead pigeon lying on the side of the road, she knew what to do.
Over the following weeks, few castle guards paid any attention to the shaggy pigeon that gingerly yet persistently circled the Red Keep. Now instead of getting no sleep out on the street, Sansa remained awake at almost all times within the house as she used her new minion to explore the castle. Initially, she kept her distance but, over time, became more and more bold by the day. It came to the point that she began to draw a map of the castle as she flew down corridors and hallways, inner courtyard and bed chambers. The open layout and many rooms having balconies that were never closed to the castle only made the task easier.
She remembers how she lost control the first time she saw her father, the girl pulling out of the connection to the bird as if someone had punched her square in the face only for her to frantically try to re-establish connection. She watched him for hours on end, sitting on the parapet in his chamber, just out of reach. Sansa observed in silence as he flipped through books and ledgers, signed away scrolls and orders. Followed him down corridors, even managed to get into the throne room and small council chambers.
Sansa rarely paid that much heed to the surroundings. Be it because she was so focused on her father or simply not hearing as well through the bird given how hard looking was at times, she did not know. Still, it came as a great shock to her that her sister was in the capitol as well.
That image, seeing her for the first time in long torturous months filled her with mixed feelings.
Initially, overwhelming happiness came first, almost causing her to lose control again. Almost. Then came the contempt, with old feelings now long buried surfacing, a victim of all the pranks and torment that Arya put her through, though thankfully that feeling quickly washed away.
But when she finally got a good luck at her, only sadness remained. Arya looked… like a lady. All those months spent with the cult, she dreamed daily of her wild, disheveled sister. Of a laughing head of dark hair and mischievous silver eyes. Of dirty hands and a torn dress.
But before her stood a girl clad in a simple, yet beautiful dress, every aspect of it perfect and ironed out to perfection. Her shoulders straight, her hands folded before her. Her hair kept back in a braid that is then spun into a bun, held together with a strip of silver fabric. Her old Septa stood behind her, her face stern and emotionless. And on her other side was Sansa's old friend, Jayne, looking more bored than anything else.
Sansa's heart skipped a beat as her sister turned her head and look directly at the pigeon, directly at her. Sad, silver eyes held her gaze as the younger Stark daughter walked a long hallway, only breaking eye contact when she no longer could look at the pigeon without turning her head.
Over the next few days, even with the tournament announced and prepared, Sansa spent most of her time observing her sister, following her everywhere from afar. Myranda was beginning to become annoyed with her for all she did was sit still like a corpse in their home for hour on end, from dawn till dusk. It got so bad that the small girl dragged Sansa out of the house for an afternoon walk and a dinner. During dinner, they idly conversed, Myranda sharing that she spent a lot of time at the tournament grounds as they were prepared. She reveled that not one man had struck a conversation with her about their knight that was always following her, asking if he will be joining the fights.
Even as Sansa swiftly shot down that idea, the red-head noticed that a new, small plate of polished metal was attached to the left pauldron of the knight's armor at the armpit, displaying what can only be a blue and gold house crest.
"A bat and a key?" asked the red-head in disbelief.
"Yup!" exclaimed Myranda proud of her work.
"Why bat?"
"They were the only living things…back there…"
"And the key?"
"…I though it looked nice." Sheepishly said Myranda. "I saw many noble flags. They usually have a lot of things on them. I thought a bat alone would not be enough. Besides, it is half blue because you love the sea so much!" Releasing a sigh and her shoulder slumping, Sansa said:
"Alright…alright… but he cannot enter the tourney." She leaned in and continued in a whisper." What if his helmet falls off? People will be watching closely, watching him directly."
"We will put a strap on it! Or glue it! Or ice it in place! We will figure something out!"
"…There are a thousand ways this could go wrong…But… If you desire it this much…you may enter him."
Myranda erupted in cheers. Hugging Sansa from across the table, she rushed out of the tavern that they were dinning at towards home, the knight following behind.
As Sansa remained alone to munch on the last pieces of food, she thought of her current situation.
'She is already making plans without me and I am yet to see my family, let alone speak to them.' The red-head closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before she too got up and headed home. On the way, she dragged her feet in an attempt to enjoy the last rays of the setting sun on her skin, yet all she felt was cold.
The first day of the tournament was going in full swing and Myranda was immensely happy for it. She loved every moment, every aspect of it. The pomp, the pageantry, all the colors, the music, the heroic trumpets. The literal knights in shining armor. The many, many vendors selling all manners of food and trinkets. She already had had seven pastries and was feeling bloated, but her enthusiasm carried her nonetheless.
The two girls arrived at the grounds together, but got separated early on. Her older companion had hopes that her family would attend and as such, she moved as close as possible to the royal stands which left Myranda free to explore and do as she wish.
Before anything had even started, she rushed to sign up her knight for the tournament, signing him up for the melee as they had no horse large enough to carry him in the joust. Setting him down as Ser Leopold in service to house Wrynn, she paid the fee and even provided a banner, matching the sigil she had placed on his shoulder. Somewhat sad that the melee will not be held on the first day, but the second, she made her way to where the first day of jousting was held.
She initially though she would not like the jousting very much. After all, was it barely anything more than two men on a horse trying to knock each other off with a long stick? But when the first round started, when the trumpets sounded and the anticipation filled the whole grounds, Myranda was entranced. The overbearing silence as they charged, the thundering crash as the two met, the mighty roar of the crowd as they passed. Maybe she became caught in the moment, in the whole mood and feel of the tourney, but she found herself following closely every mounted knight she could find.
Maybe not at the first or the second, but by the third knight knocked off his saddle, she heard her own voice joining the masses in a roar of approval for the winner. Eventually, she had the now named Leopold lift her up and place her on his shoulder, the short girl now towering over even the mounted competitors. Ignoring the many gazes that were now looking at the child on top of the massive armored man, she used her vantage point to overlook the whole grounds. In the lull of the fighting, her gaze went to the opposite side from her. To the nobles.
She expected pomp and fancy dresses, but what stood before her exceeded her expectations by far. So many jewelry glittered in the light that she suspected that if she was to get close, she would be blinded. Dresses and hairstyles so outlandish and complicated that she wondered how did these people even move. As for the lords, no small part of them were fat, others – already drunk.
And in the middle, on the highest dais stood what was surely the king and queen. The queen looked like she did not want to be there, her face constantly changing between stone cold and disgust. She had heard in the city that the queen was a beauty and maybe if she smiled, she would be, but as she was right now, she was nothing special. 'Sansa is prettier' As for the king, well, he was quite the large man, both in height and width. His fuzzy beard and messy heir, barely held back by a crown, framed a rapidly reddening face.
As a few more tilts passed before Myranda noticed Sansa intently looking at a middle-aged man dressed in plain clothes and a girl maybe slightly older than herself. As she studied the man and girl, she found that while the two shared similarities, none of them looked even remotely like Sansa. Both of them had dark hair and light, silvery eyes. Curiously, she felt their gaze on herself more than once, but quickly realized just how much she was sticking out, literally in her case, perched upon her knight.
Not long after the end of the first day came, the crowds beginning to disperse with the shoving she had seen weeks ago taking place anew as men in all manners of colors and arms pushed the crowd away so that the nobles could leave. From her spot, she observed as Sansa began to move towards what she assumed to be her father and sister, but hesitated. Even more so, she further pulled up her hood and adjusted her mask, shrinking in on herself, appearing even smaller. Her red-head friend found her courage anew, but by now it was already too late. Two dozen men stood between her and her family and the crowd all around was so loud that there was no way she could have been heard even if she shouted.
That night in their home, Sansa remained with her head down, only finally mumbling out a simple:
"I hesitated."
"I know." Returned Myranda, unable to keep the annoyance out of her voice. Sansa looked up sharply, her features aghast at the bluntness before they softened and she lowered her head anew. After a few minutes in silence had passed, the red-head looked up.
"I saw the lists for tomorrow… Ser Leopold Wrynn?" asked Sansa in amusement. Myranda in turn shrugged.
"It's a good name."
"Oh, it is. But what would the Stormwind king think of you naming an undead after his family?"
"He should be honored! Leopold is a good undead!"
A smile fell on Sansa's face.
"That he is."
The second day, both girls were focused on what was actually happening within the tourney ground as it was the day of the melee. With some dread, Myranda saw that despite been the melee and not the joust, most if not all of the competitors were mounted.
Both stood on the edge of the railing with held breath as the trumpet sounded and all hell broke loose. Swords clang, mounts crashed and whined. Mentally, they only repeated two things. 'Don't kill anyone and don't lose your helmet.' A good number of competitors went down before anyone even approached him. A hapless Frey was his first victim, looking for an easy target and charging upon seeing the mount-less competitor. In turn, the knight only sidestepped and crashed his first into the blue shield depicting twin towers with a bridge in between, instantly sending the rider tumbling to the ground.
Similar scenes repeated three more times, the undead knight dismounting his opponent every time. When faced with his massive bulk and rusty longsword, all quickly surrendered and withdrew from the field. The numbers slowly dwindled down to ten and then to five and then to three. Their knight, a middle-aged man clad in red with a flaming sword and a man with a burned face. For some reason, the scarred man surrendered while constantly casting his gaze towards the flaming sword. Which left only the red-clad man and the undead knight.
As all of that was happening, Sansa's belly felt as if it was filled with bats. Initially, there was fear. Fear and overwhelming terror. What if their knight lost or got stabbed and didn't fall down bleeding or dead? What if his helmet fell off? But as the battle progressed and upon seeing his success, she relaxed, even beginning to cheer. But as the competitors numbers dwindled, a new fear began to rise.
What if he won, somehow? Then what? How will he go before the king, receive his price? What if the king wanted to meet him, to speak to him? You cannot refuse the king!
So lost in her thoughts she was that she came around just in time to see the knight deflect the flaming sword and rotate his whole posture such as that his guard and pommel were heading straight for the red man's face. She yelled in her mind for him to stop, but it was too late. He did stop, but he was but a breath away from his opponent's cheek. Both remained still for a few moments before a trumpet sounded in triumph and the crowd erupted in cheers.
"SER LEOPOLD IN SERVICE TO HOUSE WRYNN WINS THE MELEE" rang in her ears as if an army was marching through her head.
"HAHA! THAT'S HOW YOU DO IT!" boomed the voice of the king, filled with merry drunkenness. "Come forth, come forth!" he ushered. As Sansa's worst fears were happening before her eyes, Myranda jumped the fence and half-ran to their knight's side.
"Apologies, your grace! I am Myranda of house Wrynn." She introduced herself with a tone bordering on casual disrespect.
"A fine fighter you have, little lady!" complimented the king.
"Indeed. He has saved me and my sisters lives more than once."
"Come on, off with the helmet. Let the people see their victor."
"I am afraid that will not be possible, your grace. He-" Myranda began, touching the knight's forearm fondly as the king's jovial expression quickly turned dark "-is greatly scarred. A great sickness ate at his face and body, down to the bone in many places." She looked Robert in the eyes and put on the best murmur's show anyone had probably ever seen this side of the Narrow sea.
"For his sake, I beg you, do not do this to him."
"And can't he speak for himself? Did this sickness also ate away his tongue?!" boomed the king. Myranda looked away, feigning sadness.
"…Yes."
Not far from them, Sansa was frozen in her boots, her wide blue eyes observing in horror. She saw as the king slowly got more and more angry.
"Come, my love. The children need not see such things." Urged the queen, though her voice hardly carried any emotion as she addressed her husband. The king in turn contemplated for a few moments, his features locked in a scowl.
"Fine, fine!" he said, taking a big swing out of the drinking horn clasped in his hand. "But you will sit with us tonight at the feast! You and your sister, was it?"
"It would be an honor, your grace." Bowed Myranda.
"NOW GET THIS MAN HIS JUST GOLD!" Roared Robert anew, the crowd joining in a cheer.
As Myranda retreated back to the fence with the knight and their winnings in tow, she was met with the furious gaze of her red-headed friend.
"What are you doing?!" she hissed through her mask.
"Getting you to your family." Smiled Myranda.
Thank you for reading.