Hello everyone! I'm going to keep this header short but tldr: it feels so good to be back.


"you are my father.

i was born from your pain. bones of steel; circuits for veins.

my heart a vault of iron."

— c.f.


LAISA

She gently traced her fingers over the soft blue petals of her laurel, caring for it with utmost importance and cherishing its short-lived yet meaningless affection. Ser Jamie's action at the tourney was part of his performance, Laisa understood. However, it hardly stopped her from letting her childish fancies pursue his gesture. It was foolish, it's true, but she had little to lose.

A duty, Laisa reminded, Nothing more.

Setting aside the laurel to dry in the windowsill while she rummaged through the small clump of letters. Her mother had yet to send regards or reply, of Bran's recovery or her arrangement, anything at all. It created an unexplainable ache in her stomach that even now, half a continent away from home and a moon from being wed. Was protecting Jon from her wrath the cause her coldness, even now?

A stubbornness she acquired from grandfather, she thought, father, too.

The gentlest of knocks brought her back from her wistfulness, and her letters left pried open skewed across the vanity.

"Enter." She called out.

It was a guest that was least expected to grace her chambers.

"Lady Stark, the city has been made brighter by your presence." Varys greeted, having bowed his head, "Forgive me, have I come at an inappropriate time."

"No, my lord," Laisa smiled kindly, "To what do I owe the honor of your visit?"

He extended his arm from the fold of his cloak, offering his assistance. "I'd enjoy a walk with you, my lady, we have much to discuss."

"Discuss?" Laisa questioned, hesitating taking his offer. The eunuch may pose himself to be a lesser threat, but Laisa was cautioned to trust no one from below the Neck.

"Worry not, child, what words I have for you are…unruly thoughts I need a Stark's council on."

She chuckled. "Is my father not available to you?"

"The king has him occupied with seven kingdoms, surely you can understand." He answered, gently patting her hand.

Lord Varys paced himself, leading her through the tower to its entrance, having noticed his intention to speak where the walls had no ears. Her caution must have been direct, she cautiously gazed to those who passed them by with discretion and a smile.

"Tell me, lady Stark, how has your stay been during these perilous times."

"Perilous you say?" She quipped, "I'm to be married to Lord Jaime Lannister and procure handsome, blond children for my good-father. I'm quite honestly leaping with joy."

Lord Varys chided her, leading her from the Tower of the Hand to the middle bailey. "I see you're taking the arrangement well."

She reckoned he was taking her to the Godswood, knowing there would be no persons taking their leisure at the heart tree. Laisa chittered on. "There is very little I'm able to control, if I can make humor of my future to come, so be it. I've accepted my role, and now I see my piece is starting to move on the board after nineteen years."

"It seems your first move has been a smart one."

"Yes," Laisa said, "I have my father to thank. How is he? I don't suspect that carrying the duties of the crown is treating him well."

Varys's face fell slightly, still silenced on their walk to the stony Godswood. Perhaps, he didn't want his own secrets or concerns regarding the hand to be heard by the guards or passerby's that roamed the castle. She, however, cared very little about the words that came from her mouth and what ears they happened to fall to. It made her just as dangerous as it made her foolish.

The Godswood came into few through the barren arcade, decrepit and uncared for. Surrounding stone paths were strewn with crimson leaves, the weirwood face aged and bark mistreated from years of carelessness. It was the people of the south prayed in their septs and temples, abandoning the old gods with the misfortune of replacing their existence.

It was empty, and Laisa could not feel the presence of her gods.

"Is my father all right, my lord?"

Varys seated himself closest to the weirwood, patting the empty seat as an invitation. "I fear that your father and King Robert are at their ends, my dear."

Laisa hesitated to answer, having the voices of a panicked Arya, raving about men planning an attack on their lord father. "How do you mean their ends, did something happened?"

"Does your father trust your word, my lady. In any instance."

a councilmember seeking the trustworthiness of a lord's daughter, what a daunting question. "What is the meaning of your request, Lord Varys, is there something you're not telling me."

"Moreover something I'm bound by oath to keep from you, as a member of the small council."

"Might I suggest bringing this to the chambers and not to I." Laisa's chest felt weighed by the suggestiveness of his conversation. "Should there be anything to have my trust, my father is strict when it comes to my choice of words on politics that are not of my concerns."

He folded his arms into his robes, wearing a unfamiliar mask of bereavement. To what did the eunuch have to grieve?

"Some time ago, my sister travelled through the dungeons of the red keep, chasing cats and dragon skulls to only find herself at the foot of the castle, babbling of threats against our lord father." Laisa carefully shifted her piece, almost trudging through her stake in the game. It felt maddening to question the master of whispers as though he knew everything and nothing at all.

His brow lifted, "Are you asking if there was an assassination attempt on your father's name and title."

"What I'm asking is if your sudden interest has anything to do with what occurred."

"My lady, my interest lies with the common people. What I do is for the good of the realm."

Laisa felt as though his passion lied elsewhere. He was not native to Westeros, surely lord Varys had intentions that were feasible considering his origin, however, there was no sense to be made with his vagueness. "And what good are you doing for the realm my lord."

"To keep your father from abandoning his duty due to his foolishness."

"His," Laisa pried, "Or the king's."

Varys fell silent once more and her patience was beginning to wane. "My lord, if you have no intention of informing me on what it is that you're in need of—if you have any allowance to tell me at all—why am I here."

"A Stark's honor blinds him to his responsibilities to keeping Robert on the throne, my lady."

father…your stubbornness prevails you. She thought. "Am I to be privy to the conversations among members of the small council or will we continue to speak in riddles."

The eunuch was sealed. She took his silence as refusal and stood from her seat, turning to the entry arcade. "I understand the need for secrecy, my lord, I do hope that my father comes to some of his senses and returns to the king's aid soon. I apologize that I cannot be of help. I do hope what I have is enough to offer some insight, but until I'm more informed, I don't believe I'll be of any service."

Laisa curtsied, turning on her heel to depart the Godswood back to the tower to reflect on the eunuch's visit. Her mind had been clouded with thoughts of her father. What was plaguing him. What had Robert asked of him that he felt it were imprudent to go against his demands. It swirled, causing her thoughts to go beyond what she expected. Varys left much to implore her own beliefs, to assume what Arya heard in the dungeons was still in action and that her father's life was still threatened.

"You and your father have more in common than one might think. He is the realms' chance at redemption, to revise the crown's mistakes," He called after her, "I believe in Eddard Stark's influence, as does the king."

She faced him, gripping her skirts tightly in the ball of her hand. "I assume the king is no longer in my father's graces," Her steely eyes fell, and her head hung as she fiddled with her rings. "His grace should rethink his decisions for this will drive he and my father farther apart."

"I'm afraid it has already happened, my dear."


Laisa stood before her father's solar, her hands shaking as she brought a fist to rap against the door. Her stomach felt ten stones heavier, mouth painfully dry; her morning plagued her with more than sickness. The capital infected its inhabitants with suspicion and wrongdoing, its effect was unexplainable. It was the first she's had a feeling of utter worry and longing for home. Vulnerability was inexplicably frightening.

"Laisa—"

"Is what Varys said, true." She said without breath, "Is—Is the spider telling me truth about you and the king—"

Ned pulled her into his chamber, closing the door heavily behind her. He held her face in his hands, watching as she fought off her tears. "Laisa what do you mean, what did the spider want with you."

She shook her head violently, "I don't—I do not know, he pulled me to the Godswood asking about you and the king—my words and if you trust me—why was he asking about my trustworthiness father—what did the king have you do—"

"Hush, hush now," Ned urged, holding her to his chest as she heaved for breath and sobbed into his shoulder. "Hush sweetling, it's nothing you need concern yourself with."

Laisa thought that to be dishonorable, to be scolded by her lord father when regarding his safety to know her concerns lied elsewhere. To whom, then?

Sansa no longer was under her protection, Arya was to be wedded off as soon as her match was made, and Laisa's concern was her children to be. Her lord husband. A shift she would need adjusting to.

a wedding will not bar me from seeking the safety of my family. Laisa made her promise to the old gods, should it her last.

"Please…father I want…" she plead, gripping to his jerkin as the Stranger does to a lost life, "I want to go home."

Ned comforted her gently, petting down her hair and tucking her head beneath his chin to welcome her into his warm embrace. He remained silent, still, only the resounding beat of his heart thrummed against her cheek.

"Listen, to me…" Ned called gently, bringing her head up to dry her glistening cheeks, "I promise, nothing will come of this quarrel, love, your safety is paramount and there is little I would allow. This is nothing but a crossroad, sweet girl, I swear it."

She nodded slow, inviting his warm kiss to her forehead, and was folded into his arms once more.

"The king won't let it happen, and neither will I."

Laisa felt herself relax into his warmth, the tears now dried sticky on her cheeks as she stared out into the open window where a small head peaked from the balconette, meeting those little dark brown eyes. Then, gone.

who will protect us if you are no longer here.


SANSA

Tenaciously thumbing the lion pendant, wearing her smile brightly as she watched the prince in a heated duel between himself and a son of a lower house in the pits. It reminded her fondly of Joffrey and Robb, their heavy practice in the courtyards. No one other than Robb grumbling about a lost victory.

"My lady, come beneath the shades," beckoned her handmaid, "You're starting to flush."

"It's no bother." Sansa replied.

The lengthy red-and-black banners gently wave in the late summer breeze, the smell the freshest blackberry tarts and pigeon pie served at whim. The tourney's final days had come, and Sansa were to miss the festivities and its liveliness. It was becoming her to adapt without fight. Sansa peered over the ropes to watch as Joffrey disarmed and humiliated the boy, the crowd causing an uproar for his success. She clapped her hands, and silently praised the prince for his strength, admiring him for his courage and honor.

His cat-like eyes found hers, and his sweet lips fell into a line.

Sansa fought a flinch. "My lady?"

Joffrey then rolled the boy onto his back, driving his long sword into the dirt and narrowly missing his ear. The boy, too, fought off a response and simply lied back against the gravel with a red ear and no resolve. Her golden lion stalked from the pits, leaving his prey for the ravens.

Did he blame her still? Would Joffrey decline their marriage? Would he make her rid of Lady to resolve their quarrel?

Lady must have nudged her backside hard enough to draw her from her thoughts, licking her open hand to remedy how terribly they shook.

Her eyes fell, gently touching Lady between the ears before lugging herself to the table fixed neatly for her. A platter of cheeses, honey cakes made special, a pitcher of Dornish red and a steaming quail. She nibbled at some meat, sipped much of her wine as she finished a cup without hesitating to reach for the pitcher intending to fill her goblet.

Sansa lost herself in awash of her pinkened daydreams, drowning the celebratory banter out with a ceremony of her own. She dreamt of the handsome prince, of their vows before the seven. The wonderful feast, extravagant and lovely, and the task of bedding. The smile that tamed her lips had suddenly fell to a gnawing, unsure twist.

The bedding ceremony. Songs nor stories prepared her for such an…act. Her lady mother spoke rarely of her blooming, and even less of that. What thoughts roused her mind had innocently flushed her cheeks.

Would it hurt? she thought, What if…he doesn't like it? Or me?

"You must eat, my lady, maester Pycelle and the queen expect it." A handmaiden whispered behind her ear.

Sansa did as she was told. A growing woman expected to carry a litter of lion cubs mustn't be so frail, she recalled the Maester's words with the queen in attendance. She said nothing to the old man, but simply softened his request.

And her moons blood had yet to come.

The prince was made to wed a bud, irritably waiting for it to bloom.

"My lady, I apologize for the disturbance." said Illa, her sister's handmaid, bowing her head. "Your sisters request you in her chambers."

Sansa sighed heavily, turning back to the swordplay in attempt to find it more entertaining than what ever it was her sisters could bother her for now. "For what, might I ask. I'm quite busy."

"Her fitting, my lady, she would appreciate your attendence."

oh, Sansa thought, her wedding. what a shame. She felt a hint of jealosy considering her occasion was a moon away. Oft wondering why it was taking such a time to pursue the joining of herself and the prince. Adjoining the prince and future princess was quite the spectacle, it took time and Sansa getting impatient.

Her acting had improved during her stay; the northern girl she was once shed her coat and became a beautiful woman of the south. Winterfell was long to be forgotten, and her future was as bright and golden as the sun.

"Yes, we'll attend. Let her know we'll be a bit late…as you can see."

Illa nodded, then dipped into a curtsey, "Of course, my lady."

The girls began to chitter about her elder sister, their praise and whatnot over Ser Jaime and his valience. His handsomeness. His house and family. Sansa arched a brow and focused on her prince being guarded in the shade by his hound; watching as he applauded the swordsmen for their victories of the houses that remained loyal to his mother's name.

Once their eyes met for a second time, her soul was set aflame.

He smiled, grinned, a token of his happiness.

What she once felt mere moments ago melted, and the day turned brighter. She bowed his head to him and brought a gentle smile to her face. Her settings became blurred, noiseless.

"Lady Sansa, come, let us join your sister!" one maid cheerfully reminded, awaiting her dismissal.

"No," Sansa said, refresing her goblet with sweet wine, "Let us enjoy the day. I'm sure my sister is well taken care of."

Her eyes hadn't broken from Joffrey's, she wanted to sit here forever and gaze into his beautiful eyes and dream about the day they were joined as one. In heart and in soul.

"Yes, my lady."


EDDARD

Ten bastards to count.

Eddard scraped his large hand down his face, tiredly examining the open book before him. It was an accusation that could not be upheld. His only proof were the common traits of House Baratheon, how his own bastards however more there may be roaming the continent shared their natural father's likeness more than his own sons and daughter have. Should he, too, question the birth of his own children having half of his issue resembled the Tully's of Riverrun. His own bastard, too, had an unmistakable semblance.

Was this the truth Jon Arryn died for?

Eddard closed the leather bound pages with finality. Jon Arryn died by illness, nothing more address. His suspicions should have been laid to rest the moment he set food in the capital. It was his grief that drove his insinuations and spectacles.

He sunk further into his seat, over thinking his largest issue at hand: the Targaryen children. Would Robert have him return to power, to oblige with his commands as though he feared children threatening his reign over the slightest possibility of their crossing of the sea. Dothraki armies raiding the civilization of Westeros was just as possible as dragons once again winning wars and roaming the skies.

Was Robert truly threatened by their existence or was he afraid of something more?

Packing and throwing various items of importance into the trunk sitting on his desk, Eddard came across the blade. With haste he scrutinized the dragon bone and Valyrian steel before dropping it in the trunk.

"My lord," Jory invited himself into his solar, quietly closing the door behind, "Lady Laisa asked me to come search for you, to demand if you were to be expected at the ceremony."

He chuckled at her persistence. "Aye…once Arya and Sansa have been informed and their belongings packed."

"And lady Laisa, my lord?"

Eddard swallowed thick, closing the trunk with a loud thud. Sansa could be taken back to Winterfell, Arya too, his youngest daughters were not under claw. It would be a dangerous choice to make, to cross Tywin Lannister, and renege on an arrangement claimed to be as powerful as Robert insists it may be. And this ceremony, parading the newest lord and lady of the rock—intimidating the lowly northern leader. Some guests of the ceremony had begun pouring in, as he watched as they wheeled through in their bold colors and sigils. Many an invitation extended to those loyal tothe west.

Waging war for his daughters would not be questionable, however, it wouldn't be smart. Eddard's silence spoke for him, and Jory simply nodded in agreeance.

"Would you like me to present the gift in your stead, my lord."

This would be the final time Eddard would see his daughter, his little girl, before she rode for the west in lieu of her wedding. His demotion and swift exit left very little room for choice. Before settling on a decision, his thought was interrupted.

Tomard creeped into his solar shortly, bowing his head. "My lord, Lord Baelish requests you before your departure."

Eddard knit his brows. "Did he give reason?"

"The last person Jon Arryn paid visit to before his untimely death." said Tomard, "If it still interests you, he said."

Grey eyes solemn, gazing in the direction of his gift folded on the cleared desk. From himself and her mother, a maid's cloak donning Stark colors and wolves embroidered in the dark fabric. He reached for it, caressing it with a gentle hand before turning on his heel and holding out the cloak for Jory to take.

Starks, Catelyn's kind voice reminded, they will be Starks, from the day they were pulled from my womb to the day their bones lie in their crypts.

"Gather your best swords and meet me at the stables."

Tomard immediately complied, exiting the solar.

It was selfish, it's true. Eddard needed to make peace with this before he returned to Winterfell, to understand the truth as to why his mentor passed. Choosing to ignore his earlier reprimand, Eddard entrusted Jory and a handful of his men to protect Sansa and Arya. Wyl was at Laisa's beck and call and would just as easily sweep her away to safety should anything become of his latest endeavor.

"Tell Laisa I apologize for missing the occasion," Eddard muttered, drawing Ice to his hip, "I must see to this before our leave."

It was foolish, perhaps, however Eddard felt as though his closeness to the truth was within a hand's reach. If Littlefinger could be trusted, this was the time to prove as such. Whomever awaited him at the pleasure house could open a door to which there was little chance of return. His daughters will be saved from the torment of the capital, to Winterfell where they belong until he deemed a lad worthy of marriage-not one based on adjoining for the sake of remedying a lost moment in their history.

Eddard's sacrifice to the kingdoms had become too great.

With the sheathing of Ice, he drudged from his solar with no mind paid to what awaited him at the behest of Littlefinger. The safety of himself and his daughters were paramount but at what cost. How far would he see this through and what else could he afford to lose at the requite of Lord Jon Arryn.


How are all of you doing? I know its been, what? Next to five months since my author's note? I've still been getting plenty of notifications for favorites and loves on this story and I'm so so so thankful to each and every one of you for waiting this next chapter out. I've had a huge life update and thank you to Melmela for your lovely comment. I come back from time to time to read each review and I'm not gonna lie, it's so encouraging to know that this story still gets love even after a year + of no actual update.

I'm definitely back to finish what I started, my life currently feels like it's falling into place so miraculously and my creative drive had come back threefold. (And I'm rewatching GoT to get back into the spirits and its working!)

The biggest thank you to all of my readers and reviewers for being my drive.

I'll see you all in a week and a half with a new chapter update :)

*EDIT*

Just a few spelling errors!