Chapter 4: Little Wolf, Baby Lion
The Red Wastes:
Viserys clutched baby Rheaha in his arms kissing her cheeks and forehead. He pet her soft face and slowly handed her to the Dothraki wet-nurse. "She's beautiful isn't she, Ser Jorah? I lovely head of black hair. Not common for a true Targaryen but she has drangon's blood, or the flames would have taken her."
"She grows more strong everyday your grace. She will be a true Targaryen. Like her Uncle." Ser Jorah remarked.
Viserys stretched and began to mount his black steed horse before the rest of the Dothraki followed in turn including Ser Jorah who began to mount his own horse. The young king turned to his army waving his hand. "Mount up warriors, Qarth awaits." He spoke in Dothraki as the men followed him. The horses began to march on and Viserys wiped his face covered in heat and sweat. "How long do these Red Wastes last? We have been riding near two weeks and still there is no end in sight of it. Does it ever end?"
"This is further east than I have ever been. But it ends my King. All things end, even the Red Wastes. Soon we will be within riding distance to the city of Qarth. There you will find the gold which you seek." Said Ser Jorah
"That is good." Replied Viserys as he and Jorah began to ride with their horses. We only have enough food and water for another week or so of riding. By then we should reach the city. I'll send you ahead as my diplomatic envoy. Let The Thirteen all know I mean them no harm. I simply am looking for investors for my endeavor to conquer Westeros."
Ser Jorah shook his head slightly. "I do not think the city leaders of Qarth will take too kindly to a Dothraki horde approaching their city my king."
Viserys nodded in agreement. "Very true Ser Jorah. Which is why we will end our March a day and a night's ride outside the city. Only my envoy will approach the city. You will carry a flag of truce and take with you only a handful of Dothraki riders, five or so should be more than enough. You'll buy food and water, and wine with the gold we have from Khal Drogo. Then simply put forth my request for investors to the Thirteen."
"And what if none of the Thirteen wish to endorse your conquests? What shall I say then?"
"I wouldn't worry about that Ser Jorah. They're bound to be many investors interested in seeing me back on the Iron Throne. After all, every city is filled with ambitious men, why would Qarth be any different? Many will wish to see me back on the Iron Throne."
Ser Jorah slowly shook his head and began to speak frankly to Viserys. "Do you honestly believe that my King? Whatever lies have been whispered to your ear about the people's wish for Viserys Stormborn of the house Targaryen to be King again is a gross exaggeration. The people care not for who is King. They pray and wish for a good crop and rain."
"The people and I both pray for rain. This desert is so vast and hot. But you're right Ser Jorah. Everyone has been lying to me my entire life. Telling me that the people whisper for me to return to Westeros as their king, or pray to the seven for my safety in exile. It was all lies was it not?" Asked Viserys.
"Perhaps not all. I'm sure they're must be a few in Westeros who would like your return. But for the most part, yes my King, it was a gross exaggeration." Agreed Ser Jorah.
"I can no longer be made a fool." Viserys said shaking his head. "I need men I can trust. People to advise me properly. Men who will be honest with me. But not only that. I need men who can help train my army. The Dothraki make excellent raiders but that is not what I need. I need a true Army of discipline. Able to stand against all my enemies. Furthermore I cannot stand idly by as I watch all the other men do the fighting for me. I've spent too much time in luxury. I need to learn how to fight. And to that end Ser Jorah, you will train me, in the Art of combat and warfare. I must become a great warrior like my brother Rheagar."
"Your brother Rheagar was indeed a true warrior. It would be an honor to train you to fight your grace. As for the a professional army, the Unsullied my King. They make great warriors and are truly a disciplined army." Ser Jorah suggested
Viserys nodded hearing this. "Yes I have heard of them. Is it true they cut off their…"
"So they say your grace." Said Jorah
"Poor bastards. Hmm. Well, first things first. To Qarth and my investors."
Ser Jorah scratched his beard lightly and shrugged to Viserys."Begging your pardon my King, but it seems to me that it would be easier to bend the arms of the Thirteen to your will. Why not simply force them to surrender their gold to you? You have an army of Dothraki, and 3 baby dragons who will one day set a blaze to the world, if you so desired it."
"Yes it would be easier. But why risk it? I have never lead an army into battle, I know not the first thing about warfare, and they have enough gold to higher the Golden Company and any number of foreign mercenaries to their cause. No Ser Jorah. We are not ready for war. And despite the fear I am able to instill in men, I do not wish to be seen as a tyrant or conqueror. What will I do, burn everyone who doesn't bend the knee to me? Does that sound like the qualities of a great Targaryen or a mad one? The people would say I am just as mad as my father was if not worse. No… I will not be seen as a conqueror Ser Jorah. I will be seen as a liberator."
"Are you the same man I first met? You do not seem at all the spoiled child king I was first introduced to." Ser Jorah commented.
"Much in me has changed. I lead an Army now. My own sister tried to kill me, I have 3 baby dragons, and now must be a father to my new born niece Rheaha. My little Dany. I've had to grow up a lot in these past few weeks, so help me." Viserys sighed. "But I am far from perfect. I'm still weak. I can barely lift a sword. I don't have the military skills to fight, much less lead this army in combat. And I can't speak 3 sentences in Dothraki. I have much more growing to do before I am ready to take back the iron throne, Ser Jorah. Much more growing to do."
Winterfell:
"Wahooo!" Cheered Brandon Stark as he rode past his brother Rob Stark and Theon Greyjoy with his horse as daring speak.
"Not so fast. You're going to hurt yourself." Said Rob shaking his head at his younger brother as he and Theon drank wine and toyed with their swords in the forests just outside the Winterfell keep.
"Are you going to tell him about your sister?" Theon asked Rob as Bran road by them both.
"What that Joffrey is a little shit that attacked my sister Arya with a sword and now neither sister has a Direwolf anymore?"
"That the Lannisters want to start a war with your family!"
"I doubt it." Rob shook his head.
"You heard your mother. Her sister said not to trust the Lannisters. And now, the little cunt Joffrey attacks your sister and they killed two of your dire could be around the corner. "
"My father killed the dire wolf not the Lannisters," Rob shook his head. "And I doubt war is coming. My father is the Hand of the King, and his best friend is Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. I doubt war will come."
Bran once again road by with a happy smile. "Look at me Rob!" He galloped his horse and sprang it over a small nearby puddle before coming back to his brother. "See how fearless I am?"
"Fearless?" Rob laughed. "This coming from the boy who wouldn't follow his sister Arya to the top of the weir wood tree because he's scared of heights."
"I am not scared of heights. I simply hurt myself when I stepped on a thorn." Bran began to climb off his horse and walked toward Rob and Theon.
"I'm sure of it." Rob chuckled. "Is that why you make sure your bed is far from your window at home? Because you don't want to look outside it and see how high it is from the ground?"
"I'm not afraid, I'll prove it. Tell me something to climb and I'll climb it." Bran defended himself.
"Climb the top of the old tower, from the outside," Smiled Theon with a teasing face.
"Uh… not right now," Said Bran "I'm too tired to climb all the way up the tower."
Rob and Theon began to laugh among themselves. "If you say so Bran. Come on let's go back to the keep. Mother is waiting."
"Alright then, shall I race you there?" Bran dared his brother climbing back up on his steed.
"If you insist." Rob sighed mounting his horse with Theon.
Kingslanding:
"Ha!" cried Arya not in a laugh be in a shout of defense as the wooden sword made its way against hers. "Ha!" The two wooden bladed clashed as both young students found themselves dancing around the training area of the Hand of the King.
"Left side Arya, watch your posture. Remember stand from the side, smaller target!" Spoke Syrio as he coached both fighters.
"Ay-ah!" Shouted Joffery as his blade clashed with Arya's "You're getting slower little wolf." Smiled Joffery as his blade found Arya's.
"Becareful baby lion, or you'll soon find yourself disarmed again!" She smiled back dancing around Joffery.
"Joffrey watch your balance, you feet must be like a cat! Less hacking and slashing this is not the Westeros dance, this is the water dance young prince. And watch your grip!" Syrio said shaking his fist.
SMACK! Another hit from Arya's blade and Joffrey's wooden sword went flying from his hand. "HA!" This time Arya did laugh as happily saw her opponent had been disarmed. She crept closer to Joffrey her wooden blade finding itself inches from his neck. "Dead!" She smiled with glee. "That's the second time I disarmed you."
"No, no, no!" Syrio said shaking his head grabbing at Joffrey's arm adjusting his hand. "The grip must be delicate boy! See."
"It's too difficult to hold like that." Joffrey complained.
Syrio stared at the Joffrey shaking his head. "The steel must be part of your arm. Can you drop part of your arm? No. You are not holding a battle axe boy, you are holding-"
"Widows wail?" Joffrey shrugged.
"What?" Syrio questioned. "What is that? What is Widow's wail?"
"It's the name of my sword." Joffrey said with some confusion on his face.
Syrio gave Joffrey a look shock. "That is a horrible name for a sword."
"It's better than Needle." Joffrey snickered at Arya
"Says the boy who just got disarmed." Arya snickered back.
"Enough." Syrio raised his voice then gestured at the wooden sword on the floor. "Now pick it up. Try again."
Joffrey turned his body to lift the sword, but no sooner that he did that Arya smacked his bottom with the end of her blade "Oww! HEY!" Joffrey cried out turning back to Arya finding her smiling, and despite the smack pain he felt, he looked back at her and returned the smile.
"Arya discipline!" Said Syrio pointing at her face. "Do not be a coward and attack your opponent when he is disarmed and his back is turned."
"Isn't that what any smart person would do in a war?" Arya replied.
"This is not war, it is training" Syrio shook his head. Joffrey picked up his blade. "Come, come, come now boy," Syrio waved Joffrey back. "Now positions." The two young warriors took their places again. "Ready?"
"Am I interrupting something?" Called a voice from the doorway. The three turned to see Eddark Stark staring back at them.
Joffrey and Arya turned to the Hand of the King standing at attention. "Ah, my lord. Welcome your Hand. You are just in time to catch the young warriors in battle again."
"Is that the prince with you?" Ned asked. "As the Hand of the King I would be concerned for his safety."
"The young boy?" Syrio said looking back at Joffrey. "He may be a prince out there, but in here, he is only a sword."
"A sword..." Ned looked at Joffrey and Arya both. "I never thought I'd see the day when you two were getting along."
"Joffrey and I spoke together. All is forgiven." Arya stated.
"And how are you finding the dancing lessons my Prince?" Ned asked.
"I find them to be quite challenging my lord. But Arya and Syrio have been a great help." Joffrey smiled.
"I see..." Ned's face had a look of concern over it, though he did his best to hide it. "I see..."
"Is something wrong father?" Arya asked.
"No, no, of course not. Continue with your lessons. I have a meeting of the Small Council to get to. I merely stopped by to see how your lessons were going. Surprising to see the Prince here, but, a welcome surprise. Carry on." Said Ned, walking back to the door and exiting the hall.
"Take care my lord." Syrio turned back to his students. "Now then, young swords, where were we?"
"Arya was about to get knocked out by me." Joffrey smiled.
"In your dreams baby lion." Arya smirked back.
"Such fighting spirits, that is good." Syrio nodded. "Positions! Ready, Set, Dance!"
The Small Council: A short time later:
Ned Stark walked into the chambers of the small council and found himself taken back as he saw his King, Robert Baratheon sitting at the center of the table. The King large and full of fury looked back at the Hand staring with piercing eyes and giant beard. "The Whore is dead!"
"My King?" Ned questioned.
"Daenerys Targaryen! She is dead! Burned alive by her own brother, Viserys." The King answered.
"Daenerys Targaryen is dead?" Even though Ned had received the answer to his question more questions arose from the answers. "Are you certain?"
"Indeed my lord," said Varys, the Master of Whispers. "My little birds have reported that the Targaryen princess is dead, and even still, it would appear that her brother Viserys is responsible."
"He burned her?" Ned asked.
"It would appear so," Varys replied.
"I told you need, those Targaryen's are all mad!" Barked the King. "I wanted to kill them both, but you wouldn't hear it, well hear it now!"
"If it was her own brother that killed her, then I'd say we have even less to worry about. Who would follow another mad Targaryen?" Said the Hand.
"Have you not been paying attention Ned?! The damn boy has an army or Dothraki now! He killed Khal Drogo and Daenerys both. Now he has a horde of Dothraki riders at his back."
"I'll fear the Dothraki the day their horses learn to run on water." Ned replied.
"Water may not be much more of an issue for the boy," Petyr Baelish spoke, the Master of Coin. "He has not just inherited Khal Drogo's army, but also his gold. Which I'm sure will buy him many a ship if he finds the right connections."
Petyr Baelish may have been slender and weak, but he was not stupid, and more so, he was right. Ned knew it to be true, if Viserys took the gold from Khal Drogo, and his army, then it wouldn't be long before he had the means to cross the narrow sea. "Ships..."
"Yes," the King replied. "I told you this would happen Ned, I told you. But you wouldn't listen."
"And how do we know this to be true?" Ned asked.
"I hear this things from my little birds who are encamped with him. A wet-nurse who cares from the child of Daenerys herself. These reports are quite reliable I assure you." Said Varys
"Daenerys gave birth before she died?" Ned asked.
"It would appear so," Said Baelish. "A girl."
"You would have us go to war, on the words of a wet-nurse?" Ned questioned.
"I'm afraid it's far more complex then that," Varys replied.
"Why is that?" Ned asked.
"Because Viserys now has three baby dragons." Renly Baratheon, The King's brother answered.
"Dragons?" Ned uttered in disbelief.
"Now will you start to listen, you damned honorable fool?" King Robert said, shaking his head.
Ned paused a long while, then finally spoke. "We should be cautious your grace. We need to verify these claims, then if need be, ready our armies. But above all else, we should keep this from the people. If these rumors are true, it will set the people in a frenzy of fear."
"Agreed," Robert nodded. "Set word to all seven kingdoms, tell them each to raise 10,000 additional men from among their banner men. And to those with ports to begin construction on new ships. War may be coming our way. Leave us," Robert ordered. "I would have words with the Hand alone."
The Small Council all began to rise from their seat, nodded at the king then taking their leave. Soon Robert and Ned were alone, the two long term friends staring back at one another. "I never thought I would see you agree with me." Robert replied.
"In truth I was not worried until the mention of dragons your grace. If the stories are true about Aegon… if they are true..."
"Then armies won't matter much in the end will they?" Robert agreed.
"Baby dragons, it would be a toss up between the giant dragons of the stories of Aegon, the tiny dragons no bigger than cats." said Ned.
"We shall wait and see. There is something else I wanted to speak to you about Ned."
"Yes your grace?"
"Joffrey came to me the other night. He's been spending a lot of time with your daughter." King Robert said.
"I'm glad to see Sansa and Joffrey are getting a long so well."
"Not that daughter..."
Later that night in the Hand's Quarters:
"I hate her! I hate her! I hate her!" Sansa cried tossing herself to the bed screaming and crying into her pillow.
Eddark shook his head, sitting by the his daughters bed trying to comfort her. "Sansa please, try to understand."
"She did it!" Sansa cried. "She did it on purpose! She's always been jealous of me! I hate her! I hate Arya! She must have tricked the king!"
"Arya had nothing to do with his decision Sansa. She's never even spoken to the King." Ned assured his daughter. "This is just the way things are sometimes."
"I want to die." Sansa cried, pouring herself into her pillow.
Arya slowly stepped into her sister's room carrying her wooden sword from her dancing lesson. She peered inside finding her sister crying into her pillow. "Sansa? Father?What's going on?" Arya spoke softly. "Is everything alright?"
Hearing the voice of her own sister Sansa shot up from her bed charging at her. "YOU! I HATE YOU!"
"Sansa! No!" Ned shouted.
Sansa came at Arya trying to claw at her little sister, but Arya fresh from her dancing lessons was prepared and leaped away from her sister's attack, darting to her left causing Sansa to come crashing against her drawer and hitting the floor. "Back away!" Arya said. "I know how to use this." She said raising her wooden sword to Sansa.
"You little trollop! You whore!" Sansa yelled from the floor.
"Sansa!" Ned yelled "That's enough!" Sansa charged at Arya again, but this time the Hand of the King was ready and grabbed at his daughter from behind, pulling her away from Arya.
"You little bitch! You stole him from me!" Sansa continued to cry. "I hate you! I hate you!" Sansa soon broke free from her father's grip and began to run away outside, wailing in tears and anger.
"Sansa! Sansa come back!" Ned yelled, but stopped himself from following her.
"What's going on?" Arya asked, looking at her father.
Ned sighed, looking back at his younger daughter. "I'm sorry Arya, this was not your fault. Sansa just needs time to get over her disappointment."
"Disappointment from what?" She asked her father.
"It's the king." Ned replied.
"King Robert?" Arya questioned. "What about him?"
Ned sighed again catching his breath. "King Robert, has proclaimed that you are to be betrothed to his son Joffrey."
"What?" Arya said in confusion not understanding her father.
"You are to marry Prince Joffery, not Sansa..."
"Huh?" Before the words had even escaped her lips Arya felt a rushing sensation enter her mind, right before the overwhelming feeling of passing out over took her and came crashing down to the floor.
BAM!
Joffrey may have not been fighting Arya at that moment, but he was right, he had indeed knocked her out.
