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Chapter 6: A North Wind Comes

Two months later …

Red Keep, King's Landing, Seat of power of House Baratheon (Baratheon/Lannister) in the Crownlands, Capital of the Seven Kingdoms

Osric bound through the corridors of the Red Keep, slipping by the bustling servants and stationary guards as much as his stocky girth would allow. Greetings of, "Ser Osric," or "M'Lord," followed his every step and familiar faces bowed to his passing frame.

Osric turned down a more secluded hall that led to the Small Council chambers. He blew out his cheeks as his eyes settled on the large double doors of the famed chamber at the end of the passageway. Behind the thick wood were the most powerful men in King's Landing.

Well, the most powerful and Pycelle, Osric smirked. If he had to listen to that old man exclaim this the longest and hottest summer on record again, he would not be held accountable for his actions.

The first few meetings of the Small Council Stannis had summoned him to had filled him with excitement. He'd been eager to see what important discussions had kept his father in the capital all these years. That keenness had faded with each Small Council meeting he had endured. Most of the time spent in the chamber was dominated by talk of the crown's debts and the progress of Robert's journey North. Talk of coin bored Osric and his golden image of Robert chipped each time he was informed of which Lord's cellars were being drained and daughters deflowered on his way to Winterfell.

Osric smoothed the emerald green tunic material that clung to his muscled stomach and tugged down the hem. The fine garment had golden stags dancing around the collar which was a smidgen too tight on his neck to be considered comfortable. A gift from Renly. Just one of many that had appeared in his wardrobe over the past weeks. He had even succumbed to his uncle's nagging to look like a proper young noble and not a gruff common soldier. His fledgling beard had been shaven and his wavey black hair cut to just above his shoulders.

How he wished he was still clad in his practice garments, duelling with Brienne and Brus in the morning sun's rays. He had been getting familiar with a blunted double-edged axe he had found in the Red Keep's armoury and enjoying Brienne's exasperated face each time Brus had dropped a spear he'd been attempting to spin.

Osric steeled himself and forced his advancement mentally as much as physically. His legs closed the distance to the chamber's large double doors in a dozen long strides. He gave a nod of acknowledgement to Ser Richard Horpe and Ser Andrew Estermont. Ever his father's vigilant guards before pushing through the double doors.

"Ah Osric, come sit here," Renly's said, nudging out the chair next to him.

Osric wordlessly crossed the room and sat in the offered seat. Stannis was at the head of the table with Davos on his left, followed by Renly and now Osric while Littlefinger was opposite Davos with Varys and Pycelle slotting down the table.

"Let us begin now we are all here," Stannis started with his usual lack of gusto.

Pycelle cleared his throat, "I received a raven this morning regarding the King's procession in the North."

All in the room waited for a few beats for Pycelle to suck in a dramatic breath and continue.

"The King has left Winterfell. Lord Stark agreed to the betrothal between Prince Joffrey and Lady Sansa. Lady Catelyn is accompanying her daughter south with Lord Brandon."

"The proposal was for the daughters to come, not the second son," Stannis said, eyeing Pycelle with expectation.

"Quite right, Lord Hand," Pycelle wheezed, "Lord Stark's youngest daughter had a fall during the King's visit and it is uncertain if she will survive."

"A terrible tragedy," Varys piped up with a convincing sadness on his rounded features.

"Catelyn will be beside herself," Baelish commented quietly, his mind no doubt picturing the distress of his childhood friend.

"Ser Davos, how is the rebuilding of the royal fleet coming along?" Stannis cut through the displays of empathy.

Davos leaned forward, "Ten new ships are under construction and I'm down the docks most days training the lads up."

Stannis nodded, "Lord Baelish where are we on funding this?"

Littlefinger clasped his hands together on the smooth oak of the grand table, "The crown still has sizeable debts to Lord Lannister and not to mention the royal coffers are still absorbing the costs of the Hand's Tourney a few months ago–"

"I didn't ask for excuses Lord Baelish," Stannis snapped in a harsh tone, "You are the Master of Coin. Find the Silver Stags and Golden Dragons or I will raise taxes."

"Taxing brothels would be very lucrative," Renly jabbed across the table, not wasting an opportunity to strike at a fellow player.

Littlefinger held a tight smile but inclined his head to Stannis, "I will figure something out."

"Lord Varys?" Stannis continued, methodically going through the Small Council.

The eunuch shifted his amused gaze from Littlefinger to the head of the table, "Viserys Targaryen has aligned himself with the Dothraki."

"The Dothraki?" Renly exclaimed; his hands outstretched on the table in a gesture of disbelief.

"He married or rather sold his sister off to Khal Drogo, a fierce fighter and leader of a khalasar of more than a hundred thousand Dothraki riders."

"A worthless trade. The Dothraki will never cross the Narrow Sea," Stannis concluded, "Renly?"

"The law is being upheld," Renly waved away the table's attention and when it was clear his little brother wasn't going to add anything else Stannis turned to Osric.

"How is Beric Dondarrion settling in as the new Captain of the Golden Cloaks?"

"The drunkards and gluttons Ser Slynt allowed into the City Watch have been dismissed and those that remain are getting better at holding their own against the men I brought from Storm's End. He'll be looking to recruit soon to replace those that weren't fit for the duty."

"Help him in that endeavour," Stannis tasked him.

"As you will, Father," Osric replied, the conversation turning back to Robert's exploits and the Stark girl's accidents for the remainder of the meeting.

The large double doors slammed back into place announcing the departure of most of the Small Council. Stannis brushed a hand through the day's stubble before walking to the side table to refill his goblet with water.

"How is he?" Stannis asked over his shoulder.

Renly sat relaxed in the exquisite oak carved chair, observing his brother's movements and as no one else remained in the room he knew the question had been directed at him, "You could always ask him yourself?"

The look Stannis drilled into him would have stilled his heart had he not experienced it so many times before. Renly huffed and slapped both armrests, "Osric still carries his defeat to Jaime Lannister. There hasn't been a single day he's not been in the practice yard since. He really hates to lose and really likes to hit things."

"He'll learn from it. Not every fight is winnable but they still have to be fought."

Renly pursed his lips, "I'd rather win than lose."

Stannis only grunted in response as he sipped the water.

Renly sighed dramatically and lazily pushed from the chair to stand next to Stannis, "Robert will return within a fortnight. We have the book. We have Robert's bastards. We have the City Watch and half the Small Council–"

"But," Stannis beat Renly to the punch.

"But we don't have any useable proof against Cersei for Jon Arryn's murder. I visited Pycelle and he still claims old age took Lord Arryn. We can blame Cersei all we want but without proof the man was even murdered the mere accusation is treason."

"You worry revealing Cersei's bastards' true parentage won't be enough? That Robert won't believe us?" That he won't believe me, Stannis's real concern flashed through his mind.

"It is an easier task to convince Robert Cersei murdered Jon Arryn that it is she is fucking her twin brother and her children are born of that union. It's an insult to Robert's reputation he cannot laugh off and his anger at the mere suggestion of it will fall on us if we can't irrefutably convince him of the fact, he has no trueborn sons."

"She is guilty of both murder and incest. The former was committed to cover the latter," Stannis firmly placed the now empty goblet back on the table, controlling his rippling anger as he did.

Renly sensed Stannis's darkening mood and sought the path of appeasement, "I'm just pointing out our brother isn't known for accepting truths he doesn't want to."

Stannis turned to the window, "This is a truth he can't ignore."

"Imagine if I tried to convince you Osric and Shireen weren't yours?" Renly tried, willing his brother for once in his life to see another's point of view.

"They have the Baratheon look."

"What if they completely took after their mother, would you abandon them so easily?"

"Yes," the cold word echoed around the chamber. "For the same reasons, Robert will do so. Baratheons are black of hair. Always."

Renly shook his head slightly, "He hasn't noticed that fact for over a decade! Or each time a blond babe slithered out of Cersei's cunt."

"He will listen to reason and the truth."

Renly took a few moments to gather all his frustration back behind his jovial mask then finally said, "I hope you are right, brother."

"I am," Stannis declared.

A few days later during the night …

Arya's bedchambers, Winterfell, Seat of power of House Stark in the North

Ned rushed up the stone stairs, following Jon's shouts for help as Robb kept pace with his sprint.

Both Stark men burst into Arya's bedchambers and what they saw stopped them in their tracks. Arya was still peacefully sleeping under layers of fur. Her prone form had not moved an inch since they were last in the room. Jon was sitting on the bed's edge staunching a bleeding wrist with his other hand as Nymeria with bloody fangs rested over Arya's covered feet in a protective stance.

At the foot of the bed, a man's body lay face up with his throat ripped out, blood was gushing onto the stone floor, spreading slowly to cover the red paw prints leading back to the bed.

"He appeared after you both left," Jon spluttered out in time with his deep intakes of breath. He winced and pointed towards the window where rising smoke was visible in the moonlight. "He had a knife … he was going to kill her … why would anyone want Arya dead?"

Ned's eyes flicked to Arya's closed ones and he knelt beside the dead man, not caring for where the man's still-warm blood pooled. There were no distinguishable clothing or sigils on display. He looked a rough sort, teeth missing and grime covering his skin. Then he spotted the glint of metal just underneath Arya's bed. He reached for it and pulled out the most jewelled dagger he had ever seen.

"Is that Valyrian steel," Robb asked as he finished wrapping a ripped piece of fabric around Jon's wrist.

"Yes," Ned answered, his mind connecting the night's events with the letter Catelyn had shown him from her sister.

The Lannisters? Are they responsible for this somehow … but why? No matter how hard Ned thought he knew he was missing something to put it all together. What connected Jon Arryn with Arya? Gods he wished Cat was here. Ned blinked. Cat, Sansa, Bran …They were with the Queen and her ilk. They were in danger.

Jon's strained voice brought him back to the moment, "Will they try again? I'm not leaving Arya until I know she is safe!"

Ned placed a hand on Jon's knee to hold his attention, "You saved Arya's life tonight. The Night's Watch can wait."

Robb ruffled the top of Nymeria's head bestowing a "Good girl," on her before he faced his father and repeated Jon's question, "Who would want Arya dead? What could anyone possibly gain from killing her?"

Ned rose from the floor, his knees coated in blood. "I am not sure …"

Robb instantly picked up on his father's hesitation, "You have an idea though."

Both young men's eyes snapped to his and even Nymeria cocked her head at him as her tongue licked the blood from her snout.

Ned clenched his fingers around the decorated handle in his palm that had been intended to rest atop his daughter's flesh. He'd never been a man to jump to conclusions or make assumptions but Lysa's letter and the timing of Arya's fall when she had always been so surefooted before was something he couldn't let go of.

"What I say does not go outside this room," he sought Robb's and Jon's silent promises before he continued, "Lysa Arryn sent a letter accusing the Lannisters of poisoning her husband–"

"You think the Lannisters sent the assassin?" Robb quickly surmised, taking a step towards his father and eyeing the exquisite blade in his hands. "It makes no sense … why would they? She's a child, no threat to anyone least of all them."

"I don't know," Ned sighed as he crossed the room to card a hand through Arya's hair.

"The Lannister dwarf is due to return to Winterfell any day now," Robb said, the dark rumble in his voice announcing his intentions, 'Perhaps we could ask him?"

"Perhaps," Ned said, his hand stilling on his youngest daughter's cheek.

"I know it could be risky, Father," Robb stood on the other side of the bed to where Ned was leaning down to Arya, "but we can't do nothing!"

Jon stood at the bed's end, his hands balled into fists, "Whoever sent this assassin can't get away with it."

Ned looked from Robb to Jon. The anger in their eyes was reflected in his heart. He would tear down those that had tried to kill his daughter just as Nymeria had the assassin's throat. This was a promise to the Old Gods.

"Your mother needs to be informed of what happened today. A raven won't do it."

"I can travel south," Robb quickly volunteered.

Ned shook his head, "If anyone goes to King's Landing it will be me."

"Don't go …"

All three men's eyes snapped to Arya. Had they just imagined those trembling words? No. She opened her eyes slowly and struggled to swallow.

"Don't … leave me …"

"Get Luwin," Ned barked as he loomed over Arya.

Jon hesitated only for a second before sprinting out of the room while Robb hurriedly pour a cup of water and handed it to Ned.

Ned shushed Arya and carefully brought the cup to her lips. The coughing fit that followed shook Nymeria off the bed but the direwolf resettled along the bed's side, her nose facing the corpse of her prey.

"Arya," Ned didn't try to contain the tears glistening in his eyes, "don't try to move."

She immediately tried to wrestle her hand free from the covers. It brought a smile to his face. That was his Arya, she never listened.

Ned placed a hand behind Arya's head and helped her drain the entire cup of water.

"Where is Mother?" Arya asked, her words hoarse with disuse.

"Travelling to King's Landing with Sansa and Bran," Ned answered, helping Arya sit back against the headboard.

"Why?" Arya croaked out.

Robb reached for Arya's now freed hand and gently pried, "You fell from the Broken Tower, do you remember anything?"

Arya's face screwed up in concentration, "I … was climbing to get away from Septa."

"Yes," Robb encouraged with a smile, knowing it was Arya's preferred method of escape.

"I got to the top," Arya's brows furrowed, "the Queen and the Kingslayer were there."

Ice dripped down Ned's spine but he willed Arya on, "And?"

"They were close and panting then Ser Jaime had me in his grip," Arya's eyes widened as the hazy memory cleared for her, "He pushed me!"

Arya may not understand the true reality of what she had seen or indeed the ramifications but Ned and Robb did. Both their faces displayed their shock. Robb sunk onto the bed, trying to come to any other viable conclusion to the events Arya had described while Ned stood to his full height his eyes hardening over as the weight of the coming decisions raced towards him.

The Kingslayer had thrown Arya from the Broken Tower. Sister and brother had been discovered alone in a secluded place. Together. Then attempted to kill the only witness. Twice.

There would be war over this. Robert's wrath would know no end. The Lannisters wouldn't survive it.

"Why is there a dead man in my bed chamber?" Arya asked, peering beyond the end of her bed to the forgotten assassin and pool of blood that now covered her stone floor in a thickening sheen of gooie redness.

The answer to that question was now known. What wasn't was what they were going to do now.

Author's Notes:

A lot of really important details in this chapter that affect the entire story so I hope you were paying attention! xD

I've changed what happened in the North from canon drastically and I'm excited for the butterfly effects of Arya being the one that discovered the twincest and being able to remember it, Jon not going to the Wall due to Arya being the one to get pushed, and Cat being the Stark parent in King's Landing not Ned as Stannis is Robert's Hand.

RIP

Catspaw Assassin (Nymeria ripped out his throat with her fangs)

Good girl, Nymeria! This dude got the drop on Jon but you ain't getting to Arya while Nymeria is around.

Reviews:

Supremus85 – Yeah, I agree. I put back the headbutt moment xD

Guest (commented 21/02/2023 twice) – No worries! I get what you're saying and I do know of GRRMs comments on Loras. I'm just personally taking the view point that Loras at this point in the story doesn't have a lot of experience with dueling the super large fighters (Mountain, Sandor, Osric, Brienne) E.g I'm taking from Brienne defeating Loras in the show as evidence for this. Not saying Osric is better than Loras just in this contest he got the better of Loras. I look at fighter vs other fighter in the fighting context not just in a number system of who is best generally.

Guest (commented on chapter 1) – That she does!

Teufelchen (commented on chapter 3) – Guess you've already picked your side in the war to come lol

Oathkeeper (commented on Chapter 1) – Are you asking what my plans are for Myrcella and Tommen?

rcampbell1 (commented on Chapter 1) – Thanks for reading!

Next Up: Robert returns to King's Landing with tales to tell, a feast of celebration is demanded and Stannis finds his moment to reveal the truth.

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