Chapter 17: Bird In A Gilded Cage

King's Landing

The rapid journey South had made his physique weary, but Ned had no desire to rest. The consuming regret in his heart for letting his daughters stay at King's Landing alone had been easily veiled by the sheer anger he felt towards his brother by law. Never had Ned experienced such anger, and especially never before for the King. Rhaegar had his faults but until his daughter's abduction, each one of them he could oversee, but he would not ever forgive the King for getting his daughter in danger, not even if he wasn't guilty of it.

The horses neighed loudly. The poor beasts had been treated harshly. He had made the journey in such a hurry that there was little time for anyone to rest. His men were strong however, and they heeded their Lord's orders respectfully.

Winterfell loved Arya Stark. She spent most of her time outdoors than indoors, making the most unusual friends. She sneaked food to the hungry, knew most of the men and women by their names and there was not one who had ever said a word against her. The people always hid her exploits, her mischiefs, even from the Lord and Lady Stark. Ned admired it profoundly: his daughter's ability to generate such loyalty among the people she knew.

The King and the Prince were among the few who met him at the gates. As Ned approached them, he noticed the tension had taken its toll on Rhaegar. His usual countenance was gone and its place had been taken by a face as grim and stern as a ruler whose crown was too heavy for him to bear.

"Lord Stark, welcome to King's Landing."

Jon stood beside his Father. He was almost of the same height as the King now. He looked much older than the last time Ned had seen him, and it hadn't even been a year.

"Your Grace." He turned to his nephew, his eyes softening for a brief second. "Your Highness."

"Just Jon, please, Uncle," Jon said. "I hope you had a safe journey."

"I did, son."

"You are certainly tired, My Lord," the King added. "Your horses will be tended to and your men will be shown to their quarters. If you want to take rest for a while, you will be escorted to your room."

Ned clenched his jaw. There was no time for civilities anymore. Time had been wasted as much already.

"If you wouldn't mind, Your Grace, I would like to speak with you in private. But I'll appreciate respite for my company."

The men dispersed as the only ones left were him, the royals and the Hand of the King, Jon Connington. From the corner of his eye, Ned noticed the forms of two women and his heart swelled with joy.

Lya. Sansa.

The girl crashed into his chest and wrapped his arms around him in a tight hug, all the while he could feel her shaking in his arms with her sobs.

"It's alright, sweetling. I'm here now," he assured her.

"I've missed you so much, Father," Sansa sobbed. She finally composed herself, taking her handkerchief out and wiping her tears. Ned noticed a nod pass between Sansa and Jon. Their betrothal had been pushed away from his mind for the moment, but Ned mentally reminded himself to talk about it to both of them later.

Lya was the next to embrace him.

"I'm glad you're here, Ned," she whispered in his ear. She pulled back from his arms and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

He had been directly led to Rhaegar's study, the place where it had all started. It was where he had agreed to let Arya stay. She had shouted at him fiercely for doing that to her.

To think I'm partly responsible for everything that is happening to her.

"Would you like wine, Ned?" The King, not addressing him formally for the first time since he had arrived.

"You promised you would keep her safe, Your Grace," Ned spoke, ignoring his question.

"I am sorry for everything, Ned. I am trying my best to mend things."

"They are beyond mending," Ned said. "Why haven't you sent help for her? You told me you're doing your best."

"I am. But things are not as easy as they seem. I care for Arya, I truly do. But if we do anything rash, he will hurt your daughter."

Ned wanted to say that was not true, that Robert couldn't hurt a little girl. But he couldn't. He couldn't claim to know this man. This man, lost to him and the world for years, only to rise again and try to hurt his family.

"I didn't know he was alive," Ned acknowledged.

"Neither did I. I thought he had perished somewhere, but here he is again, rising against me."

"All of us," Ned corrected him. "He made an enemy of me when he took my daughter."

Dragonstone

Aegon sat down urgently. Varys had accompanied him to Dragonstone, then disappeared for a few days. Now he was back, carrying news that according to him, was more important than the letters Aegon had been busy writing when he arrived.

The eunuch bowed and Aegon told him to take a seat.

"I apologize for taking so long to bring this news, but someone had taken great care to delay my plans. My little birds took more time than was expected."

"Lord Varys, I do like your riddles, but this may not be the best time."

Varys took a deep breath and looked Aegon in the eye.

"The ones who poisoned Prince Jon have been identified, Your Highness," the man spoke, his voice smooth but firm. "It is the Tyrells."

Aegon stood up abruptly, his voice thickening and a sick feeling pooling in his gut.

"What? Are you sure?"

"Yes, I am sure. It was a rare poison from Lys. The Tyrells had it smuggled to King's Landing with the help of a man. The said man had his skull bashed the day after the poisoning."

"Then how do you know it?"

"The poison is very, very rare, Your Highness," Varys repeated. "Once I had it identified, my spies did the rest."

Varys was reluctant to share more information, and Aegon didn't ask for it. He was more confused than anything else.

"They didn't want to kill him at all," Aegon realized. "Or else they would have made sure of something as important as the quantity."

"I think it is quite obvious now why the Prince was poisoned in the first place."

"It is," Aegon agreed. From the beginning, the plan was to take Arya. Margaery was cunning and clever, and she must have figured out the affections Jon and Arya had for each other.

"Riverrun and the North would never fight and put her at risk," Aegon voiced out loud. That was two pieces out of the game.

"Thank you for the information, Lord Varys," Aegon said. "If you don't mind, I would like to be alone. There is much to do. Have you told Father?"

"News has been sent."

Aegon nodded and when Varys had left him alone to muse on his thoughts, all he could think about was whether Mace Tyrell was foolish enough to leave his two children in their enemy's lair or was it part of some other, bigger plan?

He wanted to write to his Father urging him to show no mercy to Margaery and Loras, but his instincts stopped him. He was not one who believed in children paying for their parents' crimes. Both of them may not be innocent, and that will be another matter, but for now he had to trust his Father's judgement on this. He only hoped Jon would keep his composure, because if the Tyrells were involved in poisoning Jon, they would definitely be involved in the kidnapping of Arya, and that was enough reason to send Jon into a fit of rage.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts and he turned, remembering that he had demanded not to be disturbed.

"I apologize for ignoring your request, Prince Aegon. A raven has arrived from Casterly Rock, and I thought it might be of importance."

Aegon nodded.

Why were the Lannisters writing to him and not to his Father?

He unrolled the scroll and his eyes quickly searched for the name of the sender. It was written in a fine handwriting. The name aggravated his curiosity as to the contents of the letter.

Jaime Lannister.

Storm's End

Why are they giving me all these?

She looked at the numerous dresses on her bed. Gowns and shifts of silk. The clothes were all finery. When she took the soft material between her thumb and forefinger, she recognized them as the kind of clothes Sansa wore during her stay in King's Landing; the kind she had worn that day at the feast.

I am not their guest.

Even though Arya hadn't ever given much thought to what happened to hostages, it was fairly certain they weren't allowed to live so luxuriously. Captors didn't provide their captives with rich, embroidered gowns.

Was all of this a trick?

Her mind had grown more cautious every second she spent here. She knew they had motives she wasn't able to fathom. She would never partake in the hospitality of these men. It would be like stepping on and choking her self-respect and pride.

She decided to wait patiently till the evening to do what she wanted to do. But patience was never one of Arya Stark's strong traits, and she found herself pacing frantically around the room when she saw the sky darken outside her window. A flash of lightning waved its way through the clouds and she scoffed.

Storms, and storms, and nothing else.

A woman finally entered her room, and Arya couldn't help the small smirk from etching itself on her face. The woman was long faced, her face starting to show wrinkles and her hair beginning to thin. She started lighting the candles one by one until the place was covered in luminiscent glow. The flames danced when wind started to rush in through the window.

The woman hastily closed it.

When she left, Arya started her work. She may not be able to escape from here, but she would make sure that the Baratheons knew exactly who they were messing with. She would not let them have a moment's peace while she was awake.

She piled the clothes upon the bed. Making sure she had locked the door and the windows, she went to the bedside table and brought a candle.

"So much for silk," she said to herself amusingly.

The flame took a while to truly set ablaze, but when it did, it devoured the clothes one after another. The smoke started to bellow, and Arya covered her mouth and nose with the hem of her dress. She stood there, waiting for the fire to burn bright and strong, and when the curtains and the featherbed started catching fire, Arya slipped out of her room. The guard looked at her strangely and seemed to catch the burning smell. His eyes suddenly widened.

"My thank you for the clothes," Arya said, winking.

The next few minutes were frantic, as more guards started to occupy the corridor. Arya simply leaned back against the wall, her eyes taking in all the chaos. Amidst the flurry of guards and servants alike, she saw him, wide eyed, horror-stricken and she was sure she hadn't grinned like that since she entered this hell.

"What did you think you were doing?"

She turned to look at the owner of the furious voice.

"If you are trying to frighten me with that voice, it is really not working."

"What have you done? Are you mad?" Gendry growled.

"I am completely sane, My Lord," she said mockingly.

A couple of men passed them, hurrying to extinguish the fire. The smoke was soaring high like a giant with wings.

"One day," she began, looking at the man beside her with steel, grey eyes. "I'm going to sink my fangs into your necks and rip out every one of your throats. Don't ever try to play tricks on me again."

Gendry met her eyes with a stare of his own, but she would not cower. His bright blue eyes stayed stuck on her own.

He left her eventually, but returned a few minutes later with a woman. The woman looked at her, at the burning room, then back at Arya, and she could swear there was a hint of a smile on her thin lips.

"Please follow me, My Lady," the woman said. Arya walked beside her. She was disappointed; she had wanted Robert to lose his temper like he did that time, but it looked like she wouldn't be a spectator to that. She heard another pair of footsteps behind her, and turned around to see Gendry following them. Was he thinking she was going to try to escape?

She was led to another room, this one larger than the one she had just burned.

"Don't try anything stupid again," she heard the gruff voice of Gendry behind her. She didn't turn. "I sleep three rooms away."

Arya chuckled.

You think you frighten me.

"If I set fire to this room, I'll make sure you're inside," she said.

She heard nothing for a few seconds, then the sound of footsteps, then the loud band of the door behind her.

Arya straightened her dress with a sigh. Her hair was in tangles so she started to run her fingers through it when she heard the door click.

Annoyed, she turned her head to mutter curses at the one who had entered, but all she saw was a person dressed in black, his face covered in a hood. The man stepped forward, and Arya started reaching for something, anything near her, frantically.

His face was still hidden when he pushed his hand inside the sleeve of his other hand and pulled out a piece of paper.

"My Lady, there's no time," he breathed out. "I must go."

He handed her the tiny scroll and Arya clutched it in her palm when the door opened again.

"Who are you?" A voice asked. The man looked pushed his hood back and looked her in the eye. His hand went to his waist and he pulled out his sword. The guard who had entered unsheathed his and a battle started right before her eyes. Arya took the moment to drop the scroll to the ground and kicked it under the bed.

In a matter of seconds, two guards joined him against the man. The man fought as hard as he could, but in the end, a sword pushed through his abdomen. Blood spilled out of his mouth, his stomach, as he crouched down to his knees.

"Who sent you?" A guard asked. Arya noticed Robert enter the room from the corner of her eye.

"S-Stay safe, Lady A-Arya," the man muttered, as his eyes stilled and life drained out of him.

Robert pushed through them all, his eyes staring right at her.

"Take him away," he ordered the guards.

When they were alone, Robert grasped her shoulders in his hands.

"Who was he and what was he doing here?"

"I wouldn't tell you even if I knew," she spat.

His palm hit her cheek roughly. Arya braced herself and stood tall, her face as determined as ever. She tasted blood on her tongue.

"You will tell me what I want to know, or I'll make you!"

"I won't."

Robert glared at her and holding her neck in his hands, thrashed her head against the wall. She felt a mind-numbing pain in the back of her head, but kept quiet.

He stepped away from her and stormed out.

"Lock the door," he shouted to the guard outside. The guard obeyed, and Arya found herself alone again. Her head hurt, but she had a more important thing to do. She kneeled and reached under the bed, until her fingers hit the scroll. She took her seat on the floor and opened it, kneeling back against the bed. She wiped the blood from her chin with the back of her hand.

Tears burst forth when she saw it. She brought the paper to her lips and then started reading it. A spot of blood had spread on the middle of it.

My love,

I am sorry I cannot come to you now. But I will soon, I promise. I will bring you back to me. I will make everyone pay for your suffering, for every drop of tear you shed.

Be brave, my love. Be strong as you are and always have been. I will not rest until I have you with me again, I swear it.

I love you. Wait for me.

Jon.

She cried unabashedly, the levee breaking and the grief coming out of her. She missed him so much, the thought of him made her cry harder. She held the letter tight against her chest, trying to imagine she was holding him instead.

I love you, so much. I love you.

A/N: She doesn't actually need a sword to be badass, right? ;)

Thanks for reading, and please leave a review. Until next time.