Chapter 25: The Queen's Justice
First week of the Sixth month of the Year 298 AC
On the Kingsroad, the Crossroad Inn
Kyria Stark
Ser Jaime escorted them back to Father in silence. Once they were close enough to the inn to see Father's silhouette among the guards and servants running around, he became as stiff as a stick under Kyria's hand. Father's eyes burned like fire when they fell on the man. Precisely to the point where Kyria was holding his arm. Touching the Kingslayer.
Ser Jaime dropped them off like they were on fire and all but fled the place. He did spare one last odd look for Kyria. She tried to not dwell on it too much. This could be analyzed later.
Father silently guided them inside the inn. The pressure of his eyes on them crushing in its intensity.
The Crossroad Inn was the largest Inn in the area, right in the middle of the King's road, and as such, had enough room to satisfy the Royal family's expensive taste and allow the Starks to sleep in something else than the tent they had to deal with since they left the North. The rooms held nothing to the splendor that had been Riverrun or the comfort of the keeps of the North, but it was more than enough for the couple of nights they had to spend here before traveling the last portion of the road that separated them from King's Landing.
Apparently, the royal family needed frequent stops in their travels, for comfort purposes. Or laziness or pure boredom, who knew?
It wasn't necessarily a problem, but she'd rather be in the capital already than spend unnecessary time traveling in what was starting to become an uncomfortable carriage.
Sansa's hand slipped from Kyria's as the door closed. She all but fled to one of the two chairs in the room, close to the dying embers in the hearth.
Septa Mordane who had chosen to remain in the room while they had taken their respective walk around the camp, stood up abruptly.
"Lady Sansa, what is the meaning of this? I expected you to know how to behave properly young lady!"
"The door is closed, Septa, no one will see," protested Kyria before Sansa could even move from her seat.
The woman flushed.
"It does not matter if the room is closed, my lady, this kind is behavior is the way one catches bad habits!"
"That will be all, Septa. I need to talk to the girls." interrupted Father with one of his looks.
"My lord-"
" That will be all. "
Kyria blinked. Septa shrank on herself. She bowed hastily and disappeared from the room.
Efficient.
"What happened?"
Kyria looked up.
"Joffrey attacked me!" immediately accused Arya in a high-pitched voice. She had been vibrating out of her own skin since they came in view of the inn, "Sansa was there and Nymeria defended me and then there was Kyria and the Kingslayer, but Joffrey-"
"Kyria."
Arya's mouth snapped shut.
Kyria looked up to Father who with a nod, made them all understand whose version he wished to hear.
Arya huffed angrily and crossed her arm in front of her chest, offended by Father's disregard for her version of the events. Not that she could blame her. Father could have listened to her tale first... It was about her after all.
Kyria gathered her thoughts, still processing everything that happened.
"The Prince…" she tried. The words were hard to find. "Things got complicated, Father."
Ned watched her intensely, his shoulders straight and wide, the light of the sun behind his broad back twisted something in Kyria. Then, Father sighed and took a step back.
With twitching fingers, Kyria took place on the bed watching warily as Father walked around the room. Arya was still standing close to the door as if to make a run for it at the first sign of anger. The energy twisting out of her was almost painful to watch.
She wished to say more, as Father was clearly expecting her to. But the truth was, she barely knew all of what happened, having arrived by the end of the confrontation. She sighed and looked at Arya still fuming in her corner.
Father seemed to understand, for he gave up on her version of the story and turned back on Arya.
"Arya, this seemed to have started with you."
To Kyria's surprise, Arya who until now was like a pot ready to burst, suddenly hesitated. She quickly looked at Kyria and shifted on her feet.
Kyria nodded. And promptly tunned down the retailing of the story. Prefering to replay it, piece by piece in the safety of her own fast-working mind.
How did the situation escalate so quickly? She recalled the sun hitting the threatening sharp metal of Joffrey's sword shaking her uncomfortably.
She needed to plan. Urgently. The repercussions would not wait for their wit to return to hit them right where it sure would hurt the most.
"Alright," sighed Father tiredly. "You all need to rest for now. We will talk more later."
… What?!
That's it? But- In-
How-
Seriously?! Now was the time to take all of his repressed… whatever and go brood elsewhere?! The prince attacked Arya! She could have been killed! This was a parenting your daughters moment, not a I need to think in silence moment by Seven Hells!
To Kyria's utter astonishment, Father spared them one last long meaningful look before leaving them alone in their room in long silent steps. The lock of the door behind him almost tore an enraged scream out of her throat. She barely held it.
And that was it?!
No. No, deep breath. Anger would lead her nowhere in this situation. She needed a clear mind.
"...what are we supposed to do now?" asked Sansa tentatively.
"Are we locked in here? Is he punishing us? We did nothing wrong!"
" We did not. But for now, we better stay here. It's safer.."
Gods but did it tear her throat to say it out loud! Stupid Father!
"Why?" whined Arya.
Sansa gasped.
"The prince might… might still be angry with us."
Kyria squinted.
"Who cares?!"
"He might want to try to finish what he started Arya."
Arya paled.
"He can't!"
Sansa opened her mouth, to say what, even Kyria wasn't sure. She closed it, though, and seemed disturbed by the sole action of doing so. Ah, yes. She had no way to defend him. Because she, like Kyria, knew he would be capable of doing so.
"And anyway, why should we let him scare us into hiding in our room?!" continued Arya, as she worked herself up into a rightful, storming mood.
"He's the prince."
"So what?! He's no god! I can kick his ass whenever I want!"
"Arya!" protester Sansa flushed at the mere idea.
"And in doing so catch the attention of the boorish King?"
"Kyria!"
Poor girl didn't know where to scold any more.
"I don't care!"
"He could have you killed Arya, as easily as he could snap his fingers!"
"And I can fight him!"
"And risk Father's position?"
"He can't do a thing about that! He's just a prat! Father is the Hand of the King! And Lord of Winterfell!"
"It does-"
"It matters Kyria! I'm not scared of him! Why are you?"
Kyria stopped.
Why was she? Why was she?
We need to Speak LOUDER
No. She can't be afraid of the shadow on the wall.
"Maybe we should all calm down." offered Sansa tensely, "it's been… a frightening occurrence. We can… we can talk about that later."
Arya huffed furiously and crossed her arms on her chest. But the way she kept going from one sister to the other betrayed her anxious agitation. Kyria dropped on the bed and rubbed her face tiredly.
"Probably yes..."
What's happening to me?
Why was she so worked up? So… scared? Prince was a title. It gave Joffrey power yes but as much as she wished to. He couldn't control her like that, only she could.
She felt a faint flutter in her head. It was a familiar feeling yet it lacked the usual vision, or the sound of a voice accompanying it. She disregarded this for now; she had other problems to take care of.
Calm down Kyria, and think. Think.
Joffrey was too arrogant to just let the incident pass. Too much pride not enough brain.
This experience had been humiliating to him. She had barely interacted with him on purpose. But she had watched. Back in Winterfell, she had been watching everyone, including him. He was vain, proud, spoiled.
He's going to whine to his mother.
He would never go to Robert, the man had no love for his son. But Cersei... Cersei was a lioness, fierce and protective of her young. It was the easiest thing to read in Kyria's observations. The almost obsessive way she herded her cubs around her. Kyria had no idea what the depths of her devotion to her cubs would be, but it would be a lot. And Joffrey was the first of them.
Father was outside. He knew Joffrey would not be pleased with the wolves. They had guards with them, but Father insisted on taking them. If anything bad were to happen, they would be protected and Father would step in. She needn't worry about that.
The Queen would want her son to be safe. What is she going to do? To kill the wolves for what has happened would not be fair to any of them, and it would reflect badly on her - she can't do that. Besides, they did what they were supposed to do: Protect her. Though the boy might lie...
Kyria closed her eyes and took in the silence of the room. Think Kyria.
A loud sigh broke her thoughts.
Why am I even surprised?
"What is it Arya?"
"I still feel like we are being punished or something… why are we staying here? I want to see if Mycah is alright."
"Your friend?"
Arya nodded and Kyria moved back up to position herself on the head of the wooden bed.
"You must be worried about him," soothed Sansa gently.
She gave a small shrug and refused to look up. She had found her place in one of the two chairs left in the room, her back resolutely turned to the door, as if to keep herself from opening it and rushing out.
"Nymeria too…"
Kyria sighed, her mind drifting to Frost, left with the Stark men outside of the inn. Their companion's large bodies forbade them from entering the inn. Not to mention the panicked fit the owners threw when they saw the beasts for the first time. None of them were happy with the situation, especially after today, but they had no choice but to comply.
Kyria twisted and looked at the locked door and the lone window, whose thick glass allowed the pale light of the dying day to flood a tiny corner of the room. Conveniently the one Sansa had claimed. The small specks of dust floated around her, adding to her already compelling fairy-tale aspect.
Kyria violently squashed any petty jealousy over the utter perfection of her younger sister before it could take root.
"I wish we could go out, too. But at this point, it's- complicated."
"Because you're scared of Joffrey I get it." resented Arya gloomily.
"No. No, you're right, I shouldn't be scared of him. But this isn't about who is right and who is wrong. This is about politics."
Arya twitched her nose distastefully and grumbled between her teeth.
"Politics?" parroted Sansa. "What does it have to do with anything?"
Oh my, where to start?
"From Joffrey's point of view, he has been humiliated in front of his fiancée, his fiancée's sisters, and his uncle. His pride is wounded, and there is a good chance that he might complain to his mother and attempt to have the wolves... punished for what has happened."
"What?! And we're staying there?!"
"Going out there to do anything other than grovel at his feet is only going to make him more resentful at this point, Arya. He will want to wash off his bruised pride and take his vengeance on us. Show us whose better."
"He's not better than me," Arya asserted with great authority, offended by the very idea.
"How do you know that? You hardly had a word with him. Maybe he'll realize this has all been a big misunderstanding and be on his way with an apology!"
Oh dear.
"Mark my words, Sansa, this boy is not the type to apologize for anything," Kyria admonished with a stern shake of her finger.
"Why shouldn't we come out and defend the wolves?! He can't take them from us!"
"Now, if he wants to take action, he must go to the king. The king will have to summon us to explain ourselves. We'll tell the truth then."
Silence.
"The truth?" Sansa whispered anxiously.
Kyria gave her a sharp nod of agreement.
"It's the best course of action for us. The king will ask what happened after Father's explanation and we will simply tell him the truth. And everything will be fine."
At least I hope so...
In spite of what she was trying to show her sisters, she was far from confident. Maybe it was a little bit of a lie to say all that when she didn't really believe in it. But she sincerely hoped that it would be easy. The other alternative was-
Someone was knocking at the door.
They exchanged looks.
Sansa blinked and Arya jumped. But before she could reach the handle, Kyria was there. Slowly she opened the heavy dark wooden panel. She took a step back, eyes wide. Alas...
"Kingsguards?"
…not good.
The man moved his hand on his sword and Kyria stepped in front of Arya and, by extension, Sansa.
"The King has demanded your presence."
"Who may I ask?"
"You all."
Kyria swallowed and took hold of Arya's hand, looking behind her for Sansa to join them.
She remained vigilant as they made their way down the stairs to the main room of the inn where, no doubt, the King was... entertaining. She noted the few people in the corridors and, glancing out the window, outside. An audience. This is bad.
She slowed her pace and caught hold of Sansa's hand in the one she had free. "Let me do the talking," she whispered between her teeth, and before Sansa could protest, as she was obviously prepared to do, she added: "Don't say anything unless they address you directly."
"But..."
"Why not? We were there when-"
"Just do as I tell you. Trust me," she urged as the last steps of the staircase approached.
Fortunately, they did obey, though both of them reluctantly. It didn't bother her, they would have plenty of time for complaints later. For now, she needed all her wits. She couldn't spare them from childish squabbles about who would speak when.
They were herded into the largest room of the inn. This was certainly where the meals were usually served. A large wooden chair sat in the middle of the room. It had been picked up from who knew where, and the king sat on it, looking down at everyone and everything with an air of deep boredom. Or maybe he was drunk, she couldn't tell. Around him, the Queen sneered at everything with deep contempt, and the crown prince was curled up around one of his forearms, holding it as if nurturing a wound. Where on seven hells could he possibly have sustained an injury? He wasn't...
Oh...
Oh, that sly serpent.
They walked the last step as slowly as they could, both of Kyria's arms held tightly by her younger sisters, in Arya's case almost pulling her down. She used the opportunity to give her sisters one last piece of advice. "Stay behind me," she hissed through her teeth, "and by the gods, Arya control yourself."
The little wolf bared her teeth. But she hid obediently behind her sister. For now.
Right. Looking around her confirmed what she had already begun to fear. No father nearby. The queen wanted this to be quick and efficient, not for them to get out of it unscathed. She was there for the kill.
The Kingsguard who had brought her here moved away. Another white cloak slipped behind a door. Who-
Ser Jaime? Was he leaving? But he was-
Oh, no.
Things were getting worse by the minute. Ser Jaime was a witness! An outside eye! Without him, she had no one to corroborate her story. Was he running because - what? Did he refuse to testify against this nephew? If that was the case, he...
No. Stop it, Kyria. Don't get so worked up, concentrate on what's in front of you.
Kyria blinked and bowed before the king and queen. She carefully avoided Joffrey's gaze.
"Your grace. My Queen. My prince," she said, mostly to the crease in the king's doublet. "You requested our presence?"
Joffrey sneered and wrapped a bony hand around his other arm, wincing visibly and quite loudly. "How dare you make fun of me?" he shrieked. "You tried to kill your prince, you insolent bitch, with your beast. Don't deny it!"
What - did he want to blame her? For what? He wasn't hurt, not even a scratch! Frost barely pushed him. Who was he trying to fool?
But then again with only her word and her sisters to corroborate her version, there was very little she could do to win this farce of a trial. Maybe she could unleash Arya on him?
No, it would only prove his point and show them as the savage beasts Joffrey wished they were.
Kyria breathed slowly through her nose and squeezed Arya's shoulder. She couldn't afford to lose her or anyone else's temper.
"I beg your pardon, my prince, but may I ask what is your meaning?"
"You know why you stupid who-"
"Quiet, boy, let us ask the questions," the king ordered, cutting Joffrey off with an angry rant against Kyria. "My son, foolish boy that he is, says one of your beasts attacked him," he announced, seemingly bored to tears by the whole situation.
She wished she could say the same.
"Did he?" she asked innocently, "When? Was it today?"
"You know exactly when it happened, you wolf bitch! You tried to kill me with that thing! You attacked me! Admit it!"
Kyria hid her hand behind the fullness of her skirt, praying to all the gods she could think of that he wouldn't notice her fingers trembling. Was he trying to have her killed? Or the wolves?
No. He would not! Never! He could curse all he wanted, she would defend them to her last breath! Drive them out herself, before she gave this little disgrace of a prince the pleasure of warming his bed with fresh wolf fur.
Do not speak when angry. Deep breath, Kyria, deep breath.
"Forgive me, my prince, but I do not recall such a thing."
The quiver in her voice seemed to go unnoticed by Joffrey, though the queen's mouth twitched. Kyria's anger rose even higher, at herself for showing such weakness, however small, and at Cersei for seeming to gloat over it. It didn't seem to occur to the queen that it was anger and not fear. Bless the old gods.
The prince turned a violent purple. He sputtered angrily between deep, ragged breaths. "You lying bitch! You did it! You and your beast of a sister! You tried to kill me and now you want to play the innocent because the King is going to have your traitorous head on a spike for daring to make a mockery of the royal family! You jealous, spiteful, worthless woman! You should learn to bow down before those who rule you, you savage beast! How dare you do this towards the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms, when you come from that wasteland you dare call home! Ignorant bitch! I should have your head for this!"
You do a fine job of making a mockery of the royal family all on your own, you foolish boy.
Kyria had her doubts that anyone would welcome such an opinion at the moment, but she'd be damned if it didn't take all her strength not to voice it.
Her anger shook her fingers, and the sight of the venom bleeding through those green eyes did nothing but feed it even more. It awakened something almost savage deep inside Kyria. Sansa trembled and whimpered behind her, Arya's hand gripped Kyria's tightly, yet all she felt was the burning need to lash out, to bite the little fool who dared threaten her pack.
Gods, to think she had been afraid of him... the pathetic kitten trying to impress the wolf! A small, weak thing, only brave enough to hide behind its mother and spit angrily. After months of dreaming about monsters night after night, this spiteful little boy was nothing. "I assure you, my prince, I never had such intentions against you or your family."
"Stop this nonsense, girl, we have seen you command these beasts," the queen said, her voice soft and commanding. The cold fire of her gaze sent a shiver down her spine.
A growl echoed somewhere in the depths of Kyria's mind. She barely stopped herself from baring her teeth this time.
This was no kitten. Silent and discreet next to her boor of a king and high-pitched kitten of a son. There was true rage and hatred behind those venomous eyes and calm exterior. Everything in Kyria begged her to be careful around Queen Cersei.
It took all her control to remain calm in the Queen's presence.
"We can't have such dangerous beasts around the prince," Cersei declared, a sinister light shining in those green eyes. "If they can attack their betters on a whim, they do not deserve to live."
Kyria's heart stopped beating. Never! You have to kill me first!
"No! It's not-" Kyria pulled on Arya as hard as she could to keep her from bursting out anymore.
It took all her strength to remain composed.
"Your Grace, if I may, I'd like to understand how we're accused of these deeds," she insisted, using everything she had to hold on and defend herself.
Time, she needed time! Father would come; he would make it better. There was no other alternative.
"Kyria..." Sansa hissed behind her. Her tiny hand tugged worriedly at Kyria's skirt.
Kyria had to stop herself from turning to assuage the fear she could almost smell on Sansa's skin. Turning now would give that bastard the advantage over her. Never.
"Silence," the king boomed.
Silence followed immediately. Kyria's trembling hand slipped from Arya's arm, losing her grip on her little sister. By the grace of all the existing gods, she did not move any further, and in fact took a step back towards her and Sansa, who was still more or less safely hidden behind Kyria.
"Before any decision is made, I want to hear all the facts. Boy, tell us what happened," he ordered sternly, waving in Joffrey's direction.
Oh no.
The prince puffed out his chest in triumph, the so-called wound was momentarily forgotten, and dared to smile smugly. Little shit, Kyria thought spitefully.
"Well, Father, I was enjoying a peaceful afternoon with my betrothed when that little bitch came along," he began, pointing rudely at Arya, who glared, "she was playing with a peasant and when I kindly offered to take her away from the pathetic wimp, she attacked me for no reason!"
"LIAR!" Arya roared, staggering forward, no doubt to punch the bastard.
Kyria thanked her good reflexes that allowed her to grab her before she got more than a step away. "Arya, don't!" she ordered.
Unfortunately, it was too late.
"You see!" he pointed triumphantly, "She's an uncivilized savage! That beast should be grateful to be in our presence! She and her damned beast tried to maul me for no reason! She is out of control and should be put down like the wildling she is! Her and that beast! They dared to attack me!"
"Boy, you will STAY QUIET!"
The walls seemed to shake with the mighty thunder that came from the king's mouth. Ours is the fury indeed. Kyria gasped.
A loud commotion somewhere behind the crowd that had formed around them all drew the attention of the room.
"What's going on here?"
Father!
Kyria's knees shook under her weight as her father's loud footsteps echoed through the silent room.
The path between them and their father was suddenly clear as the crowd parted before him like water from the bow of a ship.
Ned Stark himself trod the few steps that separated him from his daughters. She felt no shame in her relief as Father's tall silhouette moved swiftly ahead of them, her hand gripping the back of his tunic. Father is here, her mind whimpered.
The clicking of metal against metal caught her attention a moment before it registered with the Queen's.
"Jaime?" she called in confusion.
Ser Jaime looked away without a word, distancing himself from his sister. Something moved at the edge of Kyria's mind and she forced herself to look away, lest it grow into something she couldn't control.
"Ned!" the king boomed, his whole face lit up by the mere presence of his dear friend. "At last you have come! Perhaps you'll be able to make sense of this whole mess we have here with your girls!"
How dare that boorish fool! To blame it on us!
Without answering his king beyond a brief nod, Father looked down at them. He cupped Kyria's head in his large, calloused hand and rumbled:
"What is it, child?"
Kyria's lips trembled as she answered. She felt dwarfed, both by her father's presence and the relief coursing through her veins.
"The Prince says we tried to kill him."
Father frowned. He looked down at Sansa, then Arya, and both of them huddled around Kyria like baby ducklings seeking warmth.
Father's hand left her. Without missing a beat, he stroked Arya's head reassuringly. His eyes focused on her alone.
Instantly, the nervous energy vibrating out of Arya faded. Not completely, but enough for Kyria to notice.
"Does this have anything to do with the event you told me about this afternoon?" he asked Arya.
Kyria's little sister nodded hastily, her lips pressed tightly together. She probably was. Father nodded back, dropping his hand. Soon his back was to them, facing his dearest friend.
"Your Grace, I know the incident your son is referring to. I would like to know what the Prince has to say about it."
This did not sit well with Joffrey who immediately hissed like a wet cat.
"I'm not lying! Your bloody daughters attacked me! They set their beast on me and tried to kill me!"
She couldn't see the look on Father's face, but from the way Joffrey flinched, it wasn't good. He didn't answer the prince, instead concentrating on Robert, who hadn't said anything yet.
He seemed to be waiting for his friend's attention, for the king adjusted his heavy doublet and declared: "The boy has spoken, we have yet to hear from your girls."
His voice resounded through the room.
"We don't need to hear it, the little fools will lie to protect their pets, that's what children do," the queen dismissed.
"And yet," Father denied gently, "it is only fair to hear from all concerned, Your Grace."
Robert snorted and Cersei sneered.
"Very well then. Girl, tell us what happened," the king ordered, nodding to Kyria.
Dutifully, she repeated the entire incident, how she heard Sansa scream and arrived to see Joffrey swinging his sword in Arya's direction, how Nymeria sensed her mistress was in danger and leaped to her defense, and how she and Sansa stopped the wolf before it could do anything to the foolish boy who had dared to threaten a Stark. How Joffrey struck Frost with his sword, taunting the beast's rage, and how Frost, in turn, leaped at Joffrey. She spared no detail, knowing that any lie or omission would be used against her and her companion. She took great care to insist that Frost never actually hurt the prince, beyond pushing him down and growling. That any injury the boy might have suffered was not from the wolves but from his own stupidity.
Though she kept that particular remark to herself.
When she was finished, the king asked for Arya's version of the story. As expected, it agreed with Kyria's. The prince looked more and more enraged by the minute and seemed to squeeze his bandaged limb between his fingers. Kyria watched with barely suppressed glee as the white bands around his arm loosened. He has nothing! It was a farce!
When Arya's story was finished, all eyes turned to Sansa, who had been as silent as possible. She was afraid - afraid to lie, or afraid to tell the truth, Kyrai wasn't sure. But she was afraid.
Kyria could understand. It was her family against her betrothed. But she still hoped Sansa would make the right choice. She couldn't side against them, not this time, even if it meant not following her beloved Joffrey's line of history. was a wolf too, and the queen would not hesitate when the order was given.
"I-"
"Tell us, little dove," the queen encouraged in a sickeningly sweet voice, "Tell us the truth. You wouldn't lie to the King now, would you?"
Sansa's already pale face lost even more of its color, and Kyria never wanted to slap someone more than she did this woman right now. Danger be damned. She threatened her little sister! Her sweet, soft Sansa! Trying to manipulate her into siding against her family to satisfy her son's wounded pride!
"I-it's-"
"Oh for God's sake, leave the girl alone Cersei, she doesn't have to pay for your son's stupidity," Ser Jaime snapped somewhere behind them.
Father looked at him. Sansa almost sobbed and Arya gaped. Kyria closed her eyes and prayed. For if Ser Jaime, a man supposedly on the Queen's side, the Queen's twin brother, was on her side, the odds might finally be in their favor.
"This does not concern you, brother," the queen said, glaring fiercely.
Ser Jaime seemed unperturbed. Though he avoided his sister's gaze at all costs. "Actually, it does, sister. I was there, after all."
Silence.
" What. "
"I actually came with Lady Kyria. We were talking, enjoying the beautiful afternoon sun when the lady heard her sister crying. The rest is as the lady said, your son playing with toys he knows nothing about. Humiliating himself all on his own like a big boy."
Cersei was furious. She opened a quivering mouth, anger twisting her face into something far uglier than Kyria would have expected from someone so stunningly beautiful, but once again the King spoke before she could.
"Well, that's settled then!" the King declared with a slap on the arm of his chair.
"What about your son's injury?"
Oh, by the gods, she never gives up!
"What injury?" asked Jaime with a raised eyebrow.
"This injury! Are you blind? Look at his arm!"
The attention of the room was drawn to the boy's 'injury'. The bandages were now almost useless, hanging loosely from his arm. Before Joffrey could do anything, Ser Jaime stepped forward and pulled a loose end of the bandages. The whole thing unraveled from Joffrey's arm despite the Prince's attempt to cover it, leaving only pale, smooth flesh behind. Smooth, uninjured flesh.
"What injury?" he asked again, stone-faced.
"How dare you, Uncle?" shouted Joffrey. "I am your Prince!"
"Silence, boy! What kind of man are you?! Hitting little girls and feigning injury?! You're a disgrace! I almost regret having you as my heir!"
Ouch.
"Your Grace!" The Queen screamed at once.
Even Ser Jaime snapped to attention, pale as a ghost. Sansa gasped behind her sister, as distraught as the Queen herself at the thought of Joffrey losing his position.
"I said!" roared the king. "Now get out of my sight! All of you! And for God's sake, woman, control your spawn or he will end up on the street! I'll be damned!"
His roar reverberated in Kyria's bones and she automatically took a step back, knowing that it must be a terrible place to be on the receiving end of that kind of anger.
Father promptly herded her away from the royal family and their growing argument, deaf to Sansa's half-hearted protests and Arya's triumphant cackle. Kyria took one last look at the knight who had once again saved her and her wolf, worried for the man and the consequences he might face. Surely Cersei would not forgive such treachery. The man glanced back, worry written in his green eyes.
Thank you, Ser, she mouthed silently.
She was out of the hall before he could reply.
Back in their shared room, Kyria felt the urge to write down what had almost happened. Robb would know what to say.
She was left alone for most of the night, content to compose her letter and reflect on the events of the evening. Father ordered them to stay away from the royal family for a few days and to stay close to their Stark party and guards. Sansa protested, insisting on seeing Joffrey again to comfort him after such a trial, to the growing annoyance of her two sisters. Unsurprisingly, Arya was the one who snapped first.
"Don't be stupid, Sansa, he'll slap you if you come near him! You saw what happened!"
"But... I'm sure it's all a big misunderstanding... surely the King won't..."
"He can, Sansa, and I think he should."
"Kyria," Father warned from his post by the fire.
"What? I'm not wrong. He tried to accuse us of treason because he was angry he didn't get the upper hand in a childish quarrel, I don't think someone like that should be King."
"Kyria!"
Arya cackled again. Father looked at her, his warning clear in his expression, and Kyria closed her mouth.
"But... he's... he's the King's eldest son..."
Seeing that the subject was not to be dropped, Father finally decided to intervene... beyond scolding Kyria for daring to tell the truth to her soft, naive sister, of course.
"He can do that if he feels it necessary. The king has two sons, he can name Tommen as his heir if Joffrey is unfit to be king."
Kyria kept any comment to herself.
"But what if..." Sansa stopped herself, flushing embarrassedly.
What about you, hm? Kyria guessed.
It would be harder to be Queen if she were betrothed to the wrong brother. But then again, perhaps the King would remove Joffrey's betrothal as well as his title. Gods, she hoped he would. The idea of Sansa forever tied to such a brat was becoming less appealing by the second.
"Nothing is certain, Sansa," Father said with a narrow smile, "we'll see what happens to the Prince tomorrow."
Arya scolded.
"Who cares about him anyway?" she sulked.
The resentful little beast.
"For now, we should all rest. We leave for the capital tomorrow."
It did not escape Kyria's notice that Father completely ignored Arya's outburst or Sansa's confused noises somewhere behind him.
Resigned, she followed her sisters and obeyed with little fuss. They piled up on the beds like stringless dolls in various states of fatigue. As the candles were blown out, Kyria rolled over and let her mind drift through the day she had just had. And the things that had almost happened. She needed to speak to Ser Jaime again. At least to thank him for what he had done.
She also needed to think about the trial and how it had ended.
So many things, so little time...
As sleep slowly claimed her, one side of the mattress moved briefly before cold little feet pressed against her calf. She hissed.
"Arya!"
"Shhh."
"What are you doing in my bed?"
"I want to sleep here tonight," the little beast claimed in a hushed voice.
"Why? You have your own bed over there!"
"I share it with Sansa!"
"And she sleeps like the dead. What are you complaining about?"
She had no answer. Kyria huffed but let go, unwilling to engage in a battle of wills with her wall of a little sister this late in the evening. She was tired, uncomfortable, and almost certain that her course was coming. Of course, it was, why make it easy when things could get even more complicated?
After a moment's silence, Arya whispered.
"The Queen hates us now."
"She didn't like us before."
"But now she wants us dead."
Kyria had nothing to say. It was true that they had almost cost her son his position. The fact that the little fool had brought it on himself didn't matter to this woman.
"We have to stay close to each other in the capital, stay alert."
She felt the movement of the little head nodding along.
"And watch out for Sansa, too," Arya added in an even softer voice.
Kyria suppressed a smile.
"My, aren't you growing fond of her?"
"Shut up. She's too stupid to defend herself against that bitch."
Kyria silenced her and put an arm around Arya. Her little sister's free hair momentarily tried to suffocate her and she spat it away with a huff.
"Don't you want to braid your hair before bed? I don't want it in my mouth."
"I don't know how."
Kyria sighed and considered her options.
"All right, sit up."
"Can you braid my hair in the dark?"
"There's still the fire; I have light. And I am used to braiding hair."
Arya huffed, but her messy hair must have annoyed her just as much because she quickly sat up in bed, the sheets gathered around her waist. Kyria pressed herself against the wooden head of the bed and gathered all the dislodged strands of hair she could find around her sister's head. They were a little damp around her neck, the growing heat of the south still hard on all of them. No doubt it wouldn't have helped to cool her down if she'd let them loose like that. She winced at the memory of her own heavy hair, the few times she had let it loose from the thick, tight braids she took the trouble to make each morning. As used as she was to it, she still had curls almost down to her knees. Maybe she should cut them a little?
...Nah.
Kyria promptly divided the hair into three more or less equal parts and started braiding.
"Do you think she'll be all right?" asked Arya after a moment's silence.
"Who, Sansa?"
The small head bobbed and Kyria tutted, stopping the movement before it ruined her work. It was hard enough as it was, thank you very much.
Kyria pulled the pieces apart, tightening the braid, and pondered Arya's question.
"I don't know. For now, she will. She has us, and Father, and everyone else. But once she's married..."
"We'll still be there, won't we?"
"Not like now. She won't be under the protection of Father or the North. It might be more difficult."
Silence.
"I don't like him. He's mean and stupid."
"Yes. But Father won't do anything if we're the ones against the match. Sansa has to decide for herself."
"She should, he almost had Nymeria and Frost and Lady killed."
"I know."
She hoped it would be enough to shatter Sansa's illusions about Joffrey. From her reaction tonight, though, that seemed unlikely. Why, of all the traits she had to share with them, did it have to be stubbornness?
"We'll watch over her."
"Aye, we will."
The conversation died away in hushed tones and vague protests about hair being pulled. When finished, Kyria fell back onto her bed, allowing Arya to snuggle close, needing the comfort as much as her little sister seemed to carve it.
As sleep overcame her, her dreams turned to endless lands of tall grass and loud screams lurking somewhere around her, coming closer. Familiar screams in the terrifying grass.
She awoke confused, Arya wrapped around her like a strangling vine, snoring in her ear.
Almost immediately she tried to push it away, this dream she couldn't make sense of. She refused to think of it as a vision or a message from her gods. Instead, as Maerys dutifully wrapped her in her shift, corset, petticoat and light summer dress, she closed her mind and built higher walls around the raging storm of her emotions. She refused to lose control.
She had her hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her skull, set with pearls and ribbons, and nodded when Sansa chirped about the color of the brand-new dress she had made for herself. A pretty thing of pale lilac that she had just begun to embroider with tiny gold leaves around the collar and sleeves.
They broke their fast, and Kyria had almost successfully forgotten her dream when, in the middle of their meal, a new arrival was announced.
"Who is that?" Kyria asked her father.
"The Maester of Coins. He was your aunt and mother's childhood friend and had remained close to Lady Lysa. When her husband died, he volunteered to escort her back to the Eyrie with his guards."
Kyria shivered as the cries of last night seemed to echo somewhere in the back of her mind. They grew louder than ever as the small man finally broke through the sea of people polluting the hall.
I warned you not to trust me.
No.
Suddenly, Kyria lowered her eyes before she could even see the man's face. Something dark and twisted moved in her gut. The image of long, slimy fingers danced before her eyes.
No.
She spied him, through her eyelashes and the thick fringe of her hair, her sudden movement had released from its prison. She caught a glimpse of grey temples and clever little green eyes, and somehow the screams in her head grew louder. Mocking her.
Why did this man... affect her like that?
TBC