Chapter 24: Every Journey starts with a step.
Third week of the fifth month of the Year 298 AC
On the Kingsroad
Kyria Stark
"It's strange..."
Kyria looked away from the fiding snowy fields she was still somewhat familiar with to look at Sansa next to her. "What?"
"I will never see those lands again as Sansa Stark of Winterfell."
What a terrible thing to think of…
Kyria looked down to Frost trotting around the cart dutifully, eyes sharp and attentive, as if to warn the soldiers around not to come too close to them. The sight calmed the frantic beating of her heart. Never going back to Winterfell as she was now… The mere idea paralized her.
Though this is where you are going, foolish child. You chose this.
Kyria frowned and looked away. Sansa's face was almost contemplative, as she looked back to the road they were traveling through, in the direction they were coming from. She didn't seemed sad or disturbed by any of this. Although maybe she wasn't. Sansa had always wished to become a southern lady. Being a Queen was even better, in her mind at least. Kyria swallowed back the rock in her throat and observed her sister's profile, wondering what might be happening inside that head.
"Let's go! We aren't staying here to see your Winter coming, Stark!" boomed the King somewhere in front of them. Around the Queen's monstrous Wheelhouse.
Kyria rolled her eyes. Frost growled. How that man could be a good choice for a King was beyond her.
"How do you feel about this?" she asked her sister instead, ignoring the boorish King.
Arya poked her head from behind them, curiosity coloring her face. Kyria was surprised she hadn't said a thing yet. The day was still young though.
"I don't quite know. I think I'm a little bit sad."
"And?" Arya prompted. "You're leaving home; you should be sad."
Kyria said nothing, merely watching as the middle child frowned confusedly.
"I've always wanted to get married," she paused there, and threw a quick, wary look in Arya's direction, no doubt expecting mockery. But the child had fallen silent, merely listening.
It shouldn't be surprising, but it still was, despite the months. Not so long ago this simple sentence would have been more than enough to start a fight.
How things changed.
"But I've never truly realized before what it would mean to leave Winterfell."
"I thought you wished to live your dream South of the Neck?"
There was no animosity in Kyria's careful words. In fact, there wasn't much of anything. The numb devastation of the last sennight was still fresh in her mind, and to be honest, Kyria was afraid she might simply break down at the first sign of animosity coming from either of her sisters.
She would rather not. Period. But especially at the moment thankyouverymuch.
Sansa took no offense and merely looked down confusedly at her tiny hands curled on her lap. A loose lock of hair slipped from her braid to caress her cheek. The top of her head was crowned with two thin braids that pushed her hair out of her eyes, not unlike the style she had adopted to welcome the royals. It was far simpler -and more satisfying to see on Sansa–than the complicated sculpture she had started to adopt in her desire to mimic the Queen and her court. How could those things stay in place all day was a mystery to Kyria. But then again, her own mane of hair was far more difficult to manage than Sansa's straight as a pine smooth curtain of silk.
"I've wished to see the South for a long time. I wished to see for myself all the promises it held in the songs and Septa's stories." A brief look to the Septa in question, primarily sitting in front of the cart they were riding, paused Sansa in her speech. She bit her lip. "But now that I am going there… I find myself…sad, somehow? Like there is part of me that will remain here, and yearn for this place. I was not expecting this."
Kyria blinked.
Huh.
Well, how about that? She was… surprisingly pleased with this unexpected introspection. Especially coming from Sansa who she had expected to be full of dreams and hopes and other fantasies by the time Winterfell disappeared from view, sadness and farewell be damned. It was especially welcomed as they were about to begin what felt like the most dangerous journey in their short existence. It was… odd. Had she underestimated her sister? Maybe…
"Huh," commented Arya. "That's weird."
Sansa blinked. "What is?"
"Was expecting you to be over the moon at the idea of marrying your prince."
So was I, mused Kyria silently.
Sansa blushed and quickly threw a look behind her shoulder at the head of the line, where the crown prince was riding alongside his Lord Father and the Hound. Ayra snorted at the automatic reaction and Sansa's cheeks grew even redder. Something flicked in those blue eyes and Kyria was struck by a sudden understanding.
"I am!" she squeaked hastily, "I truly am! But- I-"
"He isn't exactly as you thought he would be?" Kyria guessed softly.
She silently shook her head.
"Sometimes- I think he is a little bit too much like- I mean- But surely it is the folly of youth. I mean, Robb was just as excited to kill his game in the woods when he was that age."
"Robb never murdered cats to see the babies inside her," commented Arya rather truthfully.
Sansa flushed.
"Everybody makes mistakes."
Arya looked. For a long moment. Kyria bid her time.
"You're blind."
"Wh- I am not!"
"You are, Sansa! That's not a mistake it's-"
"How would you know you barely talked to him!" protested Sansa violently defensive.
Alright, here I go.
"Sansa, I might have to agree here. Killing a cat in bow practice without meaning to is a mistake. Cutting a cat open while it's alive to see the insides is no mistake. It's deliberate."
"He- He didn't know better!"
"Oh, Sansa…"
"I am sure of it!" she said above Kyria's voice, "This is all a big misunderstanding."
"It's not because you want him to be perfect that he is!"
Kyria's head bobbed to Arya. Had she- Did she-
Am I underestimating both of my sisters?
Shame bloomed within. Maybe she was becoming too sure of herself and her judgment. A little wake-up call would do no harm.
"I don't want him to be perfect, I just-" She sighed, frustrated.
Kyria smiled, sympathetic. "Maybe he isn't… as ready for this life as you are?" she proposed tentatively.
She strongly doubted that was the reason behind Joffrey's attitude, but judging him on one incident that more likely happened years before they even met may be a little bit harsh… Especially when said incident came from the mouth of children. With no further witness of the scene, and her own experience with the low blows siblings could exchange when the need arose, she couldn't base her entire appreciation of the crown prince on that sole fact. No matter what her guts told her about him.
She had made a decision the moment she told Father she wished to come with them to the Capital. A decision with consequences she must observe at all times. From this day forward, she was dipping her toes in the political sea that was King's Landing. Instincts and vague warnings could not be her sole material when it came to assessing the other players.
So if indeed, her mind, guts and… gift, told her to remain wary of the crown prince, she was going to be wary. But prudence didn't mean judgment, and to go from one to the other she needed more. Her goal was to protect her family, Father, and her sisters.
In that case, Sansa was the one in the most danger. She was betrothed to the boy, to the crown prince of the Seven Kingdoms. This was not a promise one could easily forget, or ignore. Especially with what little she knew of the King's character and the Queen tendency to protect her children. The tiniest protest could be interpreted as an insult form either of those people. This situation was delicate and needed caution.
Excuses, you're just terrified to mess it all up again and to have your family killed for your foolishness.
For an abominable second, the wall between her rational mind and the storm of repressed emotions she kept tightly tucked deep within her cracked and Kyria was submerged by a fresh, agonizing whirl of feelings she could. not. face. The violence of the attack was so sudden, so powerful it took her hand gripping the border of the cart and a breath deep enough to almost loosen the tightness of her corset for Kyria to regain control of herself.
Don't think about it Kyria. Don't think about it.
Sansa twisted her hands, her eyes resolutely looking everywhere but in Kyria's direction.
"I don't feel like… Maybe I am thinking too much. He's the prince and he's…"
She stopped there, eyes lost in the land around them. Kyria looked back at Arya whose frown grew worse with each word.
A small part of Kyria was happy. This indecision, as out of character as it was for Sansa, was a good sign. She was actually thinking about it, instead of going with the flow of what sounded so much like her daydreams. It was too little and too brief to be called wariness or anything of the sort, especially from Sansa, but it wasn't blind naivety either. She knew this was important.
Maybe all those lessons about the fallen queens and their tragic fates stuck, in the end… Kyria pondered distractedly.
She would have said more on the subject, but the words were stuck in her throat. In an effort to remain composed, she hid her shaking hand in the fold of her dress. Keep it together, you fool! Now is not the time to let your emotions control you!
After a while, Sansa looked back at her older sister, a vulnerable uncertainty shining through her pale blue eyes. Kyria's heart twisted. She looked even younger than she was. The trust she showed her made Kyria want to puke or faint. Or scream and lash out like the wounded beast she felt she was becoming. Don't look at me like that, I beg of you!
She looked away, briefly, and met Frost's attentive eyes. Breathe.
"Do you think I am wrong? To.. to be like that?"
It took her everything to answer. By some miracle, her voice didn't shake. "There is nothing wrong with believing in people Sansa," answered Kyria diplomatically, "but believing doesn't mean being blind to what is in front of you."
Sansa frowned, confused.
"What does that even mean?" moaned Arya from her post behind them.
Kyria breathed.
"It means, that we don't know much about the crown prince yet. Only what princess Myrcella and prince Tommen told us, and what you could see when you talked with him, Sansa. Maybe he is what you dream of, maybe not. But there is no certainty for now."
The words tasted like ash in her mouth. But- She couldn't- Saying something else froze the blood in her veins. Don't think about it. Caution, Kyria.
"What should I do?" begged Sansa.
"Learn to know him. This is what a betrothal is for after all. Maybe he isn't so bad. And if he is as bad as the little prince and princess said he was, then Father will break the betrothal and send us all home."
She wisely kept her own preferences on the subject quiet. Showing her hand now would antagonize Sansa more than anything else. She had to start slow, plant the seed, and nurture it until the choice simply fell out of her hands. It was harder than she expected. The conflict between her instinct and common sense telling her to at least wait for more information before passing judgment was raging within every cell of her body.
Sansa wrinkled her nose, dissatisfied.
"I don't like thinking like that. It sounds so… so cold. It's the prince! I would be the Queen someday, it should- Why can't it be easy?!"
Because life is never easy sister, especially in politics.
"You just want your Prince to go along with a song of your very own," translated Kyria.
Sansa looked down.
"But it's not a song," protested Arya fiercely. "People are people, they don't change because you want them to."
Kyria stroked a loving hand in her little sister's disheveled hair. She was even more pleased when her hand wasn't chased away.
Sansa blushed again and looked back at the head of the line. The Hound's helmet was distinctive in the sea of helmets and naked heads shining under a timid sun. Her face morphed into this contemplative look she often had when she needed to think things through, and Kyria knew the conversation was over. Arya huffed and mumbled something about pointy ends Kyria couldn't catch. Her bony elbow hit Kyria in the back as she wiggled herself into another more comfortable position.
Without really thinking, her own eyes fell back on the dark wet brown of the King's Road used stones.
We know no king but the King in the North whose name is Stark.
Kyria gasped and pressed her eyes shut. Not this again.
We know no King but the King in the North whose name is Stark.
Enough of this! Isn't this difficult enough already? Why are you haunting me so?
Why this? It wasn't the first time she heard that. Not even the second time! She lost count of the number of times in fact! Why those words?
It was treason! It was-
Why would something like that happen? Father was the King's best and only friend! It didn't make any sense. The fact that she said it to Robb of all people… Why?
Gods she wished she didn't have those voices in her head. Now more than ever before. Acting on them certainly didn't help anything and now that she was leaving home-
She was leaving for a reason. She needed to remember that. She was leaving to protect her family. She had a goal, a plan. She had to trust herself. Not her gift, not her visions. Herself.
No matter what the Gods seemed so determinate to say through her, to Jon or Robb, or even Ser Jaime from the brief glimpse of what happened that night she could still recall. She wasn't a tool for them to control. She was Kyria Stark of Winterfell and no one could force her to do anything.
I have to believe that. I must.
Deciding to come South had been easy. Once the first… the first reaction to what happened passed, it was like she could see clearly what she had to do. The reminder of the sun hitting her head and reflecting a dead light in a decapitated head's eyes had been all she needed to convince herself of the path to take.
Bran… -Oh, Bran- something broke. Inside. She could feel it, with every breath, every beat of her heart. Sharp pointy pieces shattered inside her chest, piercing a little bit deeper with each moment. But no matter how broken she was she couldn't–physically couldn't–forget about the rest of the world. Or the message the gods insisted on sending her night after night.
I have to do something.
The Gods were speaking to her. And maybe she was bad at listening, maybe that was why-
Don't think about it Kyria, don't think about it.
She had to believe it. She had to trust that those visions were more than a torment sent by angry gods wishing for a victim to torture.
She was terrified. All the time. But she couldn't stop trying.
I won't survive that head rolling at my feet. I can't.
There was no safety left at Winterfell, after what had happened to Bran. Even Robb, good, comforting Robb, couldn't ease her mind this time. She couldn't hide anymore; she had a duty to her family, to protect them and aid them with all she had.
She had to follow Father and the heat of the South that burned every night in her dreams. Her place was among them. Plotting, twisting schemes in her fingers until they moved with her intent, her goals.
I will not give them up.
Maybe the gods were pushing her in this direction, maybe her own foolishness was the reason behind such a decision. She didn't know. But she had to do this.
She looked down once more, beyond her shaking hand and the edge of the cart, to Frost's trusting eyes intensely watching her. Watching over her. It did nothing to the knot in her belly, but the comfort in those wild eyes eased the weight in her chest that kept her from breathing.
Thank you Frost.
She wouldn't be able to do anything without him.
Frost didn't stop the nightmares though. Nor the visions.
She was scared of the time when she would no longer be able to tell the difference between one and the other.
GOT
It became clear early on their journey how little the wolves were suited for the warmer climates of the South.
As soon as they passed the Neck, the three massive beasts' discomfort was as clear as a cloudless sky. Their impressive figures lost mass, and they would leave a huge chunk of hair with every step. Shedding the thick coat they had all their lives to survive in the North no-doubt, much to Septa's Mordane indignation. The religious woman seemed determined to fight a war against any flying hair close to her person with the fierceness of the greatest warriors.
Arya found it immensely amusing, and even pushed the poor woman to her wit's end when, in a flash of cleverness, she carefully gathered all of Nymeria's flying puff of fur to make a remarkably well-done wig she then paraded on in their tent that night. Even Sansa couldn't contain her laugh at the shriek Septa let out at the sight. Kyria had to applaud her little sister's dedication to her prank. It took her a long time for so little reward.
The fact remained however, that even if the weather was supposedly getting colder down here, it was still far too warm for the wolves' tastes. Or her own.
Kyria had been warm before. Like anyone else. But it never was…like this. Warm and heavy and- and weighing on her and dampening the clothes on her skin. She'd never been so sweaty in her life and she did not like it. It was disgusting and utterly unfair for her to suffer so while those pampered ladies-in-waiting spent the evening sprawling around camp smelling like roses.
Insisting on keeping Frost close to her as often as possible didn't help with the heat, for her and for him, and she felt a little more guilty every time her fingers found her familiar's fur and took comfort in the strength of his back. Now almost as tall as her with his head up, she couldn't have wished for a better protector.
Kyria hadn't expected much of the South. She didn't want to be there to begin with, and the heat sticking to her skin had not helped win her over.
She would admit the qualities of the landscape around her. There wasn't really anything wrong about it, and she had appreciated the brief meeting with her grandfather and uncle Edmure. Uncle was a jovial man, bright and happy in ways she had never seen anywhere else but in her six year old little brother. He had a charming disposition that no doubt was the reason behind the long list of friends he had babbled about during their brief enjoyment of Riverrun. Though it appeared his attention could only be held for so long, she couldn't really find any fault in him.
Grandfather Hoster had been as nice as a reclusive, sick old man could be and for the few hours she spent in his company he had appeared pleasant enough. There wasn't much else to say on the subject, but the occasion to spend this time with her extended family had been enlightening in many ways.
Beyond that, the South didn't have any peculiar trait that would have attracted her to it. With one sole exception.
She didn't dream. Not like she used to.
It took her a couple of days to notice in fact. The nightmares at this point were far too similar and frequent for her to notice the lack of prophetic visions immedieately. Until she realized, as they left Riverrun, that the last dream she had was the night they stayed in Moat Cailin, on the other side of the Neck. The panic this realization had triggered in her had been difficult to hide and even harder to explain.
Contrary to what she might have expected, there was no peace following this discovery. Only worry. Because what does it mean for her to lack her usual visions?
The why was easy to place. There were very few Hearttrees South of the Neck, with a few notable exceptions, and without them, the old gods' presence and influence was diminished. That realization did nothing to ease her mind.
Not having her visions anymore was nothing close to a relief. She felt blind, deprived of something. How was she supposed to protect her family if she couldn't dream anymore? If there was no warning? How strange was it, really, to miss it when she used to pray so hard for them to go? Those visions she spent so long hating with every fiber of her being?
This was… this was all too much. Too strange, too disturbing, too overwhelming. She hated feeling like that.
It was hard to hide such a high level of discomfort. She tried to take her mind off of it, by any means necessary. Reading while traveling only made her ill, she learned, and their party was catching enough attention as it was.
One afternoon, after watching Sansa stitch perfect little leaves in the collar of a brand-new dress she had made back home, she decided to try something.
She found deep within their trunks a large square of green fabric. Sansa apparently used it to wrap other fabrics, protecting them from the movements of the cart. It wasn't particularly pretty, but the shade was a vibrant green that called to Kyria for some reason. Without really thinking about it, she took it with her, opened her own sewing kit, and started to work on it.
"What are you doing?" Arya had asked immediately.
"I'm bored."
Sansa blinked up and had looked at the fabric for a moment too long. "Where did you find this?"
"In the trunk. You had it wrapped around your projects I believe. I put them in my cloak. I highly doubt I'll have any use of it now with the weather as it is," Kyria said patiently, picking her needle into the already made points to form a petal of a small silver flower.
She liked embroidering tiny flowers, she could make as many as she wished and it would still be pretty.
"...Oh. Thank you, then."
Silence.
"What are you doing?" asked Arya again, annoyed.
"A shale I think."
"...a shale?"
Kyria hummed and said no more, absorbed by her task. Arya huffed and fell back behind them on the floor of the cart. Nymeria huffed from where she was and shook violently, sending yet another wave of puffy ball of fur all around her.
"Do you think we should brush them?" asked Sansa distractedly.
"We are going to need to, at this point," Kyria said dryly. Had they not been brushing the wolves each evening? She knew she'd been… distracted, but surely Sansa would have remembered, right?
"I'm bored," complained Arya.
Color me suprised. "Practice your needlework sister, now is the best time."
"In a moving cart?!"
"If you can do it while we move, you'll have no problem doing it when we don't," noted Sansa with a smile.
Kyria smiled too. Hook…
"Why should I bother?"
Kyria blinked without looking up and twisted her hand into another point.
"Do you think it's too hard? Maybe something easier would be better suited for you than embroidery. Sewing?"
…Line,
"Shut up stupid. I can do it. I'll prove it!"
…and sinker.
While their little sister grumbled her way into her own trunk in search for something to stab with a needle, Kyria and Sansa exchanged an amused smile.
So easy.
Once she woke up from her afternoon's nap, Septa Mordane's reaction to the tree ladies silently poking holes in fabric had been priceless. Almost as much as the furry wig incident. For that alone Arya had deemed the activity worthy of her time and happily carried on despite her wobbly stitches and still unsure hand. The result had not yet taken any kind of form, but she seemed to enjoy destroying a perfectly good piece of fabric and, to be honest, at this point, no one wanted to contradict her. For fear of being the next target of her creative use of a needle. Those little things look even sharper in her hand.
When Father's horse walked by the cart later that afternoon, he thankfully didn't mention Kyria's recent building anxiety. He had noticed, of course. Thankfully, the King was reluctant to let go of his friend and dragged Father everywhere with him like a loyal pet.
A pet wolf, one of the redcloaks had mocked a couple of days later. His poor sense of humor had not been very welcomed by the Stark's faithful companions, who took great care of scaring off the mighty knight. Well, except for Lady of course, but Lady was… well, a lady. As much as a grown direwolf could be.
Besides terrorizing the guards, their friends had the very enviable quality of being big enough no one dared come close. Which was very useful when one wanted to take a walk around the camp without being bothered by a guard. Or any other unwanted company.
It worked pretty well. Until of course it didn't.
It had become a habit, after a long day of traveling, for Kyria to wander around the camp in the green scenery of the Riverlands. Now that they were getting closer to the Capital, she wished, even more, to enjoy the freedom of her walks before having to deal with the… enjoyable living arrangements of King's Landing.
Let's just say that most… literary testimonies of the wonders of the city and the Red Keep had not been very encouraging.
Frost by her side, panting heavily and sniffing around curiously, Kyria had breathed the cooling wind of the Riverland's evenings. Simply enjoying this peace and quiet.
When of course someone ruined it.
"Well, well, well, what have we here?"
Kyria's eyes blinked open, to the handsome face of Ser Jaime Lannister, languidly leaning against a tree trunk in his glittering white armor and pearl-like cape. Of course…
"Hello there, little wolf."
Frost snorted at a flower, and the knight's eyes fell to the wolf for a second, sharp and attentive under all that arrogance.
Kyria was perplexed. Is he flirting with me or is he trying to mock me? Both? Or is he naturally that…that.
It took her a moment to remember her manners. When she did, the awkward bow she served the man made her cringe. Her eyes focused on the hem of her pale green dress and she tried very hard to keep down her irritation. "Ser Jaime."
"Lady Kyria" he purred with a smirk, "How do you find our trip so far? Does your father know you are wandering on your own like this?"
"I am not alone, Ser."
He hummed and looked back down at the wolf. "Are you not? I suppose a wolf is good enough as an escort from the Northmen's perspective."
"Maybe more people should follow the North's example, Ser."
"How so?"
"Frost can smell when one wants to hurt me. I can't say the same about a guard or a knight."
The man blinked, surprised, and snorted. "It's an opinion."
She waited for something more, but the man seemed content to merely observe her with his sharp cat-like eyes. Suspecting the conversation to be over, she hesitated. What do you want? When the silence stretched too long, she chose to speak again. "I don't think I have thanked you."
He blinked as though shaken out of his thoughts. The plates of his armor clicked as he shifted against the tree. "Thanked me? What for?"
"You did stop me from falling to my death in the broken tower, back in Winterfell."
"Ah, yes." he said slowly, "that."
"That, yes. I think that deserves a thank you, Ser, at the very least."
She bowed her head. After a moment of hesitation, Ser Jaime nodded his.
Silence.
Frost nudged her hand and, well, she didn't really want to lose any more time. So she resumed her walk, sparing no further thought for the Kingsquard.
Much to her surprise, he did not seem to share her desire to stop the conversation.
"I would have suspected good old Ned Stark would keep a closer eye to his daughter's associations." he commented lightly, following her steps.
"What do you mean, Ser?" she asked without stopping.
"His eldest with the Kingslayer, the youngest running around with a commoner. Not very noble of him."
A commoner? Arya? Why would she- For god's sake…Arya. Why was she even surprised, of course, Arya would do something like that. That girl would befriend a White Walker in the right situation.
"I think I saw them play with sticks higher up there," he commented lightly.
A stick? What in seven hells was she up to?
"I could escort you there if you wish to go."
Kyria observed him suspiciously. Why was he offering? He didn't really strike her as the kind of man who would simply offer his help for no reason… "Would you?"
He offered his arm with a smirk under his raised eyebrow. She took it after a short moment of hesitation. After all, she still had to find her sister, and he offered oh so kindly. And she had to admit, she was curious about his intentions… Why such courtesy? The white painted metal of his armor was surprisingly warm under her fingers, polished to shine and smooth in the way only a freshly made set of armor feels like.
He turned around and guided her back where the river sparkled under the sun, behind the thin line of trees and thick luscious bushes. Frost went ahead of them trotting around happily, jumping in the bushes, and chasing little things in the grass, scaring half of them to an instant death no doubt. She smiled at her endearing giant puppy as he wiggled his tail excitedly, cornering a brave squirrel against a tree. Silly puppy.
"How are you finding the South so far, my lady?" he asked lightly.
"I haven't seen much of it, Ser."
"You have seen enough to have an opinion."
"I suppose."
Silence again.
"I've read a lot of things about Riverrun," she started after a while. She smiled at her own euphemism, "To be fair, I have read a lot of things about a lot of subjects," she added with derision, "I have a taste for reading as my brothers love to remind me."
"And did your books do any justice to the truth of your Mother's family keep?"
"In a sense I suppose. It is…different. From what I know and from what I expected. I would say it is unfair to compare everything to Winterfell and its surrounding, but it is all I've ever known. I find it difficult to think of another point of comparison."
"Indeed."
Their steps were slower than she would have liked, for she wished to see what brand of mischief Arya had thrown herself into. But she was very aware of whose arm she was holding, and quite honestly, despite what his latest deed did for her family, and herself, she was quite hesitant to show any weakness in front of him.
"Riverrun was oddly exactly like something I would have expected from one of these southern songs you all seemed so attached to," she confessed, "I've never even thought such a place would exist, which is quite naive of me really. It never truly occurred to me how different the South would be from what I knew."
"I can assure you, from my perspective there is nothing quite like the North," answered Ser Jaime quite diplomatically.
Kyria smiled.
"I am starting to see that. I suppose for the rest of the world it is the North who is the oddity."
Ser Jaime smirked and Kyria assumed this was his answer. She tried to remain as light as possible in her small talk, afraid of feeding him information this man shouldn't know about her or her family. This political field was more challenging than she had anticipated. To actively think every word twice over before speaking was going to be exhausting pretty quickly.
I should be used to watching every word out of my mouth by now… "Have you seen every kingdom, ser?"
"Well, I've never been in Dorne, if that is the question. Nor have I ever seen the Stormlands, now that I think about it. Though I suppose they all look pretty much the same. Lands, rivers, lakes if you're lucky enough. Once you've seen one, you've seen them all."
"Truly? But if it were the case we wouldn't bother calling them differently," she chirped naively. She was perfectly aware of the childishness of this statement, but being underestimated in her situation would do no harm. Protecting Father and her sister was already going to be complicated as it was. If she ended up in danger for being too smart or too… anything, this was going to be impossible.
"Men like to label their toys."
…alright then.
He was not exactly wrong but she had not expected that.
Silence, yet again.
"You are an odd bunch, you Stark."
Kyria blinked.
"How so, Ser?"
He snorted and pointed a rude finger to her face. She blinked and squinted at it.
"That, right there. That ser business. Your brother does it, too."
…what?
"I don't… understand the problem."
He snorted again and rolled his eyes. Rude.
"I would have expected dear old Ned to teach his children better. He gave me the name first after all."
…What was he ta-
Kingslayer.
…Oh. Yes, that. She didn't answer immediately, puzzled by the man's behavior. he sounded kind of amused and… like he didn't really care how he was called. No, more like… he wanted to be called a Kingslayer?
He sounded careless indeed. But why would he-
"STOP IT BOTH OF YOU! YOU'RE SPOILING IT! YOU'RE SPOILING EVERYTHING!"
Sansa?
Frost growled menacingly next to her and jumped forward, teeth bared and eyes sharp. She didn't need more to all but push Ser Jaime out of the way and run in the direction of the sound.
"What in-OH!"
She vaguely was aware of the knight stumbling behind her, and maybe she had pushed the man, unintentionally or not, but it didn't matter.
She was briefly tempted to look back, to see what happened to poor Ser Jaime, but her worry stopped her from doing anything else but run in the direction of the shouts.
She ran as fast as she could with the layers of skirts around her legs. In no time–or very little, skirts were definitely not made to run in–she spied movement near a large oak tree bordering the sparkling river.
Sansa. Sansa, under the tree, blue dress blown with the soft wind and hand clenching a waterskin.
Then she noticed the crown prince, swinging around something while Arya seemed to run and twist to avoid whatever was at the end of Joffrey's hand.
Wait a- was that a sword in his hand?!
"Oh gods!" she gasped.
Her legs ran faster. Frost snarled and followed her in a long jump, just as her little sister fell on her back.
"I'll gut you, you little cunt!"
"Arya!"
Sansa turned around at the sound of Kyria's voice and gasped her name. Just as she was arriving at the scene, Nymeria jumped from behind a large bush, ready to defend her mistress. Kyria's heart jumped to her throat. Oh, gods if Nymeria only nibbed the boy she was going to be killed on the spot.
"NYMERIA, NO!"
The growl stopped, but Nymeria took a menacing step closer.
"Stay back, you beast!" ordered the prince.
The sword in his hand shook, catching the ray of the sun that blinked right in Kyria's eyes. She pushed a hand against her face in hope of protecting her eyes from the light. Her momentaneous inattention was just enough for Frost to join his sister in menacing the boy, crawling silently on his left, his entire body curled up, ready to bounce at the first opportunity. Oh gods they are hunting him, she realized with horror. Joffrey only had eyes for Nymeria, closer and more menacing, which was exactly what both wolves were counting on. Seven hells but lower your sword, foolish boy!
She was still poor at telepathy for instead of lowering the piece of shiny metal he pointed it at Nymeria's snout, then back at Arya, still crawling backward on the grass. This is going south quickly. The shaking steel of the weapon was close too close to Arya's face for Kyria's comfort.
But then, the boy -finally- noticed something was amiss. With a squeaking jump, he turned to face Frost, offering a perfect angle to Nymeria who, in turn, curled upon herself.
"Nymeria, no!"
"Arya, stand back!"
Kyria pushed herself forward.
"Nymeria, Frost, back!"
Nymeria snarled, but Frost obeyed, lowering his menacing stance. Unfortunately, Joffrey chose this moment to turn around, sword still in hand. The tip of the blade hit Frost's snout who didn't need more to jump into action. In a loud snarl, the giant direwolf bounced on Joffrey, pushing him to the floor. His massive paws forced him to his back as he uncovered his teeth right in front of his face. The boy whined a pathetic sob as he tried to escape the beast's unbreakable grip.
"Frost! Back! Now!" called Kyria again.
He obeyed, too late, unfortunately. The crown prince stumbled back, away from the beasts, and struggled to stand up.
"You- You will pay for this! I'll tell Father! I'll tell Mother! The King will have that monster's head and give me his skin to warm my bed!" spad the spiteful boy furiously.
"NO!"
"Arya!"
Sansa, finally actually acting, pulled Arya closer, stopping her from coming at Joffrey again. Not that Kyria would care particularly if she could throw a punch or two in that face. Or maybe a scratch.
On instinct she moved in front of them, shielding her sisters from the prince's wrath.
"I'll skin your beast alive and have it thrown to the hounds in the royal kennels!" the boy carried on.
It took a commensurable effort for Kyria not to lash out in turn.
"My prince you are forgetting yourself."
"DO NOT SPEAK TO ME NORTHERN WHORE! I AM YOUR PRINCE!"
Sansa shrieked loudly, frightened by the boy's outburst, non-doubt out of character from the fantasy he served her so far.
"Nephew! I think that's quite enough."
The intervention of Ser Jaime, while quite unexpected, wasn't unwelcome in the slightest. In retrospect, it shouldn't have surprised her this much. He was with her when she heard Sansa's screams after all, why wouldn't he want to see for himself what this was about?
For a single moment, Kyria was convinced the prince would carry on, lash out again, take his shiny sword back in his ringed hand and threaten her instead of Arya with red in his eyes and spit in his mouth. The way his bloodshot eyes moved on her assured her he too was thinking about it.
He did not. In a complicated contradiction of his flushed face, he seemed to breathe out all the air available around him, looking remarkably like a toddler nursing a tantrum while doing so. Then he glared at her again, then Arya, without forgetting Sansa who visibly flinched away from the gaze, and bent down to take back his abandoned sword.
Seeing the move, Nymeria growled. He blanched and jumped back, before turning around and all but running away from the small assembly.
"Coward," growled Arya in Sansa's dress.
Kyria couldn't agree more, though saying it out loud may not have been the best course of action if one thought about who the spineless boy was. That even Sansa, the crown prince's fiercest defender didn't react immediately to the insult said a lot about what happened before Kyria came by to intervene.
The recognizable shift of metal against metal warned her of Ser Jaime approaching. She chose to ignore him in favor of her little sisters who were now watching her with wide eyes.
"Are you both alright?" she asked abruptly, "What happened?"
"I- we Joffrey wanted to show me around, to have a walk in the soft afternoon weather and to- I- It sounded so perfect."
Kyria pushed Sansa's hair away from her face.
"Until it wasn't." she guessed.
Sansa nodded troubled and confused.
"I- Arya was playing with that boy and- He- the prince he wanted to- I don't know… defend Arya? A-attack the boy? He was- with his sword and then Arya pushed him and-"
"He was hurting Mycah!"
Arya bounced between them, dragging Kyria's attention to her and away from Sansa's troubled eyes.
"We were playing and then they were here, and then Joffrey said Mycah was hurting me because he hit my hand when Sansa called me and then he said a bunch of stupid stuff and then he started to hurt Mycah with his sword so I hit him so he stopped hurting my friend! But he insulted me and then he-"
"He said things…" completed Sansa, " He was- he said the- Mycah should pick up his sword and show his swordsmanship to the prince…"
"His sword?" asked Ser Jaime behind Kyria.
She forgot he was here in the confusion of the events. Arya glared at the knight and pointed to the abandoned sticks in the grass. That boy had wished to fight a child and his stick with live steel? Live steel?! Was he- mad or insane?!
He said he wanted to watch the babies.
Oh, gods… it is as she feared then… This was not the tale of a little brother angry at his sibling. This was Arya. Arya and Sansa. If both were saying the same thing about Joffrey of all people- Oh gods…
"He said he was going to gut me."
Kyria's eyes closed on their own. Oh gods…
Ser Jaime sighed and Kyria pushed her little sister closer to her. The fear that gripped her finally calmed down now that she knew everyone was safe and the worst of this incident was over. For now.
It was unlikely that someone like Joffrey would forget something like what happened just then so quickly. No, this was far from the end of what happened here. She spared a look at Ser Jaime, whose closed-off face seemed to agree.
This is going to come back and haunt us sooner or later. Probably sooner. T
"I think this is quite enough distraction for one afternoon, allow me to escort you back to the camp, my ladies."
Like the knight he was, Ser Jaime gallantly bowed in front of them–snatching a strangled, all but hysterical giggle out of Sansa–and offered his arm. Kyria, as the eldest, accepted it and with a nod of her head gestured for her sisters to walk in front of them. At least this way she could see them.
Frost and Nymeria spread around them, to either side of their little party, watchful of any intruder who would dare come any closer from their charges.
"They are a marvel for sure," noted Ser Jaime as he watched Frost look around warily.
"They would die to protect us," confessed Kyria candidly. Realizing what she said, and to whom she said it, she quickly added, "But they have been trained, they only attack when one of us is in danger. They can smell it."
She was repeating, herself, she knew it, but in that moment, after what happened, she felt necessary to say it again. Make him understand, at least a little bit, what happened with Frost, Nymeria, and the prince.
"I see."
Silence.
Kyria remained tense despite the steps they were taking away from that dreadful place, where the peaceful afternoon was twisted and ruined for them all.
"He won't forget this, little lady," he said after a while.
She won't forget this, little lady…
Kyria blinked, a sick twist in her belly stopping her from reacting. This man was Joffrey's uncle and a Kingsguard, he had to know better than most what that boy was capable of. To have someone like him warn her in such a way made her even warier of what was coming for them.
Ser Jaime looked down at her, something akin to pity shining in his eyes. Kyria's dread grew and twisted her stomach. What was he thinking about?
TBC.
NOTE: Hi! It's been a while yes, I know.
Hope you liked this chapter! As the older readers of this story might have noticed I changed the part with Joffrey and the girls to stick closer to the original scene in the show.
Found it easier.
What do you think?
As always I hope you liked it. And I hope you liked the little scene between Jaime and Kyria. With everything happening and about to happen there won't be much time left to explore the dynamics between all the characters and I really wanted to have this scene with Jaime, to lead the ground work for the plans I have for him. I doubt we'll see much more of the Kingslayer form now on xD
Anyway, hope you liked it, hope you still enjoy my little fits of madness and... well I guess I'll see you when I'll see you all!
So, see ya!
Rubyy.
PS: for those of you who wish to yell at me (and I am sure you have more than one reason to ) come and join me on my discord server: discord. gg/v6g JxSus just remove the spaces
Come and say hi!