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Chapter 4
My father had left with the king in the pre-dawn light, for yet another hunt. Arya often broke her fast with food from the supply wagon, as opposed to dining with me and Septa Mordane. I could not blame her, Mordane could be a tedious bore at times. Mordane had frowned in disapproval at me feeding Visha some of my food, but she knew better than to try to chide me over it. She reminded me that they were going to be travelling with the queen in her wheelhouse. I had not forgotten, which should have been obvious by the fine blue silks I was wearing as opposed to my normal travel attire. I never went as far as Arya in going casually dressed, but I had enough clothes to have a lot of strata of outfits to select from.
“Arya has informed me she does not feel up to it. I fear her overly adventurous wandering may have exhausted her somewhat.”
It was a lie, but better than telling Mordane that she just didn’t want to attend. In truth, I rather preferred Arya not to be there. Spending more time networking with power brokers was better with fewer people in attendance, and Arya had not yet learned tact when communicating with royalty.
The septa probably understood that, which was why she did not press the issue. Many people believed convenient lies, when they benefited them. Any social faux pas that Arya committed was a reflection on Mordane. I still had some time to kill before the wheelhouse, so I made my usual rounds and said my hellos to the various guards and servants. While I was not the CEO of the Starks, I was essentially a VIP, and addressing the help by name and showing an interest in their lives could improve morale.
The concept existed in industry leaders in the West as well as within my home country of Japan. Genchi Genbutsu or the similar concept in Americans referred to as, ‘Management by Wandering Around.’ The bottom line was that it worked when it was done properly. If workers found you dislikable or if you interfered with their daily tasks, the idea could backfire, but I kept my interactions brief and by reading their body language most seemed appreciative and pleased to see me.
Visha was at my side, as normal. I’d need to kennel her before joining the queen, but I would wait until the last minute, so she could stretch her legs longer. I probably did not need to do so, but it was a wise precaution I had recommended for Nymeria, who could still be a bit wild, and if Arya did successfully warg into her at night, it would be much better if she was locked away in case she did not take to it as easily as I did with my direwolf.
As I finished my rounds, I saw a large crowd begin to gather in the center of camp and wandered over. By the time I arrived, it was difficult to see, and I asked a nearby squire what the commotion was all about.
“The council sent riders from King’s Landing to escort us the rest of the way,” he told me. “An honor guard for the king.”
I was curious and eager to see who had joined. People parted for me, whether it was due to being the Hand’s daughter or because of the direwolf at my side, I could not say. I saw six horses had pulled up, and three squires, or perhaps pages, were seeing to them while a pockmarked and beardless man in iron-grey chainmail over boiled leather, looked on. He had a massive two-handed greatsword strapped to his back.
An odd weapon for a knight.
He was unadorned, unlike the two knights kneeling before Cersei. One knight could only be a member of the Kingsguard, given the white enameled coloring of his armor and cloak. When he removed his helm, it was plain to see this was Ser Barristan Selmy, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. His companion looked quite like how my father had described a young Robert Baratheon. Powerful, broad of chest, tall, and handsome. It somewhat amused me that I wore blue silks that matched my blue eyes, and he wore steel plate of deep forest-green to match the color of his own. His antlered helm further gave away who he was.
“The king is gone hunting, but I know he will be pleased to see you when he returns,” the queen told the two knights who knelt before her. They rose from their knees, and one of the boys tending the horses pointed at Visha.
“A wolf!”
“Seven hells, that’s a direwolf!”
“What’s it doing in camp?”
The Hound, Joffrey’s sworn shield, rasped out a response.
“The Starks use them for wet nurses.”
Barristan and Renly had both drawn steel, and I moved in front of Visha.
“No cause for alarm, Sers, she will only bite if I command it.”
The one who could only be Renly laughed aloud, “It seems for once my brother’s stories of the North were not an exaggeration! A tamed direwolf by a maid no older than three-and-ten? Are all the women north of the Neck so perilous?”
He was off by a couple of years, but that was probably due to my height. They both sheathed their weapons, and Joffrey stepped to my side.
“Care how you speak to my betrothed, she is a highborn lady and fair.”
I did not wish to start on the wrong foot with two members of the small council, so quickly made a curtsy.
“I take no offense; it is an honor to finally meet Lord Baratheon of Storm’s End. My father has oft told my brothers of the fierceness of the knights and men-at-arms of the Stormlands. I am well-pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Barristan bowed. “Well spoken, child. As befits the daughter of Eddard Stark. I am Ser Barristan Selmy, of the Kingsguard.”
Obviously.
“What better example of the strength of the houses that have sworn fealty to Storm’s End than you, Ser Barristan the Bold? Even in the far north, the singers praise your deeds. If there is time on our journey south, I would greatly desire to hear of your deeds firsthand.”
I was laying it on quite thick, but they were lapping it up, though Renly made a jest about ‘Barristan the Old’ being a more proper moniker these days. The easy smile on the elder knight’s visage revealed he did not mind the jest. The third knight presented himself as well, and lowered his head.
“Ser, as you are unadorned with any sigil, I do not know what house you belong to, but I am pleased to know you as well, I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell.”
I waited for an answer, but none came. His pale, colorless eyes just looked at me, and I met his gaze, curious as to why he did not speak. After an awkward moment, he remained silent and turned away. I gave a perplexed look at Renly, whose green eyes seemed to sparkle with amusement.
“I confess I am puzzled as to why he did not greet me,” I said, with a questioning tone. A lack of knowledge could be dangerous.
“Ser Ilyn of House Payne has not been feeling talking these past fourteen years,” he replied, with a sly smile.
Joffrey gave his uncle an irritating look.
“Aerys Targaryen had his tongue ripped out with hot pincers,” he explained.
“He speaks most eloquently with his sword, however,” the queen said, “and his devotion to our realm is unquestioned.” Then she smiled at me graciously and said, “Sansa, the good councilors and I must speak together until the king returns with your father. I fear we shall have to postpone your day with Myrcella. Please give your sweet sister my apologies. Joffrey, perhaps you would be so kind as to entertain our guest today.”
Damn it! I would have loved to see her still join them, instead I would have to put up with the rather boring Joffrey for the entire day. Two important power brokers and the queen would be having a discussion, and I could think of no good way to crash the party after Cersei had put forth the idea that Joffrey should see to me. If I objected, it would appear I was attempting to snub my betrothed.
How frustrating.
“It would be my pleasure, Mother,” Joffrey said very formally, as he took my arm. As he led me away, he asked what I would like to do.
“I have no particular preference, my prince.”
Joffrey reflected for a moment. “We could go riding.”
I had no problems with that, but I wished I had known about that before wearing my feast day best.
“Your wolf is liable to frighten the houses, and I have no need of my dog. Let us leave them both behind, and set out on our own, what do you say?”
While I understand that House Clegane’s sigil had three hounds on it, and that he wore a dog-faced helm, and he was referred to as the Hound, the way Joffrey called his sworn shield dog was grating. He seemed to delight in the diminutive nature of it. While the man with half his face burned off did not seem to take offense, which would have been grossly unwise if he had, it probably did gall him. Not a wise thing to do with the infamously ill-tempered warrior. He could snap Joffrey’s neck like a twig in a moment of rage. It was not likely to happen, as the Hound would be put to death, but I saw no risk in tempting fate.
The problem with being raised so spoiled and told that your very word was law. Yet, I cannot judge the prince too harshly, as even intelligent individuals sometimes do not realize how irrational people can be.
I was, of course, thinking of the pathetic cretin who shoved me to my death in my first life. Irrational people, those who acted without proper control of their impulses, were more akin to rabid beasts than men. While there were many things I disliked much about this more primitive world, the fact that they executed or sent people to what amounted to lifelong involuntary servitude and prison on the Wall for serious crimes was a positive.
I had already planned on kenneling Visha before joining the queen, so that was quickly done. I was somewhat worried without her at my side. Having a direwolf as a ready protector was something akin to a comforting token. I asked Joffrey if it was really wise to journey off by our lonesome, as my father had told me and my sister to stay near the column.
“Your father may command you when I am not by your side, but now that I am here, have no fear, lady. I am almost a man grown, and I don’t fight with wood like your brothers. All I need is this.”
He drew his sword and showed it to me. It was a longsword, adroitly shrunken to suit the size of a twelve-year-old boy that he was. It was finely made, with gleaming blue steel. It was double-edged, with a leather grip and a lion’s-head pommel in gold.
I glanced at it with admiration. It was well-crafted, and whoever had wrought it had taken pains to make it beautiful. This did little to put me at ease, as I had heard how badly Joffrey had lost to Robb in the yard.
“I call it Lion’s Tooth,” he said proudly, as if he had crafted it.
We ranged east along the north bank of the Trident, home to the famous battle where our king had slain Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. While the true end had come from the death of the Mad King, this had been the death knell of the Targaryen dynasty.
Joffrey was mounted on a blood bay courser. It was a fast steed and well-trained, and my own mare had difficulty at times keeping up. We were not racing, but Joffrey did like to gallop off at times, with a smirk etched on his face when I caught up. He led me to some caves by the riverbank, and showed off some of his tracking skills by following the spoor of a shadowcat to its lair, which was damn well insane, but he did not heed any of my warnings.
Shadowcats would rarely attack people, but if by chance this one had birthed cubs recently, it may very well attack them if we went snooping around its home. Only slightly smaller than tigers, I had no doubt that one could slay us easily enough. My experience as an Imperial Mage, fighting for my life in the skies above the Rhine and countless other battlefronts, had gifted me with a mind and reflexes that had superior reaction times. It was still within the range of exceptional human ability as opposed to anything supernatural, but armed with only a small knife, I doubted it would be enough to defeat something that powerful.
Fortunately, nothing untoward occurred, and when we began to grow hungry, Joffrey located a small holdfast and ordered them to fetch food and wine for us. We dined on trout, and they offered us wine, but I demurred.
“Come, you are my betrothed, drink as much as you like.”
I sipped it, best to keep my wits about me. When our meal was done, I took coin from the purse I carried with me, and Joffrey asked what I was doing.
“The smallfolk provided us a wonderful meal; I wish to compensate them for their generosity.”
“No need, they are honored enough to serve their prince and his lady.”
I gave him a smile. “Our customs in Winterfell may be different, but I would not be my father’s daughter if I did not honor them.” I pressed a generous helping of silver stags into the goodwife’s palm, and announced I was ready to continue on our day.
Joffrey seemed annoyed with me, but did not press the issue, as it would be rather unseemly and awkward to now take the coins back, as they had now been given.
I suggested we return back to the column, as Joffrey seemed surly as well as tipsy from the wine.
“Stop nattering, we will return soon,” Joffrey said. “The battleground is right up ahead, where the river bends. That was where my father killed Rhaegar Targaryen, you know. He smashed in his chest, crunch, right through the armor.”
I nodded, “It was a great victory and won him a crown. The Demon of the Trident, none could withstand him that day.”
Joffrey was about to respond when both our ears noticed a sound floating through the woods, some kind of wood clattering, snack, snack, snack.
“Come, let us see what it is,” he said, as he turned his horse toward the direction of the sounds.
The noises grew louder and more distinct, and it sounded like two people were sparring. Joffrey pushed forward his horse through the stand of trees with his sword drawn. The wine really had made him reckless and foolish. People practicing swordcraft would probably just be squires practicing away from the main camp, there was no need to have drawn steel.
He no doubt apes his elders. Both Renly and Barristan bared their swords upon seeing Visha, and she was just standing there.
I quickly followed behind him and into the clearing overlooking the river.
***
Joffrey had been told by his mother to treat the Stark bitch as courtly as he was able. She had pressed him to do all he could to court her like it was some bard’s tale. Sansa was pretty enough, and spoke sweetly, but on more than one occasion had countered his suggested course. Paying for his food when he was to be the next king of the Seven Kingdoms? What soft-hearted foolishness. He cared not about the coin, or even the notion of paying some poor wretch, but in the fact he had told her it wasn’t necessary, and she had done so anyway.
She will learn that I am not to be gainsaid!
Sansa had never sounded scared, but he could tell she doubted his ability to deal with something like a shadowcat. Only his mother’s words about treating her kindly had stayed his hand from striking her at having to be told twice that he could handle any danger. A lion does not fear harm from lesser cats.
He saw a boy and a girl playing at knights. Their swords were wooden sticks, broom handles from the look of them, and they were rushing across the grass, swinging at each other lustily. The boy was years older, a head taller, and much stronger, and he was pressing the attack. The girl was scrawny and managed to get in the way of most of the blows, but not all. Joffrey smiled in excitement as the boy swept aside one of her attacks, and slid his wood down hard on her fingers. Her cry of pain sent a heat through him that was rarely mirrored by anything else.
He laughed and then blinked in surprise when Sansa greeted her sister.
“What are you doing here?” Arya asked.
“We were out riding. Come, let me see your fingers, if one is jammed, it is best to fix it now.”
Joffrey didn’t care about the savage girl’s fingers, but he saw the rare opportunity to amuse himself properly.
“And who are you, boy?” he asked in a commanding tone.
“Mycah,” the boy muttered. The dull witted thing looked away and to the ground and croaked out a, “M’lord.”
“He is the son of one of the butchers who prepares the meat your father brings down in his hunts,” Sansa replied. “I believe your father’s name is Wat?”
“Yes, m’lady.”
“A butcher’s boy who wants to be a knight, is it?” Joffrey was practically shaking with excitement as he swung down from his mount. He had the perfect excuse to hurt him. “Let us see how good you are.”
Sansa had also dismounted and was checking Arya’s fingers, who was pulling away. She stopped then and approached Joffrey and Mycah. The boy was frozen with fear and not moving. That would not do for Joffrey.
“Go on, pick it up. Or do you only fight little girls?”
“She ast me to m’lord,” Mycah said. “She ast me to.”
“Leave him alone!” Arya said angrily and Joffrey glared at her for a moment before turning back his gaze toward the trembling butcher’s boy.
“Are you going to pick up your sword?” Joffrey asked voice low and sibilant.
Sansa laughed and stepped between the two of them with a fetching smile on her face.
“My prince, ‘tis cruel of you to make such a jest. The simple boy probably does not realize it would be a great crime for one of his station to raise even a wooded stick toward the crown’s heir. Let us leave the children to their play.”
Joffrey scowled. “The crime here is him harming your sister. I mean to teach a lesson, stand aside, my lady.”
“No!” Arya said forcefully.
Sansa’s head whipped toward her sister. “Quiet now, Arya. You need to take Mycah and go to our father and explain what he has done. He is the head of our house and no one can discipline him, save for our father.”
“He doesn’t need discipline!” Arya shrieked. “He’s telling the truth, I asked him.”
Joffrey felt rage within him threaten to boil over. He wasn’t stupid, he knew what the cunt in front him was trying to do. She was trying to avoid allowing him to have his sport, even if her stupid sister didn’t realize it.
“No need to bother the Hand with such a triviality, now move aside, Sansa, that is a royal command.”
Her face remained poised and carefree.
“My betrothed likes to jest. It is quite droll. Now, Mycah, this is an actual command from the eldest daughter of Lord Stark, Hand of the King. A just man who will surely hear your reasonings for striking his daughter. Go with my sister and speak honestly and all will be well.” Her voice took on a different cadence and pitch. “Do so, now.”
“No–,” Joffrey began but Sansa had grabbed his arm and pressed her body lightly against him. Dislodging her would require force.
“Joffrey, I believe I am your guest and the queen asked for you to entertain me. Let us continue our ride.”
Joffrey saw Sansa’s scrawny and dirty rat of a girl finally comprehend what was going on and was grabbing the butcher’s boy by the arm to pull him away. If he shoved Sansa aside he would have to give chase. That would be undignified and surely his mother would be wroth with him for shoving the Stark chit.
A coldness suffused him, and he gave his betrothed a bitter smile.
“If that is your wish, lady, then I will accede to it.”
He angrily sheathed his sword and moved back to the horses and took the flagon the smallfolk had given him and took an angry swallow. He saw that the butcher’s boy and Arya had run from the area and were no longer in earshot. Before Sansa could remount her horse he grabbed her arm.
“You will never do that again.”
She tilted her head, almost like a bird. “What ever do you mean, Joffrey? My father will want to hear how his daughter was injured firsthand, and we should not concern ourselves over what happens between the Hand, his daughter, and Mycah. It is beneath you, Your Grace.”
“Oh, you think you are sly, do you? So very clever, singing your pretty song.” He knew his face must be twisted in anger, but he cared not. “Do not take me for a fool or play one yourself. I wished to amuse myself and you prevented it and are now playing false to the face of your future lord husband and king.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Amuse yourself? By tormenting a loyal servant’s son who was pressed into playing sticks with my sister. Is that what you intend to do as king?”
“What I intend to do as king has nothing to do with you,” he spat. “You are to sit at my side and look pretty. You will bear my children and be silent while doing so.”
Her blue eyes narrowed and a slight chill swept through him.
“That is unfortunate. You are to be the man I am to be wed to. I would not desire this union if you find your pleasures in harm leal servants and their families.”
“You stupid girl! When I am king I will do whatever I want. People will die for my amusement if I so desire and you will sit there and smile and praise me for my wise deeds when I deign to let you speak, do you understand me?”
He shook her, furious that she wasn’t showing any fear of him.
I will teach you your place!
“My apologies, Your Grace, I understand what I have to do now.” Sansa’s tone was meek, but not the fearful one he desired. He let go of her. It would do for now.
He turned back to his horse and then felt cold flame strike the side of his neck. He stumbled, confused, and instinctively clamped the side of his neck and felt the sticky wetness there. His mount neighed and snorted, backing away from him.
Joffrey blinked and continued to stumble for another moment. He looked up at Sansa who had a dripping blade in hand. Bubbling horror fell over him as he tried to grab at Lion’s Tooth, but he found that he had no strength in his limbs. He collapsed to the ground, a whimper in his ravaged throat.
“Perhaps I could have fixed you, but the risk was too great. You are irrational and therefore cannot be allowed to be the king.”
Mother, help… me.
His last thoughts ended the same time that his whimpers did.