Chapter 14
Catelyn Stark could already feel the warmth of the baths that awaited her within Winterfell, steam rising in her mind’s eye as though she stood before them. Yet even that comfort paled beside the thought of her children. The castle loomed ahead, and it felt even more like home than Riverrun.
Robb and a dozen others rode out to meet her before she arrived at the gates with Ser Rodrik; their horses were lathered, proof they had ridden out in haste. Her heart warmed as her eldest son swung down from the saddle almost before the beast had stilled.
“Mother,” he said, voice thick with emotion as he embraced her.
Two direwolves, now grown to the size of normal adult wolves, ran around in the snow with excitement. Grey Wind bayed happily while Ghost panted beside him.
“Oh, Robb,” Catelyn said as she embraced her son. “How is Bran?”
Robb’s face fell. “He struggles, but your return will hearten him. Mother… have you heard what has befallen Father?”
Gods… no, please.
“No… tell me, what happened?”
Robb’s jaw clenched. “He’s no longer Hand, and he’s returning to Winterfell. But Sansa and Arya are to remain in King’s Landing to ensure he does not do something… disloyal.”
Catelyn shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cold. She figured that the queen had somehow poisoned Robert’s thoughts toward Ned. All knew her husband, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, to be among the noblest lords in the realm. The thought of Sansa and Arya there in King’s Landing without their father was frightening.
“What are we to do, Mother?” Robb asked.
“Little and less, for the moment. Your father will determine our next course, but with them hostage in King’s Landing we have no good options. I can… I can write to my father; I still have friends in the south.” She brushed her hand across her son’s cheek; the fuzz of manhood was upon his face. “You are right to be worried, but I also have friends in King’s Landing. Petyr Baelish sits on the small council. He will see them protected.”
Jon stepped forward and bowed his head. “Lady Stark. We have other disappointing news. In less than two years, Rickon is to be fostered. Most like at Storm’s End.”
Another hostage? Just what has happened?
Catelyn closed her eyes. The Stark words rang in her head. Winter had come to House Stark, but at least her Ned was alive. Now, she needed to be strong. For Bran, who would need her more than ever. For Rickon, while she still had him.
***
The third creature I bonded with was a raven I had named Eyes. As I never intended to be directly associated with it in my human body, it fit based on his function. Entering a raven’s mind was like being doused in cold water. Strangely enough, they didn’t seem to mind the intrusion, but effectively ‘bonding’ to one took longer than with Visha or Anna.
I was left with wondering if this was a unique feature of ravens, or if it had to do with the gender of the raven I selected, or if it mattered that this was the third creature I had bonded with. With Arya disliking slipping into the skin that wasn’t Nymeria’s, it made testing frustrating. I was rather eager for my father to get back to Winterfell and see what experimentation with Robb and Jon could glean.
I must not get impatient. The physical distance will make it harder to ensure nothing goes wrong.
Eyes had turned out to be quite useful and I was able to figure out who was following Jory and his men. Or actually several different people. I had backtracked some to a brothel and others back to the Red Keep. I was still deciding if I wanted Jory to capture their shadows and have them put to the question. There were risks in doing that, but I was getting annoyed about being in the dark about all the little games that were going on in King’s Landing.
Margaery would be arriving very soon and I had no real inkling as to whether the Renly and Tyrell alliance would be successful in seducing the king and setting aside Cersei. It seemed absurdly risky to me for the new dynasty to do such a thing, but I would continue to be helpful to whoever called upon me. Did Cersei want to know what I spoke with Margaery about? I would tell. Did Margaery want help with my structured poetry from the culture of my first life? I would teach.
My forays to obtain jewelry netted me some understated but still accepted bits of silver and gemstones of lesser value. I saved far more of Robert’s generous purse than I spent. Money was one of those universal resources that was never bad to have. I didn’t know if I would truly need it for something, but I’d rather have it and not need it than not have it when it could be of use.
Perhaps there will be more jousts and I can increase my fortunes that way.
For the realm’s treasury, hopefully no more tourneys would be held, but when the king wanted some sort of entertainment, the small council danced to his tune, debt be damned.
Despite my status as a partial social pariah thanks to the rape story I had concocted, I had some demands on my time. I did needlework with Myrcella, read to Tommen, met with the king, met with the queen, attended the feasts, and at times I was called upon by others. I have been invited to dine with Tanda Stokeworth and her daughter Lollys. House Stokeworth had a manse in the city. Jory accompanied me with a trio of other guards, leaving two to remain behind.
“Thank you for accepting my invitation, my dear,” Tanda said in a brittle voice, with a slightly uneasy glance at Visha. “Lollys does so enjoy company.”
“It was my honor, Lady Tanda. I was surprised by the invitation, but it was a welcome one.”
Jory and the others were allowed to wait in the foyer, while I was escorted to a rather large dining table laden with a vast assortment of food. From roast sucking pig, fatted calf, and lamprey pie, she had gone a bit extravagant. There was far more food than a few people could possibly eat.
Hopefully she gives it to her servants and guards when we are done. Lollys may have a large appetite, but this is quite excessive.
One of the other doors opened and out walked Petyr Baelish. As always, he was attired in finely tailored clothing.
“Lady Sansa, a pleasure. Have you ever been Lady Stokeworth’s guest before? If you have not, you are in for a treat.”
“This is my first time, my lord, but all of this,” I gestured toward the food, “seems just as grand as the king’s own table. Are we expecting other guests?”
Tanda shook her head. “Just Lollys, who should be here soon. Come, eat and tell me of Winterfell. I have never been.”
I did so, while I helped myself to small portions. Petyr asked questions as I regaled the two with tales of glass gardens and the old gods. I spoke of the crypts below Winterfell and my uncle who served in the Night’s Watch. When Lollys still had not arrived, Tanda excused herself and I was left alone with Petyr.
“Sansa, your mother has taught you well. You mind all your courtesies and I can tell you have inherited her wit. You have been a great balm to Princess Myrcella.”
“Thank you, Lord Baelish.”
“The delicate matter of your hand after the unfortunate events at the Trident is one I can help with. You are too great a beauty to remain in the north, but alas, with your father at odds with the king, and your condition, there will be difficulties in finding a match that a proper lady like yourself deserves. I do have friends in the Vale who will be quite pleased with you and can overlook the… difficulties.”
“Thank you, truly, but I do not even wish to think of marriage after…”
He gave me a smile that bordered on a smirk.
“Ah, so that is why. Even without the memory, you still bore the wounds. Sansa, you should know that time spent with a man is not always so rough. It can be as gentle and wonderful as either party desires. Your mother would say the same if she were here, she would comfort you and explain there is nothing to fear.”
The topic of discussion was wildly inappropriate, but I didn’t want to burn any useful bridges. And I was honestly curious as to why he wanted me to be a bride to someone in the Vale. He didn’t strike me as an altruistic sort, but perhaps he owed a social debt to my mother that he wanted to pay off. Either way, marriage didn’t interest me, nor really did this topic.
“Perhaps she would, but enjoyable or no, my mother always taught that when I did marry, I would have a duty as a woman. In truth, I view the matter as something I would rather not think of until the time comes for it. If Septa Mordane were here, she would be rather shocked at the conversation.”
He tilted his head a bit. “I was curious about that, why did she return to Winterfell along with your father? Is she not responsible for your education?”
She had tried to do her duty, but she irritated Arya and I didn’t need her. Many of the meetings really should have a chaperone, but given that I was already despoiled, it wasn’t a necessary expectation. I didn’t want unnecessary friction in the household, so beyond Jeyne, two serving maids, a servant who handled the horses, there were just the six guards from Winterfell.
“I have never held to the Seven, much to my mother’s disappointment. Arya dislikes her and I am trusted to teach her the proper ways of court when the time comes. For now, I’ve told the king that Arya is somewhat homesick and misses our father and would prefer to only interact with the prince and the princess away from grand feasts and public spectacles.”
“You Starks, quite unnatural in many ways. Pardon, Lady Sansa, I mean no offense. Did Cat allow you wine during feasts?”
“A cup, yes, but I find the taste poor. I much prefer milk or tea.”
Petyr rose from his seat and picked up a bottle.
“You have simply not had the right wine, then. Come let me pour you a cup of Arbor gold.”
As a rational person, I always limited my alcoholic intake in my first life. Even taken in moderation, it was a poison to the body.
He came to my side of the table and slowly poured it for me and then watched as I took a small sip.
“If it is not to your liking, I am sure Lady Tanda has others.”
“This will do, Lord Baelish, thank you.”
A half-smile formed on his face as he stood over me. “So dutiful, I believe there is more Tully in you than Stark.” He reached out and gently took my chin as he examined me. “Like your mother’s hair, and her features. No sign of that long face of your father’s.”
I met his gaze evenly as he studied me. I knew the history. I knew how he dueled against my deceased uncle, Brandon Stark. Which had been absurd. He had been soundly defeated, but even had he won, he would never have been allowed to marry my mother. He was little more than a boy at the time, but now I wondered with his careful study of me what he was up to.
“As you say, my sister favors my father more.” I took up my cup again, which created a necessity for him to release his light grip on my jaw so I could drink from it. His eyes twinkled a bit in amusement as he released me and then took a chair nearer than his original.
“Your sister may still one day be queen, despite the king’s anger toward your father. How would you feel about that?”
“Arya is still young. It is hard to imagine her in place of Queen Cersei, but like my own potential marriage, it is far too soon to worry about such things. I’d wager that as master of coin you must always be thinking well into the future, more so than most.”
He blinked. “Yes, at times. But I was more curious if you would resent having to curtsy and bow before your little sister.”
“It would not bother me at all. If my sister were to be queen, then my house will have power and influence and be more secure. My sister would not mistreat me, and I would never undermine her. I am curious, you seem to be an important man in this city. Who do you think will be our new Hand?”
“How very much like Cat. As I was her friend in childhood, I would like to be your friend now. You know better than most, that these are dangerous times and without your father around to protect you and your sister I worry.”
“I don’t know what you mean, Lord Baelish. I can always use more friends, but you make it sound as if there is some danger here. Both the king and queen are fond of me and the Red Keep is well guarded. Jory keeps me safe when I visit the city.”
He let out a small chuckle.
“And less than a fortnight ago, your father was Hand. Things can change quickly. I must ask again, will you accept my hand in friendship?”
“You are a man of finance and so I fear you may think of things in favors owed, and ledgers that must be balanced. If I accept, what is it you expect of me, Lord Baelish?”
That elicited another smile.
“It means you must allow me to protect you. That if I found a suitable match who can ensure your future sooner than later, that you speak to the king in one of your chats about how fond of that person you would be. It means if danger is near and I request you to accompany somewhere without your minders, you would trust me, as a friend.”
Now I really want to know what he is looking to do.
“But my father said that I must take Jory with me anywhere in the city,” I said with a frown as I leaned into my persona.
“If your father told you to stay put in your room, but then a fire spreads, do you obey your father or do you leave and seek help?” The master of coin shrugged, “I speak of mere possibilities.”
I took another sip of wine, careful to limit my intake.
“Forgive me, Lord Baelish, but I’m not sure what to say. In that example, I suppose I must flee my room, but I mislike the idea of disobeying my father. And as you say this is all just a game of might-be. Would it be acceptable to ask the queen for advice? Without my mother or father here I think I have need of other guidance before I agree to do anything.”
“You are careful and intelligent, Sansa. Quite unlike other girls your age, and I could only applaud your wisdom. Yes, I have no desire to pressure you into friendship with me. I only want what is best for you. So please, ask the queen for advice on the matter.”
Got you.
Pieces were beginning to click into place now. Petyr Baelish and the Lannisters must be tightly aligned for him to be as comfortable with me sharing the rather inappropriate conversation that just took place with her. I’d have to confirm what Cersei would say, but I was beginning to suspect that every move my father took in investigating Jon Arryn’s death was pre-arranged. Perhaps they had even left deliberate breadcrumbs just so my father could be led to making an accusation against the queen in order to remove him as Hand.
The more I pondered it as I continued to fence with Petyr during dinner, the more I doubted whatever trusted person had told my father that Jon Arryn had been murdered. The Grand Maester was the representative of the Citadel, he should be politically neutral. Like all institutions, corruption could exist, but by all accounts he was just a man in his dotage doing his best. If he doubted there was poison used, then it was likely true. Which meant that everything had all been a convoluted ploy, but one that had ultimately not even been necessary thanks to my father’s moral stand against the murder of pregnant teens.
But then what was going on with Bran? Why try to murder him? Perhaps it was a plot to get my father to return to Winterfell? Or maybe he had been deliberately made to fall in order to get him to remain in the first place and the assault with the hired assassin was simply a means to silence his testimony about who made him fall. They would have no means of knowing Bran would have no recollection upon waking up.
It was so very frustrating that Father had not given me all the details. While keeping people’s confidences was admirable, it made it very difficult for me to properly navigate things. Not that he would want me to navigate or investigate any of this, but games were being played and they had resulted in shame for House Stark as well as Rickon, Arya, and myself being made hostages.
With Robert being so accommodating while I reaped the emotional advantages of being his dead son’s betrothed, I was confident I could likely end that predicament in a year or two. Perhaps even in time to ensure Rickon stayed in Winterfell.
Eventually the Stokeworths rejoined the meal and apologized for Lollys having a temporary illness, but she was all better now. What Petyr had done here was a powerplay. He had the ability to make a middling house of the crownlands dance to his tune. It seemed he also wanted me wed to someone in the Vale and wanted to arrange my departure with him to places unknown at a moment’s notice without my guard.
But what I couldn’t understand was the reason behind it. It could be something as simple as a lustful desire for a facsimile of his childhood lust for my mother. That would be rather creepy for me as I would soon only just be turning twelve. In two out of two encounters he had made a point of touching me, so there seemed to be some evidence of that being a potential motivation. It still seemed an awfully risky move, so I had to assume there was some deeper plan beyond mere disgusting lust.
I’ll know more after speaking with the queen. Best to do it soon before Margaery arrives.
***
Quick as a snake.
Arya struck fast with her practice sword and Syrio stepped away from the blow. He wasn’t even bothering to parry, he was just dancing across the stone, allowing Arya’s sword to miss by a finger’s breadth.
Swift as a deer.
She changed tactics. One of her conversations with Sansa had come to mind. When you want to figure out what someone is trying to accomplish, put yourself in their shoes. What was Syrio looking to do by this lesson? Improve her speed and skill, yes, but he could have dodged even further. Arya concluded he perhaps wanted to give her hope to fuel her efforts. Or, perhaps he wanted to frustrate her. Either way, there was a pattern, and patterns could be exploited.
Arya slowly began to shift her lunges and slashes. She wasn’t fully extending. Her arm was not as far outstretched. She still struck swiftly, but her range of motion was deliberately more limited. She waited for another minute as her breath began to flag and then launched a regular combination she had done thrice before, only this time she fully extended on the final lunge.
Clack.
Syrio parried.
“A man has eyes, but not all men use them. A girl learns. Good.”
Arya grinned. It had worked. She had made him parry.
After the exhausting session she was escorted back to her rooms by Alyn. Not that she needed an escort. Nymeria was always at her side and she knew her way around the Red Keep. It was really nice not having Septa Mordane around, she had so much more time to play with her wolf, help Sansa with her warg experiments, and do the training exercises Syrio taught.
Jon will be so jealous of everything I’ve learned when I next see him!
She hoped everyone was keeping safe in Winterfell. Sansa had helped her write a letter, but she really didn’t know what to say. Arya missed everyone, but also really enjoyed learning how to slip into Nymeria’s skin. Her dreams were always so interesting too. It was hard to remember them sometimes, but for some reason she felt that they were important.
Sansa says they were probably more vivid because they were a blend of Nymeria’s dreams and her own. Plus with all the major events that had occurred like Joffrey’s death, Bran’s fall, and their father leaving without them, Sansa had said of course she would have different dreams.
When Arya returned, Sansa was already waiting for her.
“Good, you are on time, I appreciate that. Are you sure you don’t want to try bonding a second animal to you? You’ve gotten so good at catching cats, why not obtain a second companion like Nymeria?”
“Because I don’t want to. It feels wrong. Nymeria is all I need.”
Sansa was nodding with her meaningless ‘polite’ nod. Arya hated that.
“Yes, Nymeria is all you need, but maybe sometimes you want to explore a bit and Nymeria is too big.”
Arya scowled and Sansa gave a little sigh.
“I won’t try to force you, but I do think this is important. I’ll be in something else’s skin for the next two hours. You know the drill, let no one find me like this, and then afterward we can discuss what you learned from the text. Start reading from page one hundred thirty-four.”
Learning by reading was different than what Septa Mordane and Maester Luwin had done, but she could practice balancing while she read. Her enjoyable days would sadly give way to other things she’d need to do. Sansa had said she would need to interact more with the royal family, but Myrcella was boring and Tommen a crybaby.
She picked up the book and then began to balance on her toes as she read as Sansa went utterly still.
***
“Stylistically, it creates a cadence that we appreciate. Just like we enjoy symmetry and artistic designs that adhere to a pattern. Not everyone will be aware of the syllable count, but to some, and perhaps the king, it will have a nice ring to it,” Sansa Stark explained helpfully.
Margaery understood the expectation, but was rather surprised that in far-off Winterfell there had been such care given to poetry. The stories she had heard about what went on in the north painted a rather savage picture, but stories did tend to exaggerate.
“How clever! And so each line has the same number of syllables? No, that isn’t right, your example was different.”
“It isn’t uniform, because our thoughts don’t appreciate completely uniform patterns that are too simple. It is five, then seven, then five again, then disrupted again with the final two lines also having seven. You can also ‘cheat’ by elongating words to create an extra syllable where one isn’t needed. That deals with the structure, the next aspect is to find a subject matter that would appeal to someone like our king.”
Margaery let out a conspiratorial giggle. “Oh, do tell, our brave king has done so much and I’ve only just arrived in King’s Landing. What does our strong hero who defeated the Targaryens like?”
Sansa did not join in with the laughter, which was rather rare. When Margaery did something like that all her cousins and handmaidens were quick to take part.
“His Grace is fond of the stories of his youthful victories. He views slaying Rhaegar Targaryen as his greatest achievement, however that is ground I’ve trodden before. Defeating the Greyjoys is of lesser importance, but still has potential. He enjoys hunting, feasting, and jests. He was very fond of Lord Arryn and was fostered in the Vale.”
Margaery took Sansa’s hand in hers. “You have been a great help, Sansa., I shan’t forget it. We are both daughters of powerful lords, and I would very much like for us to be friends.”
“I’m always happy to make more friends, Lady Margaery.”
Margaery very lightly gave a push on Sansa’s arm.
“None of that, Sansa! Friends do not stand on titles. Leave that for court,” she said with a cheerful smile.
“Very well, Margaery. As a gesture of friendship, I should let you know a couple of things. Within the court there are already whispers of you being barren for consuming too much moon tea. Secondly, my father asked me to help you learn this form of poetry. The queen has met with me a few times and asked me about your pending arrival and I shared as much, eager to teach others about it. Arya never really cared for it. The queen seemed a bit upset, but I wasn’t sure as to why. She’s very beautiful, but at times she can be fierce, and I would not want you caught off guard.”
Surely you can guess, Sansa. But perhaps not, you are still young and that famed directness of the folk in the north has certainly been embodied in you!
“I’m sure the queen and I will get along just fine. But… well, I hesitate to recite poetry with so many people around, but I do want the king to hear my attempt. Perhaps next time you go to visit him, I could attend as well?” She gave a soft laugh, “You must think me foolish, but I can get embarrassed when trying something new.”
Sansa again did not join her in mirth. It was rather disconcerting for Margaery. She wasn’t cold, but there was no playfulness about her at all. She wondered if this was something unique to Sansa or if this was just how everyone behaved in a place like Winterfell, where even the summers had snow.
“What I can do is ask the king if he would mind if you joined us for one of our chats. I don’t think it would be wise to bring you uninvited.”
“That will do, thank you again, Sansa. I truly appreciate it. I would also love to meet your sister! One of my companions is Alysanne, of House Bulwer. She’s a bit younger than Arya, but they can play games like come-into-my-castle or monsters-and-maidens.”
“I will pass along the request. I have been teaching Arya what it is to be a lady, and she still lacks some refinement.”
This could work.
“Oh, well would she like to join my handmaidens in their lessons with Septa Nysterica?”
Sansa shook her head. “No, I think she’s had enough of septa-led training. Arya had some difficulty with focus. She wouldn’t enjoy a group learning, that is why Septa Mordane went home with my father. However, I will ask Jeyne, she has been my companion since childhood, and could use the company.”
What an odd way to phrase that.
After she spoke some more with Sansa and bandied about a few initial starts to the short poems she returned to the quarters that Lord Renly had provided for her and her grandmother.
“Grandmother, I learned what I needed to.”
“And the Stark girl? What did you make of her?”
“She’s odd.” Her brow furrowed. “She seems older than her age, and over-serious. Polite, helpful, but I fear there was no joy or companionship. She only has one companion, and seemed content with foisting her off. In truth, I found her quite strange.”
Olenna made a small contemplative sound as Margaery told her the rest. About how Cersei would almost certainly know what was intended by their visit. And the fact that someone was spreading calumnies about her.
“She is probably on her guard and that would explain her standoffishness. As far as the rumors,” Olenna waved her hand dismissively, “they probably won’t even reach the king’s ear. Court gossip of the worst sort.”
“Perhaps,” Margaery said. She couldn’t quite figure out Sansa Stark yet, but she didn’t seem wary. Just… precise. Like a merchant’s scales.
“And that wolf of hers? The great beasts that the Starks are said to ride to battle, if we are paying attention to ridiculous talk.”
“Sansa let me pet her, she was sweet. It was alarming at first given her size, but I felt secure. After the initial greeting, I barely even remembered she was there. I intend to invite her hawking. If she is close with her wolf, she might enjoy other animals as well.”
Olenna pursed her lips. “I will ask Renly, first. Remember, the girl is still a hostage. Attempting to take her out of the city gates may prompt some embarrassment if the guard has orders.”
Margaery should have thought of that, but she didn’t think it was going to be an issue. Sansa had said she visited the city a few times with just her household guard. As far as ‘hostages’ were concerned it was enforced not with direct oversight, but with expectation it seemed.
“Please do so. And now, I must make ready for the feast. I’ll be sitting beside my brother who will be next to Renly. The king will have a good view, so I believe I’ll wear the samite gown.”
Her grandmother frowned. “Yes, I think the king will like that. But remember what I told you. Do not be wanton in your displays. If your eyes should meet, look away demurely. Position yourself so he catches only a partial glimpse. You’ll soon be five-and-ten, so we’ll have your seamstress add a bit extra to make your bosom swell.”
The expectations that had been laid on her shoulders were heavy, but Margaery was looking forward to the challenge.