Chapter 17
The queen nearly dying was somewhat of a shock. That the Tyrells were being accused made sense. I knew Cersei was aware of the plot to replace her. It stood to reason if the Tyrells had not seen the necessary progress from Margaery with Robert that they might try something. That was motivation, but would they have the means? And if they had the means, how had they screwed it up so badly?
Worse was that I felt that everyone was jumping to conclusions. Jaime Lannister openly accused the Tyrells of doing the deed in a public hall. The king was furious at everyone and everything, which made me a little worried at being called to meet with him so soon. I didn’t worry that I was a suspect, but Robert was someone who had to be managed carefully, and anything that put him too off his kilter could be an issue.
Father didn’t want me involved in court intrigues, but that’s long since gone out of the window.
“Thank you Ser Meryn, for the escort,” I said solemnly as Barristan then opened the door to the sitting room that the king was in.
Robert was there along with his new Hand Yohn Royce of the Vale. The two were seated, while Varys, the master of whisperers was standing near them. The fabled ‘spider’ of King’s Landing. With a jolt, I wondered if he maybe had a skinchanger in his employ. Instead of a wolf or a bird, a skinchanger could just as easily slip into the skin of a mouse or a rat and listen in on conversations. Could that be how he was so well-informed?
It was something I might want to try as well, but the odds of hearing anything in the precise time I’m listening was slim. Especially since I had to be mindful of no one finding me in such a state, which necessitated Arya watching over me. But if I had no other obligations, a little mouse following the king, or queen, or anyone else important could learn much.
“Sansa, come, please sit, you’ve met Varys, I believe.”
“At the feast, yes, Your Grace. Lord Varys, a pleasure to see you again. And you as well, Lord Royce. You were very gallant at the tourney.”
“Would that it were during happier times,” Varys said with a sad little smile. “Lady Sansa, His Grace has asked us to look into this most unfortunate attack upon the queen. Ser Jaime has made certain accusations against the Tyrells and young Margaery in particular. Given how close you have become with the flower of Highgarden, I thought it best we speak of her with you. His Grace insisted on being present himself, so you would not be frightened.”
I petted Visha for a moment and then nodded solemnly.
“I will be happy to share everything that I know. Lady Margaery has invited me on all sorts of exciting excursions. We went hawking just the other day,” I paused, pretending to catch myself, “ah, I’m sorry, you had questions, please, ask.”
The king chuckled.
“Got a taste for the hunt, have you? I imagine the direwolf would work even better than hounds in cornering prey.”
I stroked Visha’s soft fur again and said, “Would you like that, Visha? Helping the king hunt?”
With a mental nudge, Visha barked and licked my face.
“Perhaps! Though I fear she may interfere with the other hounds. The dogs in King’s Landing whimper in fear when she grows near, even though she doesn’t growl.”
“Remarkable,” Yohn said with a tinge of awe in his voice. “I would never have thought a direwolf could be tamed.”
“We are going rather far afield,” Varys interjected. “Sansa, when you are with Margaery has she ever spoken ill of the queen?”
“No, she hasn’t,” I answered truthfully.
“Has Margaery offered to find you a husband in the Reach? Has she given you gifts?”
“Yes, she has.”
Varys was nodding sagely. “Such a kind-hearted young lady. To befriend you despite the situation. I’d wager that she must seem a gift from the gods. You would most like not wish to see such a friend harmed.”
You bald rat.
“Yes, of course. We became fast friends. She was very curious about the type of poetry the king enjoyed. Margaery has become quite skilled with getting the cadence. I understand you enjoyed it quite a bit, Your Grace,” I said while turning my face toward Robert and away from Varys.
“Aye, she’s an able student. A soothing voice, yes. And you, a good teacher, Sansa. I’m told you’ve been teaching Arya to be a lady as well.” Robert looked at me with a gruff smile. “Are we done here, Varys? The girl doesn’t know anything and why in the Seven Hells would anyone share their plan to poison the queen with anyone else? I grow weary of this.”
I let out a gasp of faux surprise. “You thought I might know something about this? Your Grace, I would tell you if anything of the sort became known to me.”
“Of course you would,” Yohn said, “you are Eddard Stark’s daughter. Are you satisfied, Varys?”
Why was I here? I’m missing something.
“Almost. Tell me, Sansa. How much coin have you spent bribing the serving maids in the last few moons?”
“I tend to give them a silver stag a fortnight as a kindly gesture and then again when they provide me useful bits of gossip and news of the city. I confess, without my mother, the city was strange to me. I wanted to know from the smallfolk themselves what would be a breach of etiquette in the Red Keep.”
Robert’s eyes widened and Yohn also looked surprised. Varys did not, but I think he expected a different reaction from me.
“And you are certain that you did not tell Lady Margaery about who among the serving staff of the Red Keep was more grateful than most for the coin? Someone who perhaps would do anything for a large sum?” Varys said in his lilting cadence.
I shook my head, still completely serene. “No, she never asked about serving maids. We talked about each other’s brothers. I was surprised to learn that her older brother also had a crippling injury. His is not as bad as Bran’s, but it makes them alike in a way. I’ve asked Ser Loras to write to his brother to see if Willas might write to Bran and share what he can still do with his injury.”
“How thoughtful. You truly are quite close to the Tyrells. I don’t think any of us here would look askance to you providing a trifle favor for them. You’d be in no trouble, so long as you unburden yourself,” Varys said with a voice that oozed with compassion.
“How kind of you, but truly, we talked about so much, but not once did that subject come up. I’ll swear it by the old gods, and even the new, though I do not hold to the Seven.”
Yohn gathered himself. “Best you do so, child. I for one think Varys is being foolish, but it will make us all feel better.”
I did so, again with no hesitation or worry. Partially because I really wasn’t hiding anything, and partially because appearances mattered. I remember when they tried to court-martial me for sinking a Commonwealth submarine. The best policy there was not to let them see you sweat. Even if I was guilty of doing something – I would act the same.
“All right, both of you go about your business then, I am fully satisfied and you will not bother with any more of your questions, Varys. Am I being clear enough?”
“Quite, Your Grace. Thank you for allowing me to follow any potential lead as I assist the Hand in his duties.”
Robert had not dismissed me, and when they left he took a gulp of wine.
“I’m sorry for that, Sansa. Varys is just thorough. Gods, I don’t know what I’m going to do. Tywin is going to demand someone’s head for this, and the Reach is enraged at the Kingslayer’s open accusation. Cersei is raving about conspiracies to replace her. You’d think a brush with the Stranger would have softened her, oh no, not that lioness, she’s as spiteful as ever.”
“An interesting notion, Your Grace. She did nearly die, so anger seems appropriate. I kept it hidden, but I was furious when I learned of what had been done to me and the loss of my golden betrothed. The poor queen must have suffered an awful fright.”
Robert grunted. “I suppose you’re right. What do you make of all this?”
Really? He was asking me. Was someone a third his age supposed to somehow divine the truth that his master of whispers and newly made Hand could not? The answer was no, but then again, maybe he wished to view it from a fresh perspective. A more ‘innocent’ individual who he had previously spoken of a variety of things.
“That when certainty is uncertain, one should avoid being rash and hasty. Ser Jaime nearly lost his sister. He has reason to be wroth, but his anger blinds him. This talk of Lady Margaery troubles me, because a motive simply exists, that is almost always meaningless. Many would have motive to do something. The focus should be on the means and the hand that delivered it.”
Robert’s eyes widened. “Wait, slow down. What motive?”
“To replace Cersei with Margaery. Why else is she here and eager to meet with you and join her in celebrating her name day?”
His jaw lowered in shock. “Wait, did… Margaery tell this?”
I shook my head. “No, but half the court suspects. And pardon me, Your Grace, but your lingering looks during feasts haven’t gone unnoticed.”
The king had the grace to flush, then muttered to himself. After shaking his head he regarded me again.
“So she had reason to kill my wife, but you say that many would have a motive. How so?”
“Finding a reason is simple. Perhaps it is Targaryen loyalists looking to create a situation like the Dance of the Dragons, where an older heir could be displaced by a different child of the king by a different mother. This creates instability and a weakening of your potential rule. Or mayhaps someone is jealous of the queen’s beauty. Someone may have a grudge against the Lannisters altogether. Even I could be a suspect because it was clear that she and my father were at odds. Or maybe it was a Tyrell, but then who would trust such an act to a young maid? No, if, and I think it unlikely, if a Tyrell did do it, it certainly would not have been Lady Margaery.”
Robert was looking at me in a new way. “Ned told me how clever you were, he wasn’t wrong about that, at least.” He laughed. “Perhaps you’ll do better than those two fools.”
“You are overgenerous with your praise, Your Grace. I am just reviewing what everyone knows. As to what you should do – I leave that to wiser heads, but I would think that in the absence of someone who confesses or witnessed something, then it would be best to focus on prevention and not on retribution against a party that may be innocent.”
“But what if they aren’t? How do I know?”
How do I know? You don’t know! And if you did, you wouldn’t be asking a child. Of all the stupid…
“You don’t. That is why violating guest right is such a taboo. It undermines the very fabric of our society. If you find the guilty party, they must be punished harshly, but only if there is proof. At least, that is what my parents taught me. My father said that he who passes the sentence must swing the sword. I always found that a flawed reasoning, but the lesson intended is clear. If you can’t be confident that you have found the guilty party, you must not punish them.”
The king scratched at his beard thoughtfully.
“Gods what a mess. It makes me just want to ride off somewhere and become a sellsword. I’d wager you’d find the words to make a proper poem of that!”
“Most anyone can be a sellsword, but few can be a king. Other than the brief Greyjoy rebellion, my father often spoke of how your strength kept the peace. Lords who are sworn enemies dare not sally forth and break wrath and ruin to the countryside for fear of your hammer. Your tale is like that of a song, and like a song the legend has grown in the minds of all. I imagine if you abdicated, war would present itself shortly.”
I was lying a bit, but Robert was someone who valued personal ties. He liked me, and while I had the regard of the king, so much the better. Him appointing a regent would change that calculus completely. I didn’t think he was being serious, but best to inflate his ego some more.
“War is no song, though it does make a man feel alive.”
“I know. Father was not shy about sharing the horrors of it,” I lied. He never told me squat when it came to details. In fact, he rarely spoke of it with my brothers either other than in generalities of how war was conducted. He often had a distant stare when memories came to the fore about it. He was someone who had adjusted to the loss of life, but did not revel in it. Probably some mild form of PTSD, depending on if you defined it colloquially or medically.
“He told me about young boys, not even men bravely trying to hold a line against the thunderous charge of cavalry. How horses die as easily as men and their cries are just as bitter. How many soil themselves in death. But, Your Grace, don’t you see? That makes it all the more worthy of song. Because it is difficult. Because the nights of terror and privation, and even boredom in the lull between battles is something one does not want. Just like, as the king, you do not want to endure the day-to-day rigors of ruling the many ungrateful people of the Seven Kingdoms. They do not see the burden of it, and yet you persist. In truth, it is heroic,” I lied again. He really was an awful king, but as long as he was fond of me, I needed to make sure he didn’t do something really stupid like he was pining to do.
It did the trick as he laughed bitterly.
“Mother’s mercy, what is wrong with your father? He told all that to his daughters? Ladies should not have to hear of the grim reality of the fields of war. And yet, you’ve all grown to be fine, while my boy weeps when I raise my voice.” He looked off into the distance. “No one teaches you how to be a good father, you should just do what others did before you. I’ve probably done even less than that… ah, never mind. You have cleared a bit of the fog of my mind.”
His smile was a bit wistful, but genuine. “The heroism of being a king and persisting? I like that.”
“One should take pride in what they have accomplished. You’ve overthrown a rule that lasted nearly three centuries. It was only through your legendary prowess that the Seven Kingdoms didn’t divide into their own realms like before the coming of Aegon. The realm needs you, Your Grace.”
Robert nodded, satisfied and sitting up a bit straighter.
“I had intended to go on a hunt, but the timing is now poor with everything unresolved here. When we are finished, would you care to join me? I only ask because you seemed to have enjoyed your hawking experience with Lady Margaery.”
Another opportunity to network? Sold!
“Let me see if we can get the hunt’s hounds to tolerate Visha’s presence. I fear they may be of little use until they are properly acquainted, but other than that, yes, of course, I would be honored to accompany you.”
***
“Loras, you can’t! Robert isn’t going to rule against your family. And I would not risk you against the Kingslayer, or the Mountain.”
Loras scowled. “I can take either of them. My cause is just. The gods would not suffer me to fail in defense of my family’s honor!”
Oh you stupid beautiful fool. The Mountain is a killer and Jaime is the finest sword in all the world. Perhaps if it was done on horseback you may have a chance, but this is foolish.
Renly’s face grew stern.
“Loras, you don’t even have your father’s permission. Your grandmother is opposed as is your sister Margaery. You cannot simply decide to defend your family’s honor in a meaningless battle. My brother has not formally charged you, nor will he! Let Royce and Varys ask their little questions, it matters not, because there is nothing to find.”
Loras hesitated. “But what if there is? What if some fool retainer tried something?”
“Then the gods would see you struck down! So enough, no more of this talk of fighting. Do not allow the Kingslayer to goad you into foolishness.”
Loras looked down, and then back up at him. “Aye, ser, you are right. Forgive me. I am just so aggrieved over this. What will be done now? Margaery has not had the proper time, and now that the accusation is bare before the court, Robert will steer clear.”
Renly sighed. “We are not undone just yet. My brother may need a push, but he hates Cersei. He truly does. When this ‘investigation’ is completed – he will want to hunt. There will be the time to push him toward it. Paint him a portrait of what his life could be like without that vain shrew at his side.”
If it worked, all would be well. Loras and the Tyrells would be happy. There would be a beautiful new queen and added color would come to King’s Landing. Olenna worried over Tywin’s wrath, but what could he do? The fool was already raising his banners, despite the king demanding that Lord Royce be able to conduct an investigation and to leave the matter of justice to him.
War with the Westerlands would be dreary, but who could the lion ally with? The Greyjoys? Hah. Dorne hates them. Lysa hates them. The Starks and the Riverlands may not love Robert just now, but they love the Lannisters less, and almost certainly view the queen as responsible for Sansa and Arya being made hostages. Tywin may roar, but he has no bite.
Having calmed Loras down, Renly chose to further distract his lover in the best way he knew how.
The huge feasts in the hall had been temporarily put on hold as the Spider went about his business. Food tasters were now being used and dining was more of a private affair for the royal family. Renly took the opportunity to see his brother’s mood.
“Eating alone? ‘Tis rare, might I join you?” Renly asked after Ser Barristan let him through.
“I’ve no mood for company. Everything has all gone to shit. My Hand has found nothing of use; my lords raise banners without my leave.” Robert gave him a baleful glare. “Including your friends in the Reach.”
“Brother, how can they not when Casterly Rock has begun to beat the drums of war? If a lion sees weakness, it will pounce.”
Robert waggled a leg of meat at him. “If any openly marches upon the other, I’ll show them why I was named the Demon of the Trident!”
“Which is why they won’t. It will be raiding and knights who have struck their banners. The Lannisters mean to extract their pound of flesh, I’m sure. They are so overly proud and think that because you married into their house, they own you.”
Renly ducked the thrown food.
“You aren’t as sly as you believe yourself to be, brother. You want my wife gone. That’s why you brought Margaery to seduce me, isn’t it?”
He blinked. It was rather obvious, but Robert was rarely perceptive. Especially when he liked what he saw. While women did nothing to stir Renly’s ardor, he could appreciate her fine beauty the way another man would admire a grand vista.
“I see how miserable you are with her by your side. I make no demands of you. I simply saw an opportunity to bring joy into your life. Cersei has infested the city with Lannisters. They are your squires. They are in your Kingsguard. You even made Jaime the Warden of the East. It was a good decision to make Royce the Hand, it will mollify them, but still. You’ve given them far too much. A Lannister bannerman nearly killed Ser Loras in the tourney and you waved it aside.”
“Men fight when their blood is up, you know that. No harm was done.” Robert shook his head angrily. “She’s the mother of my children. Tommen is heir to the Iron Throne. You would have me replace her and wed Margaery. Then what? If Margaery is fertile, what will happen to the succession? Will the Tyrells be content with the line of Tommen ruling over them if she bears me a son?”
Seven Hells, why is Robert thinking about these things? He should be drunk and impulsive, eager to rid himself of his worries. Not considering matters of state!
“You are the king. You can name what heir you wish. Mayhaps she only brings forth daughters. Or Tommen has an interest in joining the Night’s Watch if she does give you a son. Nothing needs to be decided now. Just do what makes you happy, Robert.”
Robert stood up.
“I was strong when I raised my banners against the Mad King. I miss those days. Talking about it has made me recall all the glories. The valor, the danger, the feeling of being truly alive. When I became king, I vowed to be better than those dragons. But it seems like everything has turned sour. My friends grow few, and even my own brother thinks I should ignore my responsibilities. Leave.”
Renly stood stunned. This was not the Robert he had known these past ten years. This was a grim man, heavy with regrets and old vows.
***
Eddard Stark felt a great weight lift from his shoulders when the walls of Winterfell came into sight. He had ridden hard from the kingsroad, eager for the sight of his wife and sons. The strange meetings with Sansa when she rode Anna’s skin were hard to get accustomed to. It came with disturbing news. That his daughters had dined near the table where poison was handled made him recoil in horror. His daughters were in danger every day they were kept in King’s Landing.
Catelyn he took in a long embrace, kissing her deeply. Robb had grown taller and broader in his absence, and the first hints of a fiery beard were showing on his cheeks. It had been less than a year, yet Ned could already see the boy giving way to the man. Jon looked hale and strong, so very unlike the man who had truly sired him. He embraced them both fiercely, then swept little Rickon into his arms as the boy cried out with joy. Bran lay upon a litter nearby. Ned knelt and pressed a kiss to his brow. That he had woken at all was a gift from the gods.
His legs… the maester is right. He will never walk again. At least not within his own skin.
He did not embrace Theon but they clasped arms. There was a bit of coldness to his greeting, no doubt because Catelyn had obeyed his instructions to ensure Theon was constantly guarded. If war did break out, having Theon here would deter Balon Greyjoy from siding against the Starks. The four direwolves had grown. Ghost, who had once been the smallest, was now noticeably bigger than the other three.
After the reunion, a bath, and an update on what had transpired since he had been gone, he met with Maester Luwin, his wife, Robb, and Jon.
“There is much that we must speak of. Some of which will seem strange, but I assure you it is true. We will eventually tell Bran, but he is young. I think it will help him. Yet… I do not wish to get his hopes up – it is perhaps only something my daughters can do.”
Luwin looked perplexed. “I am not following, my lord.”
“In time. The appointed hour nears and soon you will see this cat demonstrate.”
It took a few more minutes, and then Ned noticed the cat shift. Anna gave him a look and then slowly cocked her head toward Luwin.
“You can trust the maester, he has served this family well, and know all of our secrets.”
Not all of them.
No one knew of Jon’s parentage. The only other one who knew it was his friend, Howland Reed.
Robb was looking quite confused.
“Father?”
Anna stared for a moment and then… well it wasn’t a sigh, though near enough. Ned had laid out the devices used for communication. A shorthand, but also letters for when things would be difficult.
“Sansa is a warg, and more. A skinchanger who can see through an animal’s eyes. She has been communicating with me through Anna on my journey back home.” At Luwin’s worried glance, Ned pointed to the cat. “Ask Sansa something, and she will pat at the various words etched, and then there is lettering for more complex ones.”
“My lord… ah well. Sansa, how old are you?”
She went to the numbers and pawed at the one and then the one again.
“Gods… let me try,” Robb said. “Sansa, if you are a cat, spell your name.”
She did so and then quickly pawed at certain words. The shorthand was used, but even so it took a bit.
‘Yes, Robb, I am Sansa. I am animal. Arya is one too, and I think you group can. But dangerous.’
Luwin had to take a seat. He was utterly dumbfounded and seemingly in shock.
“The stories… some of them are… real.”
It took some hours but everyone wanted to ask Sansa questions. She explained more or less how it worked and the recent events. The cat pawed out answers with all the quick grace of its kind. She also had her own questions, such as the timeliness of the ravens she had sent to Winterfell with messages. Ravens could sometimes be delayed, injured, or lost altogether. Ned thought it was wise to check how long her letters back home were being held by the Grand Maester, but it seemed delays were not too burdensome.
“Wait,” Jon asked, “why is she bothering with the letters?”
“To not arouse suspicion,” Ned explained. “It can also be used as a way to provide misinformation to those reading them, to allow them to make assumptions if they don’t realize she realizes they are reading them.”
Robb shook his head in exasperation. “That is troubling and twisted. They have no right to read her letters to us. Just as they have no right to keep my sisters there. Father, we cannot allow this. Northern lords are furious at this insult to our honor.”
“Robb,” Catelyn chided, “they are right in their anger, but what can we do? If we call the banners ill might befall your sisters.”
Anna was ‘speaking’ again and explained that both she and Arya were secure. Robert was still upset, but was treating her and Arya very well. Even giving her a generous allowance for clothing and accessories. Within a year or two she expressed confidence that the king would come around, and perhaps even apologize and make amends.
“Kings are not so easily swayed, as I think we have learned,” Maester Luwin said solemnly.
‘I can persuasive. Robert enjoys speaking of his days of glory enemy the Mad King. I’ve embellished some’, but if any ask, father, you told me war stories. Every retelling. He reminded of father.’
The shorthand occasionally required Ned and the others to parse the meaning, but it was always clear.
Sansa went on to explain about the poisoning of Cersei, the accusation against the Tyrells, and that both the Reach and the Westerlands were raising levies. Time was growing short, and in two days Sansa would inhabit Anna again and start teaching Robb and Jon how to warg. Additionally, she wanted to make sure that they were all sworn to silence and secrecy and to tell absolutely no one.
After Sansa left, Anna, the cat, wandered over and jumped into Ned’s lap. He had never been overly fond of felines, but this one was growing on him.
“This is incredible,” Luwin said, awe once again coloring his voice. “With this ability… instant communication across distances. No need for ravens at all. This could change everything.”
Ned shook his head. “Or nothing. This seems most like a rare gift. And one that should remain secret. Sansa has explained that Arya mislikes slipping into another creature’s skin that is not Nymeria’s, and she would not want to be parted from her wolf. It remains to be seen how Robb and Jon take to it. We should not be too hopeful.”
Robb was grinning. “I’ve had queer dreams of late. I can remember smelling things I have never smelled before, and had no words to describe. I think I have this gift as well. Most of all, I am hopeful for Bran. His sadness is a heavy thing. This will pierce the darkness that hangs over him.”
“In time,” Ned reminded, “we must first ensure it is safe, and that he then can be mature enough not to share what he can do. If he can. Raising hopes only to have them dashed would be a cruel blow. We must move cautiously with this.”
As the discussion ended there was another matter to speak of.
“Word from the Wall,” Luwin said, holding out a letter. “Your brother Benjen is missing. He rode out on a ranging and is long overdue. The Lord Commander says that were it any other man, he would fear him dead, yet he has not abandoned hope. He warns also that the Wall stands in desperate need of men. The wildlings press, rangers go missing, and strange things stir in the night.”
He had just arrived at Winterfell, and he had no desire to leave it. The thought of yet another sibling being lost to him left a cold ache in his belly.
“I will send riders to White Harbor and Last Hearth,” he said heavily. “Telling them of Benjen and the Watch’s need may turn their minds from the insult done us by the king. They are closer by horse and ship. Perhaps they may yet find him alive.”
Gods watch over you, Benjen.