3-4-5 - fics I read

Main Content

Archive of Our OwnArchive of Our OwnLog In

FandomsBrowseSearchAboutWork Search

tip: arthur merlin words>1000 sort:hits

Actions

Entire Work ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter → Chapter Index Comments Share Download

Work Header

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fandoms:

Characters:

Sansa StarkTanya von DegurechaffNed StarkArya StarkTyrion LannisterRobert BaratheonJon SnowLady | Sansa Stark's DirewolfJaime Lannister

Additional Tags:

Political Sansa StarkPolitical AlliancesBetrayal

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2026-04-12Updated:2026-05-29Words:86,854Chapters:18/?Comments:336Kudos:672Bookmarks:184Hits:19,786

A Young Warg's Game of Thrones

Failninjaninja

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

I was distracted with my newfound ability to enter into Visha when I slept. I was getting quite good at choosing what nights I slipped my skin and what nights I just rested. It was anyone's guess as to if my body was truly at rest when I was in Visha's skin, but I felt mildly more tired after a lengthy time. Not being truly asleep probably lessened the ability to properly recuperate from a day's worth of activity. Perhaps not as pronounced, but similar to people who partake of too much alcohol and their brain does not get the best forms of rest.

The distraction of learning a new skill did not fully keep me away from my duties as a noble daughter. I attended the feasts, I kept up with the social expectations, and even found some time to read. I saw Tyrion twice more in the library and it pleased me that someone else was getting more use of it. I felt a renewed energy and passion for things now that I knew magic existed.

That changed after Bran fell.

Guilt was not something I felt often, but seeing Bran so still within his bed under the furs sparked something in me. I was not my brother's keeper; my parents had that role. As did the castle guards and servants. Bran himself was likely to blame – climbing where he shouldn't have been despite my mother asking him not to. But he was also a child and pinning the blame on him while he suffered in a coma seemed wrong.

I suspected what had happened. My brother most likely wished to climb where eyes would not see him and potentially report it. With Winterfell playing host to more people, he had attempted to climb in spots he normally did not. Bran had been skilled at climbing but overconfidence combined with attempting a specific section he normally didn't, and this was the result.

I hope you wake up, Bran. I have so many things I want to show you. You will love being able to warg.

My mother was justifiably lost in her grief. She was not eating or drinking and I had enough of that sort of nonsense.

"Mother, I brought you something to eat."

"I am not hungry," she replied listlessly.

"And yet, you will eat. When Bran awakens, he will be confronted with the harsh reality that he will never walk again. His dreams of knighthood will be dust. You will need to be his rock, the steady, motherly support to ensure he weathers this trying time with his spirit intact. Do not stint in your duties as his mother by starving yourself in some vain effort to punish yourself for something that was not your fault."

Her eyes blazed with familiar fire at my words and I could tell she was about to speak harshly, when she instead quieted.

"You are right, as ever, my strange Sansa. By rights, 'tis I who should be looking after you, but instead you are the one with wisdom. I will eat. I promise, just leave it there."

I eyed her. "See that you do. I had hoped he would awaken before I departed, but unless it happens soon, I fear I will have to say my goodbyes on the morrow." I paused, and considered my words carefully. "Tell him, tell him that there is truth to the stories and that when we see each other again, I will show him something wondrous."

My mother looked at me strangely for a moment but then nodded. I felt she needed it, so I approached her and gave her a hug. Catelyn Stark was not a large woman, but that grip around my body was held more fiercely and tightly was surprisingly powerful. I hoped for both Bran and her sake that my brother would regain consciousness.

With my newfound warg powers I considered whether it would be wise to share this with my siblings. My concern was if I showed it to them, what would happen if they failed to properly use them? This was truly nothing alike the magical circuits and mathematical formula-driven magic of my second life, but I had to believe that my experience there made me far more naturally inclined toward this form of magic. I wasn't sure they even had it, but something, some sort of kinship and bond I felt through Visha and for the other wolves, gave me a premonition that they would have the ability too.

My concern was not in their potential lack, but what if they screwed it up somehow? Found themselves lost in an animal's mind? Stories were stories, not proper manuals on how to operate being a skinchanger. There was little time to adequately tell, teach, and monitor my siblings who were not coming with me. It was probably wisest to begin with Arya, who I would be remaining in close contact with on the journey south and to King's Landing. The problem there lay in the fact she wasn't very mature.

She's only nine.

I found the brisk air refreshing as I made my way to the steps of the library. I intended to take a few of my favorite books with me on the journey south. Tyrion was once again reading and greeted me with a nod. "Lady Sansa."

"Lord Tyrion, what are you reading this time?"

"An old book on scholarship dilemmas from Archmaester Walgram. In different times, various peoples did not all have the same way of documenting the passage of time. It creates difficulties when determining a proper timeline of our past," Tyrion replied.

I had read it. It was one of the rare tomes that did not propose an arrogant answer, but suggested different rubrics and assumptions that could be made. Still uncertain as to how I should handle Arya, I thought to pose the question, in a veiled fashion, to Tyrion.

"You are fond of your brother, Jaime, yes?"

Tyrion's expression grew slightly pensive. "Of course, he has ever been my protector. He is my brother. Has something happened?"

I shook my head. "No, I am just framing a question properly. This is not specific to Jaime. I have a gift I may wish to give one of my own siblings, but the gift has a chance of causing harm. I have likened it to giving a prized warhorse to an up and coming squire. Yes, the destrier will most likely not throw and injure the lad, but it might. Should the horse be kept back until the squire has proven himself and become a knight? Yet that would mean holding back a gift that would bring great joy to the squire and mayhaps even protect him from harm. If you had the opportunity to give a gift to your brother Jaime, knowing that the gift will bring him joy, but it also bears the chance that it may harm him, would you?"

Tyrion took the question seriously.

"I will not ask for more details as you clearly desire to be circumspect, but to me your dilemma is all about trust. Would I give any squire a potentially dangerous warhorse? No. Would I give the right one, such a responsibility? Yes. So, the answer comes down to how confident you are in your squire. For me, I have always thought it best to have knowledge, gold, or anything, than not. I trust Jaime, so I would give the gift and explain the dangers."

That is what it comes down to. Do I trust Arya? I find that the answer is yes.

"Thank you, my lord, I appreciate your advice."

I went to the sections that held the books I wanted and carefully placed them in a satchel. That accomplished, I headed back into the cold. It was time to pack and then have a conversation with Arya.

***

"So, you did change your mind about pissing off the edge of the world," Jaime said wryly.

Tyrion smiled at his older brother, a quip and a jape from him always righted his mood.

"I had intended to, but in truth, I am concerned about our nephew's betrothal."

Jaime looked at him with confusion. "The Stark girl? She's pretty enough, polite too. Doesn't look at me like I just stepped into shit. Cersei says they will make a regal pair."

"Our sweet sister is hard to please, I wonder how Sansa accomplished getting on her good side," Tyrion wondered.

Jaime shrugged. "Some womanly thing, no doubt. Sansa was complimentary of Cersei's outfits and asked for her advice on what colors would match Joffrey the best. She's an earnest girl, a bit simple and enchanted by our sister's finery and grace, but also not empty-headed."

Perhaps I worry over nothing, there is nothing simple about Sansa Stark, and yet she has both Cersei and Jaime utterly fooled.

But worry he did. Joffrey was a Maegor in the making. When his revolting nephew pushed too far, things would grow very ugly and with the Starks such close friends with Robert… he worried. Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, was an honorable man. Simple and no doubt easy to misguide, trick, or fool. His daughter was nothing like that, and though he never spoke it aloud to Jaime or Cersei, it was obvious the two were fucking each other and just as obvious Joffrey had nothing of Robert in him. How long would it take someone as keen as Sansa to discover it?

"Her mother taught her well then."

Jaime, uninterested in the conversation, changed the subject.

"Do you believe the stories about Lord Stark? Do you really think he bested Arthur Dayne in single combat?"

Tyrion arched one of his blond eyebrows. "I've never heard Stark ever boast of such a deed. I always suspected they did the smart thing and riddled him full of crossbow bolts."

Jaime scowled. "That wouldn't be a proper fight. And a crossbow is only good for one shot, then it would be over."

"Yes, that's why you bring more than one soldier with a crossbow. My sweet brother, in case you have forgotten, there are few knights this far north. Eddard was barely a man and Ser Arthur the most renowned knight of the Kingsguard. With his older father and older brother dead, I doubt he would be so foolish as to challenge the greatest knight in the realm to a duel."

Jaime scratched at his chin. "I suppose you are right. Arthur would have spilled his entrails easily enough. Did I ever tell you about the time…"

He had. Many times. But like always, Tyrion let himself listen to his brother's old stories. Jaime always seemed happy recalling past battles and for the kindness his elder brother had shown him, he would always tolerate being a bit bored rehearing a tale.

Travel south instead of to the Wall had its own rewards. Much finer places to lay, ample guards around him, much wine and good food. Tyrion looked forward to getting back to civilization at long last. The Wall had been an errant thought, a desire that could be pursued at another time. Especially with how fascinating Sansa was. Anyone could be well-read, but to actually understand and apply what she had learned from books was a rarity. Even beyond that, challenging an ancient author's perspective and being able to cross-reference by memory other scholars of that age.

The trek south would be slow, especially the poor quality of the roads until they made it south of Moat Cailin. From there things would go much quicker, save for the issue of Robert wishing to stop and feast at local holdfasts and keeps. After finishing the conversation with Jaime, he found his feet wandering to the Stark side of the camp.

"What business do you have here, Imp?"

Tyrion looked up at the guard.

"Just stretching my legs, I've hope that they will finally lengthen."

The large set man frowned. "Have you business with Lord Stark?"

"Not as such, but if I wished to share a word with our new Hand, that would be my business, not yours."

"If you wish to see Lord Stark, I will escort you, if not I suggest you go about your eve."

Tyrion felt a flash of hate. The fat lowborn was insulting him, a Lannister of Casterly Rock. Dwarf or no, that sort of indignity was not going to be tolerated.

"Has Lord Stark explicitly, that means directly, told you to bar my passage? Has he told you that the queen's brother is to be spoken down to and restricted among her husband's camp? King Robert, perhaps you know the man, even larger than you, wields a large hammer. The good brother of the man you insulted."

The guard's eyes began to widen and grew a little paler.

"M'lord, I've been tasked by Lord Stark with ensuring the safety of the camp, I…" he trailed, mouth working as he realized he may have pushed too far, "I meant no offense, Lord Tyrion."

"Yet offend me you did." Tyrion let his glare soften. "But I am not here to give lessons in etiquette to the Lord Hand's guards. I wish to speak with someone in the camp and unless you have some reason to fear me as dangerous, then stand aside and waste no more of my time."

"Yes, m'lord."

Tyrion continued to the larger wagon, the one he knew the Stark family typically rested in once camp was set. Outside stood the captain of the household guards of Winterfell. Jory certainly looked a proper warrior. His blue-grey plate was unadorned, but had a hardy quality to it. His thin cloak had the wolf's head sigil of the Starks on it, though it looked a recent thing, as he could not recall seeing it when they had first been greeted.

"Lord Tyrion," he greeted with a bow. "Have you come to speak with Lord Stark?"

"No, I've come to ask Sansa a question about one of the books she let me borrow."

Jory's face flickered into a smile. "Wait here, please."

He entered into the wheelhouse and then returned with Sansa in tow.

"I had not expected you, Lord Tyrion."

"Please, just call me Tyrion. We aren't at court. I am curious if you have the time to share your thoughts on some of the texts I've had a chance to read."

"By the fire, within the wagon, or a walk around the camp?" Sansa asked.

"The fire would do nicely."

What followed was an enjoyable time, even after the sun had set the camps still bustled, but as true night was following, Lord Stark made an appearance.

"Sansa, it is time to be abed."

The girl wished him a goodnight and she and her wolf went back to the wagons. Tyrion turned to leave, but Stark halted him.

"What is… this? Are you trying to embroil my girl in some southern plotting while you are still within my domain?"

Tyrion sighed. "No, I merely enjoy her stimulating company."

Eddard's long face grew sterner.

"Such statements border on the inappropriate and obscene."

Tyrion cursed his tongue. He had, for once, not been attempting to make some crude jape. He was stimulated by her company, on an intellectual level, not on something so… base.

Burn me, she's a child. Is Lord Stark so set against my house that he thinks the worst of me?

"Forgive me, Lord Stark. I swear by the Seven I meant no offense. Your daughter is brilliant in ways that few appreciate. She's shown me naught but kindness, and as a dwarf, I assure you that is a rarity. Worry not for your daughter's safety, I believe Visha would have my throat the moment I tried to lay hand on her."

Something in Stark's stance shifted a bit. Tyrion heard a sigh.

"I would not accuse you, but guard your tongue, Lannister."

The way Stark used the name of his house was like how other men used the term Imp or half-man. It was almost refreshing to be despised for the lion on his surcoat rather than the twisted legs beneath it.

"You have my word as a Lannister, Lord Hand."

Tyrion took Lord Stark's grunt as a dismissal and he wandered back to the Lannister side. He was somewhat surprised the man hadn't forbidden him to go near his daughter. He paused.

Why hadn't he?

Frowning, he considered the question more than once before sleep found him.

***

Arya was worried when Sansa of all people pulled her away from the main camp to speak privately. She looked worried. Sansa never looked worried. Or distraught. Or concerned.

Not true, she did look it for a time with Bran.

Thoughts of her brother Bran always made her sad, but this time they could not find the root, for her sister looked worried.

"Arya, have you had any strange dreams lately?"

Arya shook her head. Dreams? She was confused by the question.

"I am going to share with you a secret, something that you cannot tell anyone about, not even Father. Do you swear it by the old gods and the new?"

Arya was baffled, but nodded. "Yes, Sansa, what is it? What is wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, Arya, but I've had dreams, wolf dreams, where I experience reality through Visha's eyes."

That brought to mind the tales Old Nan would share. Sansa had always said they might hold a kernel of truth but were clearly exaggerations to make better stories. Arya had not liked that; she thought the stories were better if all the details were true.

"No, I haven't had anything like that," Arya replied.

"Interesting, well, I believe you might experience something like that eventually. I do not wish to get your hopes up, but I've been doing some experimenting, and the stories of skinchangers and wargs turned out to be true."

"What?" Arya exclaimed. "What do you mean? You can turn into a wolf?"

Sansa gave her a polite laugh. The laugh that sometimes drove Arya to distraction. There was no pause, as if she had delayed it, but Arya knew it was not a genuine reaction. It was the laugh that had been planted, put in place deliberately. She loved Sansa, but when she used feast-day mannerisms on her, it hurt.

"No, those stories were probably wrong. I become Visha, I pilot… well, I 'ride' her skin while my own body lies still. Come, let me show you."

Sansa brushed an area around a nearby tree of some leaves and then lay down.

"Do not be alarmed, but do tell me what happens to my body while I'm gone. I will be in control of Visha and she will come up and press her nose against your leg thrice. You can ask her questions and I will nod yes or no with Visha's head."

Sansa closed her eyes and then went utterly still. Only the slight rise and fall of her chest gave away that she still lived. Meanwhile, Visha came up and pushed her nose to Arya's leg.

Arya was amazed and more than a little shocked.

"Is that really you, Sansa?"

Visha nodded her head once.

"Is this a jape?"

Visha shook her head no.

Arya knew that Sansa was not for cruel tricks or larks at the expense of others, but she wished to test it. She remembered Sansa helping her learn her numbers, and thought of a good way to test if this was truly Sansa.

"If I have three fields of barley and each yields two bushels, nod your head for the number of bushels I have."

Visha made a chuffing sound and then nodded six times.

Arya gave a squeal of delight. "Am I going to be able to do this too? Is that why you asked about dreams?"

Visha grew still and then Sansa gasped for air.

"I hope you will be able to. I have some ideas on how you might be able to learn how to do this. My belief is that there is something about the Stark bloodline that interacts with direwolves. This may be why we chose the direwolf as our sigil. Tracing back what is true, or not, or something completely forgotten over thousands of years is an impossible task. On our journey south I do want to see if you can learn too. Now, tell me what you saw about my body."

Arya told her the details and then launched a hundred questions. How did she learn? What was it like? Can she talk as a wolf? Where does Visha go when Sansa is Visha? How did she stop being Visha? How far can she go as Visha?

Not all her questions had answers, and Sansa excitedly, a rarity from Sansa, ran through other experiments. It was both scary and fascinating how Sansa could not 'wake up' even when Arya shook her or pinched her. Sansa claimed that she had no awareness of what was happening with her body while she was within the wolf. Sansa cautioned that this could be dangerous, and began describing some tricks of the mind that might help her spark the ability.

Nothing sounds too difficult. I really just need to strongly think about Nymeria each night as I close my eyes for slumber. I hope this works!

***

We had passed Moat Cailin and were in the Neck. This was an area that held some danger and, despite my warnings, Arya seemed to take little heed of them. The kingsroad was narrow here and on either side was a bog filled with lizard-lions and venomous snakes. Even the flowers could be poisonous and if you veered too far from the road you could encounter sucking quicksand traps.

I made her promise not to wander alone. I had thought that meant taking a guard, but no, she had found one of the boys in the camp. A lad named Mycah, who was the son of the butcher who rendered the game the king and his company slew on the many hunts that Robert liked to take part in. I questioned him briefly and the boy was skittish and meek.

Good enough, the real danger is something happening when you are alone out there. Plus, she still has Nymeria.

I felt as if Arya was making decent progress. She had her first 'wolf dream' the prior night and that was a welcome relief, as she was beginning to grow forlorn at not being a warg herself. It was a daily occurrence now that I reiterated how important it was to not tell anyone about it. She was growing exasperated with my reminders, but it was important. It was not just superstition, which could lead to bad relations, there were also other considerations. The stories told of wargs as a form of skinchanger, but what if I had the ability to slip my skin into other animals? The potential for reconnaissance was immense. I had not tried it yet, but likely soon.

Feasting had my family dine with the royals in the pavilion, the times when there was room for it. The baggage train actually carried large tables in carts just so the king could sit at a proper feasting table. Rank has always had its privileges, but it seemed a bit much. Comfort was well and good, but perhaps if fewer amenities were being lugged about, there would be greater incentive to move faster than a snail's pace.

Our king often drank, and I wished to ingratiate myself in my future good father. Before he was too far into his cups I asked if he might like to hear some unique poetry. I could tell by his expression he probably did not. The king glanced at my father and then generously nodded his head.

"Ruby streams churn red, war hammer strikes through gale, rubies scatter far, thunder shatters dragon pride, storm king reigns, eternal might."

"Hah, that sounds good. Short and to the point!"

My father smiled. "Yes, my daughter believes directness is often best. She can talk circles if she desires, but unless a word is meaningful, it is best not to be said."

That was accurate, to a point. Meaningless talk was useless. Why say something with more words than was necessary? But that was the rub, what was necessary? Following the norms to the extent that you endear a positive reception was not wasted words. Adding more descriptors or flattery to sway someone was also not wasted.

"Gods, maybe I ought to appoint her to the small council then! Pycelle could talk for days and still not get to the damnable point!"

"Then replace him," Joffrey suggested. "If I were king and someone displeased me, I would be rid of them."

Robert laughed. "Fool boy, it is the Citadel who selects the Grand Maester."

My betrothed grew pink around the cheeks with embarrassment and I quickly moved to my next set.

"If I may, Your Grace, I have one for when you defeated Lord Greyjoy."

Myrcella clapped her hands and looked on while the queen's gaze was considering.

"Salt winds lash the decks, war horns drown the Ironborn cries, oars splinter in surf, storm king breaks the kraken's hold, black sails burn beneath his wrath."

Robert laughed and then took a large swallow of wine.

"Good, good! Now this is poetry. More!"

I had not expected such an enthusiastic response. I was much more effective at calculating formulas quickly than coming up with poetry on the fly, but I would get the syllable count right, at least.

"What subject would you wish for it to be on, Your Grace?"

Robert considered for a moment. "Ned's sister. My Lyanna."

Really? I can feel the queen's displeasure as soon as you said the name of your former betrothed. My father dislikes this as well as he's clearly uncomfortable.

"North wind through the pines, long hair streams like shadowed snow, eyes bright spirit fierce, vengeance spent her ghost may rest, stars keep watch where silence sleeps."

Robert blinked a few times. "Aye, that will do, Sansa. Thank you."

The way the king drank the rest of the night, as usual, made me wonder if he even recalled it later, but it was important to get face time with the CEO when you had the opportunity. Joffrey continued to be cordial and a bore. His attempt to feed me a choice morsel of food was not something I was keen on, but the gesture was benign. Courtship in Westeros seemed strange, not that I was an expert in it from my first or second life, but it was something I would have to put up with.

Actions

↑ Top ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter → Comments (13)

Kudos

ParrotStreetMoe, AetiaForgefire, Bitco8nHaZcker, fumefairy, Alexdj20, littlesavage, MathematicalDragon, Luffyisthebest, Dr_Cle, heytheremarceline, tekknotrain, BRIT_Elmo, ZaxlynSnow, WatcherOne, SetantaUntouchable, Jadaine, npc1973a, Excanda, kipzzz, Smshd, Claudius_47, Kyries152, Djmiller1738, El_Rey_De_Amarillo, RedPen422, DoorPech, Sauqy55555, Koworkowa, Username85139, hizlikedi, fuckimbi, Deoxyribosenucleotidetriphosphate, Aristanae18, WinterMonths1, Regrettable_Pun, Ch3spin, Melon_aku, flaumjaze, Sun_Zelretch, kimetsu56, allenismo, money_and_baccarat, Vamaiie, foragedfuture, LiliLite, alpengluehen, Cookeries, avp12, threebirdzoo, emmajons, and 329 more users as well as 293 guests left kudos on this work!

Comments

Post Comment

Note:

All fields are required. Your email address will not be published.

Guest name

Guest email

Plain text with limited HTML ? Embedded images ( tags) will be displayed as HTML, including the image's source link and any alt text.

Comment

10000 characters left

Footer

About the Archive

Site Map

Diversity Statement

Content Policy

DMCA & TIDA Policies

Site Status

Policy Questions & Abuse Reports

Technical Support & Feedback

Development

otwarchive v0.9.479.2

Known Issues

GPL-2.0-or-later by the OTWMain Content

Archive of Our OwnArchive of Our OwnLog In

FandomsBrowseSearchAboutWork Search

tip: katekyou "alternate universe" sort:>words

Actions

Entire Work ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter → Chapter Index Comments Share Download

Work Header

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fandoms:

Characters:

Sansa StarkTanya von DegurechaffNed StarkArya StarkTyrion LannisterRobert BaratheonJon SnowLady | Sansa Stark's DirewolfJaime Lannister

Additional Tags:

Political Sansa StarkPolitical AlliancesBetrayal

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2026-04-12Updated:2026-05-29Words:86,854Chapters:18/?Comments:336Kudos:672Bookmarks:184Hits:19,786

A Young Warg's Game of Thrones

Failninjaninja

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

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 harming 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.

Actions

↑ Top ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter → Comments (49)

Kudos

Comments

Post Comment

Note:

All fields are required. Your email address will not be published.

Guest name

Guest email

Plain text with limited HTML ? Embedded images ( tags) will be displayed as HTML, including the image's source link and any alt text.

Comment

10000 characters left

Footer

About the Archive

Site Map

Diversity Statement

Content Policy

DMCA & TIDA Policies

Site Status

Policy Questions & Abuse Reports

Technical Support & Feedback

Development

otwarchive v0.9.479.2

Known Issues

GPL-2.0-or-later by the OTWMain Content

Archive of Our OwnArchive of Our OwnLog In

FandomsBrowseSearchAboutWork Search

tip: katekyou "alternate universe" sort:>words

Actions

Entire Work ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter → Chapter Index Comments Share Download

Work Header

Rating:

Mature

Archive Warning:

Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Fandoms:

Characters:

Sansa StarkTanya von DegurechaffNed StarkArya StarkTyrion LannisterRobert BaratheonJon SnowLady | Sansa Stark's DirewolfJaime Lannister

Additional Tags:

Political Sansa StarkPolitical AlliancesBetrayal

Language:

English

Stats:

Published:2026-04-12Updated:2026-05-29Words:86,854Chapters:18/?Comments:336Kudos:672Bookmarks:184Hits:19,786

A Young Warg's Game of Thrones

Failninjaninja

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

Chapter 5

The hunt had been successful and the king was in high spirits.

Killing things always did make him happy.

In truth, Robert had not changed so much from the man he once was, whatever had become of his former glory. He was happiest when he was fucking, fighting, or feasting. A man of open heart and easy laughter, with a warmth that made others love him. Such a man should have made a great king, yet Ned was beginning to see he was not made for it. Deprived of war, he had turned to wine and indulgence, and they had left him in ill health and a quick temper.

Their return to camp was preceded by the howling of a wolf. It set his teeth on edge, reminding him of the times Bran's wolf would howl after he fell.

"Your Grace, permission to ride ahead? That sounds like one of my daughter's wolves."

"We shall make a race of it!" Robert grinned and set heel to his horse's flank.

Ned was not in the mood for such frivolity, but he did desire to return to camp swiftly so he did likewise. Robert's whooping laughter ahead guided him better than his own eyes. Within the camp, nothing seemed to be the matter and Ned strode swiftly to where Visha was kenneled.

"Tom, where are my daughters? What is wrong with Visha?"

Fat Tom, as many called him, blinked in surprise. "Sansa is out riding with the prince and I saw Arya not an hour or so ago looking for you with some big lad trailing her like he got caught thieving."

Ned frowned. Something was wrong. He knew it. He could feel it. Visha gave another prolonged howl. Jory finally caught up, having been caught flatfooted by the king and Ned's impromptu race.

"My lord, is aught amiss?"

"Rouse the men. I am perhaps overwrought, but find Arya and Sansa and bring them to me at once. I will ask the queen where they are, but you should send searchers immediately."

"My lord," he bowed his head and then began shouting orders.

Ned hurried to the queen's wheelhouse. He was surprised to see Ser Barristan and what looked to be a young Robert reborn. The towering muscular man could only be Renly and Ned had to shake himself to ensure his eyes were not befuddled. He was not exactly like Robert come again, but it was close. A little shorter, perhaps not quite as wide, but the resemblance bordered on the unnatural. He had certainly never looked as much like Brandon or Benjen.

"You look worried, Lord Stark," Ser Barristan said.

"Aye," Ned said. "My daughters keep close to their wolves, and now Visha is howling much like my son's did when Bran fell. A father's worry, mayhaps, yet I wished it settled sooner than late. Tell me where Joffrey has taken Sansa riding."

The Hound was nearby and grunted. "The prince made mention of finding the spot where the king slew Rhaegar. Somewhere over that way," he gestured.

"My thanks," Ned replied stiffly. The Hound was not his brother, but no doubt he would also butcher babes if given the order.

"It has been a long journey," Ser Barristan said, "but I am of the Kingsguard. No matter how unlikely, if the blood royal is not secure, I will make it so." The legendary knight shouted for his squire to ready his horse and Ned already felt quite a bit better.

The queen stepped out, all radiant beauty and grace. She was overly prideful and had a sharp tongue, but no man could deny she made a resplendent queen.

"What is the matter?"

Ned explained and Cersei dismissed it. "Your wolfling is safe with my son."

"His sworn shield is not by his side. The only time any of my children's direwolves has ever howled like this was after my son fell."

Cersei's expression changed thrice in as many moments and then she called out for Jaime.

"Brother, find Joffrey. Now."

He looked bemused and Ned half-heard a soft spoken jest, but the man went to find his horse. Cayn, one of Ned's personal guards, rode up and said they found Arya.

"Take me to her."

Arya looked confused and utterly disheveled; the boy behind her looked terrified.

"What is this? Are you harmed?"

"N-no, and Mycah didn't do anything wrong!"

He gave her a perplexed look. "You are filthy, did you roll around in the muck? No matter, I am worried over your sister, those howls alarm me. Have you seen her?"

"Yes, about three hours ago. She and Joffrey were riding in the woods near a spot overseeing the Trident. But she's wrong, Mycah didn't do anything wrong. I asked him to!"

Ned gave his daughter another perplexed look and ordered Cayn to go ride that way and search for tracks. Turning back to Arya he asked, "What are you saying? What is Sansa wrong about?"

Arya looked to be near tears. "I asked Mycah to play swords with me. I'm faster but he has a longer reach, it isn't fair. But he didn't hurt me."

The boy, Mycah presumably, nodded his head. "She ast me to, m'lord."

"This is not behavior suitable for a highborn lady, but there seems no true harm done. Cease your tears, the boy did as you bid, why would I punish him for it?"

"That is what I was saying," she said wiping away at her face, "but the prince wanted to hurt him and Sansa said you should be the one to judge his guilt for hurting my fingers."

Ned stilled. "Was the prince angry when you left?"

"He was cruel and amused, I don't think he cared if I got hurt, he just wanted to hurt Mycah. I wasn't going to let him!"

He sighed. Reports from the yard had not been complimentary of Robert's eldest. The boy was overly proud, rude, and ready to taunt others with relish. But the idea that he might grow angry with Sansa and harm her… no, he wouldn't entertain such a thought without proof.

"Mycah, you have done nothing wrong, you are dismissed. Arya get cleaned and I will talk with Septa Mordane over… this," he gestured at her dirty clothing.

"Yes Father, thank you." Arya sounded grateful, then turned to her friend. "See, I told you all would be well, and you wanted to run off!"

Only all was not well when the riders returned carrying the dead body of Prince Joffrey and the limp one of his daughter.

***

Tyrion was drunk when his brother found him. It was nearly dawn and Jaime looked haggard in the firelight. Robert's rages and Cersei's wails could no longer be heard.

"Gods, what a night," Jaime said sourly as Tyrion handed him the wineskin.

"Aye," Tyrion said bitterly.

"I had to hold our sister down so the maester could give her milk of the poppy. She is senseless in her grief, blames everyone. The king, our Hand, the Kingsguard, the Hound, me."

Tyrion laughed darkly. "And yet it was she who suggested Joffrey entertain Sansa so she could speak with the councilors."

"She has a mother's grief, go easy."

Tyrion blinked at his brother. "Go easy? I am surrounded by incompetent and witless fools at every turn and can do nothing about it. Gods be good, does anyone have any sense in this damnable camp!?"

Jaime looked at him oddly. "You're drunk, but say on."

"Where to begin with this parade of follies? Oh, aye, let's start with the notion that a boy of twelve with gold, a priceless mount, and an expensive blade is safe in a land that still had brigands! Everyone is a fool for that alone. But let us see what else." Tyrion's voice was a harsh whisper.

"How about those imbecilic Stark guards? They came riding through the camp aghast at the horrors done to their Lord's daughter. In a fortnight's time everyone in the Seven Kingdoms will know that Sansa Stark was violated. When, if they had an ounce of forethought, they could have kept that news to the Hand, the king, and the maester. Gods be good, if the poor girl ever wakes, her life will be ruined."

Jaime winced. "You have the right of it. This feels personal for you, you didn't act this way when the boy fell."

Tyrion grabbed the wine from Jaime and took a hefty swallow. "She… she never looked down on me for what I was. Jaime, you never have either, but I can only count a handful who have done so in my life. I tell you true, brother, she possesses the mind of a maester. To be able to converse with someone who does not think ill of me is a wonder. I have only ever been able to find that when blood or coin were involved."

Tyrion did not mean to make his brother feel worse. He knew the truth; Jaime had lost a son. The haunting look of guilt when Tyrion had just now complained about how only certain few family members and whores had ever spoken kindly to him must have weighed heavily on him.

"Tyrion… I…" he trailed off. "Sorry, I do not have the words."

Tyrion ruefully shook his head. Gods, how he loved the kindness his brother still showed. Words might fail Jaime, yet the desire to offer comfort shone through plain enough, and that was more than most men ever gave.

"We were speaking of folly, so let us return to that. The Stark guards and others made sure to quickly scour the area for the villains responsible. They found the prince's horse, dead and Sansa's frightened mare, but no brigands. And now with all their riding to and fro there is no trail that can be followed! Did any think to check for tracks before riding around like witless headless chickens?"

Jaime winced. "I had not thought of that either. I was one of the searchers."

"The Stark guards found her first from what I have learned. You may have erred as well, but even if you had known better, it would not change the course of events."

Jaime took back the wine and indulged before handing it back.

"The Hound has a description of them."

Tyrion spat on the ground. "A pox on the fool. I heard of it, aye, and I doubt 'tis true."

Jaime sat straighter, "Why? He has a confession."

Tyrion shook his head, muttering about fools and then explained in a louder voice. "Joffrey and Sansa had dined at a holdfast. They spoke cheerfully of how kind the two were and how they were even paid in silver for preparing a simple meal for them. The Hound thought it was a suspicious amount of silver and put them to sharp question."

"Right, and then he made them confess their crimes."

"Do you know the whole of it?" Tyrion's voice dropped. "They told one tale at first. Then the Hound ripped off a finger from the poor farmer's wife, and suddenly they remembered being paid silver by armed men to point the way after the prince and the girl had supped. They could not recall faces, of course… until Clegane inflicted more pain. No doubt the dog hoped to stay in my father's good graces and escape any blame for the prince's death."

Jaime nodded. "Yes, I know that part. He questioned them until they confessed the truth. It wasn't some random folk who had appeared at their door demanding where they had gone, they had given word to their conspirators. They'll be executed on the morrow."

Tyrion raised his head to the sky.

"My sweet brother, I am fond of you, but on occasion you are as dense as the rest."

Jaime frowned at him and motioned for him to explain.

"They were being tortured, they would say anything to get them the agony inflicted on them to stop. What madness would it be to conspire with others to kill the crown prince, rape the Hand's daughter, and then remain in their homes. Most like, they spoke true at the first. Perhaps they bragged at hosting such notables and spoke of the silver they were given, and that led to Joffrey's death when some greedy blackheart heard them, but that is as far as any blame I can lay at their feet."

"Seven hells," Jaime muttered. "Do the maesters think the girl will wake?"

He shook his head. "They say there were signs she was struck in the head. You've been enough jousts to know that sort of injury can be fatal or it can amount to nothing, with a hundred variations in between. The longer it takes for her to wake, the less likely she is to."

"Some small mercy at least, we can hope that she was struck and then they ravaged her."

Tyrion felt tears swim in his eyes. "Curse me for being a curious fool then, because I cannot have that hope." The thought of what Sansa must have endured, it twisted his stomach. "The maester recounted her injuries, among them were a shorn fingernail and blood was found under her nails. She fought them, Gods be good she fought them even as they…" Tyrion's voice cracked.

Jaime was staring at the fire morosely.

"Do you know what drives me mad, brother? That if I had come across those bastards, I could not have stopped it. I cannot even dream of saving the maiden. I would have spurred my steed fast as I could and fetched you, someone who can actually do something. Here I sit, drinking, and feeling sorry for myself while innocents are tortured and young girls are defiled and I have somehow made it about being a dwarf again. Seven Hells, I am accursed."

He needed to find a wagon to sleep this off. Tyrion gave his brother an awkward hug and waddled off toward his bed.

***

The opportunity was simply too convenient to pass up. I might never have had another chance to do away with Prince Joffrey. When he revealed just how troublesome it would be for him to become king, I knew I had to act. His sworn shield was not nearby and it was just the two of us. So, I killed him with an extreme plan in mind.

The problem in my situation is that there would be a large number of questions when the heir to the Iron Throne dies through violence. While few might initially suspect me, it wouldn't be unheard of for a surprise attack to kill. I needed a cover story and the one I decided to go with would have profound implications for my future.

It had to be done, and this might even be better.

A startling realization was that I could have been wed to someone who would treat me poorly, and I would have no legal method of dealing with it. Oh sure, if I was wed to some lesser lordling they may fear my father's wrath, but in general I had few rights. I would be expected to take part in my spouse's pleasures, be told what to do, how to act, and all of that sounded very bothersome when I gleaned more into Joffrey's character. Who else was hiding such irrational desires?

This act would jeopardize my ability to get a husband, but what of it? My father nor Robb after him, would turn me out from Winterfell. I had Visha, my library, a family that I cherished, and a decent amount of coin. Not marrying someone would weaken my family's position somewhat, but I had four siblings. And truth be told, killing Joffrey probably did more to stabilize this realm than anything else.

After killing Joffrey I had moved quickly. I gave the body another wound so it looked like it had been more of a struggle and then I killed his horse and slashed my own mare, but not enough to kill. I took my own coin purse, the ring from Joffrey's finger, and Lion's Tooth and tossed it into the Trident. Hopefully it would deposit his belongings far from here.

Next I harmed myself in a few ways that were quite personal. I wanted to make it look like there had been a struggle and that I had been violated by some criminal. Pain was something I had grown used to in my second life, but I must confess the deliberate infliction of damage to one's body is quite different than taking a wound with the adrenaline of battle.

It had to be done. I scratched a rock hard enough to damage the nail enough to actually peel it back some. I gave myself some bruises by driving the hilt into my thigh a few times and then did the most painful portion. Afterwards I tossed the dagger into the Trident as well.

I slammed my head with moderate strength to create a wound, but not enough for serious damage or even a true concussion. That would have been risky. Taking one last look at the scene, I had then slipped my skin and entered Visha. From there I had begun my howling and let events take their course.

My goal was to remain unconscious for a couple of days further selling what had happened. The tale that I wanted my evidence to leave would hopefully lead people to several conclusions. The prince had been attacked, likely by bandits or brigands. They had killed and robbed him while raping me and leaving me for dead. The self-inflicted wounds made it look like it had been a savage attack and the knot on my head would sell the idea I had been struck and gone still, letting the notion that miscreants assumed I was dead after completing their deed. Sloppy actions by despicable lawless folk foolish enough to attack the nobility.

By using my warg abilities, the maester would not be able to wake me. This would further sell the story and explain my 'memory loss' of the event. In many ways I was a good actor. After all, no one had ever discovered that I truly hated battle and was not all that patriotic toward the Empire in my second life. But despite that, I had no wish to playact at being a traumatized victim. By pushing forward the idea that I had no recollection of the events that took place I could not get caught in a falsehood or be overly questioned as to the details of the attack.

If time was spent examining the scene, there would likely be some evidence whatever I lie I opted for might not fit what was observed. But if I had nothing to share as a witness… it would make things simple. More than just that, I knew there were some holes in my story if anyone had the wherewithal to properly investigate the scene. But forensic science didn't seem to be a thing and I imagine in their haste to get me to a maester things would get muddled.

It was hard to watch through Visha's eyes at the suffering of my father and sister. I was a bit surprised that Arya didn't suspect something, but I made sure to playact the wolf, howling until they let me sleep next to me. I had a number of visitors, including both my father and sister who were regularly by my side. Tyrion, Mordane, Myrcella, and even the king all came by.

Three days seemed to be a good amount of time as I started to notice my thoughts grow a bit more… instinctual. I willed myself back into my body and gave Arya a bad fright as I violently gasped for air, my body feeling rather foreign.

All kinds of commotion were kicked off as Arya screamed for someone to come and then hugged me. The maester came in a rush and checked me over. Father arrived and I put on my best befuddled expression.

"Did I get sick? Did I miss the day with the queen and Myrcella?"

"Thank the Gods you woke up, Sansa, we were so worried."

They questioned me as the maester checked me over. I pretended to have a bit of 'brain fog' but I responded to his questions and followed his finger with my eyes as he checked for some basics. I explained I last recalled thinking I would wear my blue silks as they were my favorite. After the maester gave his seal of approval that I was no longer in danger, Father shooed Arya out.

"Sansa, my sweet child. You were not sick, you were attacked. You took a wound to the head and… more."

"Father, what is the matter? You look pale, and attacked? I… what happened?"

He looked down. "Gods… how do I even say this? Joffrey, your betrothed, he is dead and the ones who murdered him also ravaged you. You were beaten and… taken against your will."

I put on my best gravely shocked expression. "W-what? Joffrey is dead. And my… my maidenhead?"

He hugged me. "I am butchering this, forgive me, but this is important. You have no memory of what happened? None at all?"

I shook my head.

"There's nothing, Father. I'm sorry."

I really tried to get tears to come to my eyes, but they wouldn't come. I rubbed at my eyes to try to stimulate them through pressure.

"No, this can't be true, who would dare attack the prince? Is he truly dead?"

He nodded gravely. "He is. We have yet to find the monsters who did this, but riders and ravens have gone out. They will be found and we will see justice done."

He comforted me and embraced me and eventually let me be. That had been surprisingly difficult to do. I truly hoped I had fooled everyone. The next day or two would be crucial, but after that, without memory of the event, all I had to do was fake being in mourning for my dear betrothed.

***

Ned walked through the halls of Castle Darry and reported to the king. Renly and Barristan were speaking softly in a corner. Cersei was a pale shadow of herself. Robert looked little better. Great bags hung under his eyes and he was never far from wine. Ned knew the king had slept little these last few days.

"The maester informed me," Robert rasped. "How is she?"

"The Gods may have been merciful in some small way, Your Grace. She has no recollection of the attack."

"Merciful?" Cersei hissed. "Your useless child losing her memories is no mercy. Now we have even less assurance the culprits will be found."

"Watch your tongue," Robert demanded. "His daughter has suffered enough. We'll find the creatures who did this, and I'll kill them myself."

Ned's jaw tightened. He wanted to do it himself. That was a thought that had never crossed his mind no matter how many times he had wielded Ice to execute the King's Justice. But this time, he would have been glad to do it.

I still have my daughter, but he has lost his son. He has the right to it.

Renly stood from his chair. "What is to be done? Do we continue to linger here or do we go south to King's Landing? I imagine Myrcella and Tommen will wish to be home and not in an unfamiliar castle."

Robert grunted. "We will wait another day or two to see if our searchers have more success, but then we continue. Gods be good, what a disaster, first Bran and then Sansa. I feel as if I have brought a curse onto your house."

Ned felt a chill. He remembered the mother direwolf and the broken antler that had killed the she-wolf.

"If you had made Jaime the Hand, our son would still be alive," Cersei spat.

Robert quivered with rage. "You have a mother's grief, but have care, woman."

The thought of Jaime Lannister, the Kingslayer, as Hand to the King sickened Ned. The very idea of it was appalling given that his father was Warden of the West and now Jaime was Warden of the East when by all rights it should have been Robert Arryn's position, even if he was too young.

"What is to be done with Sansa, Lord Stark?" Barristan asked softly.

Ned exhaled slowly. "If she recalls what happened to her… it would be best for her to return North. Be with her mother and the people she has known all her life."

"Perhaps this is premature," Renly said slowly, "but do you still intend to join your two houses?"

Cersei recoiled as if she had been slapped. "I will not have Tommen marry a defiled woman! The heir to your throne wed to a woman soiled by another man, unthinkable. Most like some diseased smallfolk who has poisoned her womb for all time and–" Cersei's words were cut off as Robert slapped her.

"Cease your poisonous words! Seven Hells, you are speaking about Ned's daughter."

"My lords, tempers are heated," Barristan attempted to say diplomatically, "perhaps it is best we convene the small council upon our arrival to King's Landing and discuss the matter when the wound of grief is less raw."

Cersei is correct, and by the look on Robert's face, he knows it too. It wouldn't be good for Sansa either. As just another highborn lady she will be subject of whispers, but as the next queen…

Robert nodded. "Out with you, all save Ned." Robert looked at him with haunted eyes, "I'll not keep you long from your daughter, but we should speak."

Ned remained behind and they talked. Robert unburdened himself about his failing with Joffrey. How he had not done more to rear the child properly and that he vowed to do better with Tommen.

"Ned, about the betrothal…"

"I understand, and I would not ask to see Sansa wed to Tommen even if you wished it."

Robert sighed heavily. "Thank you, you are a true friend. And we'll find a match for Sansa; she's still the Hand's daughter."

"She is not yet twelve, it would be best to consider where her hand would go to after some years have passed from this tragedy."

Robert nodded. "Leave me, be with your daughter. If you need anything from me, you have only to ask it. I am... sorry."

Ned lowered his head. "You are not to blame, Your Grace."

In truth, the Lannisters bear the responsibility. If Lysa is right, they poisoned Jon Arryn. Without that, Jon would still be alive. Bran would never have climbed that tower and fallen. Sansa would still be safe in Winterfell, untouched. When I find the proof I need, I swear by the Old Gods that Casterly Rock will pay a heavy price.

Actions

↑ Top ← Previous Chapter Next Chapter → Comments (22)

Kudos

Comments

Post Comment

Note:

All fields are required. Your email address will not be published.

Guest name

Guest email

Plain text with limited HTML ? Embedded images ( tags) will be displayed as HTML, including the image's source link and any alt text.

Comment

10000 characters left

Footer

About the Archive

Site Map

Diversity Statement

Content Policy

DMCA & TIDA Policies

Site Status

Policy Questions & Abuse Reports

Technical Support & Feedback

Development

otwarchive v0.9.479.2

Known Issues

GPL-2.0-or-later by the OTW

Chapter 1018 - 3-4-5