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Mature
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Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Fandoms:
幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil - Carlo Zen (Light Novels)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Manga)幼女戦記 | Youjo Senki | Saga of Tanya the Evil (Anime)A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
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Sansa StarkTanya von DegurechaffNed StarkArya StarkTyrion LannisterRobert BaratheonJon SnowLady | Sansa Stark's DirewolfJaime Lannister
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Political Sansa StarkPolitical AlliancesBetrayal
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English
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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 6
Chapter Text
Chapter 6
Arya was always guarded by two Winterfell guardsmen as they finished the final part of the journey to King's Landing. She understood why and did not complain. Even if it meant no more adventures with Mycah. Everyone in camp was upset and mournful. Someone had defiled her sister in the worst way imaginable and Arya desperately wanted to stab the person who did it with Needle.
Strangely enough, or perhaps not so strangely, after all, it was Sansa. Her sister did not seem much changed by the assault. The lack of memory of the event made things quite odd. Arya could tell her sister was somewhat discomfited by the reactions of those around her.
People mourned Joffrey. Arya knew he was a nasty sort, but she hadn't wished him to die. Defending Sansa, even failing at it, was heroic she supposed. When they finally got to King's Landing it would be full of ceremonies and funeral rites for the prince. She wasn't looking forward to it.
Sansa had convinced their father to let Arya sleep in the same bed as Sansa. This was not for comfort or childish giggling, not that Sansa had ever done that, but for practicing their warg magics. Arya had been beside herself when she had successfully slipped her skin. Being Nymeria was so different! She could sense things, hear things, and smell things.
She wanted to go explore and track down every last little smell, but Sansa had calmly whispered and walked her through some mental exercises so she could retain her sense of self. It had been strange because she had never walked like a wolf before, but when she was within Nymeria's skin she knew how to do everything a direwolf could do.
When she returned to her body, it felt slow and half-blind.
"You did perfectly, Arya! Remember, this must be our secret, and you must always tell me when you intend to warg. We are operating blind without an owner's manual."
"Owner's manual?"
"An Essosi book on how to operate their queer devices. Today it matters little and less. The point is that I need your oath not to experiment by yourself. Do I have it?"
"Yes, Sansa, I swear it by the old gods and the new."
Her heart had soared, but as they then neared King's Landing, disaster struck. The guards had been more diligent and one had found Needle. Her father held the blade in his hand within his tent.
"This is fine work. A bravo's blade. Not typical for something Mikken would make, but nonetheless I see his maker's mark. Who gave this to you?"
Arya bit her lip and looked down.
"Did one of the guards give it to you? To make you feel more secure after… what happened to Sansa?"
Arya shook her head. "No, I have had it since Winterfell."
"Who? My patience has its limits. My nine-year-old daughter is being armed from my own forge, and I know nothing of it."
"Promise you won't get him in trouble?" Arya asked hesitantly.
"Assuming there was no theft, I swear it."
Arya breathed out a breath she had not realized she was holding.
"Jon gave it to me as a goodbye gift."
Ned shook his head. "This is no toy for children, least of all for a girl. What would Septa Mordane say if she knew you were playing with swords?"
Arya sniffed. "Septa Mordane isn't right about a lot of things. Even Sansa says so." Her hands went to her mouth. Sansa would not like her saying that, but it was true. Her sister had told her that Mordane was a font of useful information, but to not trust everything she said because it was steeped in her beliefs of the Seven.
"The septa is doing no more than is her duty. Your mother and I have charged her with the task of making you a lady. You have improved much over these last few years, but now you are waving around a sword?"
"I don't want to be a lady!" Arya flared.
Her father sighed. "Ah, Arya. You have a wildness in you, child. My father called it the 'wolf blood.' Lyanna had a touch of it, and my brother Brandon more than a touch."
Were they wargs too? No, it is a meta… metaphor.
His voice sounded sad. "Lyanna might have carried a sword, if my lord father had allowed it. You remind me of her sometimes. You even look like her."
"Lyanna was beautiful," Arya said with a sigh.
Everyone had said so. That sort of thing wasn't said about Arya.
"She was," her father agreed, "beautiful, and willful, and dead before her time."
He was silent for many long moments and then returned the blade.
"You cannot wear it openly at court. If it makes you feel safer, I will allow you to be taught how to wield it. I will also have Jory teach you some things you might try to do if accosted without it. It is important, even more so within the city, that you stay by your guards at all times. You shouldn't ever have to use it, but you know our house words."
"Winter is coming," Arya replied dutifully.
"Yes, child. The hard cruel times. First Bran and now Sansa. Our sigil is the direwolf and then the snows fall and the white wind blows, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. When we are in King's Landing, you will obey me and Septa Mordane without question. Eyes will be upon you more so than ever in your life."
Arya looked startled. "But why?"
"It is too early to say, but you are close in age with Tommen. The king still wishes our houses to be united, which would mean…"
She looked at her father in horror. She hated trying to be a lady. She could do the work – Sansa had shown her, and she could say her courtesies, but to spend her entire life surrounded by people like Septa Mordane? The horror threatened to overwhelm her.
Her father chuckled. "You will think differently when you are older. Tommen is a sweet child and nothing is decided as of yet. Just remember what I told you."
"Yes, Father. Thank you for letting me keep Needle."
***
Catelyn had only just arrived at King's Landing when Ser Rodrik had gone out to speak with the armorer. So much had happened of late and she had hoped to have some time to herself. Bran's fall, the burning of the library, the assassination attempt on Bran. Time to collect herself was not to be found as the City Watch had practically stormed her room and escorted her to the castle. Through the gates of the Red Keep and up into a tower, the guards ushered her inside the room with Petyr Baelish.
"Cat," he said quietly.
"Why have I been brought here in this fashion?"
After some pointed questions, Catelyn was informed it was the Master of Whisperers, Lord Varys, the eunuch who was responsible for ferreting out that she was in the city. Petyr questioned her as to why she was here.
"At first I thought it was because of… Sansa, but you must have left Winterfell before then. This sudden trip of yours bespeaks a certain urgency. I beg of you, let me help. Old sweet friends should never hesitate to rely upon each other."
There was a soft knock on the door before Catelyn could ask what he meant about Sansa.
The man who stepped through the door was plump, perfumed, powdered, and as hairless as an egg.
"Lady Stark," he said taking her hands in both of his, "to see you again after so many years is such a joy. Oh, your poor hands. Have you burned yourself, sweet lady? The fingers are so delicate… Our good Maester Pycelle makes a marvelous salve, shall I send for a jar?"
"I thank you, my lord, but my own Maester Luwin has already seen to my hurts." She turned away from the eunuch and back to Petyr.
"What were you saying about my daughter, Petyr?"
Her childhood friend went still. "Oh, Cat, have you not heard?"
An icy chill went down her spine.
No… what has happened!
"My sweet lady," Varys said softly, "the gods can be cruel. Prince Joffrey was slain while he was out riding with your daughter. No doubt the brave lad drew steel and attempted to protect your daughter. They did cruel murder upon Robert's son. Sansa is alive but was injured in the attack. They," he paused painfully, "ravaged her and left her for dead."
Catelyn felt herself grow dizzy and grabbed the table for support.
"No…" she could barely breathe. Petyr was there to help bring her to a chair.
"She is awake, Cat, and most like will be here soon with her father and sister. The maester who saw to her reports that save for her maidenhead, she will suffer no lasting harm."
It took several minutes for her to master herself. She could not appear to be weak before a creature like the Spider. Too much was at stake. When she had recovered her wits, she put all thoughts of Sansa firmly aside for the moment. She would grieve when it was safe. Catelyn needed to know why she had been summoned like this.
"I am guilty for having you brought here, kind lady. I wonder if we might trouble you to show us the dagger?"
Catelyn stared at the eunuch in stunned disbelief. He was a spider, she thought wildly, an enchanter or worse. He knew things no one could possibly know. Her thoughts went to Ser Rodrik, of the possibility he had been taken and put to the question, but Varys assured her nothing of the sort had taken place. His little birds had provided the information. She showed them the dagger and Petyr confessed it was his own.
But it made no sense. Petyr had not been at Winterfell.
"I lost it to our king betting on a joust." Petyr glanced slyly at Varys, "Have no fear, my friend, I do not accuse our king of sending an assassin after a boy. No doubt, he kept it with his other collection of weapons that he is fond of traveling with and showing off."
Catelyn's eyes widened. "Then it was someone who had come with the king's entourage to Winterfell. Who would have access to it? And why would they do that to my son?"
Petyr gave her a shrug. "Who can say? Much to our sorrow, the lengthy baggage train and column of knights, men-at-arms, camp followers, and more was not properly guarded. I think a better question would be what kind of twisted man would send a knife in the dark to murder an already injured boy?"
Catelyn caught a glint in Littlefinger's eye.
"You suspect something. Tell me."
He looked over to Varys who giggled. "I will know of it anyway."
Petyr shook his head. "I have neither proof nor any good reason as to why anyone would do such a thing. I merely suggest that it would take a man cursed by the gods, twisted and foul, bitter at the course of his life to conscience such a deed. Tell me, Cat, who among the king's party could be such a wretch?"
He means Tyrion.
She frowned. "If you mean Tyrion, I fear you may be mistaken."
He arched an eyebrow. "He is a droll fellow on the surface, but there are stories I could tell you of him. I own some establishments and he has frequented them often enough. I do not mean to speak too loosely about such matters with a highborn lady, but his lusts are many and depraved."
Catelyn wasn't sure what to think. Sansa had vouched for him and found him good company. Her daughter was as shrewd as any she had met. Surely if he was some monster, she would not have spent time with him in the library.
"I do not know what to think, but I thank you. Please, keep my presence here in the city a secret and when my lord husband arrives bring him to me."
Petyr smiled warmly. "I can do that for you, Cat. If ever you need anything from me, you have but to ask and I will do all that I can, if it's in my power."
***
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King, had not expected to be following Petyr Baelish of all people through the dangerous route he had taken him on. After the frustrating initial meeting with the small council, the master of coin had asked him to follow him, saying that Catelyn was in the city.
Even if he did not trust the man after his attempt to duel his brother for the hand of Catelyn Tully, Ned followed him. The descent down the side of the cliff through the use of narrow handholds had been harrowing. Littlefinger had made it look easy, but Ned had kept his face pressed to the rock and avoided looking down more than he must.
If this is some trick of Baelish to make me look a fool, I will wring his neck.
It had not been a trick, though the small man still nearly had the life choked out of him when he was taken to a brothel and had not explained the reason for stashing Catelyn there. The droll and impudent man had just said, "Your wife is inside," and left the words hanging, creating an obvious slander by implication.
A clean-shaven Ser Rodrik had saved the scrawny man's neck, and that had been quite the shock for Ned. He had never seen the man without his whiskers. Littlefinger then led a discomfited Ned through the common room where all sorts of open debauchery was taking place.
Catelyn embraced him fiercely, and Ned's head was a whirl of emotion and confusion.
Why was she here?
The means to arrive in King's Landing before the king was simple enough. A vessel from White Harbor to King's Landing over sea could make the journey far swifter than the overland route. Especially with how slow the king traveled and with the delay after Joffrey's death.
Catelyn explained what happened. The assassin in the night to kill his son Bran. Her injuries and how the wolf saved Bran. She even showed him the dagger.
"This blade was sent to open Bran's throat and spill his life's blood."
"But why would someone want Bran dead? The boy has never done harm."
His wife looked pensive. "Petyr has a few theories, none of them can be proven, and I do not know."
Ned looked at Littlefinger for an explanation.
"I was not at Winterfell and I can only guess as to why from what your lady wife has told me. With your son's penchant for climbing in odd places, perhaps he overheard something he should not. A plot to do you harm or some other treason. If we go with that theory, who among the Lannisters was not on the hunt?"
He tried to think back as to who was not there. The queen, obviously. He could not recall if the Kingslayer was there or not. As he tried to think back, Littlefinger interjected.
"Tyrion Lannister rarely participates in hunts if I recall. Do you remember a half-man wielding a bow or spear?" Petyr said with a smirk.
Ned slowly shook his head. The basic idea seemed sound. Bran was a good climber, and he mayhaps overheard someone meeting clandestinely, but Tyrion had often been in the library, which was not close to where Bran had fallen. The idea of the dwarf doing something like that seemed unthinkable. Sansa trusted him and had been rather direct in her assessment when Ned tried to cast aspersions against him as a Lannister.
It is rare for Sansa to praise someone for their wit. But she is still a girl, and if he is cunning, could she have been fooled?
"No, he was not on the hunt. You mentioned a few theories – what else have you considered?"
Baelish seemed a little bemused, but then launched into another possibility. The idea that this was not some conspiracy or deep treachery, but a more grounded bit of envy.
"Cat described for me how all of Winterfell mourned for Bran's injuries. That many prayed and beseeched the gods. Perhaps a twisted individual who has never known the fondness of the people did not like it. Someone who is but half a man."
"Have you some quarrel with Tyrion Lannister?" Ned asked.
"Directly? No. But I know some of his habits at the many brothels he visits. He enjoys his jests and japes and he has a cunning, if debauched mind. Many only see him as a dwarf, but I remind you, he is the son of Tywin Lannister, and the brother of the Kingslayer."
Gods, I can still see the bodies Tywin presented to Robert.
He remembered Rhaegar's infant son, the red ruin of his skull. It had been a horror that had led to a rageful argument with Robert at the time. Only the shared grief over Lyanna had mended the harsh words they had spoken to each other.
"You counsel, then, we should have him taken and put to the question?"
"Gods, no, do you Starks have naught but snow between your ears? That is the queen's brother and Tywin Lannister's son. Unless there is proof to be found, you cannot touch the Imp." The sly grin appeared on the man's face again, "At least not directly."
They talked further, but none of it was to Ned's satisfaction. Learning Catelyn had even told Baelish about the hidden message from Lysa troubled him greatly. The man enjoyed his amused smiles far too much for his liking. Ever since Robert had come to Winterfell he had felt unmoored. Bran had fallen and become crippled. Then an assassin was sent to silence him. Then Joffrey was killed, and his daughter… All this in the span of two months. He had known the south was a nest of adders, but this was beyond anything he could have imagined.
Ned turned to his wife. "My lady, there is nothing more you can do here. I want you to return to Winterfell at once. If there was one assassin, there could be others. Whoever ordered Bran's death will learn soon enough that our boy still lives."
"I had hoped to see Sansa at least," Catelyn said.
"That would be most unwise," Littlefinger put in. "The Red Keep is full of curious eyes, and children talk."
Catelyn shook her head. "Sansa would not. She will know to keep silent."
"You are right, but he does speak truly, my love. This place… I would not have you remain here a moment longer. The longer we keep our foes in the dark, the better.
Catelyn asked for a moment alone with Ned, and Littlefinger strolled to the door to give them their privacy.
"Don't be too long. It is past time the Hand and I returned to the castle, before our absence is noted."
When the master of coin closed the door behind him, Ned turned back to Catelyn.
"Once you are home, send word to Helman Tallhart and Galbart Glover under my seal. They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailin. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neck against an army. Instruct Lord Manderly that he is to strengthen his defense at White Harbor, and see that they are well manned. And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theon Greyjoy. If there is war, we shall have sore need of his father's fleet."
Catelyn seemed horrified at the thought of war, but Ned calmed her and explained that as the Hand he would investigate Jon Arryn's murder and the attempt on Bran.
They embraced and his wife then brought up Sansa again.
"Is it really better for her to be with you? I've been assured she does not remember the attack, but she will have whispers dog her every day at court."
"She wants to stay and be with Arya. The two have been cordial, but now they are as thick as thieves. Through tragedy, they have grown closer together. I would not split them without cause."
"Petyr was kind enough to suggest that he could find a match for her in the Vale. He has friends there, those who owe him favors. I told him I would discuss it with you."
Ned shook his head. "It is too soon. Wait some years, see how she grows, and in time the newness of it will be less keenly felt. Though no fault of her own, she will be looked at as damaged and will not marry highly, but perhaps she will have the opportunity to marry the man and not the station. She was given moon's tea to ensure no child came of such an act, so there is no urgency to see her wed."
"As you say. I will pray for you and the girls every night."
They kissed one last time and Ned left with Baelish back to the Red Keep.
Author's Note: Petyr changed his plan slightly now that Tyrion is with the party. He's still aiming to use him as a flashpoint, but the idea of lying about who won the dagger in such an easy to disprove way is even more perilous with Tyrion being in KL. That said, wtf was he even thinking in canon? Ned could have just asked Robert and then that would have been awkward.
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