Game of Thrones - The Rose of Winterfell

The Pack Must Survive

We returned to the Red Keep and my rooms within Maegor's holdfast. Entering, I passed Sansa off to Lehna and Taria before asking, "would you join me for tea, my Lord?" Varys bowed and uttered, "perhaps something stronger than tea." Nodding, I moved to my small table as he poured us some wine. Sitting there breathing in and out, I heard him move to join me. Taking hold of the offered wine, I muttered, "history feels like it is repeating itself." He did not speak as I clutched the wine cup within my grasp. "How foolish of me to think Starks will be safe South of Winterfell. My Aunt, Uncle, and Grandfather perished in the South. Now my Father has joined them. My sister and I are trapped here as my brother marches into battle, all because of my mother's foolish choice."

"What choice do you speak of, my Lady?" I stared at the Spider. "I know she seized Tyrion Lannister on the Kingsroad. And because of that seizure, his Father sent The Mountain and likely his eldest son to salt the Riverlands." He cupped his wine glass. "What else do you know." Exhaling, I uttered, "I know Jaime Lannister cares for me in some manner because he refused to agree to my marriage proposal between the Great Lion and me when I wrote for help. The Queen hates me for taking her brother's attention. The King seems to desire me for some reason. My brother will not offer amnesty to anyone who stood by as Joffrey ordered the removal of our Father's head." Lifting my cup, I sipped the deep red Dornish wine before sitting it down. Swallowing, I uttered, "do you understand why House Stark's words are "winter is coming" my Lord?" He shook his head.

"Because winter means the end has come. Not just summer but the end of childhood, the ending of a life, and, more importantly, the end of what we thought we knew. What comes next is unknown, and that to me is far more frightening then the idea of a long winter." He breathed out and released his wine cup. "That is a concern for tomorrow, my Lady." I glanced up, confused. "Drink your wine. Have your companions lock your doors and rest beside your sister." "What did you..." "A single drop of sweet sleep to ease you both. Tomorrow I expect you will take on the strength of your house but tonight, be the girl that watched her Father die." Nodding, I mumbled, "thank you." He left with a nod as I finished my wine. Picking up the second cup, I stood and sought out Sansa.

The following day, dressed in a Southern-style gown of pale burgundy brocade, I obediently followed Sansa into the throne room where Joffrey held court. Descending the staircase to the overlooking balcony, I observed a troubadour playing with a lap lute from his seat before the Iron Throne. He was a youthful fellow with what I assumed was a boyish smile if he was not trembling with fear. Plucking at his lute as he sang, "the boar's great tusks, they boded ill, for good King Robert's health, and the beast was every bit as fat, as Robert was himself, but our brave King cried, "Do your worst! I'll have your ugly head! You're nowhere near as murderous as the lion in my bed," in a clear melody. Stopping beside Sansa, I noticed Ceresi's annoyance and discomfort as the bard continued singing, "King Robert lost his battle and failed his final test." With a breath, I glanced away as the bard sang, "the lion ripped his balls off, and the boar did all the rest." Standing amongst the courtiers just behind the seated troubadour, we anxiously observed a melancholy Joffrey begin to clap. Eventually, the courtiers surrounding us followed suit until Joffrey uttered, "very amusing. Isn't it a funny song?"

The clapping ceased as Joffrey shited his position within the Iron Throne. "Thank you for your rendition." Taking note of the Kingsguard standing before the vast doors leading out of the throne room and the remaining members of the golden armored guard surrounding the throne. "I imagine it was even better received at that tavern." Recognizing the danger in Joffrey's words, the bard uttered, "I'm so sorry, your Grace," as he hurried to his feet, clutching his instrument tightly. "I'll never sing it again, I swear." As if sensing the man's fear, Joffrey amusingly raised an eyebrow as he genuinely asked, "tell me, which do you favor, your fingers or your tongue?" Confusion colored the bard's face at the question. "Your Grace?" Fearing the approaching outcome, I felt Sansa take hold of my arm. Reaching over, I laid my hand over her hand, tucked into the bend of my elbow, while our King pointedly asked, "fingers or your tongue? If you got to keep one, which would it be." Remaining silent, I felt Sansa shift her gaze to the bard as I observed Joffrey. The stuttered out, "I..." as Joffrey coldly said, "or l could just cut your throat."