The Lost Stark

How a mockingbird dies.

~Rickon
    "Assign twenty of the finest men you have to guard the Godswoods. Guard the entrances, and do not let anyone into those woods. Have someone find the Golden Commander and tell him to meet me in the Great Hall as soon as the sun rises." I hand Red Flea a set of new leathers and boots for my sister.
    "At once, My Prince." He replies with a slight bow, taking the bundle from my hands.
    "You're fluent in Valyrian. How many other languages can you speak?" Arya asks as I turn back toward the Great Hall to meet with Aegon. "What did you just say to him?"
    Rolling my eyes, I shake my head. "I can speak a few. I told him to do his duty."
    "Which is what?" She continues as we pass through the walkway leading to the back entrance of the Great Hall.
    "If I wanted you to know, I would have spoken in the common tongue," I answer, getting irritated with her line of questioning.
    "We are your family, Rickon. We need to work together to show a united front. If we don't then—"
    "Am I?" I spit out, turning on my heel to stop right in front of her, causing her to run into my chest. "Am I your family?"
    "Of course you are," she mumbles awkwardly.
    "And what is Harper?" I demand loudly, forcing everyone in the vicinity to    stop and stare at us.
    "What I said was in anger. I didn't mean—"
    "You did. You meant it, and we both know it." I growl, stepping closer.
    "Sansa told you how she handled the Lords when she couldn't. She felt that little twinge of jealousy and ranted to you, so you decided to flex your muscles, only for it not to work. You attacked the Crowned Princess because you didn't like her ruling over Baelish. Now you and Sansa are scrambling to find a solution before word of you attacking her gets back to mother and father."
    "That's not—you can't possibly—how could you—"
    "Just stop. Stop attempting to defend your ill-thought-out actions, Arya." I sigh tiredly, shaking my head. "What happened cannot happen again. You will apologize to Harper when you see her next, and that's final." I turn back around to find the blue-haired commander.
    "Will you tell me what you told him?" Sansa whispers from beside me.
    This hasn't been the first time she questioned me about what we have been up to since leaving Winterfell. Nor is it the first time I suspect she doesn't fully trust mother despite father's assurances and promises. In fact, it seems she is listening to Arya's skepticism more and more. It wouldn't surprise me. After everything she has been through, it's understandable not to trust anyone from The South, and unfortunately, that means anyone not from The North.
    "No," I answer colder than the breeze that chills my bones.
    "Is there a reason? I am the Lady—"
    "Of nothing. When it comes to Harper and my position, Sansa, that's what you and Arya are failing to realize. Harper was being considerate by holding a discussion about what to do with Baelish. She was never going to let you and Arya take his life without him having a fair trial before answering to Ryker. Just like she didn't sit by and let the actual Lords and Ladies of The North walk over anyone that represents our family."
    "Arya wants justice. You don't know what it was like in King's Landing. None of you saw him being promised one thing, then being executed the next."
    "No, we don't. However, she wasn't denying anyone justice. She was being the leader you failed to be. She has been through this before; she has seen this before. Harper said it herself: we don't know how many times we have sat with our mother during council meetings or when she held court." I take a deep calming breath as we walk into the Great Hall. "As I said before, you don't know us. You know nothing beyond what's happening in The North. So why don't you learn from others' mistakes and actually trust someone who knows a thing or two?" I sigh, taking a seat at the High Table, rubbing my temples to ease the ache that's growing with every beat of my heart.
    Behind us, the door leading out to the Great Keep opens, allowing the clicking of armor to slip in, making me groan. "My Prince," I wince at Aegon's deep voice reverberating through the empty Hall. "You called for me?"
    "Yes," I nod as best I can. "How goes the trenches?"
    "Going as well as it can. The ground is more frozen than the ones who dig, but it's getting done." He answers, sending me an inquisitive look after glancing down the table, definitely noticing Harper's absence.
   "She and Arya had a spat. Steel was drawn, and she is currently in pelt, calming down in the Godswoods." I tell him, ignoring Sansa's glare.
    "Was she harmed?" He asks back, clenching his fists tightly.
    Letting out a sigh, I nod my head. "She was healing when we had left. Red Flea and twenty of his finest men are guarding the woods until she is ready to return to us."
    "Who drew steel first?"
   "It matters not; it's over now." I growl, knowing he's going to demand Arya's imprisonment if he learns the truth. "If you wish to add more protection to aid Red Flea and his men, you can. However, I don't think it's necessary."
   "I will check with him later." Aegon responded, stepping around the table. "How are you?" He questions, giving me a look over. "You look like you need rest, cousin." He continues worriedly, pulling a chair next to me as the door opens once more with handmaidens carrying heavy trays laden with supper.
    "I will rest only when father and mother arrive." I mumble, filling my plate.
    Aegon lets out a laugh and shakes his head. "You would be saying different if you understood what was coming."
    "I understand what's coming. Harper has told me what she feels in her bonds." I mutter, tearing into the salted meat with my teeth and chewing it carefully. "I know our parents are enraged, and Condon is disappointed, but this was my decision. I couldn't stand by—"
    "Are we talking in the common tongue now?" Sansa says, taking a sip of her wine while eyeing Aegon with a hint of distaste.
    "Sansa," I sigh, wanting nothing more than to burrow back into the warm furs I abandoned not hours ago.
    "We need to discuss what to do about Baelish." She argues, slamming her cup down while Arya makes her presence known, punching Bran to the end of the table.
    "We will discuss it when Harper returns—"
    "She will be here soon." Bran spoke quietly, almost too quietly.
    "How do you know?"
    "She sleeps in Ryker's old den beyond the waterfall." He answers, causing a cold shiver to run down my spine. "For hours, she meditated under the Weirwood as Grey Worm once taught you both. I believe he once said that, in order to train your mind, you must clear it of all thoughts to become one with the weapon your hand wields." He says, staring deep into my soul, freezing my heart.
    "How?"
    "I am the Three-Eyed Raven." He states simply, as if it is the answer to everything.
    "What does that—" my words are cut off by the sounds of the Lords and Ladies filling the hall while the maidens come out, clearing the table until there was nothing left, confusing me. "Are there appointments today?" I ask as Aegon stands to his feet, moving past Bran to stand behind me with his hand on the hilt of his sword.
    "A few." Sansa mutters, looking anywhere but at me. "Starting with Arya."
    "Arya?" My head snaps back to my sister in time to watch Arya stand in front of Sansa while folding her hands behind her back.
    "Are you sure you want to do this?" Arya asks, keeping her calculating grey eyes on our sister.
    "It's not what I want. It's what honor demands." Sansa answers as Visenya and Shaggydog move silently to the front of the table before sitting down just before the first step, causing some of the Northern men to take a step back in fright.
    Arya's cold eyes flicker to mine before locking in on Sansa's. "And what does honor demand?" She asks, barely moving her lips.
    "That I defend my family from those who would harm us." Sansa answers stoically. "That I defend The North from those who would betray us."
    The small breath Arya takes is barely noticeable as she glances to the ground then back up to our sister. "All right then. Get on with it." She replies in a tone that reminds me of Ryker.
    While I don't condone what Arya did to Harper, I honestly never thought that Sansa, of all people, would hold her accountable, especially in a manner such as this, surrounded by the Northern Lords and our army who is lining the walls. "Wait," I pause, leaning close to Sansa's ear. "What is the meaning of this? Why are they here?" I ask, taking note of the overwhelming amount of Unsullied and Second Sons lining the walls, dressed in armor as if they were expecting an attack.
    Ignoring me, Sansa turns back to Arya without an ounce of emotion on her pale face. "You stand accused of murder. You stand accused of treason. How do you answer these charges... Lord Baelish?"She finishes turning to the man who leans against the wall, seemingly unaware of the two Dothraki soldiers closing in and waiting for the shocked thin man to move.
    Everything Bran, Arya, and Harper have been arguing, all the insane accusations the two threw at Harper last night, hit me in the chest. The hungry look in his eyes as he glares at Arya forces me to admit that maybe there was some truth to their words. "My sister asked you a question," I said, gripping the arms of my chair so tight my knuckles turn white.
    It took just a moment for the realization of the accused charges to process in his mind before he stumbles forward, looking for support from everyone around him yet only finding a wide empty path leading to the center of the hall. Giving the Dothraki guards a small nod, we watch as they draw their dark curved arakhs and slam the hilt into his back, forcing him forward.
    After gaining his footing, Lord Baelish shoots my smirking sister a glare before turning to face Sansa, which causes Visenya and Shaggydog to let out low warning growls that cover the sound of Harper's entrance behind him and the guards' movements. "Lady Sansa, forgive me..." He trails off, stepping away from the direwolves. "I'm a bit confused."
    "Which charges confuse you?" I ask, meeting Harper's raging eyes.
    When he doesn't answer, Sansa leans forward, facing the frightened man. "Let's start with the simplest one: you murdered our aunt, Lysa Arryn. You pushed her through the Moon Door and watched her fall. Do you deny it?"
    After looking around at the emotionless faces of the Lords and Ladies, he turns back to Sansa. "I did it to protect you."
    "You did it to take power in the Vale," Sansa snaps back. "Before that, you conspired to murder Jon Arryn. You gave Lysa Tears of Lys to poison him. Do you deny it?" She asks, causing a shift of movement to wave on the side where the Lords and Knights of the Vale sit watching.
    "Whatever your aunt might've told you..." Baelish tries to answer with a shocked expression. He tries to step forward but is stopped by the wolves, who pull back their lips, showing him their sharp, glistening teeth as they give him another warning growl. "She was a troubled woman. She imagined enemies everywhere."
    "You had Aunt Lysa send a raven to our parents, telling them it was the Lannisters who murdered Jon Arryn, when really, it was you. The conflict between the Starks and Lannisters—it was you who started it. Do you deny it?" Sansa shoots back.
    "I know of no such letter," Baelish deflects, shaking his head.
    "Do you deny it?" I ask, keeping my eyes on Harper, who quietly steps closer to the now shaken man trembling with rage.
    "You conspired with Cersei Lannister and Joffrey Baratheon to betray our father, Ned Stark. Thanks to your treachery, he was imprisoned and later executed on false charges of treason. Do. You. Deny. It?" Sansa further explains the charges, finally showing emotion as her voice grows firmer over the sounds of Harper's fine leather stretching to its breaking point.
    "I deny it." Littlefinger finally answers to the Lords and Ladies, trying to hide his stumbling when he notices Harper's presence and the raw power radiating off of her in rolling unforgiving waves. "None of you were there to see it happen. None of you knows the truth."
    "You held a knife to his throat," Bran spoke up, bringing the hall to a frozen silence, allowing only Harper's heavy breathing to be heard. "You said, 'I did warn you not to trust me.'" Bran continues as Baelish turns to him stunned.
    "You told our mother, 'this knife belonged to Tyrion Lannister,'" Arya continues, pulling out the Valyrian dagger she used against Harper in the Godswood. "But that was another one of your lies. It was yours."
    Clenching my jaw, I watch his head snap back to Sansa. "Lady Sansa, I have known you since you were a girl. I have protected you."
    "Protected me? By selling me to the Boltons?" She scoffs in disgust.
    "If we can speak alone, I can explain everything," he says lowly, becoming desperate.
    Sansa schools her face and leans back in her seat away from him "Sometimes, when I'm trying to understand a person's motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst," she says coldly as Littlefinger drops his head. "What's the worst reason you have for turning me against my family?" She continues, keeping her eyes on him. "That's what you do, isn't it? That's what you have always done. Turn family against family, turn sister against sister. That's what you did to our mother and Aunt Lysa. And that's what you tried to do to us." She finishes while Arya steps further to the side silently.
    "Sansa, please."
    "I'm a slow learner. It's true. But I learn."
    "Give me a chance to defend myself. I deserve that."
    Sansa says nothing in return. Instead, we watch as the now desperate man looks around the room for help. When none step forward, he passes Harper, flinching slightly. "I am Lord Protector of the Vale, and I command you to escort me safely back to the Eyrie," he demands of Lord Royce, who looks as if he would rather do anything else.
    "I think not," Royce declines with pure disdain.
    "Lord Baelish," Harper whispers so profoundly quietly, causing all attention in the hall to shift to her trembling form. "You have two options: one, my men can take you into custody until you can face trial before the true King and Queens of Westeros; or two, demand a trial by combat here and now before the gods and face the King's Justice."
    Ignoring her, he faces us, "Sansa, I beg you," he pleads desperately.
    "Answer your princess," I say, glaring at the man.
    "Sansa..."
    "You answer, Lord Baelish," Sansa demands quietly.
    "This is not justice," he shouts manically. "This is—I have loved your mother since the time I was a boy."
    "And yet you betrayed her."
    "I loved you."
    "And yet you betrayed me," Sansa says dully. "When you brought me back to Winterfell, you told me there's no justice in the world. Not unless we make it. Thank you for all your many lessons, Lord Baelish. I will never forget them." She finishes, giving Harper a nod.
    "I will give you one last chance to answer, Lord Baelish—"
    "I demand trial by combat," he cuts Harper off frantically, forcing an uneasy shift to roll through the hall.
    "So be it." Sansa leans back in her chair before standing to her feet. "House Stark, Liege House of the North hereby names Princess Harper of House Stark as their champion."
    "I accept," Harper growls out, locking her eyes on the skinny man. Instantly, two Northern guards bearing our sigil move forward, attempting to hand her a shield and sword while another carries a breastplate. "No." She declines them, causing not only a murmur to start winding up amongst the Lords and Ladies but also my heart to stutter as I realize how she plans to fight.
    Taking a breath, I nod to my sister, then turn to Baelish. "Is there any here that wish to stand for Lord Baelish?" I call out, not giving him a chance to name some innocent person. When none do, I feel my lips fight a smile. "Lord Baelish."
    "I am Lord Protector of the Vale," he trembles as a sword is thrown at his feet.
    "Pick it up," Harper spits out, stepping closer to him.
    "I-I-I," Littlefinger stammers, bending down to pick up the short sword while looking for anyone to step forward to help him.
    Once it's in his palm, Sansa takes her seat, slipping on the emotionless mask she's donned so many times. "Begin."
    The sounds of Littlefinger's stammering are drowned out by the sudden tearing of leather as Harper lets go of the control I know she was struggling with, and in no time, she's shifted into her pure white form that towers over the crying man, causing everyone in the hall except those who know her to gasp and cry out in shock. Ever since her change, Harper has spent a lot of time in her wolf form. I don't know why, but every time I have seen her or spent time with her, she has never looked as deadly as she does now.
    Harper allows Lord Baelish a moment to set his stance before letting out a growl so deeply powerful it rattles the thin glass sitting in the windowpanes along the wall as she steps forward, scraping her claws against the stone floor.
    "Please—" Littlefinger gasps, backing away in fear.
    As if to drive the threat of impending death home further, Shaggydog and Visenya stand to their feet and move closer, snapping at his back as if they knew he would try to run.
    "I-I—" He turns to face the table, with tears pouring down his face as he falls to his knees, letting go of the sword. "Sansa," he whispers just before Harper leaps forward, locking her jaw around his shoulder and ripping his head from his body.