King's Landing was a city of whispers. Every corner held a secret, every alley concealed an ear, and every conversation was never truly private. Lord Eddard Stark, a man of honor and duty, had yet to fully grasp the depth of the capital's treachery. Walking through the streets of the city one morning, I observed carefully as his footsteps, too heavy and deliberate, caught the attention of lingering eyes.
We had ventured beyond the Red Keep, with only a few Stark men following at a distance. The Hand of the King needed to see the city he governed. But the city, in turn, saw him.
"Lord Stark," I murmured low enough that only he could hear. He glanced at me, frowning slightly at my use of his name rather than title. "We're being watched."
He stiffened slightly. "By whom?"
I kept my gaze ahead, but my voice was casual. "By everyone."
I nodded toward a man pretending to haggle for apples, his gaze flickering toward us too often. Another stood near a fabric stall, speaking to no one but always within earshot. They weren't simple thieves or onlookers. These were spies. Whether they belonged to Littlefinger, Varys, or the Lannisters, I couldn't say.He sighed, rubbing his forehead. "How do you live in a place like this?"
I smirked. "By knowing when to be seen and when to disappear."
For the first time since arriving in King's Landing, Ned looked uncertain. He was a warrior, a leader, but he was no schemer. "What would you suggest?" he asked after a moment.
I pretended to examine a fruit vendor's stall before responding. "Move carefully. Choose who you trust sparingly. And most of all, never assume anyone isn't listening."
Ned exhaled sharply but nodded. "I will think on that."
Training Arya
Later that evening, as I stood near the training yard, I felt a presence beside me. Looking down, I found Arya Stark staring up at me with an intensity I had come to recognize.
"You fight well," she said simply. "Can you teach me?"
I raised a brow. "You have a sword master already. Syrio Forel, isn't it?"
Arya nodded. "But he teaches me like a dancer. You fight differently."
That, I did. My style was a mix of practical combat—efficient and brutal when needed. I studied her for a moment before saying, "Your father won't approve."
"Then let's ask him," she said, ever defiant.
It was a conversation I expected to go poorly, but when we approached Ned Stark, Arya standing before him with her chin lifted in challenge, he surprised me.
"You trust him?" Ned asked her.
"Yes."
Ned considered me for a moment, then nodded. "Then he may teach you. But mind, Arya—this is not a game. If you learn to fight, you must also learn when not to."
Arya grinned. "I promise."
The next day, our lessons began.
Sansa's Thoughts and a Blush
While Arya thrived under the training, Sansa was less enthused. She approached me one afternoon, watching her sister swing a wooden sword with a look of clear disapproval.
"This is ridiculous," she muttered. "She's supposed to be a lady, not… whatever this is."
I smirked. "So you think a lady shouldn't learn to protect herself?"
She turned to me with a haughty look. "Ladies have knights to protect them. That's how it has always been."
I chuckled, tilting my head as I regarded her. "Then I suppose if someone tried to take you away, you'd sit prettily and wait for rescue?"
Sansa's cheeks flushed pink. "That's not what I meant!"
I leaned in just slightly. "Maybe you just like the idea of knights rushing to your aid."
She opened her mouth to protest but hesitated. "That's… that's not it!"
I grinned. "Of course not. I'm sure a smart lady like you knows that sometimes, it's better to be the one holding the sword."
She scoffed, turning away, but I caught the slight smile that tugged at her lips.
Ros and the Joffrey Dilemma
While I danced around words with Sansa and trained Arya in secret, Ros had taken on her own mission. Her place among the courtiers and noblewomen of the city allowed her to speak in whispers where others shouted.
"He's not what she thinks," Ros told me one evening, voice low. "Joffrey."
"What has he done now?" I asked, though I already suspected the answer.
"Cruel things. Small, for now. But it's growing. He enjoys hurting people when he thinks no one is watching. And Sansa… she's still blinded by the idea of him."
I sighed. "She won't believe us outright. You know that."
"I do," Ros agreed. "That's why I'm not telling her outright. I'm making her see it for herself. Little by little."
I studied her, then nodded. "Good. If she realizes the truth now, she might be spared worse later."
Ros smirked. "Let's hope so."
The Game Moves Forward
King's Landing was changing around us, shifting like a beast preparing to pounce. Ned was learning how dangerous his position truly was. Arya was growing into her defiance. Sansa was beginning to feel the cracks in her perfect vision of a fairytale.
And me? I was playing my part—watching, moving, and waiting.
The storm was coming. I only had to be ready when it arrived.