In the study of the Tower of the Hand, Ned Stark sat alone before the fireplace.
The flames licked at the logs, crackling softly, illuminating his resolute face in flickering light.
He allowed the firelight to consume him.
On the table was an untouched cup of Dornish strongwine, its amber liquid gleaming invitingly in the firelight.
But he had no desire to drink now.
In his mind, the bloody scene in the tourney grounds replayed over and over, Robert's crazed, twisted face, and the moment he humiliatingly knelt.
Shame.
Shame that pierced him to the bone!
He, Ned Stark, Warden of the North!
To kneel before that madman like a criminal, begging for his ridiculous pity?
And all of this was to protect his family.
He had to send Sansa and Arya away.
Immediately, right now!
King's Landing, this city, was a giant meat grinder that would devour all beautiful things.
He had already lost a friend; he could not lose his daughters too.
Just then, the study door was gently pushed open.
Ned did not turn around; he thought it was Arya.
His youngest daughter always worried about him.
"Arya, go to sleep, I'm fine."
Ned's voice was weary.
However, it was not the lively figure of a little wolf who walked in.
"Father."
A soft voice spoke.
Sansa?
Ned's body stiffened.
She was the elder daughter he least knew how to face.
How should he tell her?
That King's Landing, which she had once yearned for, that fairytale world she believed was filled with princes and knights... was actually a hell a hundred times more cruel than the winter of Winterfell?
How should he tell her that they had to flee back to Winterfell like stray dogs?
"Sansa,"
Ned turned around.
In the dim firelight, he saw Sansa standing quietly in a simple blue dress.
Her eyes were still red, but on her pretty face, there was none of the fear and fragility he had expected.
Instead, there was an unusual calmness.
"Come here, sit."
Ned pointed to the chair opposite.
Sansa did not move.
She just looked at her father, her beautiful blue eyes like two stars washed by water in the darkness.
"Father, are you... planning to send Arya and me back to Winterfell?"
Sansa asked directly.
Ned's heart sank.
"Yes."
Ned nodded with difficulty.
"It's no longer safe here; you must leave."
"I'm not going."
Sansa's answer was simple and direct.
Ned sharply raised his head, thinking he had misheard.
"What did you say?"
"I said, I'm not going."
Sansa repeated.
"Sansa! Do you know what you're saying!"
Ned's temper flared instantly.
He thought Sansa was still infatuated with that golden-haired bastard, still dreaming of being a queen.
"Haven't you seen clearly yet?!"
"What is Joffrey? And what is Robert?"
"There are no knights in this city, no fairy tales!"
"Only schemes and butchers' knives!"
"If you stay here, sooner or later..."
"Father!" Sansa interrupted him.
She walked up to Ned.
In those blue eyes, a light appeared that Ned had never seen before.
It was not the innocence of a young girl, but a clarity that saw through everything.
"Do you think I'm still that silly girl who only knows about lemon cakes and love songs?"
Sansa's voice trembled slightly, but every word was crystal clear.
"King's Landing has taught me many things."
"It taught me that tears won't buy sympathy, and obedience won't buy happiness."
"It also taught me that in this world, only value can keep you alive."
Ned was stunned.
He looked at his daughter before him, feeling incredibly unfamiliar.
These words should not have come from the mouth of a noble lady, raised in seclusion and strictly protected.
"Lord Lynn taught me."
Sansa seemed to see through her father's confusion.
"He told me that if I didn't want to be treated as a toy that could be discarded at will, I had to make myself irreplaceable."
"He gave me a script that got me out of Joffrey's clutches."
"He gave me a promise that gave me the chance to control the kingdom's purse strings."
"He showed me another path, a path... where I could control my own destiny."
Sansa took a deep breath.
In those blue eyes, a hint of shyness and panic finally appeared, belonging to her age.
"Father, I don't want to leave."
"I don't want to leave King's Landing, and even more... I don't want to leave Lynn."
Boom—!
Ned's mind instantly went blank.
He remembered that night, when a guard said Arya had rushed into the study with her "needle," pointing at Sansa and questioning her.
He thought it was just childish mischief.
But now... he looked at Sansa's face, flushed red with shyness, and at her eyes, both firm and flustered.
That look was exactly the same as Arya's look when she looked at Lynn!
No!
It was even brighter than then!
Ned felt a splitting headache.
He reached up to his forehead, his body swayed, and he fell heavily back into the chair.
One Arya was enough to give him a headache.
Now, even Sansa... What magic did that boy named Lynn possess?
What kind of bewitching potion had he given his daughters?!
To make two sisters, one like fire, one like ice, with completely opposite personalities, so devoted to him?
"Father,"
Sansa walked to Ned's side, slowly knelt down, and gently placed her small hand on Ned's large hand, which was wrapped in a bandage.
"You taught me that the honor of House Stark is above all else."
"But in King's Landing, I saw with my own eyes the King chop the master of coin's body into pieces."
"I saw you, to protect us, forced to kneel before that madman."
Sansa's tears finally fell.
The tears dropped onto Ned's hand, scalding hot.
"It was then that I understood."
"Honor cannot protect us."
"Only power."
"Father, only power held in our own hands can make those people dare not bully us, dare not humiliate us again!"
"Lord Lynn is teaching me how to acquire power."
"I don't want to be the daughter you have to kneel to protect."
"I want to be your armor, not your weakness."
Ned's body trembled violently.
He looked at his daughter, kneeling before him, crying like a pear blossom bathed in rain, yet with an incredibly firm gaze.
His heart, already scarred and riddled by the filth of King's Landing and Robert's madness, felt as if it had been sharply pierced by something at this moment.
Yes.
He always tried to protect them in his own way.
But he had forgotten.
Fledglings eventually leave the nest, and wolf cubs will eventually bare their fangs!
He looked at Sansa.
In her blue eyes, he saw the same stubbornness as Arya, the same decisiveness as Lyanna, and even... a reflection of his younger self.
The blood of House Stark never yields.
"Alas..."
Ned let out a long sigh.
In that sigh, there was helplessness, heartache, and anger.
But more than that, there was a powerless compromise.
Ned reached out and wiped the tears from his elder daughter's face.
"You and Arya... truly... are the death of me."
Ned shook his head with a bitter smile.
"I agree."
"You don't have to go back to Winterfell."
Sansa's eyes suddenly lit up.
The radiance almost illuminated the entire dim study.
"But!"
Ned's tone became incredibly serious.
"You must remember what you said today."
"King's Landing is a chessboard, and also a battlefield."
"One wrong move, and all is lost!"
"I will no longer treat you as a little girl, Sansa."
"From today on, you must be responsible for every choice you make."
"I understand!"
Sansa nodded vigorously, a brilliant smile blooming on her face like never before.
After seeing his daughter off, Ned sat alone in the darkness.
He picked up the glass of strongwine on the table and drained it.
The spicy liquor burned his throat like fire, yet it sobered his muddled mind somewhat.
Lynn.
The young man's figure appeared in his mind.
Calm, powerful, unfathomable.
He was like the most skilled chess player, subtly stirring up the turmoil in King's Landing.
He brought down Petyr and awakened himself.
Now, he had firmly bound his two daughters to his chariot.
This young man's ambition was certainly not just to become a powerful new noble!
Ned looked at the flickering flames in the fireplace, and a terrifying yet subtly exciting thought uncontrollably emerged.
Did he desire that damned iron throne!?
A day ago, Ned would have been horrified by this thought.
He would have extinguished it without hesitation!
But now, his heart, which had been loyal to Robert and House Baratheon for twenty years, was dead.
Completely dead!
It had died in that pool of blood!
He was first and foremost a father now.
His daughters had chosen Lynn.
Then, for his daughters' happiness, he could only place all his bets on this young man!
Without holding anything back!
The lone wolf dies, the pack survives.
Ned's eyes were resolute.
He strode to the desk and spread out a new piece of parchment.
The letter, intended for Catelyn to come to King's Landing, was crumpled into a ball and thrown into the fireplace.
The flames instantly consumed it, turning it to ash.
Just like his and Robert's friendship, which no longer existed.
Just then, a hurried and forceful knock sounded at the door.
"Thump! Thump! Thump!"
Ned frowned.
"Come in."
The door opened, and in walked a Kingsguard member, clad in white cloak and gilded armor.
It was Jaime Lannister.
His handsome face lacked its usual frivolity and arrogance; instead, it held a rare solemnity.
"Lord Stark."
Jaime's tone was flat, devoid of emotion.
Ned looked at him, and alarm bells rang in his heart.
Nothing good ever came from a Lannister seeking him out in the middle of the night.
"His Majesty the King has called a small council meeting."
Jaime took out a scroll sealed with the King's wax from his embrace and placed it on Ned's desk.
"Immediately."
Having said that, Jaime gave Ned a deep look, did not linger, and turned to leave.
The white cloak disappeared outside the door, fading into the darkness.
Ned picked up the parchment, still warm from Jaime's body.
The King's seal, like a blood-red eye, stared intently at him.
Small council meeting?
Now?
What did that madman Robert want to do now?
He had dismembered the master of coin, forced the Hand to kneel, and now he was calling a meeting?
Ned's heart sank little by little.
He had a strong premonition.
Tonight would be a sleepless night.
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