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Harry Potter and all of its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
ASOIAF and all of its characters belong to GRRM
I own nothing but the original characters I make.
"Dialogue"
'Thoughts'
-Author notes-
Chapter 38: Answers
The escape had been swift...almost too swift. From the moment they had stumbled out of the hidden passage onto the docks until the moment the ship slipped free of Blackwater Bay, perhaps not even twenty minutes had passed.
The sailors had moved with the urgency of men who understood that delay meant death, and Lord Tyrion had made certain they understood the urgency of their mission.
Ned Stark was on the deck of the Summer's Gale. It was the name of the vessel that was taking them home. It was smaller than the one Joffrey took, but according to Lord Tyrion, it was much faster as well, and the best choice for a quick escape.
The night air was cold and clean, away from the city's stench.
His hands gripped the handle of Ice. The familiar weight of the blade, his father's blade, his grandfather's blade, the blade of every Stark who had come before, and it calmed him in a way that nothing else could.
When Joffrey had pulled the ancestral sword from his back and handed it over without ceremony, Ned had felt something shift inside him.
All Joffrey had asked in return was that he take care of one more person.
Ned's grey eyes moved to the corner of the deck where a broad-shouldered boy was making himself useful among the sailors. Gendry was hauling ropes, coiling lines, and fetching whatever the crew needed before they could ask. He moved with the easy strength of a young man who had spent his life at the forge, his dark hair plastered to his forehead with sweat. No one had even asked him to do that...it was just in his nature.
As he watched him, something stirred in Ned's memories.
After all, this was Robert's bastard. Ned had known this since the moment he found the boy at the forge. The dark hair, the blue eyes, the powerful build...it was Robert's spit image from the time they were staying at the Eyrie with Jon.
Joffrey must have known this, Ned realized. He knew, and he sent him with him. So he would be safe at Winterfell.
Ned would have done this even if no one had asked him to. He owed the dead king that much, at least. To see his son safe.
The lights of the capital had vanished now, swallowed by the darkness and the distance. Ned turned from the railing and made his way below deck.
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The cabin was warm, lit by oil lamps that swayed gently with the motion of the ship. Ned had expected to find his daughters with Lord Tyrion, but the common room held only the dwarf's red-haired assistant. A woman named Ros, who now smiled at him with practiced warmth.
"Lord Stark." She rose from her seat, smoothing her skirts. "Do you wish me to show you to your chamber? You must be tired."
"I am tired." Ned's voice was dry. He had never been comfortable with such women, though he had learned to hide his discomfort over the years. "But I will see to my daughters first."
Ros's smile did not waver. "Of course. Lord Tyrion was showing them around the ship. They seemed... eager to see everything."
Ned was about to ask something else, but hesitated for a moment. He had been warned against speaking their names and against using their titles. The identities of the two sleeping children in the cabin down the hall...the children who were not Robert's but who carried his name, were secrets that would not remain secrets for long. The Queen would learn the truth about their whereabouts soon enough. But there was no reason to make it easy for her spies.
"The children," he said carefully. "The ones who were brought aboard. Are they...?"
"Sleeping still." Ros's voice was soft. "They have been placed in the cabin beside yours, my lord. Lord Tyrion said they would not wake until tomorrow afternoon at the earliest."
Ned nodded. "Take me to my daughters."
Ros turned and led him down a narrow corridor, past the common room where off-duty sailors played at dice, past the captain's cabin with its closed door and the low murmur of voices within, down another set of stairs into the belly of the ship.
"This is where the crew sleeps," Ros said, gesturing at a row of narrow doors. "And this—" she pointed down a side passage, "—is the storage area. No one is permitted there except the captain and Lord Tyrion. The prince's... provisions... are kept there."
Ned did not ask what provisions. He did not care what Joffrey had stashed in the hold, as long as the ship continued north.
A cry echoed from somewhere ahead; it sounded high and startled, almost a scream. Ned's hand went to Ice.
"Sansa! Arya!"
He pushed past Ros and ran.
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The door was open, and Ned burst through it with his hand on his sword, ready to cut down whoever had dared to harm his children.
He froze.
Two large cages dominated the center of the room, their iron bars gleaming in the lamplight. And inside those cages, pressed against the metal, were two grey shapes that Ned had never expected to see again.
"Lady." Sansa's voice was choked with tears. She was on her knees before the cage that held her wolf, her fingers thrust through the bars, stroking the soft grey fur. "Lady, I thought—I thought they had killed you—"
Nymeria was pacing her own cage, restless, eager, her yellow eyes fixed on Arya with an almost painful intensity. Arya had not knelt. Arya stood before the bars with her hands pressed flat against the metal, her face pressed between them, her tears falling silently onto the iron.
"They're alive," she whispered. "They're alive, they're alive, they're alive—"
Jeyne Poole stood by the door, her arms wrapped around herself, watching the reunion with a mixture of relief and wariness. The wolves had never been comfortable with her, and she had never been comfortable with them.
Ned turned to find Tyrion Lannister leaning against a stack of crates, a cup of wine in his hand, a satisfied smile on his face.
"It took us a while to get them calm," the dwarf said, taking a sip. "The sailors lost a few fingers before we figured out how to handle them. But the girls' presence seems to have... settled them."
Ned stared at the wolves, then at the dwarf. "Joffrey moved them. Before the battle. Before everything." He recalled how close the Prince had become to those direwolves and how he would often visit them in the Godswood.
"On the night before, yes." Tyrion's smile widened. "My sister was so furious. She had men searching the castle for days. She never thought to look outside the walls."
Ned's mind was racing. The prince had seen it all...the betrayal, the imprisonment, the need for escape. He had planned for it, prepared for it, moved pieces into place while everyone else was still trying to understand the board.
He knew, Ned thought again. He knew what was coming, and he prepared.
"Lord Stark." Tyrion pushed off from the crates, gesturing toward the door. "If you are not too weary, perhaps we could speak in my cabin? I believe I still have a few bottles of Arbor Gold."
"I am not in the mood for drinking."
"Then we can simply talk." Tyrion's mismatched eyes held something that might have been sympathy, or might have been calculation. "I imagine you have questions. I may have answers."
Ned looked at his daughters, at the wolves that had been returned to them, at the joy that was slowly replacing the fear in their faces. Some of the hardness in his chest began to ease.
"Lead the way, Lord Tyrion. But I will not go far from them."
Tyrion nodded. "My cabin is just around the corner." He glanced at Ros, who had followed them down the stairs. "My assistant will keep an eye on the girls."
Ros inclined her head. "Of course, my lord."
"And make sure the wolves stay in their cages for the duration of the trip," Tyrion added, his voice firm. "I will not have them running loose on the ship. They have already cost me a fortune in compensation to the crew."
Ned followed the dwarf down the corridor, through a door, into a surprisingly spacious cabin. Maps covered the walls, and books were stacked on every surface, and the faint smell of wine hung in the air like perfume.
Tyrion poured himself a cup, then gestured to a pitcher on the sideboard. "There is water, if you prefer. Or something stronger."
Ned poured himself water. He had not drunk anything in hours, and his throat was dry as dust.
They sat across from each other, the small table between them, and for a moment neither spoke. The ship creaked around them, the waves slapped against the hull, and somewhere above, a sailor shouted an order that was lost to the wind.
"You want to know what is happening in the realm," Tyrion said. It was not a question.
"I have been in a cell." Ned's voice was flat. "I know nothing."
Tyrion nodded, swirling his wine. "Your son Robb has called the banners. The northern houses are gathering at Winterfell, preparing for war. How far along they are, I cannot say. The North is vast, and news travels slowly."
Ned's hand tightened on his cup. He had expected this...had known it was coming, but to hear it spoken aloud made it real in a way that imagining could not. His son, his boy, preparing for a war that Ned had started with his foolish trust and his stubborn honor.
"And Stannis? Renly?"
"Stannis sits at Dragonstone, doing nothing for the time being. Waiting, perhaps, or plotting. With Stannis, it is hard to tell." Tyrion took a long drink. "Renly has gone to the Reach. Goldengrove, last I heard, though he may be at Highgarden by now."
Ned frowned. "The Reach? Not Storm's End?"
"The Tyrells are powerful allies, and Renly has always been... close... with certain members of that house." Tyrion's smile was thin. "He and Stannis never got along. It is not surprising that he would seek support elsewhere."
Ned filed that information away. Renly had come to him the night before everything fell apart, with talk of kidnapping the children, of seizing power before Cersei could act. Ned had refused, and Renly had fled. Now it seemed he was building his own army, making his own play for the throne. The Kingdom will be divided into a war on three fronts at least. Four, if he also counts his son and the northern army.
"What about the other realms?" Ned asked. "The Iron Islands? Dorne? The Vale?. Any moves from them?"
Tyrion shook his head. "Nothing yet, but it is early. Most lords will wait to see which way the wind blows before committing their swords." He refilled his cup. "But word will spread soon. About what happened tonight. About the prince's escape." A smile tugged at his lips. "I would give much to see my sister's face when she learns."
Ned said nothing. He was thinking about the boy who had made all of this possible, who had seen the future and prepared for it, who had thrown away a crown as casually as another man might throw away a soiled shirt.
"Tell me something, Lord Tyrion." His voice was grave. "What is Prince Joffrey planning? He seems to be two steps ahead of everyone, but I cannot see where he is going. If he is throwing away the crown, it must mean he has something more valuable in mind."
Tyrion's smile faded. For a moment, the dwarf looked almost serious.
"That," he said, "is an excellent question, Lord Stark."
He set down his cup and leaned forward, his mismatched eyes fixed on Ned's face. "My nephew is... not what he appears. You have seen this yourself. The way he moves, the way he speaks, the things he knows...they are not the things a boy of fifteen should know. He has been planning things for months, or perhaps longer. He has gold that no one can account for, ships and allies that no one knew he had."
"Where did the gold come from?"
Tyrion's smile returned, but it was different now...sharper, more dangerous. "Lord Baelish had been stealing from the crown for years. Joffrey found his secret hoards. All of them."
"That's..." Ned was shocked.
Tyrion shook his head slowly. "The boy is playing a game that no one else can see. And I suspect—" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "I suspect that the throne was never his goal. He wants something else. Something that lies beyond the sea."
"The east?"
"That is all I am at liberty to say, Lord Stark." Tyrion's tone was firm.
Ned stared at him for a long moment. "What is he?" Ned asked. "What is Joffrey?" He could tell there was much more to this mysterious prince.
Tyrion was heavy as he spoke. "I don't know, Lord Stark," he said. "But I intend to find out."
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