The Lion and the Wolf ~ Game of Thrones

9

King's Landing.

Joanna Lannister.

It had been a sennight since we'd arrived in the capital, and I'd heard the Stark party was nearing the city gates. Lord Stark had ridden well ahead of the main retinue after some nasty business at Castle Darry regarding the children and the direwolves. My informant in Cersei's employ had sent a raven with both stories provided by the children, but once I'd read the recounting of Joffrey's side, I knew Arya Stark had spoken the truth. The girl's wolf had attacked Joff only after he'd swung at her. Unfortunately, Cersei had the other pup killed as a punishment.

But, if I was being honest, that news hadn't concerned me as much as it ought to have, apparent by how angered my wolf grew the more the account continued. Her fork clattered onto the plate and she stared down at her barely-eaten food when she heard about the pup being put down, and I noticed Ghost flatten his ears, eyes gleaming with grief.

"Is that how Southerners rule?" Jonelle asked, her voice dangerously low. She hadn't spoken to me for nearly as long as we'd been here in King's Landing, so it startled me enough to the point my knife slipped from my hand. "Slaughter innocents whenever it pleases you." When she lifted her head, those purple eyes I loved were glacial.

"That's not true."

"But now the rains weep o'er his hall, with no one there to hear." The song sent a freezing chill down my spine, and a mirror wasn't necessary for me to know I'd gone a deathly white. That thrice-damned song had always sickened me to my stomach—the words, the tone, the atrocities my father had committed to inspire such a piece.

Tears welled in my eyes and slid down my cheeks before I could brush them away. Whenever I heard it, faces that I'd never known flickered through my mind, weeping and cursing the Lannisters. It was my oldest nightmare, so horrible that I couldn't escape it even when I was awake. My ears were ringing. My heart thundered in my chest, feeling like it was going to burst right out. Even when Jonelle shook me, held me, and kissed me, all I could see and hear were the harrowing cries that had doubtless echoed within the mines of Castamere.

And when my head cleared at last, it was well into the night. My wolf held me tightly, her long fingers moving through my hair as she murmured some Valyrian song to me, pressing a kiss to my brow now and then. Ghost lay near the foot of the bed, his head resting over my ankles. His eyes were on me—I could feel them. But I didn't want Elle to know I was awake, not yet... For now, I just wanted her to hold me a while longer, to sing to me, to comfort me...

Maybe I was too embarrassed to face her.

"My lady," a voice said, "is your relationship with Lady Lannister wise?"

It wasn't a voice I knew, and not a memorable one, either. It was the sort of voice I would hear and completely forget as soon as the speaker was gone—which gave me the impression that this man, whoever he was, was a master of subtle lying. "Probably not," Jonelle murmured in reply. "But I couldn't care less about that, so neither should you."

"I understand, my lady." But there was hesitance in his voice. "However, I must advise that there is, in all likelihood, a large possibility that a time may come when you must—" Jonelle kissed my forehead and climbed out of bed, so I let out a whimper of displeasure—one that wasn't entirely faux—and listened as my wolf moved across the room.

"I cannot," Jonelle said. "I've had it checked twice by the maester."

"My condolences," the man said with genuine sympathy. "Then your sister?" I wondered why he was mentioning Arya and Sansa Stark, but a small part of me considered the possibility that it was someone else entirely.