When The Throne Bleeds

5. An Alluring Ally

The next morning, Irida was standing near the Library Tower watching the men prepare for their hunt. The hounds were out, running around. She doubted any of the nobles could catch a hare by themselves. The soldiers were the ones who did all their jobs for them anyways. 

She glared as Joffrey got on his horse, hitting a servant because the man had walked in front of his horse without bowing to him. She turned her attention to the King as he struggled to get on his own horse, heaving and panting to lift his large form, requiring several men and a platform. 

The Protector of the Realm. This man! What an imbecile. She thought, mildly repulsed.

Behind him, her father got on his horse, looking around and finally catching her eye. 

They shared a tender smile. 

"What are you looking at?" 

Irida turned around to see Arya gazing at her. She grinned and pulled her closer, putting an arm around her short frame.

"You know, one day I'll take you out for hunting. I think you'll be amazing at it." Irida said, ruffling Arya's hair. She had always loved Arya. But more than that, she felt the need to repay her for keeping Jon company for the past years. 

"But we won't hunt rabbits. We'll hunt down a deer, or an elk." Arya chipped excitedly.

"Uhh...maybe we should start off slow." 

"Do you think Father should become Hand of The King?" Arya suddenly asked, looking at Ned Stark as he disappeared beyond the gates.

"He would become the second most powerful man in the Seven Kingdoms." Irida said slowly.

Arya didn't say anything, sensing that there was more to come.

Irida continued after some thought, "But the court is a dangerous place. And Father is not the type to connive and scheme. He may even be risking his life if he agrees to it."

"He has already agreed to it."

"I hope he knows what he is doing." Irida said, remembering the smile she had shared with her Father.

"He's taking me, Bran and Sansa with him to the South."

"That is really good. Now you can wear pretty southern dresses and court the pretty southern boys." Irida teased.

Arya glared at her, horrified at the prospect of turning into Sansa.

"If you want to hunt, you must know how to aim. Come, I'll teach you how to throw a knife." Irida said, dragging her towards the courtyard.

"That's not how you hunt." Arya protested.

"No, that's how you kill."

They stood in the courtyard, a wooden frame three yards away and five knives in Arya's hands. 

Irida stood beside her, arms crossed. 

She nodded her head towards the wood in front of Arya. "Show me what you can do."

Arya felt adrenaline rush into her veins, no one could stop her now. Not Septa Mordane. Not Ser Rodrick. She aimed at the target, flicking her wrist. 

The knife flew through the air and hit the wall behind the wooden board with 'clnnk' sound, immediately falling down.

Irida bit her lip, trying to not laugh.

Arya didn't look at her for approval, she took another knife and flicked it again. 

This time, it flew straight above the board hitting the stone wall behind, going through the same route as it's predecessor.