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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl	By : White Glove Literature Category: G through L > Game of Thrones Views: 27905 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I neither own Game of Thrones nor make money from this story.

Chapter List
- 18
- 19
- 20
Jon tossed and turned in his bunk, his eyes shut as he tried to catch a few last minutes of sleep before the day began. Giving up on sleep as a lost cause, he let out a groan of frustration. Try as he might something just wouldn’t let him sleep. Deciding to get up for the day, he stood and pulled on his boots before strapping on his sword belt. Checking himself over in the mirror, he sighed again and made his way out of the room with Ghost at his side. Walking out into the brisk, early morning air he shook his head and stepped out into the courtyard.
At his side, Ghost whined and bolted, running around frantically trying to get his attention before taking off towards the small tunnel in the wall. Deciding to follow, Jon ran after him as Ghost raced into the tunnel. A loud shout of surprise met his ears, followed by screams and growls as Jon hurried after him, drawing long claw as he went. Entering the tunnel, Jon paused, looking ahead. The winch that held the gate in the tunnel was jammed, and five wildings were in the tunnel trying desperately to fend off Ghost as they raced through the tunnel to the other side of the wall. “Shit! Ghost, to me.” Jon said, rushing towards the winch. He pulled and tugged hard on the lever, trying to close the gate, but the winch was damaged, and the gate would not close. Looking out into the wilderness beyond the edge of the tunnel, he saw the wilding host advancing on the wall.
Cursing, Jon called to Ghost as they raced back into the courtyard, shouting for help, drawing the attention of the few brothers of the night’s watch awake at this hour. Overhead a horn sounded twice, the blasts loud and long. Wildlings were approaching. A few seconds passed before more horns sounded and men raced out of the newly repaired towers clutching swords in one hand as they struggled to strap on their armor onehanded even as the first of the wildlings burst out of the tunnel and into the courtyard. Jon rushed forward to meet them, Ghost at his side as the castle garrison sprang to life, crows and soldiers alike rushing out of the towers to meet the enemy.
Racing forwards, Jon swung his sword and took the head off the first wildling he met while kicking out at a second, sending him off balance and tumbling to the ground. Jon followed up the kick with a quick thrust, his sword pushing through the wildlings chest, staining the snow beneath him red with blood. Nearby, Ghost pounced, ripping the throat out of a wildling that had snuck up behind him, intending to take him by surprise. Beside him the volunteers from the realm now battled the continuous stream of wildlings pouring through the gate as several brothers of the night’s watch under the command of Ser Alliser raced up the wall, carrying bows and quivers of arrows, ready to defend the wall against the oncoming host.
Over the din of the fighting, Jon vaguely heard the Blackfish and Lord Bolton shouting orders as they organized their troops into a formation. The Blackfish had rallied the Knights of the Vale and was busy fighting the wildlings who had made it inside the keep while Roose Bolton led a company of light cavalry armed with long, hooked pikes down the tunnel to push the wildlings back through to the other side. Calling Ghost over to his side, he moved to join up with them as they slowly gained ground.
He slowly moved through the narrow tunnel, inching past the charging cavalry, and made his way through the tunnel and out the other side. Coming out the other side, he quickly found himself caught up in the thickest part of the fighting. From the right, a screaming wildling covered head to toe in thick furs with a red face and shaggy beard charged him, a heavy handled ax in both hands. Jon narrowly dodged and swung his sword the blade cutting through a wildling's throat, as another charged forward, swinging a rusty broadsword. The force of the blow left Jon reeling, and only by sheer luck and finely honed reflexes did he manage to parry the blow seconds before it would have cut him in two. He kicked out, knocking the wildling’s legs out from under him.
A few meters ahead of him, where the wildlings were thickest, arrows rained down as Ser Aliser Thorn did his best to prevent the wildlings from pinning the Bolton men at arms against the wall. Meanwhile, screams came from overhead as the bloody corpses of wildlings who had been attempting to scale the walls came plummeting to the snow-covered earth.
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Pacing back and forth in the antechamber she waited, her hands fidgeting nervously at her sides. She was terrified, unsure of what she was going to say. She had stressed over the decision for days on end while the Lords Declarant of the Vale made camp at the foot of the mountain. They had each brought a thousand men with them, and together, they formed a blockade, cutting off all supplies to the Eyrie. They had demanded that Petyr surrender the Eyrie and hand Lord Robin over to their care. The standoff lasted for three weeks during which both sides exchanged several ravens with neither party getting anywhere in the negotiations.
Finally, after three weeks, with supplies running low, Petyr had agreed to a meeting, and the Lords Declarant were permitted to advance up the mountain on condition that they come without an armed escort. When they arrived, Petyr met them in the Entrance Hall, and they spent a few moments to dine on bread, salt, and wine before being escorted into the Great Hall, where Lord Robin was waiting on his throne. They bowed to Lord Robin, who received them well, as Petyr had instructed him to do. Petyr, who was now Lord Protector of the Vale, stood beside him on the dais in the Great Hall of the Eyrie.
While the Lords Declarant gathered in the Great Hall, a servant had knocked on Sansa’s chamber door and informed her that their guests had arrived and had asked to speak with her since she had been present when Lysa Arryn was murdered. The servant escorted her to the antechamber to wait while they talked with Petyr and Lord Robin. A few minutes passed, and the door to the antechamber opened, and a regal woman with graying hair and loose skin under her neck walked in, dressed in a dark green dress with a mantle draped over her arm. She smiled reassuringly and held her hand out to Sansa who stood terrified, looking at her like a deer caught in the headlights.
The older woman gently took Sansa’s hand and introduced herself as Lady Anya Waynwood. When her nerves had finally settled, Anya escorted Sansa into the great hall where the other Lords Declarant stood waiting at the foot of the dais, with Lord Robin and Petyr looking on. Anya led Sansa to a chair in the middle of the hall before walking to stand beside her fellow lords. Sansa swallowed and sat in the chair, looking nervously at Petyr, who smiled to her from his spot beside Robin.
“Now then, let’s get down to business, shall we? We’ve spoken to your father, Lord Baelish, and now we’d like to hear from you since you were present at the time. Would you please tell us, in your own words, what happened to Lady Lysa?” Lady Waynwood asked taking the lead.
Sansa paused, looking up at Petyr before swallowing then looked directly at the assembled nobles before her. “Very well. Petyr lied to you. My name is not Alayne Stone. It’s Sansa of House Stark.” At this sudden confession, Petyr paled and started forward hastily to interrupt her while Robin shouted angrily from the dais, but she shook her head. “It’s alright, Petyr. We can trust them.” She spoke softly. Turning to face them, she noticed most of them seemed less than shocked. She wondered if they knew all along she wasn’t who she claimed to be.
“Petyr smuggled me out of King’s Landing and brought me here. He claimed he was rescuing me, but he left my younger sister Arya behind. When Lysa saw Petyr kiss me in the Godswood, she flew into a jealous rage and ordered Marillion to bring me to the Great Hall, where she confronted me and tried to push me through the moon door.” Sansa continued.
At this revelation, Petyr panicked, but Lord Yohn Royce silenced him with a glare and turned back to face Sansa. “You say he kissed you?” he asked seriously now as Petyr tried again to interrupt.
“Sansa, dear, please. You should go and rest. I’m afraid this has all been too much for her.” Petyr said while edging forward towards her. Before he could get close enough to her, Lords Horton Redfort and Gilwood Hunter strode forward, grabbing him by the arms and frog-marched him down to the edge of the room away from Sansa and Lord Robin as Lady Anya and Lord Royce turned to face Sansa again. “Don’t be afraid. Please continue, child.” Lord Yohn Royce said in a grandfatherly manner.
“I didn’t want him to kiss me, but he did. I think it’s because I look like my mother. He loved her when they were children.” Sansa said as she found her courage. In front of her, Lady Anya shared a look with Lord Yohn Royce, who nodded and whispered something in reply that she couldn’t hear before they turned back to face her. “Aunt Lysa became enraged and tried to push me through the moon door, but Petyr arrived in time to stop her. They…they argued for a few minutes before Petyr told her that…that he had only ever loved my mother…and then he pushed her out of the moon door.” Sansa said softly, near tears at recalling the event.
Nearby on the dais, Lord Robin started shouting and cursing Petyr as Gilwood Hunter, and Horton Redfort restrained a now struggling Baelish. “He killed my mother. Make him fly! I want to see him fly.” Lord Robin shouted angrily as Lady Anya rushed up onto the dais to soothe him.
At Lord Yohn’s instructions, armed guards loyal to House Arryn rushed into the Great Hall and bound Petyr’s hands behind his back as Lords Gilwood and Horton led him down to the sky cells to ensure he did not escape and they returned a short time later. Meanwhile, Lady Waynwood had managed to calm Robin down with Sansa’s help and once he was settled, she had been taken aside by Lords Yohn Royce and Horton Redfort who had promised to send word to her mother in King’s Landing and brother and Great Uncle at the Wall that she was safe and that they would decide what to do from there later when matters at the Eyrie had settled, and they had descended to the Bloody Gate.
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“How dare he speak to me that way. I’m the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms,” Cersei thought to herself as she paced back and forth. “I am a Lannister. Daughter of Tywin Lannister. His only worthy child.” She internally raged. “Somehow, I’ll make him pay for this. He’ll come to realize just how important I am. They all will. Who else does he have? His lackwit son is a prisoner in the North, and his bitch of a daughter has already set sail for King’s Landing. Plotting to usurp my birthright by marrying that wretched imp. Casterly Rock should be mine.” She thought to herself.
Crossing the room, Cersei poured herself another glass of wine from the jug, grimacing in distaste. The wine the filthy Ironborn drank was garbage, but there was no alternative. Most respectable merchants refused to do business with the Ironborn for fear of having their ships raided and their crews put to the sword. “They were little better than savages, the filthy pirates. Still, it was better than drinking their disgusting ale.” She decided, draining her glass in one gulp. She returned to her pacing, trying desperately to decide what to do about her worthless husband when suddenly she stopped, an idea coming to her.
Walking to her closet she threw on an old grey cloak and covered her head with the hood before walking to a small chest under her bed and retrieving her purse, the coins jingling inside as she fastened it to her belt. It was near midnight as she crept out of the castle and down to the village. She had ventured out into it a few times when she could and so had learned the layout. Creeping through the streets, she knocked on the door of the apothecary, waiting impatiently for a response. Receiving no answer, she hit the door again. This time louder. Finally, after several minutes the door opened, and a grizzled older man with greying hair and dark eyes looked at her.
“The shop is closed. Go away.” He barked rudely and made to shut the door.
Cersei quickly moved to block him and spoke. “I’m afraid I can’t wait until morning. It’s urgent. I need to buy a remedy. I can pay you well for your trouble,” She said, withdrawing a gold dragon from her purse. The man pursed his lips but stepped aside and opened the door wider, letting her inside.
“And what kind of remedy would you require at this hour?” He asked, glancing at her through tired eyes.
“I need to kill a horse. An old nag, that’s past its prime.” She said. Looking at her, the man sighed.
“And how big is this horse?” He asked.
Withdrawing another four gold dragons, she placed the five coins on the counter and said softly. “It’s a man’s size.”
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Arya climbed slowly into the tub, sighing softly as she reclined back against the side as the warm water relaxed her aching muscles. After another long training session with Jaqen, she had trudged back to the tower of the hand exhausted and sore, needle resting in its sheath against the wall near the tub. She had noticed her condition more and more over the last few weeks, and while she was learning to deal with it, she didn’t like that there were more limitations on what she was free to do now. The one bright spot was the sparring lessons she had with her instructor while Jaime offered advice and encouragement and her evenings spent with Tywin. He was a bit tense at first when he found out, but he had brightened up as time went by and they were both looking forward to the new child.
Tywin entered the tower of the hand and walked down the hall to his suite of rooms, opening and closing the door behind him. Collapsing into a chair by the fire, he sighed and shook his head. The preparations for the arrival of Prince Oberyn were finally complete. And the Dornish party were due to arrive in the next few days. He was somewhat apprehensive due to the tensions between his house and the Martells, but he hoped that things would begin to improve once they arrived and settled in at court. He was dreading the initial meeting. Oberyn was known as a man of passion and a fiery temper. He had long held a grudge against him for the loss of his sister and her children. "As long as Rhaegar's children were alive, they were a threat," He'd told himself. Closing his eyes, he tried to relax, willing sleep to come.
When the water began to cool, Arya sighed and climbed out of the tub, grabbing a towel and drying off before wrapping herself in a fluffy crimson robe hanging on the wall. Walking into the living chambers, she smiled, looking at her lord asleep in a chair, his chest rising and falling softly. Walking over to him, she leaned down and kissed his forehead before taking a book off the shelf along the wall and curling up on the sofa next to his chair. Settling down, she began to read, looking up from time to time to glance at Tywin. After a while she stood and gently shook his shoulder, quietly waking him up.
“Tywin, sweetheart, you need to wake up. It’s almost dinner time. If you don’t wake up now, you’ll be awake all night.”
Slowly, Tywin stirred and looked up, smiling when he saw her. Reaching up, he wrapped her in his arms, and leaned in, kissing her lips deeply, his fingers tangling in her dark hair. Blushing, she kissed him back and grinned as his arms snaked around her, lifting her into his lap. Snuggling against his chest, she smiled, looking into his eyes as he reached up, caressing her cheek, his free hand slipping inside the bathrobe to settle over her stomach, a smile on his face. “What do you think we should name the child, sweetheart?” He asked.
“I’ve been giving it some thought. I was thinking maybe Nymeria for a girl or Cregan for a boy. What do you think?” She asked, laying her head on his shoulder.
“I think they are wonderful names for a child, sweetheart.” He said, his fingers carding through her hair as he held her, his lips brushing against her forehead. A knock at the door made them both look up as a kitchen boy entered and bowed, pushing a cart laden with their supper from the kitchens into the room, before turning and exiting the room, leaving the pair alone again. Arya blushed as her stomach rumbled and she stood, racing over to the cart and hastily fixed herself a plate before sitting at the table, digging eagerly into her meal.
Shaking his head, Tywin joined her, slowly eating his food, as he looked at her. “Slow down, sweetheart. There’s no need rush.” He said.
Blushing, Arya looked at him. “Sorry. I was starving.” She said.
Chuckling, Tywin smiled at her. “There is plenty to eat. No worries.” They continued eating, making idle chitchat before retiring to bed for the evening, falling asleep in each other’s arms.
TBC
Author’s Note. I want to thank everyone for their support for this story. I regret to say there will only be two or three more chapters left in this story before it ends.
- 18
- 19
- 20
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The Lion Lord and the Little Wolf Girl