Tower of the Hand. Ned's Study.
Ned Stark sat alone before the hearth.
Flames licked the wood. Crackling softly. Casting his weathered face in flickering light and shadow.
He let the fire swallow him.
On the table sat an untouched cup of Dornish red. Amber liquid gleaming in the firelight.
He didn't even want to drink.
His mind replayed the tourney's blood. Robert's twisted, mad face. His own humiliating kneel.
Shame. Bone-deep shame.
He—Eddard Stark, Warden of the North—had knelt like a criminal before that lunatic. Begging for his pathetic mercy.
All to protect his family.
He had to send Sansa and Arya away. Now. Immediately.
King's Landing was a meat grinder. It devoured everything good.
He'd already lost his friend. He couldn't lose his daughters too.
The door opened softly.
Ned didn't turn. Assumed it was Arya. His youngest always worried about him.
"Arya, go to bed. I'm fine."
His voice was exhausted.
But the figure that entered wasn't the wolf-like bundle of energy.
"Father."
A gentle voice.
Sansa?
Ned's body stiffened.
She was the last person he knew how to face.
How could he tell her? That King's Landing—the place she'd dreamed of, full of princes and knights—was actually hell. A hundred times crueler than Northern winter.
How could he tell her they had to flee back to Winterfell like beaten dogs?
"Sansa."
Ned turned.
In the dim firelight, he saw her in a simple blue gown. Standing quietly.
Her eyes were still red. But her lovely face held no fear or fragility. Instead—strange, unsettling calm.
"Come. Sit."
Ned gestured to the chair opposite.
Sansa didn't move. She just looked at her father. Blue eyes like stars washed clean by water.
"Father... are you planning to send Arya and me back to Winterfell?"
Straight to the point.
Ned's heart sank.
"Yes." He nodded with difficulty. "It's not safe here anymore. You must leave."
"I'm not going."
Simple. Direct.
Ned's head snapped up. He thought he'd 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. He thought she was still infatuated with that blond bastard. Still dreaming of being queen.
"Haven't you seen the truth?! What Joffrey is? What Robert is? There are no knights in this city! No fairy tales! Only schemes and blades! If you stay, sooner or later you'll—"
"Father!"
Sansa cut him off. She walked to him.
In her blue eyes, a light Ned had never seen before. Not a girl's naivety. But clarity. The clarity of someone who'd seen through everything.
"Do you think I'm still that silly girl who only cared about lemon cakes and love songs?"
Her voice trembled. But every word was crystal clear.
"King's Landing taught me many things. It taught me tears don't earn sympathy. Obedience doesn't earn happiness. It taught me that in this world, only value keeps you alive."
Ned froze. He looked at his daughter. She felt like a stranger.
These words shouldn't come from a sheltered noblewoman.
"Lord Lynn taught me."
Sansa seemed to read his confusion.
"He told me: if you don't want to be a toy people can discard, make yourself irreplaceable. He gave me a script. Helped me escape Joffrey. He gave me a promise. A chance to control the realm's purse. He showed me another path. One where I control my own fate."
Sansa took a deep breath.
In her blue eyes, finally—a flicker of shyness and panic appropriate for 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 went blank.
He remembered that night. A guard said Arya had stormed into the study with Needle, pointing at Sansa accusingly. He'd thought it was childish squabbling.
But now...
He looked at Sansa's face—flushed with embarrassment. At her eyes—determined yet flustered.
That look. Identical to how Arya looked at Lynn.
No. Brighter than Arya's.
Ned felt his head splitting. He pressed his hand to his forehead. Swayed. Collapsed back into his chair.
One Arya was headache enough. Now Sansa too...
What kind of spell had this boy cast? What enchantment had he fed his daughters to make two sisters—one fire, one ice, completely opposite—both utterly devoted to him?!
"Father."
Sansa knelt beside Ned. Placed her small hand gently on his bandaged one.
"You taught me: House Stark's honor above all. But in King's Landing, I watched the king chop the Master of Coin into meat. I watched you kneel before that madman to protect us."
Tears finally fell. They dripped onto Ned's hand. Scalding.
"That's when I understood. Honor can't protect us. Only power can."
"Father, only power in our own hands can stop them from bullying us. From humiliating us. Lord Lynn is teaching me how to seize 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 shook violently.
He looked at his daughter—crying, yet resolute.
His heart—already shredded by King's Landing's filth and Robert's madness—felt pierced by something sharp.
Yes.
He'd always tried to protect them his way. But he'd forgotten. Chicks must leave the nest. Wolf pups must bare their fangs.
He looked at Sansa. In her blue eyes, he saw Arya's stubbornness. Lyanna's resolve. Even... a shadow of his younger self.
Stark blood never yields.
"Ah..."
Ned sighed deeply. The sigh held helplessness. Heartache. Anger. But most of all—powerless compromise.
He reached out. Wiped the tears from his eldest daughter's face.
"You and Arya... will be the death of me."
Ned smiled bitterly. Shook his head.
"I agree. You don't have to return to Winterfell."
Sansa's eyes blazed. That light could illuminate the entire dark study.
"But!"
Ned's tone turned grave.
"Remember what you said today. King's Landing is a board. And a battlefield. One wrong move—you're finished."
"I won't treat you like a little girl anymore, Sansa. From today, you're responsible for every choice you make."
"I understand!"
Sansa nodded hard. A radiant smile bloomed on her face.
After his daughter left, Ned sat alone in darkness.
He picked up the untouched wine. Drained it. The harsh liquid burned down his throat like fire. Cleared his muddled mind slightly.
Lynn.
The young man's image surfaced. Calm. Powerful. Unfathomable.
Like a master player, quietly stirring King's Landing's winds.
He'd toppled Littlefinger. Awakened Ned. Now he'd bound both daughters to his chariot.
This young man's ambition wasn't just becoming a powerful lord.
Ned stared at the dancing flames. A terrifying yet strangely exciting thought emerged.
Could he want... the damned Iron Throne?
A day ago, Ned would've been horrified. He'd have crushed that thought immediately.
But now? His heart—loyal to Robert and House Baratheon for twenty years—was dead. Completely dead. Died in that pool of blood.
He was a father first now. His daughters had chosen Lynn.
So for their happiness, he'd bet everything on this young man. No reserves. All in.
The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.
Determination hardened Ned's eyes.
He strode to his desk. Unrolled fresh parchment.
The letter summoning Catelyn to King's Landing—he crumpled it. Threw it into the hearth. Flames devoured it instantly. Turned it to ash.
Like his friendship with Robert. Long gone.
THUD. THUD. THUD.
Urgent, forceful knocking.
Ned frowned.
"Come in."
The door opened. A figure in white cloak and gilded armor entered.
Jaime Lannister.
His handsome face held none of its usual arrogance. Instead—rare gravity.
"Lord Stark."
Jaime's tone was flat. Emotionless.
Ned's alarm bells rang. A Lannister visiting in the dead of night? Never good news.
"His Grace summons the Small Council."
Jaime pulled a scroll from his cloak. Sealed with the king's wax. Placed it on Ned's desk.
"Immediately."
He gave Ned a long, deep look. Then turned. Left without another word. The white cloak vanished into darkness.
Ned picked up the scroll—still warm from Jaime's body.
The king's seal stared at him. Like a blood-red eye.
Small Council? Now?
What's that madman planning?
He'd butchered the Master of Coin. Forced the Hand to kneel. Now a meeting?
Ned's heart sank lower and lower.
He had a strong premonition.
Tonight would be sleepless.
[END CHAPTER 200]
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