Chapter 55 55: Myrcella’s Circle
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Arya moved quickly through the streets of King's Landing with a long piece of dragon bone hidden under her cloak. She had taken it from the Dragonpit after putting a blade through the fat man's chest.
She didn't know who he was. She only knew she had killed him.
After half an hour of twisting through alleys, she stopped in front of a house with a red door. She knocked three times.
The door opened into darkness. Arya slipped inside.
A voice spoke from the shadows.
"Did you bring it?"
"I brought it."
"Give it here."
Arya handed over the dragon bone. The woman checked it and gave a satisfied hum.
"Good work. Here's your pay."
A small pouch of coins was tossed to her. Arya caught it and weighed it in her hand.
"When can I join the Sisters?" she asked.
A low laugh came from the dark. A woman's voice.
"Joining isn't that easy, little wolf. You have to kill someone first. Then you can be considered."
"I killed someone today," Arya said.
The woman stepped closer. She was tall — almost Sansa's height — and leaned in to smell Arya's clothes.
"You do smell like blood," she murmured. "But to join us you must give up everything. Your name. Your family. Your friends. Even your noble blood. Can you do that?"
Arya opened her mouth… then closed it.
She could abandon her title. She could not abandon her family.
The woman sighed. "You hesitated. That means you can't. Leave."
A hand shoved Arya out the door. It slammed shut behind her.
She sat on the cold stone for a moment, staring at the red door. She had wanted to go to Braavos and join the Faceless Men to avenge Rickon, but she had no money. The Sisters had seemed like the next best thing.
Apparently not.
At the feast, Tywin Lannister had become the undisputed center of power. Even Mace Tyrell was pouring his wine. Littlefinger and Grand Maester Pycelle hovered nearby.
Someone joked that Varys must have gone to piss. Tywin's cold green eyes swept the hall. The Spider was nowhere to be seen.
Littlefinger smiled thinly. "Lord Varys left earlier. He had a meeting near the Dragonpit."
"With who?" Tywin asked.
"With a friend," Littlefinger said. "From across the Narrow Sea."
When Varys finally returned, he was freshly bathed and perfumed. He glided up to the group as if nothing had happened.
Tywin studied him. "You went to the Dragonpit?"
"I did, my lord. I met an old friend there. Willas Tyrell."
Mace nearly dropped his cup.
Tywin ignored him. "Tell me about the Targaryen girl. Does she threaten my granddaughter's claim?"
Varys's soft smile didn't reach his eyes.
"You need not worry, Lord Tywin. Princess Myrcella has already found her allies."
By the time the sun rose, most of King's Landing was still asleep or nursing headaches.
Robert woke in the Tower of the Hand with a pounding skull.
"Eddard!" he bellowed.
Barristan entered. "The Hand is in the yard, Your Grace. Training."
Robert grunted and went to look.
In the courtyard, Eddard was sparring with Sansa. She wore black armor etched with a direwolf. Lady and Nymeria lay under a tree, watching. Eddard moved carefully, testing her without crushing her.
Their swords rang together. Sansa was fast and fierce, but Eddard had decades of real fighting behind him. He caught her off-balance and sent her sword flying.
It sailed straight toward Robert.
The king caught it out of the air one-handed and laughed.
"Seven hells, Sansa! I thought you were a proper little lady. Turns out you're a wolf after all."
Sansa straightened, breathing hard. "Princess Myrcella would make a better queen than anyone else, Your Grace. She's kind, and she's strong."
Eddard's face darkened. "Sansa. That is enough."
Robert raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
Eddard stepped in front of his daughter. "Go inside."
Sansa looked like she wanted to argue, but she bowed and walked away with her wolves.
Eddard turned back to Robert, voice low.
"She's just a girl, Your Grace. Don't drag her into this."
Robert stared after Sansa for a long moment, then handed the sword back.
"Too late for that, Ned," he said quietly. "She's already in it."
