Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 63: The King's Return

―At King's Landing―

Red Keep...

Sansa sat by her window, threading her sewing needle through the silk linens in her palm – continuing her delicate line of exquisite embroidery, something she was always good at since she was a little girl. It had been over three months since Daveth left the capital, and still no word from the Master of Whisperers yet; the feeling of uncertainty was almost nerve-wracking. True to her word, she remained by the window waiting for her husband's return. Letting the stitches slip between her fingers for just a moment, Sansa rubbed her now four-month pregnant belly, massaging it gently. It had grown noticeably larger since she was last examined, though no one dared say anything.

Her sister, Arya Stark, made her way into the room. Bold as always, she snuck up behind her elder royal sister before giving her a rather unwelcomed surprise. "Raarh!" she shook her.

"Aaah!" Sansa shrieked. "Arya! You know I hate it when you do that!"

Arya laughed at Sansa's complaints, even as Lady popped her head up to see what the disturbance was before settling down. Their mother, Catelyn, on the other hand, was not amused. "Arya, how many times have I told you no more scaring your sister?" she scolded.

The young she-wolf shrugged her shoulders. "Just trying to lighten the mood, mother. Sansa's been sitting by this window sewing her stitching needle for hours now."

"Arya, apologize to your sister."

She frowned at her mother's continued scolding and glanced over to Sansa's direction. Once Sansa removed her hand over her heart and regained her composure, Shae went to work fixing her mistress's hair – brushing it until it shone brightly when exposed to direct sunlight. But before Arya could open her mouth to say anything, there was a knock on their door.

"Excuse me, Your Grace, but Lord Varys is here to see you. Says it's urgent," the royal steward announced.

Sansa looked at the door. "Show him in," she called out.

When the door had finally opened, Varys stepped inside – his hands tucked within his golden-orange sleeves. Arya and Catelyn didn't trust the eunuch, but Sansa was reliant on the Spider for information if she had questions that needed answers. Varys agreed to utilize his network of spies and relay any information he could gather in his web... for the people's sake. "Thank you for granting me an audience, Your Grace," he said smiling. "May I?"

Sansa nodded and waved her hand, permitting Varys to sit in the nearest chair. The Master of Whisperers eased himself down into a seat and put his hands together.

"My little birds bring word from the north. The war is over."

"And how do you know of this?" Catelyn asked.

"Knowledge is my trade, my lady. I recall telling you this back at one of Littlefinger's brothels."

"Please, Lord Varys," Sansa pleaded, "tell me: what of my husband? What news do you bring about the King, Daveth?"

"Such a dutiful wife," Varys sympathized. "My little birds tell me that His Grace sustained his fair share of injuries, but the Oathkeeper remains strong and emerged victorious on the battlefield once more. Not a bad feat for one so young. He is bound for the capital as we speak."

Sansa breathed a sigh of relief, a heavy weight lifted off her shoulders knowing that Daveth is alright. Even better now that she knows he's coming home; Varys, on the other hand, wasn't done yet.

"But I believe the damage has already been done."

"What do you mean?"

"It pains me to tell you this, Your Grace, but you should know..." he continued speaking softly, "the Iron Islands have been completely destroyed. With the exception of three, there are no ironborn left. And now the rains weep o'er his hall with no one there to hear."