Chapter 129: Conflict Between the Lion and the Wolf

As Eddard Stark, Warden of the North, entered the hall, he saw that it was already packed with people. King Robert sat at the far end of the hall, his expression grim, with Queen Cersei standing beside him.

She wore a crimson gown with flowing sleeves, her golden hair bound in a net of green stones. Her face bore a mask of haughty coldness, and her piercing green eyes focused intently on the Starks as Eddard entered with his daughter.

Standing beside the Queen was Prince Joffrey, his arm heavily wrapped in white bandages, his face equally cold and angry.

Eddard glanced around the hall, searching for a friendly face, but aside from his own retainers, they were few. Lord Raymun Darry looked impassive; Lord Renly wore a faint smirk; Ser Barristan appeared stern. And as expected, the Lannisters were all there, their expressions openly hostile.

Only now did Eddard regret not taking Lord Samwell's advice.

He should have spoken to Robert privately; after all, this was a relatively minor issue.

But Eddard still clung to a sliver of hope, trusting in his bond with the King. He believed that Robert, like a brother, would not punish his daughter too severely.

So, he spoke:

"Your Grace, are you here to judge my daughter?"

Queen Cersei interjected immediately, "Eddard Stark, how dare you address the King in that tone!"

---

Samwell hadn't followed Lord Eddard into the hall. He already had a good idea of what would happen next and had no desire to watch the unfortunate Lord of Winterfell walk into a trap.

Strolling through the inner courtyard, Samwell spotted Sansa Stark.

The Northern lord's elder daughter was dressed in a velvet gown, her auburn hair falling softly around her shoulders, a floral bracelet around her wrist, and she was crouched, feeding her young direwolf.

Unlike her mischievous, quick-witted younger sister Arya, Sansa was the picture of a young lady. She was more beautiful too, with her Tully lineage giving her high cheekbones and striking blue eyes.

Though only thirteen, her slender, graceful figure was already suggestive of her future beauty.

Samwell approached her. "Your sister is in the middle of her trial. Aren't you going in to see her?"

Startled, Sansa looked up, not having noticed anyone approach. Upon recognizing Samwell, the Reach lord who had amused the King with his bold jest, she quickly rose, tidying her hair and executing a formal curtsey.

"Lord Samwell, I…"

But she found herself at a loss for words.

She was worried about Arya, of course, but she also felt conflicted about facing her.

After all, it was her testimony that Arya had spoken ill of the Queen, and now Sansa felt a wave of guilt.

She had considered lying to protect her sister, as she'd done many times before, covering up Arya's antics.

But when Joffrey, her betrothed, looked at her with those expectant eyes, she found herself unable to lie.

It's all Arya's fault!

She always has to mess things up! Sansa felt a painful mixture of guilt and anger well up inside her, her eyes brimming with tears.

Seeing her distress, Samwell gestured at her wolf and asked, "This one is called Lady, correct?"

"Yes." Sansa seemed relieved to discuss something else.

Samwell crouched beside her, "May I pet her?"

"Yes, of course. Lady is gentle; she never bites anyone."

Samwell resisted the urge to make a comment about Joffrey's foolishness, recalling that Sansa was engaged to him, and instead reached out to stroke the wolf.

Her soft fur glided smoothly under his fingers, silken and warm.

Lady was indeed well-behaved, allowing Samwell to pet her freely and occasionally even licking his hand.

"Lord Samwell…" Sansa couldn't hold back her anxiety, "Do you think my sister will be alright?"

"Of course. It was just a scuffle between two children. Besides, the King is close with your father." Samwell offered her a reassuring smile.

But he held back one final thought.

Arya would be fine, but Lady was another matter.

Sansa, however, appeared comforted by his words. Her face brightened, and she began to share stories of her young wolf.

Just then, a crowd emerged from the hall.

Leading them was Eddard Stark himself, his face stormy as he strode purposefully toward Sansa.

"Father…" Sansa whispered, seeing her father's dark expression for the first time. Her heart leapt to her throat.

Then she saw her sister, Arya, sobbing and crying out:

"No! No! Don't kill Lady! She wasn't even there! She wasn't even there!"

Sansa's world tilted as if it were crumbling.

"Father, are they going to kill Lady?"

Eddard Stark looked at his elder daughter, struggling to find the right words.

Sansa's panic intensified. She clung to her father's arm, pleading:

"No, please no, Father, Lady has never hurt anyone! Please, don't let them…"

Lord Stark turned to look at Robert, making a final appeal:

"Robert, must we do this?"

Queen Cersei, with a triumphant smile, interjected, "Lord Stark, Joffrey's injury must be avenged. Since the other wolf has escaped, let this one take her place."

Ignoring the Queen, Eddard fixed his gaze on the King, making one last attempt.

"Robert…"

But Robert's patience was exhausted. "Enough, Ned. A wolf is a wild animal. One day, it might turn on your daughter. Get her a dog."

"Robert," Eddard spoke with a plea, "for the sake of our years of friendship… for the memory of my sister, please don't do this."

At the mention of Eddard's sister, Queen Cersei flared up like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. She screeched:

"Robert! Can you not even bring yourself to kill a beast? What kind of king are you?"

"Enough! Enough, all of you!" Robert roared, his patience finally shattered. "Kill the wolf. That's final!"

Sansa's tears came harder, and she clung to her father's arm, begging him to do something.

Eddard Stark felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He gathered his two daughters close, then looked directly at the King:

"Robert, if this must be done, then do it yourself. The one who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

Robert stared at Eddard, dumbfounded, before turning and leaving without a word.

Cersei laughed in victory, barking, "Sandor, have its pelt flayed—I'll use it for my bedding!"

"No." Eddard's voice was icy and defiant. "If the wolf must die, I will be the one to kill it."

Cersei squinted, "Eddard Stark, what are you trying to say?"

Eddard replied, his voice filled with pain and rage, "The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark. I will not let one die by a butcher's hand."

His eyes burned with fury as he walked toward Lady, his daughters crying and clinging to him.

But as he approached, the wolf suddenly darted away.

"Stop her!" Eddard ordered.

The Northern guards hesitated before moving forward.

"Don't let it escape!" Cersei screamed.

The Lannister guards were quicker to react, rapidly closing in around Lady.

The direwolf, however, was elusive, making a sudden feint toward Cersei before whirling around and dashing toward the castle gates.

By the time the guards realized they'd been tricked, Lady had broken through.

Realizing they'd been outwitted, the guards mounted the horses and gave chase.

Both Stark sisters were crying and laughing in relief, caught between joy and anxiety for the wolf's fate.

Eddard Stark stood motionless.

He found Lady's actions odd.

Of all the wolves, Lady was the most docile and never ran from anyone. Her calculated feints against the Lannister guards, her deliberate escape toward the Northern guards—it all seemed too intelligent for an animal.

Could it be divine intervention from the Old Gods?

Not the Old Gods, but Samwell.

Moments earlier, he had experimented with controlling the wolf in the same way he had with the hawk, and he found himself able to slip into Lady's mind.

With swift precision, he'd guided her to safety.

As Samwell rubbed his aching head, he let out a deep breath.

The Queen hadn't won, after all.

Yet even in his success, Samwell couldn't feel too satisfied.

He had seen Eddard Stark's character clearly enough to understand the man was as noble and straightforward as in the original story—perhaps even to a fault.

Earlier, Samwell had toyed with the idea of confiding in Eddard about Littlefinger's role in Jon Arryn's murder, plotting with his lover Lysa Tully to assassinate her own husband.

But now he'd decided against it.

Knowing Eddard, he'd likely receive a response like, "Do you have proof?"

Samwell didn't actually have any concrete evidence.

And from here, he anticipated what would come next: Eddard Stark, upright and rigid as he was, would likely start to suspect whether Samwell was deliberately slandering Jon Arryn's widow. After all, Lysa Tully wasn't just Eddard Stark's foster mother's widow; she was also the younger sister of his own wife.

With those family bonds, would the honorable Warden of the North really be willing to believe an accusation from an unfamiliar lord from the Red Mountains?

Blood is always thicker than water.

And, even if Samwell somehow managed to convince Eddard Stark to believe him, there was still no certainty that the Northman would actually use this information to their advantage. In the original storyline, even after Eddard found irrefutable evidence of Queen Cersei's affair, he confronted her instead of taking immediate action. He even urged her to flee with her children, claiming he didn't wish to harm women or innocent children…

Such naive behavior made it inevitable that Eddard would fall prey to the more ruthless players in King's Landing.

It wasn't that one shouldn't hold to honor, but rather that, when facing down schemers and conspirators, one must sometimes become more cunning than the enemy to ultimately prevail and protect one's honor.

Samwell knew that while he could maintain a friendly relationship with Eddard Stark, he couldn't place real reliance on him.

Thankfully, Samwell had prepared in other ways too. In all his days at King's Landing, aside from setting up those two fools Hobber Redwyne and Gerold Dayne, he had also been crafting a "gift" for Littlefinger.

As for Eddard Stark, Samwell would do what he could to help, but he would never place his own fate in the Stark's hands.

The old wolf from the North wasn't suited for the Game of Throne.

And there was no certainty he could avoid the beheading that awaited him in the original timeline.

(End of Chapter)

[The main storyline will have a degree of inertia; the protagonist has only just entered the scene, so events can't completely change all at once. Now that they've returned to King's Landing and introduced new conflicts, the plot will start to shift more significantly—thank you for your patience.]