Ned looked up, at the soft knock on the door. Brienne stepped in, her face tight and displeased. Ned felt his stomach clench in apprehension.
"Lord Varys to see you, Lord Stark," Brienne told him, moving her arm aside to let the man enter.
"Lord Varys," Ned said, eyeing him uneasily, "what can I do for you?"
"Might I trouble you for a drink, Lord Stark?" Varys asked, taking a seat.
Ned nodded shortly, and filled two cups with wine. He handed one to Varys, and sat back.
"I'm afraid I startled your guard and your children. They looked quite alarmed to see me," said Varys, sipping his wine, "my apologies."
"They've been anxious," said Ned carefully, "ever since the tourney. It was quite a trial for them. I imagine that every unfamiliar face at the door turns into the Mountain's at first glance."
Varys didn't respond. He regarded Ned calmly, with pale eyes that tested Ned's composure. Ned felt sweat begin to gather on his neck as the man watched him.
The Spider stood, walking to the door, and checking the lock. He went from window to window, flipping the latches to ensure privacy. When he was done, he sat back down, and took more wine.
"Drink, Lord Stark," said Varys, gesturing to Ned's untouched wine, "you may not trust that it is so, but you are in the company of a concerned friend."
Ned tried to assemble all the twisting and turning pieces of conversation he could recall from the children about Varys. It did not prepare him to sit before the man now, trying to guess whether or not he remembered a life that Ned had never known.
He drank the wine, after a pause.
"There are certain things we must discuss," said Varys, his words thin and sharp, so unlike his normal syrupy tones.
"Things, I assume, we cannot discuss in the small council chambers," Ned confirmed quietly.
"You are correct, Lord Stark," said Varys, "I took great care to ensure that this conversation will remain private. Many in King's Landing watch you closely, including the Queen."
"Have I done something to inspire such distrust?" Ned asked flatly.
"You've done so very little since your arrival in the capital, my lord," Varys said softly, "and yet so much. I will not keep you long, Lord Stark. There are things you must know. You are the King's Hand, and the King is a fool. Your friend, I know, but a fool nonetheless, and doomed unless you save him. The tourney was a near thing, they had hoped to kill him during the melee."
Ned could not suppress the shudder that rippled through him. Every step he took in King's Landing seemed to be on the edge of a knife. One slip, and he would be cut to ribbons.
"Forgive me, my lord," said Varys watching him closely, "but you do not seemed to be as surprised as I would have expected at such a terrible revelation."
If all the task at hand required, was a steady hand and sharp sword, Ned would do it. He would run Varys through, cut them all down, all the Lannisters. He would save Robert, and take his children and run. But this was not his battlefield. He had never had to fight on such quicksand as this.
Catelyn would tell him to guard himself. Sansa would tell him to be cautious. Ned closed his eyes, shaking his head.
"You may think Robert a fool," Ned said quietly, raising his head to meet Varys' eyes, "you may be right. But I am very much not a fool, Lord Varys. I assure you of that."
Varys eyes glimmered, and Ned had the faintest notion that he had pleased the Spider.
"The Queen forbade Robert to fight in front of his brother, his children, his knights and half the court," said Ned coldly, "I saw it with my own eyes. It was a sure way to inspire Robert to take up a sword. The Queen has no love for the King despite these many years."
"I never took you for a fool, Lord Stark," Varys said shrewdly, "but I must confess, I did not think you so astute. You don't seem like a man of secrets, and yet I do believe you have many."
"I didn't come here to mince words and whisper secrets," said Ned angrily, bringing his fist down on the desk, "enough of this Lord Varys. I came here to serve the realm, and to protect my king. If you have wisdom to offer regarding those things, speak now."
Varys tilted his head. "Nobody desires those things more than me, Lord Stark. Robert may be a fool, but the kingdom is stable yet. If he were to die… the Lannisters would control the throne. That would truly lead to chaos."
"And you wish to avoid chaos?" Ned asked, bitterly.
"Oh, of course," said Varys,a touch of virtuousness slipping into his voice, "I serve the realm, my lord, as you do. There are few men of honor in the capital. You, are one of them. I would like to believe I am another, as strange as that might seem."
He looked at Ned, expectantly. Ned hesitated.
"You must trust no one," Sansa had told him, her face solemn in the candlelight, "King's Landing is a pit of snakes, each more venomous than the last."
"I know, my love," Ned told his daughter, in vain reassurance. It cut at his heart to know that he could not take away the deep pain and sadness in her eyes. Eyes that did not belong in the face of a child. His child.
"No," Sansa said, her mouth a broken shape, "you cannot know. The South is not like here, and you cannot think it is. They would like nothing more than to see us burn."
Ned reached for her, cupping her head in the palm of his hand. She leaned into him. He traced the seashell of her ear. Just as he had done when she was a babe.
"You must guard your speech," Sansa said quietly, "weigh the result of every word. Listen to what they mean, not what they say."
"A terrible game to play," Ned said to her. And she seemed to know it so well.
Sansa's eyes gleamed in the low light, and she spoke in a low tone that jarred him.
"Sometimes when I try to understand a person's motives, I play a little game. I assume the worst. What's the worst reason they could possibly have for saying what they say and doing what they do? And I ask myself - how well does that reason explain what they say and what they do?"
Her words hung in the air, lingering with a sickly, sweetness.
"I'm sorry, Father," Sansa said quietly after a moment, but for what she was apologizing, Ned could not say.
"You wish to protect Robert," Ned said, deliberately.
The girl was young yet, Jon had said. Her dragons not even hatched. She and her brother wandered the Free Cities, beginning for handouts from those who still remembered the might of the Targaryen name.
If Varys intended to hold the throne for a child with no armies, no land, and no money, it would be long time yet. Better to have a weak usurper upon the throne, than to risk the iron grip of the Lannisters.
"It has been my aim thus far," said Varys delicately, "I have been successful, these past seventeen years, but I fear the fate of the King has crept past even my extensive influence. This is why I require your assistance."
"And yet," Ned said, "you waited a long time to ask this of me."
"I'll admit I wasn't sure what kind of man you were, Lord Stark," said Varys, smiling thinly, "the Red Keep shelters two sorts of people, you see. Those who are loyal to the realm, and those who are loyal only to themselves. Until the tourney, I doubted as to which you might be, so I waited. And now I know for certainty."
"You do, don't you?" Ned asked, tightly.
"Yes, Lord Stark," Varys said, running the back of his hand over his smooth cheek, "and I believe I am beginning to comprehend why the Queen fears you so much. Oh yes, I do."
Ned felt a chill run through him. "I've done nothing to arise the Queen's ire."
"You are an obstacle in the path of her desire," said Varys, "and the Queen is not one to suffer setbacks lightly. The King will soon be doomed unless we can save him."
"What kind of doom do you suspect?" murmured Ned, casting his eyes over to the sunlight peeking through the shutters.
"The same sort as Jon Arryn."
Ned froze. His breath caught.
"The Tears of Lys, they call it. A rare and costly thing, as clear and as tasteless as water. It leaves no trace."
Varys voice seemed to drift from far away, as if issuing from a tunnel.
"Who gave it to him?" Ned heard himself ask, numbly.
Littlefinger. Lysa loved him since they were children.
"Some dear friend, no doubt," said Varys, "but which one? There were so many. Lord Arryn was a kind and trusting man."
"He was," said Ned softly. His head swam, and he knew his grief sat plain on his face.
"They are biding their time, Lord Stark," said Varys rising to his feet, "but my little birds will be listening, and together we may be able to forestall him, you and I. Thank you for the wine. We will speak again."
With that, Varys nodded and slipped out the door.
When he had gone, Ned tipped his head back, and closed his eyes. He felt wretched.
"Send him in!"
Ned stepped past Jaime Lannister, and into the King's chambers. Robert was lounging in a pile of furs and silks, his fingers toying with the ribbons on a serving girl's skirts. The girl tittered nervously, a tray balanced precariously in her hands.
"Your grace," Ned said, bowing before him. He glanced at the blushing girl.
Robert laughed when he caught Ned's glance.
"My Hand's come to keep me responsible," Robert told the girl, grinning, "run along."
The girl left quickly. Robert gestured to Ned, and Ned obliged, coming to stand beside him.
"Sit, Ned," Robert commanded, "you'll make me nervous, standing like that. What kingly business have you come to bother me with today?"
Ned ignored the King's careless tone, and took a seat.
"I thought you might want to hear of the most recent council meeting," said Ned, clasping his hands, "Lord Renly reports that crime has fallen since the conclusion of the tourney. The City Watch has a hand over the city once more."
"Jape it was," grunted Robert, "making Renly Master of Laws. The boy hardly knows the sharp end of a sword. Of course I had to give him something, otherwise I would surely be staring down another Lannister cousin. They breed like rabbits, not lions."
"Renly rode well at the tourney," said Ned mildly.
Robert snorted. "It's one thing to joust, Ned. Quite another to open a man's belly in battle. Renly will never be a warrior." He broke off abruptly. "What of Stannis?" he demanded of Ned, "what has been heard of my blasted brother?"
Ned hesitated, his mouth going dry. "Not much," he said, "He sent a brief note acquiescing to the Crown's orders."
"What orders?" asked Robert, irritably.
"The dragonglass, your grace," Ned reminded him gently.
"Oh yes," said Robert distantly. Ned doubted he remembered fully.
"Lord Baelish also reports that taxes from the Reach have been deposited into the Crown's vault," said Ned.
"Good," said Robert thickly, drinking deeply from a goblet, "the Tyrells can damn well afford them. Mace Tyrell's boy rode out onto that field covered in sapphires, sapphires, Ned. We didn't ride out to war with any damn sapphires on our chests, did we?"
"No," Ned responded softly.
"Renly says the Tyrells have this daughter," Robert continued, the wine slopping over the sides of the cup, and dripping onto his breeches, "as lovely as the dawn."
"I'm sure she is," agreed Ned, thinking of girl in the locket. Her hair and eyes blurred in his memory, but he remembered her pouting, crooked smile.
Robert clapped him on the shoulder, laughing. "Those were the days," Robert said looking wistful, "but we're still young yet, and you're here, by my side once more."
Ned smiled, as he always did, when Robert seemed himself once more.
The King called for a meal, and they broke their fast as a warm breeze drifted through the fluttering curtains.
Ned found himself laughing, as Robert told the story of when he had knocked the Eyrie's old Maester on his backside.
"Jon just looked at me when he heard," chuckled Robert, "in that stern way of his. But I was only a boy, Ned! I didn't know my own strength!"
"I remember," said Ned, smiling fondly.
"I spent the next week at the grindstone," grumbled Robert goodnaturedly, "until the old man got back on his feet. He kept me in line, Jon did."
Ned felt his expression falter, as grief thickened the air.
"I should have listened more," said Robert, rubbing his thumb along the edge of a golden plate, "he always gave me sensible advice. Not that I followed it."
"It's no easy task, ruling," Ned said gravely.
"I was never so alive as when I was winning this throne," said Robert harshly, "and never so dead as now that I've won it."
Ned was silent.
"Let me tell you a secret, Ned," Robert said, leaning close, "More than once, I have dreamed of giving up the crown. Take ship for the Free Cities with my horse and my hammer, spend my time warring and whoring, that's what I was made for. The sellsword king, how the singers would love me. You know what stops me? The thought of Joffrey on the throne, with Cersei standing behind him whispering in his ear. My son. How could I have made a son like that, Ned?"
Ned could see as clear as day. Robert as he once was, his hammer at his side, standing at the helm of a ship as it sailed across waters bluer than the summer sky.
"He is only a boy," said Ned, his words like gravel in his throat.
Robert shook his head. "Youth is outgrown," he said gruffly, "other things, less so. But, perhaps your daughter will change him for the better. They seem quite taken with each other, don't you think? A good wife tempers any man."
"Sometimes," Ned said, but Robert was scarcely listening.
"They should be wed soon," said Robert, his eyes glazing, "I'd like to hold a babe in my arms while I'm still young. Our grandchildren, Ned. We'll name one of the girls Lyanna."
Ned thought the image might come to mind, but Robert's words conjured only emptiness. The King's dreams fell on barren earth.
"Yes, your grace," Ned replied gently. Sansa's pleas tugged at him, and he chose his next words carefully. "Our daughters have become close as well."
Robert nodded absently. "Sweet thing, Myrcella is," the King said absently, "as pretty as her mother once was, and lacking any of Cersei's venom."
"Perhaps Myrcella would like to visit Winterfell," Ned said carefully, "I was planning to take the girls to visit Catelyn in the coming year. Myrcella could accompany us, and Tommen of course if you wished it. We might join our families in another way. Lady of Winterfell would be a fitting title for a princess of the realm."
Robert turned to him, his interest returning. "You see it as I do," said Robert softening, "our families tied together. Stark and Baratheon. An empire of our own making, just as we always wanted."
"You will consider it then?" asked Ned.
"Consider it done," said Robert, slamming his cup down on the table, "a beautiful bride my daughter will make your son. And take my youngest, Ned. The boy is far too soft. A stay in the North will strengthen his spine. Let your sons have at him, good, strong boys they seemed."
"They are," Ned responded.
"You love your children, don't you, Ned?" Robert asked him, peering through his drunken haze.
"With all my heart," Ned replied.
Robert smiled, and raised his glass. "To us, Ned. We'll make this a reign to sing of, yet, you and I."
Ned tightened his fingers around his own wine glass, and lifted his hand to meet Robert's toast.
"To us."
"You must have ideas."
"Some."
"Such as?"
"My good dress, the Tully blue one. Hair around my shoulders, like mother's. I'd draw him away, and Lady would be waiting to give him a kiss at his throat. He does know better than to refuse a lady."
"Oh, that's much too fast."
"You think?"
"He'll be your captive audience one last time. Don't you want to whisper his own words in his ear as he dies?"
"What would you suggest?"
"Gag him. Slow cuts. Shallow. Make him beg until he realizes it's futile. I like that part, when they realize. You get to see the fear cloud their eyes."
"I don't think I need that, as much."
"What?"
"To see his fear."
"Pity. I was hoping to see him piss himself this time. It all went so fast, before. Although, the crying and begging were good bits."
"It's different this time. He doesn't even know us, and I don't plan on waiting until his death feels more poignant."
"You want to stop the chaos before it begins."
"It's for the best."
"As you wish, my lady."