Garlan

Lord Stark looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else, Garlan observed as the Northern party was seated. Not a hour after the Hand of the King declared in open court his true intentions for the Gift, his lord father invited Lord Stark to supper. Garlan could not fault his father for trying to secure him and Loras land and keeps of their own, it was a father's duty to provide for his children. Still, he could not help but feel that this was a fool's errand. Lord Stark seemed carved of granite, cold and unmovable.

Garlan took time to observe the Hand's children. His daughters all had different personalities; Lyrena, the crown prince's betrothed, was quiet and dreamy, the middle sister Sansa was polite and charming, and the youngest girl Arya was loud and unruly. Mother strictly controlled how Margaery and her close cousins behaved in public, but Lord Stark seemed much more indulgent to the girls under his care. Perhaps that was only because his wife remained in Winterfell. His son Rickon, a lively boy of seven, had come as a page for Lord Jason Mallister.

The dinner itself went rather well, at least to begin with. Lord Stark, though courteous, spoke little. Father liked having the opportunity to talk about himself, their family, and Highgarden. Little Sansa hung on Father's every word, which flattered Father and amused both Garlan and Loras. Garlan imagined that she would get along with Mother, Margaery, or Leonette quite well, though likely be frightened by Grandmother. Her sisters and brother had varying levels of interest.

"Enough about the Reach, what is the North like, my lord hand?" Father asked genially.

Lord Stark cleared his throat, uncomfortable. "It's rather different than how you describe your home. The snows comes and go as they please, even in summer. A man must be tough to survive beyond the Neck."

Father nodded, "I've always heard that the northmen were strong, hardy men. Looking at you now, I can scarcely doubt it. Do you imagine either of my sons would survive in your frozen homeland?"

Lord Stark appraised him and Loras. Garlan felt tense under his scrutiny, but he hid it. With skeptical look on his face, Lord Stark politely replied, "Not from I've seen of them, though I may be mistaken."

Father's smile slipped a bit, but he maintained a neutral expression. "You haven't had the chance to know them as I have. Wait until you see them in the tourney! Loras is the best jouster in the Reach and Garlan always shines in the melee."

"Perhaps," Ned remarked tonelessly. He seemed determined to prove that northmen had ice in their veins instead of blood.

"I'm certain Ser Garlan and Ser Loras shall do splendidly," sighed Sansa, who was notably easier to impress than her father.

"I wish you luck in the melee Ser Garlan. You'll be facing Lord Mallister. He's old, but he's very strong," Rickon said seriously.

Garlan couldn't help but smile, "Thank you. Lord Mallister is famous even in the Reach for his strength at arms." The little boy smiled happily and returned to finishing his slice of lemon cake. Garlan turned to the youngest daughter, Arya. "Are you looking forward to the lists or the melee?"

"The melee. I think jousting is stupid," Arya answered bluntly. Her sisters blushed with embarrassment, but her father looked mildly amused. The first jot of emotion anyone had gotten out of that man since the supper began.

"We don't have many tourneys in the North," Lyrena explained haltingly. "She's only seen one before."

"That was the one Lord Manderly hosted?" Loras asked.

Garlan suppressed the urge to kick his brother under the table. Manderly had raised Lady Stark's bastard to knighthood, something that must have severely angered Lord Stark. He still hadn't worked out why Manderly would insult his liege lord that way, but bringing it up would only serve to upset their guest. If only Loras had more tack.

"Yes," Sansa jumped in. "And it was so exciting. I'm sure this tourney will be even better."

"It will certainly be larger," Garlan added, hoping to steer the conversation in another direction. "I've never seen so many fine knights all in one place. From the Reach, the Vale, the Stormlands, and Dorne. I'm also to face Thoros of Myr. He was the first man over the wall at the Siege of Pyke, flaming sword in hand. Such a man makes a worthy opponent."

"I've met Ser Thoros." Lyrena said quietly.

Her words surprised Loras. "How did you come across him?"

"King Robert often asks my sisters and I to accompany him on hunts, and Ser Thoros is one of his fondest companions. He lets me read the books he owns, from the Free Cities."

"I remember Thoros!" Father laughed. "As fierce a warrior as there ever was. At Pyke he cut ironmen down like firewood. I almost feared there wouldn't be any left for the rest of us. Lord Stark, I remember how well you fought as well. Your greatsword is the finest I've ever seen and you wielded it with great skill."

Lord Stark remained as glacial as ever. "I recall Pyke, though I don't look back on my past battles fondly. What matters is that the king's peace was restored."

"Of course, and we are most fortunate to have Robert as our king," Father flushed. "He made a wise choice appointing you Hand of the King, given your loyalty and capability."

It took a while before Lord Stark finally replied, "That is kind of you to say, Lord Tyrell."

Garlan frowned at Lord Stark's rudeness. The Stark children must have learned manners from their mother. He could sense Father's growing unease as his compliments were rebuffed. Befriending Lord Stark seemed ever more a fruitless endeavor, as if he was already determined to dislike them.

Father seemed to come to the same conclusion, for he decided to cut his losses and make his intentions clear. "I suppose one of your first concerns as Lord Hand will be to determine who shall settle the Gift?"

Lord Stark exhaled deeply, as he had been waiting for Father to say that all along. "It is. I already have several candidates in mind."

"So soon?" Father pressed. "And you're certain of these men?"

"I did not call a tourney to look for new bannermen," Lord Stark answered coldly. "It was Robert's notion to honor the winners, not my own."

"No one ever accused you of vanity," Father replied mildly.

"Skill at arms is a necessity, but that alone does not make a suitable lord. Especially not in the far north. I won't disregard a worthy man because he was not born in the North, but nor will I hand out a land and castles to anyone who can swing a sword well. In any case, the decision is not mine alone. The lords of the Gift must work in concert with the Night's Watch for that is who the land belongs to, and the Lord Commander's opinion matters most."

"I am acquainted with Lord Joer, though I wish the circumstances were happier." Father sighed, and Lord Stark nodded grimly.

Lyrena bit her lip, looking both angry and sad. Garlan recalled his aunt writing about her years ago, the bookish little girl she and Jorah had brought home. He knew his mother kept in touch with Aunt Lynesse, and she scarcely wrote about Lyrena once she settled in Lys with her merchant prince. Lyrena must have harbored ill feelings toward his aunt and her husband for committing their crime and leaving her on that island with no more than a pat on the head. Aunt Lynesse made a habit of disappointing people and Lyrena Stark was no exception.

"Lynesse Hightower is your kin, my lord?" Lord Stark asked.

"My wife's sister," Father corrected. "Lynesse is the youngest in the large family and had many people to indulge her. Too many, it seems. Her actions shocked us as they did you."

Garlan felt unease creep up his leg and into his spine. The supper had gone on too long and the conversation meandered too much for his liking. He wished Lord Stark would just outright deny him land in the Gift and be done with it.

"This is not the time nor place for such a discussion. I think we ought to be going," Lord Stark said at last. He paused, then said to Father, "You must have a lot of faith in Garlan and Loras, to think them prepared for lordship in such a harsh place."

"What sort of father would be I if I lacked faith in my own sons?" Father replied.

He didn't say anything Garlan didn't already know, but the words made him feel warmer regardless.

Edric

He and Lord Beric arrived in King's Landing at just the right time to learn that the rumors that the new Lord Hand was giving out land in the far north were not quite true. King Robert granted them rooms in the Maidenvault, with many of the other noble guests. He saw Redwynes, Pipers, Mallisters, Crakehalls, and even Wyls from Dorne. They had scarcely been in the Red Keep two days before they heard the grumblings of the lords and knights who had also come for the tourney.

"This Lord Stark is too tight-fisted," Ned heard a knight of House Brax complain openly while training in the yard one morning. One evening, after Lord Beric dismissed him, he overheard a few Freys discussing how best to get into Lord Stark's good graces. A man from House Piper even told Lord Beric, "I hope the rumors of pretty northern girls are true, at least."

For Ned, such topics were at most a curiosity. As he was already the Lord of Starfall in his own right, he had neither need nor desire for hard, frozen land near the edge of the world. He often wished to return home, with the golden sun browning his skin and the roar of the Torentine lulling him to sleep. Starfall had Aunt Allyria, ruling in his stead. Ned missed her sweet violet eyes and her tight, warm hugs. Until he earned his spurs, he would content himself with Blackhaven and follow Lord Beric where he wished to go.

Preparing for the tourney ate almost all his daylight hours, but Ned liked having a task to complete. He polish Lord Beric's armor until it glimmered, instructed the stable grooms on the best care for his horses, inspected the quality of his lances and sword, and performed whatever other tasks his lord required for him. Ned had served Lord Beric during tourneys before, so he felt confident carrying out his errands. Lord Beric was a fair and attentive master, and so Ned enjoyed being his squire. Someday, when Lord Beric married Aunt Allyria, he would become Ned's uncle.

The day before the tourney opened, Lord Beric told him, "Have the day to yourself, lad. You've worked enough, and you'd do well to rest before the tourney."

Ned smiled gratefully and thanked Lord Beric for his kindness. He took his free time to properly explore the Red Keep. In Dorne, men spoke of the Red Keep the same way they spoke of Harrenhal. A place of blood and horror, haunted by the unfortunate souls who had perished within its walls. Ned wasn't afraid of ghosts, but he wasn't eager to know if he would see Princess Elia and her children if he roamed Maegor's Holdfast late at night.

At noon, his feet took him into the godswood. Elms, alders, black cottonwoods, and other trees he had no name for loomed to his left and right, sunlight streaming through the leaves like pale yellow ribbons. Ned started up at them. Trees did not grow together in such numbers in the deserts, or the Red Mountains, or the Dornish Marches. As he trekked, he began to hear the high, delicate voices of noble ladies somewhere in the godswood. He followed the sound to a little garden in a glade.

There were three girls, each different from the next. The first had golden curls and round, pink cheeks; the second had a long auburn braid and bright blue eyes; and the third, the dark-haired one, was skinny as a stick and too boyish to really be called pretty. Their clothes bespoke their station, too fine and well-made to belong to anyone but noblewomen. They seemed surprised to see him, but not unwelcoming.

Ned felt a little embarrassed that he intruded on them in his wanderings. He bowed politely, "Good afternoon. I hope I did not startle you."

"We are well," the first girl smiled kindly, after she and her companions greeted him with curtsies. It put him a little more at ease. "I am Princess Myrcella. There are my friends, Lady Sansa," she gestured to the auburn-haired girl and then to the dark-haired girl, "and Lady Arya of House Stark, daughters of our Lord Hand."

"My name is Edric Dayne, Lord of Starfall, but I prefer to be called Ned." His chest tightened a little realizing that he was speaking to the king's daughter and two of the Winter Pearls.

"That's our father's name!" Arya cried, surprised.

"It's a pleasure to meet you Ned," Sansa replied, blushing prettily. "What brings you to the godswood?"

"I squire for Lord Beric Dondarrion, but he has no need of me today. I'm rarely in a place with so many trees, so I wanted to see the godswood."

Sansa tilted her head, "Are there no trees in Dorne?"

"There are, but not many because there is little rain. And the Marshes are mostly a flat plain with tall grasses as far as the eye can see."

"Dorne?" Arya scrutinized him.

Arya's face brightened. "I'd like to visit Dorne someday. Old Nan - she lives in Winterfell - tells us lots of stories about Princess Nymeria and the Vulture Kings. My brother Jon says Dorne is too hot for us Starks and we'd melt if we went there, but I don't believe him."

"Half-brother, Arya," Sansa corrected primly. "He's our father's bastard son, Jon Snow."

Arya shot her sister a sour look, but Ned barely caught it. "I know of him. Jon Snow is my milk brother." At their shocked faces, he continued. "His mother was my wetnurse. Her name is Wylla and she's worked at Starfall for many years."

The princess merely nodded. Sansa and Arya looked at each other, then back at him. "How do you know who Jon's mother is?" Lady Arya demanded.

"Everyone at Starfall knows it," Ned answered. "My aunt was at Starfall when Lord Eddard stopped to rest there, while taking his sister's bones north. He had Wylla and Jon Snow with him."

Sansa had a thoughtful look on her face while Arya frowned, her dark grey eyes stormy. Ned suddenly felt very foolish for talking about such a thing with them, especially while Princess Myrcella looked on without a thing to say. "I didn't mean to upset you, I'm sorry."

"No, don't apologize," Sansa said reassuringly, with a small smile on her face. "Poor Jon doesn't know anything about his mother, and I'm sure he'd be grateful to learn something about her."

For a moment, Ned thought he had misheard her. Lord Stark had said nothing about Wylla? He wanted to ask if Lord Stark had said anything about Aunt Ashara, but he didn't want to make this meeting any more awkward than it already was. He only replied with a small smile of his own.

"Princess Myrcella had invited us to spend time with her in her garden. Would you like to see it?" Sansa offered.

"That is very kind, but I'm afraid I must return to my chambers. Lord Beric will have need of me on the marrow and told me to get plenty of rest." Ned could feel his face begin to warm and wanted to leave before he said something stupid.

Sansa's eyes twinkled like diamonds. "Will your Lord Beric be in the lists?" she asked breathlessly. When he nodded, she added, "Then we shall wish him luck. You must come to see us when you are able. You should meet the rest of our family: Father, our older sister Rena, and our little brother Rickon."

"I would like that very much," Ned answered, hoping he did not sound as nervous as he felt.

Eddard

He had only been Hand of the King for a few moons, and already Ned found the position more troublesome than he expected. The sycophants did not limit themselves to circling the king, they came after him and his daughters as well. After the uncomfortable supper with the Tyrells, he warned his daughters against accepting flattery. Rena seemed to understand, Sansa blushed, and Arya looked indifferent. He ought to thank Catelyn for finding them a sensible septa, who kept a keen eye on them while he investigated Jon Arryn's death.

The night before the tourney began, Ned returned to the Tower of the Hand after the sun had long set and his household had already supped. He ordered the cook to fix him a simple meal to take in his solar. As he sat by the fire eating a thick beer-and-barley stew, Eddard contemplated his findings.

Petyr Baelish, known to all as Littlefinger, had pulled him aside after his first meeting with the Small Council and mentioned that he was a childhood friend of Catelyn. Littlefinger was a short, slender man a few years younger than himself. The first Ned had heard of him was after his older brother Brandon had nearly killed him in a duel for Catelyn's hand. Yet, from his open, friendly demeanor, Littlefinger did not seem to bear a grudge.

"Yes, I recall my lady wife and several of my children speaking of you," Ned remembered. "You were with them when they visited the Vale a few years ago."

"It was wonderful to see my boyhood friend again, and to meet her children. I doubt your daughters will remember me, they were much more interested in their cousin," Littlefinger replied with a fond smile.

An idea came to Ned. "Were you close to my predecessor? He was your liege lord and you know his widow well."

"I'm not so proud that I would claim a friendship, but Lord Arryn, gods rest his soul, did place a degree of trust in me," Littlefinger answered. "I hope I can be of similar use to you, my lord."

Indeed you may, Ned thought. He could scarcely talk about Jon Arryn's murder out in public, but if he brought Littlefinger into his confidence, he may be able to wring some important clues from the man. "I hope so as well, Lord Baelish."

True to his world, Littlefinger had given him the names of four people from Jon Arryn's household who had remained in King's Landing and warned him of the spies that infested the city like fleas. With Littlefinger's help, Ned located and questioned those four. Jon's former squire, Ser Hugh, had given him nothing useful. In fact, Ser Hugh was arrogant and unpleasant. The other three only had gossip: that Jon spent a great deal of time with Stannis Baratheon and that included visiting an armorer and a brothel together. It struck Ned as odd, knowing what he did of both men, but he didn't know if it had anything to do with Jon's death.

The Lord of Dragonstone had left the city for his seat weeks before Ned had arrived, and Ned wished he would return to resume his duties as Master of Laws. Had something frightened him? Ned did not think of Stannis as someone who was frightened of anything. Had he left because he wanted the position of Hand, and felt slighted? Going to a brothel was remarkably out of character for Stannis, who to Ned's knowledge had never looked at a woman with desire in his entire life. Something was amiss, but he would have to talk to Stannis himself to figure out what. Such words could not be trusted to a bird, but perhaps he could find an excuse to leave for Dragonstone, even for a short time, if Stannis would not come to him.

Could he count Stannis as an ally, if the situation required it? Stannis did not like him, but surely he would be determined to bring Jon Arryn's killer to justice if Ned could name the man. Who else? Littlefinger was reliable so far and had a soft spot for his family, but how far was he willing to go for them? Jason Mallister was an old and trusted friend, and had a strong sense of justice. Bronze Yohn Royce's second son was courting Lady Wynafryd, so he had a stronger incentive than most to make himself useful to Ned. Unfortunately, Mallister and Royce would likely only be in the city until the tourney ended, and Ned had no idea how long it would take him to find the culprit.

Then there was the boy, the blacksmith's apprentice. Jon Arryn had gone to see him, then questioned him about his life and his mother. Just from the look of him, Ned knew that Gendry was one of Robert's illegitimate sons, Mya's half-brother. Did he know that the man living atop Aegon's Hill was his father? That he had a sister in Winterfell and a brother in Storm's End? Gendry was soon to be the uncle of Ned's grandchild, though there was no way he could have known that. Jon Arryn had not cared much about Mya until Catelyn mentioned her, beyond assuming responsibility for Robert's carelessness, so why was he interested in Gendry? And how could that have been connected to his death?

A sharp knock at his door broke Ned from his thoughts. "Enter."

Arya came in already clad in her nightclothes. Her hair was in two neat braids, meaning one of her sisters must have done it for her before bed. "Father, can I ask you something?"

He gestured for her to sit on the padded chairs at his desk, and she did. "Has something happened?"

"Sansa and I met a boy today, with Myrcella. He's called Ned like you and he told us he was the Lord of Starfall," Arya began. She chewed her lower lip for a moment, looking both worried and indignant. "He says he knows Jon's mother, that she was his wetnurse. Is that true?"

Ned felt a torrent of panic at her words. "That...that is nothing you should be thinking about. Go to bed and don't speak of it again," he said sternly.

Arya's mouth fell open in shock at his harsh words. "But shouldn't Jon know?"

"That is between me and Jon, no one else. Have you or Sansa told anyone else?'

"Just Rena."

Ned sighed deeply, suddenly feeling twice his age. "Bring your sisters in here. I must have words with them as well."

"Yes Father," Arya obeyed gloomily as she left the room. She returned a short time later with Sansa and Rena, both in their nightclothes as well with Sansa stifling a yawn.

"You called for us father?" Rena asked.

"Sit with me girls," Ned commanded. "You recall I warned you against flattery, but it seems I have failed to warn you enough. King's Landing is not like Winterfell, and we are not safe here."

Sansa looked stricken, "What could you mean by that? Is someone acting against us? You must tell the king!"

"I cannot share all that I know, but I have reason to believe we have dangerous foes in this city. You must be cautious of more than flattery. The Lannisters have no love for us, nor the Tyrells, and many at court will not hesitate to use or betray us for their own gain. We are here because I have a duty to the king and to your uncle Jon Arryn, my predecessor. Had I the choice, we would have remained in Winterfell."

"Father, what does that have to do with Jon Snow's mother?" Arya asked.

"That boy you met, Lord Dayne. You shared his stories with your sister without telling me first. Then you asked me if you ought to tell Jon the tale he told you. I know you girls are honest and good, but you must know that here sharing too much information can be dangerous. If you hear something, come to me first. I don't want any of you sharing tales."

Arya's face betrayed confusion and uncertainty. Beside her, Sansa looked as if something sour had settled in her belly and even the normally calm Rena seemed a little distressed.

"Does...does that mean we cannot befriend Edric?" Sansa asked quietly. "Lord Dayne, that is? We told him we wanted him to meet you and Rena on the morrow."

Eddard considered it for a moment. "It is fine that you like him, but I ask that you be cautious."

"Yes Father," Sansa nodded.

"I'll have this same conversation with Rickon on the morrow. For now, try to get some sleep."

Ned ushered the girls out of his solar, but Arya stayed back. "You never loved anyone else besides Mother, right?"

He kissed her forehead, "Aye. Never doubt it, sweetling."

AN: I made a handful of changes to the previous chapter. If you haven't already, you should re-read it.