The rain fell thick and heavy against the ramparts, the endless assault darkening the Red Keep to a shade reminiscent of blood. Within these thick, now bloody walls, Ser Baristan Selmy could hear the thunder rolling. Yet even the storm in all its fury was not so loud to drown out the king's crass roars and the chorused giggles of the six whores he'd taken to bed.

"A record," Ser Jaime assured him from his place outside the bedchamber door. "Funny thing, Selmy. I have the strangest suspicion he's trying to send me a message."

The younger knight was leaning lazily against the wall, as if he was guarding a brothel instead of the king. But at yet another guttural, savage roar and the response of a lustful moan, Selmy abandoned any willpower to correct the man. Instead choosing to state, "His Grace was to leave at dawn for his hunting trip with Prince Eddard."

"He's forgetful, our King Robert." Lannister shifted his weight. "Especially after a third flagon of wine."

"I assume the prince isn't in there."

"Could be." Ser Jaime's green eyes brightened. "You know what they say, Robert was born gripping a flagon with one hand and the other grasping for the nearest teat. Mayhaps little Prince Ned is much the same."

Selmy ignored the jape. "Where's the prince."

"With Blount?"

"Blount's guarding the Queen, as you know."

"Ah, yes." Jaime snapped his fingers as if just remembering. "The duty which usually falls to me. Well maybe my dear little nephew has decided to visit his mother."

Barristan's lips pressed into a thin line. Never before had the desire to choke the life from the kingslayer been stronger, barring the day he had earned the moniker. "You were to accompany the pair hunting."

"Yes, and now I'm listening to my good-brother have his way with six whores." Lannister sighed at the older knight's glare. "We usually collect the boy by the training yard."

"See to the king, won't you? I've not heard a sound in some time." Barristan smiled at the look of disgust he received. "His Grace may need help cleaning himself up."

Dishonorable as he was, the kingslayer was no liar. Selmy found the prince in the deserted training yard. Alone in the rain, the boy sat on a bench, shivering under his soaked cloak. "Prince Eddard," he called out to the drowned rat who was the hope and heir of the seven kingdoms. "Prince Eddard!"

The boy's face was near blue, he saw when Prince Eddard shifted to face him.

"Ser," he said in hardly more than a whisper. "Did Father send you to get me?"

Barristan quickened his step. Unlatching his white cloak, he fell to one knee and placed it around the boy's bony shoulders. No, he's too busy drinking and whoring to worry about his son, Barristan thought to himself. Then, eyes tracing over the fading scars stretched over the side of the prince's face, Would you rather be brought to your mother so she may shatter another glass of wine against your head?He almost wanted to say the words. To state what nobody else he couldn't. Not with those hopeful eyes on him, eyes which near everyone claimed to be blue.

"Yes, my prince," Barristan lied, something he'd become accustomed to in service to this new dynasty. "King Robert was worried about you. He had to call a small council meeting, you see."

"A council meeting?" Selmy nodded in response, taking Prince Eddard's arm to tug him below a roof and out of the rain. Royals died many ways, but he couldn't recall hearing of any prince who caught his death by rainfall and forgetfulness."Is it the Greyjoys again?" The boy shook his head like a hound, but his curling black hair looked no less wet once he looked up to smile. "Do you think I could go this time?"

Barristan scratched at his chin, doing his best to hide a smile of his own. "I don't think that would be wise."

He looked ready to cry, doubtfully for the first time that day. "Why?"

The old knight drew his sword, carefully offering it to the prince. "Take it," he said. "Go on."

Prince Eddard's small hands grasped the hilt tightly, slowly lifting the blade. It was too heavy for a boy of eight, of course. And Barristan did his best to stop the wince from crossing his face when the prince lost balance of the sword, resulting in the blade's slamming against the stone floor. A redness crept over the boy's pale face as he handed the sword back as best he could manage. "Sorry, Ser."

Barristan smiled as he slipped the blade away. "Come," he said, offering his hand to the prince.

Those eyes everyone called blue, or dark blue if they were feeling particularly poetic, fell on Barristan. The old knight felt twenty years younger, brought back to the days of Prince Rhaegar's boyhood. "Where?"

"To get you some dry clothes. And then, once this dreadful weather passes, we'll return here. If you hope to go to war with your father one day, you must learn to fight."