I made an error last chapter regarding the timelines of each continent. Westeros is currently ahead of Essos by several months. I have corrected such and it should make sense now.

Daenerys

The days that followed that terrifying night of being held at knifepoint by Viserys seemed brighter than those before. Daenerys hadn't spoken to her brother or even seen him since then. Of course, he wasn't gone for good, just in another place of Vaes Dothrok. Smokeball had been keeping a watchful eye on Viserys who had been spending his time and his money on whores and wine. The Knights were worried that he was going to drown himself to death in wine but Daenerys had no concern, for she stood with what she said to her brother that night. What he does from then on, she would have no part in it.

Nonetheless, Dillion and Smokeball did their duty and kept a watch on their King and were probably attempting to pull him back together.

Viserys had not just threatened her life that night, but her child's as well. If he had pointed the blade at her belly instead of her neck… perhaps she would have gone straight to Drogo and let the worst come to pass for her dear older brother.

Whatever the course of action taken regarding her brother, Daenerys did not care so long as he was kept away from her. She lay on her furs in a simple gown, stroking a hand on the rise in her stomach and humming softly to her babe the song she heard in her vision.

She rested her eyes and let herself get lost in the moment of being alone with her song and her babe. Nothing else mattered to her except the life inside, nothing else gave her as much joy as it could. She did not look back on the pain in the first nights with Drogo, how he was in such a hurry to make an heir in her. She didn't worry about her son's future being raised as a Dothraki, or the thousands of dangers ahead for her or her child.

There was a great warmth she felt when her hand touched over where her child grew. It was a connection far greater than she could describe if asked, but she felt a fire inside that was waiting to be released. It only felt stronger when she sang out her heart and love in her song.

"Khaleesi?" Irri called from outside.

"Yes?" Daenerys replied, opening her eyes and sitting herself up with a stretch of her arms behind her back.

"Do you still wish to see the markets today?"

That's right, she had planned to walk among the merchants with her handmaidens and Cinders. Part of her wanted to fall back down on the furs and rest while the other half demanded that she stand up and get ready for the day.

"Of course," she replied and Irri and Jhiqui both entered and helped her dress for the day. It was at times like these she was truly grateful to have help dressing. The weight of her baby got heavier with each day and some days she felt so tired and weak that it was like a giant rock instead.

Once she had gotten out of her tent and into the sunlight, Daenerys was enjoying the day to the fullest with Cinders and her handmaidens in tow in the Western Markets. There was a rumor that a few merchants from Westeros were here and Daenerys wanted to see what they were like, if they were Dornish, Andal, or maybe even descendants of the First Men like Jon and Vedros.

But, Daenerys did not immediately pursue the rumor she heard. She found it impossible to do so when there was far too much in Eastern Market to simply pass by without a second look. There was a party of hunters who sold small beasts in cages ranging from simple pets easy to tame to creatures of a more deadly and exotic breed. The scariest creatures she saw were a strange type of bug called a manticore. She had heard of them and how fatal they are to man, but never seen before. The hunters had several of them kept in silver cages and four of them had carpaces that shimmered in the light like polished jade and two others shared that color faintly amidst so much purple. Daenerys had no interest in owning such a thing, but she could not deny that the faces on those insects were almost mesmerizing to look at.

Moving on from the hunters and their wares, Daenerys linked her arm with Cinders' and slowed to a decent pace for him. "Have you ever seen such a creature like that? Beautiful but dangerous?"

"There is a wonderful joke I could make of that had I the wit to do it, but no. The Manticore is regarded as nothing more than a myth in Westeros like giants and mermaids, but how much do they know when the vastness of the world is a sea across from them? Everything exotic they believe in will be in the Western Market, but here is where everything else they have never seen before can be found."

"Then I want to see more. Show me something wonderful, my friend."

"As my princess commands. Let's see, I see some Yi Tish selling carpets and laces of their homeland, though their style for women does not suit a horse rider such as yourself if I may say so. The robes are too heavy and constricting. But they do allow a nice breeze to air out underneath."

"You sound as if you've worn such clothes."

"Well… Once or twice. The men's fashion is very similar so it was hard to tell at the time. First and last I would ever touch foreign clothes."

Daenerys and Irri giggled as they walked by many other groups of merchants.

"Ah, princess, over there are some Shadowmen from the Shadow Lands, the lands which your dragon eggs came from."

Daenerys looked to where Cinders pointed and saw three men, at least she assumed they were men, wearing red wooden masks that completed covered their faces and while only one was wearing a robe from neck to toe, the other two were dressed in something that could be considered normal clothing except the style was both archaic and rich to a degree, and covering their skin that showed were many tattoos.

All three wooden masks turned in Daenerys' direction when she and her party got closer to them.

One of them, the man in robes, began to speak in a language she did not understand but sounded close to High Valyrian. One of the other shadowmen stepped forward and bowed to her. "We are honored to receive the presence of the Khaleesi of Khal Drogo, Mother of the Stallion who will Mount the World." Though the mask blurred his voice, the man spoke in such a warm, silky tone.

"Thank you," Daenerys replied with a kind hearted smile. These people were a bit off putting at first, but looks can be deceiving. "What wares to have from your lands that I may see?"

Even though a mask was worn, Daenerys could feel that the Shadowman she spoke to had an embarrassed smile under his mask. "Nothing mysterious or ancient as one would think to find in our lands. Mainly trinkets fashioned in the style of our people. But we do have one item that may interest you." The third Shadow man rummaged through a few bags and carefully presented a strange sculpture made of what looked like black glass.

"What is it?" Daenerys asked.

"In the shadowlands, we call it an obsidian light, but in the west it is known as a dragonglass candle."

"Oh," Cinders said in awe, "these can be considered quite valuable to some and worthless to others. It's said they have legendary powers of foresight if you can light them, but as you can see, it is glass, something that doesn't catch flame as easily as a wick."

"It is still beautiful," Daenerys countered as she gently touched the side of the candle. It felt smoother than it appeared and the surface was cold. "What do you want in exchange?"

"We are simple men. Gold or silver, it makes no difference which, only how much."

Daenerys turned to Irri. "Return to my tent and gather some of my treasures to exchange with these men. Give them a generous amount."

"I obey, Khaleesi." Irri bowed and scuffled off quickly.

"We shall have it brought directly to your tent once we have made the exchange, Khaleesi."

Daenerys bowed her head and walked onward with Cinders and the others to see what else the markets had to offer. As it turned out, the other merchants from other lands did not have anything that drew Daenerys to their wares like the Shadowmen had. One group of merchants claimed to have Valyrian Steel arrowheads but an inspection from Cinders showed that they were false. The ripples of the steel were the same, but it was not Valyrian steel. It was a false kind called tiger steel and while beautiful it was considered weaker than castle-forged steel.

"I see you're looking longer for things that have connection to your ancestral home, Princess," Cinders commented.

"Of course," Daenerys said with a smile, "will you not be looking for things of Westeros when we see those merchants?"

"Yes… and no. Westeros, the Crownlands, they once had my love beyond measure until brother turned against brother and the realms were torn apart. When I left I barely recognized them. No, I won't long for my home I left behind because when all is done with ourselves, the home I love will be made whole again."

"But surely a trinket or two-"

"Just trinkets, princess. My heart is with the lands themselves, the fields, the wood, and the wonderful smell of the sea under a soft sunrise." Cinders almost looked lost in himself. "When House Targaryen returns to where it belongs, I will stand on the beach beneath my family's home and watch the dawn again."

Daenerys squeezed his hand softly. "Will you let me stand beside you on that day?"

"Whatever you ask of me, princess, I shall do what I can." He smiled down at her warmly, it made her remember the warm smile of Ser Willem Darry.

Finally, they moved on to the Western Markets and things suddenly became more familiar to Daenerys. She recognized many of the styles and patterns of the Free Cities that she and Viserys had ventured through in their younger years.

But it was the shouts of barter from a wine merchant that drew Daenerys' attention. If she had heard right, and her Dothraki had been far greater that it ever had been, the merchant mentioned his stock contained Dornish and Arbor wines. She never had much of Westeros wines in the company of Magisters and Princes, only Essosi drinks.

When she stepped closer to the Merchant's wagon, he looked eyes and stepped closer to her, knowing that he gained her interest.

"You are the Khaleesi of Drogo? Please! I have a fine mixture from Dorne that you will not be able to go a day without once you have tasted it!" He poured a drink of red wine into a brass cup and offered it to Daenerys.

"I don't think I have ever had such a wine. I love to try some." She reached out to take it, but the merchant pulled back and looked at her curiously. "You are from Westeros?"

Doreah spoke up for Daenerys. "You speak to Daenerys of the Great and Powerful House Targaryen, Princess of Westeros." Cinders looked at Doreah angrily. Did not think it was unwise to say her name? Just about every Dothraki knew who she was so it stands to reason that word would break out sooner or later.

The Merchant became wide eyed and fell to his knees. "Princess, you have no idea how much I am honored to meet you. There are many of us you still pray for the rightful Kings and Queens of Westeros to return."

"And I am overjoyed to receive your praise. But I would still like to try that wine."

"What, this?" The merchant stood up and tossed out the wine in the cup. "Horse piss. The Dornish don't know what wine is. But I have an aged Arbor Gold that you will name your child after me for, I promise!"

Daenerys laughed. "My son already has his name, but I will try it."

The Merchant searched throughout his wagon but could not find his wine. He called out to another man on the other side of the wagon, but it was in a different language that Daenerys did not recognize. Another merchant poked his head out from the other side and looked at Daenerys with blank eyes before pointing and saying something back. The wine merchant wandered to where his companion pointed and found the barrel he was looking for. He poured a new cup of wine and offered it to Daenerys.

"Wait," Ser Jorah appeared as though from nowhere and took the cup, "Arbor Gold, you say?"

"Uh, yes. Made from CiderHall of the Fossoways, the finest of wines." The wine Merchant's companion came forward with the same blank expression as Ser Jorah smelled the wine.

"A beautiful aroma. Why don't you try it first?" Ser Jorah held the cup back to the merchant.

"Me? I couldn't. I am not worthy for such a mixture. I would be robbing myself if I did-"

"Try it," Daenerys persisted as her heart began to beat hard in her chest. Something felt wrong and she didn't like the look the merchant's companion kept giving her.

The wine Merchant held still for a moment before taking the cup and raising it up to Ser Jorah. He raised the rim to his lips and-

The Companion suddenly lunged forward at Daenerys with a knife he pulled from his sleeve. Cinders got in the way and tackled the man to the ground, wrestling him for the knife and struggling with great strength. Jorah pushed Daenerys back as the Wine Merchant threw the cup at him and suddenly darted off into the markets.

"Rakharo!" Jorah shouted and the sudden whistle and crack of a whip was made and the Wine Merchant had been seized at his feet by Rakharo and one other Dothraki. Cinders had punched the companion in the face and knocked him out cold.

Daenerys was helped up by Jorah and she was shaking from all of this. It was all so fast, just a few seconds and everything nearly turned into chaos and death. It gave her flashbacks of items assassins had tried to come after her and Viserys, times when he had to pull her with all his strength to keep her from stopping.

Assassins in Vaes Dothrak? She wouldn't have thought it possible. Forty Thousand Dothraki Screamers and still, they got close enough to her.

"Princess…" Cinders said, clutching at his chest. He turned and fell over on his back, revealing that he had been stabbed with the knife in his chest, where his heart was.

"Cinders!" Daenerys shouted and fell over to him. "No! No!" She felt tears well up and fear overtook her. "Somebody help him!" She cried.

"Daenerys…" Cinder raised a hand up and caressed her cheek, looking at her gently with calm eyes. "I've always been proud to… to…" his breath hitched and his hand suddenly fell limp.

"No!" Daenerys fell over his body and weeped hot tears into his tunic. Cinders, her teacher, her friend, taken from her.

Dillion

He is Dead

Dillion crumpled the scroll in his fist. He felt a mix of emotions rising in him from just three simple words from Ned Stark. These words enraged him to his core and at the same time they nearly filled his lungs with laughter. Jon Snow was dead and no amount of wishful thinking was going to change it.

No matter how much the lad that had shown up looked like a northern version of Rhaegar. The same cheekbones and comely expression, but with Lyanna's eyes and hair… Dillon shook his head, wishing he could splash some water in his face. He was going mad like Aerys, by the Seven Hells he was.

Still, that didn't mean Morghon was not welcome anymore. He had the talent and potential to be a great student, something Dillion hadn't realized he had been secretly longing for. Viserys was never going to be a swordsman. No matter how many times he and Alton tried to teach their King. At the very least he had the knowledge, but when it came to using that in combat, Viserys made a fool of himself. Every. Single. Time.

Dillion passed by a brazier in the street and tossed the message into the flames. All this effort of sending messages through Illyrio across the world just for this.

He wanted to punch something, even go as far as nearly choke the life out of someone. He was so angry about being such a damned fool.

"Dillion!" He heard Smokeball calling from the distance and looked in the direction where it came. Seven Hells, what did Viserys do now? He spotted Alton searching frantically for him and when their eyes met, he rushed forth to meet him. "Dillion! Cinders is dead."

Dillion froze. "What?"

"Some of Robert's assassins tried to kill Daenerys in the Market. Jorah Mormont stopped one of them, but Cinders took a knife to his belly. He's gone." Alton was panting. He had clearly been searching for Dillion for some time as fast as he could.

"Where are they now?"

Alton took a long, deep breath, catching himself and his thoughts, "they're taking the assassins to the Dosh Khaleen."

Gritting his teeth, Dillion realized that if there were some in the market, there could be more elsewhere in Vaes Dothrak. "And you left Viserys alone?"

Alton rolled his eyes. "At the rate he's drowning himself in wine, he might save an assassin from the effort. Last I saw, he's at some brewer's corner down there," he pointed down the road he just came from.

"Right, go find where Daenerys is and stay with her. I'll see to Viserys."

Dillion rushed off as fast as he could, cursing at everything he knew as he searched for the King. People used to say some horseshit phrase about Targaryens being mad because the gods flipped a coin. Now, were the gods flipping coins to see if they should end or not?

It didn't take long to spot the silver hair among all the dark hair of the Dothraki. Viserys was slumped over a counter in an open area with a mug tipped on its side and spilled drink over him.

"Your grace," Dillion approached from behind and set a hand on the King's shoulder, but the moment he did, Viserys slid to the side. He wasn't dead, only passed out from too much wine. Were he named Aegon, this likely would have bestowed his name as Aegon the Drunk.

Dillion froze when he noticed viserys' hand was barren of the Targaryen sigil ring Morghon had given to them. But his fear settled into a sternness when he saw it being worn by the barkeep.

"Return what you have stolen," Dillion said in Dothraki as to gain the attention of the natives. To steal in Vaes Dothrak was not as severe as shedding blood, but a great offense nonetheless.

"I stole nothing," said the barkeep, "this worm had no more coin for his drink. He offered his ring for more and I agreed. Fair trade in business."

Dillion tore his money purse from his belt and dropped it on the counter. "There is your coin, return the ring now." He demanded.

"I like this ring," replied the barkeep, "if you wish to have it, bring me a chest instead of a purse."

"The only thing I will bring is you out of the borders of the city so that I may beat you to death without a second thought spared to you by anyone. Now either take the money and give me the ring, or must we have a problem?" The Dothraki watching the exchange now looked slightly excited for who would give in. They had a love for death, so as long as Dillion didn't hurt the fool until they were out of the city, they wouldn't care. They might even follow so they could watch.

The barkeep gulped and swiped the purse away from the table. He removed the ring and set it away, immediately going to tend to another patron.

Dillion, rather than return the ring to his King's hand, decided that it might be best that he hold onto it. He was the keeper of Blackfyre until Vierys was ready, and the same would go for the ring. But then again, they might remain in his possession for decades.

Sighing, Dillion pocketed the ring and hoisted Viserys onto his shoulder. He hurried to the Dosh Khaleen, the place he knew the people of Drogo's horde would gather and know of what has happened.

He had just got the building in sight when he saw a great crowd on their way as well. He could barely see the princess's silver air in between the moving bodies. At the back was a slow paced group of Dothraki warriors carrying the body of Cinders, hoisting him up to their shoulders and keeping steady.

Dillion cursed at himself. Had had the chance to watch over Daenerys today but instead decided to watch over Viserys instead. If only he chose the former instead, Cinders would still be alive. Damn his foolery!

Following the Dothraki to the Dosh Khaleen, Dillion set Viserys down in the corner of the building. Viserys was too drunk to wake up anytime soon anyways.

Stepping forward, Dillion looked to see just who was responsible for this atrocity and what kind of men the Usurper foolishly thought could have succeeded. To his disappointment, it was just a pair of fools who looked like they came straight from the streets of Flea Bottom. Could the great King of Westeros not afford professionals?

Ignoring the would-be assassins, Dillion went straight for Daenerys and found her eyes and cheeks red from mournful tears. "Are you alright, princess? The baby?"

All she did was nod at him as Cinders body was laid down in the center of the room. The head of the Dosh Khaleen kneeled down at his body and began to chant and wale prayers upon the man who fell within their sacred city, a man who died defending his princess and fulfilling his duty to the end. He would be given a funeral pyre and burned with incense, a great honor of the Dothraki.

"He should be buried in his home," Daenerys murmured, "on the hills of Westeros where the ocean can be seen. He wanted to go home."

Finally, Khal Drogo appeared and was in absolute wrath of what had happened. He rushed over to Daenerys, cupping the back of her head and placing his other hand on her belly. "Moon of my Life, are you hurt?"

"No, My Sun and Stars," she replied weakly.

Drogo turned his attention to Jorah Mormont. "You have done me a great service, Andal. Name anything you want and it shall be yours. Any horse of my herd except mine and the Silver shall be yours."

"You honor me, Khal," replied Ser Jorah.

Drogo spoke something to two of his men and they immediately ran off. At that moment of pause, Dillion had stepped forward in front of one of the assassins, the one that had killed Cinders.

Dillion was filled with a great anger that had not been present in years. Cinders was the first man to help him in the early days of the Usurper's reign. Helping him escape to Essos, establishing a foundation to survive, and more importantly keeping him sane when all he wanted to do was sail right back to the Red Keep and kill as many people as he could.

Cinders was not a warrior among them, he was a teacher. Why did he have to be the first to fall?

"Khal Drogo," Dillion spoke low as he kept his eyes locked on the man who killed one of the best men he had the honor to know and called his friend, "the law of Vaes Dothrak is that no free man's blood shall be shed within, yes?" Dillion finally looked at the mighty Khal. "Does that include a broken neck?"

Drogo smirked and shook his head. Without hesitating, Dillion grabbed the assassin's head and twisted it hard, a great snap of tendon and bone came loudly and the man fell forward limp, his tongue hanging out of his mouth and eyes wandering aimlessly.

Dillion turned his eyes to the other one, the man who tried poisoning Daenerys. He took one step forward, but Khal's large hand slapped him on his chest to stop him.

"This one is mine," Drogo placed a hand on Dillion's chest and stepped in front of him. "Here me now and witness my words!" Drogo began to shout with such an anthem in his voice. "I make a pledge before the eyes of men and under the eyes of the Sun! No more shall I look east for war and plunder for my people! No more shall I ride to conquer Slavers and the Free Men! I will take my Khalasaar on the wooden horses across the poison waters of the black sea. I will tear down the stone houses of the Andals and give my son the iron chair which his grandfather and ancestors sat upon! I shall kill their men, enslave their children, and rape their women! We are strong, we are swift, and we are Dothraki!"

Drogo's men returned, each of them holding a piece of armor, one a breastplate and the other a back plate. They each tossed the armor they held onto the bonfire as soon as they arrived.

"My son is the Dragon who shall Mount the World! I will see that he is born on the mountains of his mother's homeland, and all below him shall kneel and beg for his eyes upon them! And if those men think their iron dresses will save them," Drogo's men pulled the red hot armor from the fire and approached the wine seller who started to struggle and scream through his gag, "we shall bath them in fire! We shall burn them all!"

The glowing pieces of steel were placed on the wine seller and the muffled screams grew louder and that of insanity overtaking his volume. The pain must have been so great that his mind broke.

Dillion did not take his eyes off the sight. He couldn't as it triggered repressed memories within him. He had no right to look away when he bore witness to worse done to the innocent. He was not allowed to hide himself from these atrocities.

He looked over to Daenerys and saw that she was looking at the horrific sight without blinking. But she was not in awe or intrigued. She looked afraid more than anything.

The muffled screams finally stopped and the wine seller collapsed forward with streams of smoke rising over his body. A gross smell of scorched flesh began to fill the Dosh Khaleen.

Dillion finally closed his eyes, but he could still see the body that burned. He could see all of the bodies. The men… the women… the children, all of them looking at him as they burned with eyes not pleading for help, but asking why?

Eddard

Catelyn shivered as she sobbed. All Ned could do to comfort his wife was hold her in his arms and gently stroke at her red hair and down her back as he looked upon the still form of his son lying in the bed. The only movement was the small rising and falling of Bran's chest as he breathed and his wolf rested his little pup head there.

Robb stood just as still as Ned was, but there were streaks where tears had fallen and Myrcella was holding his hand firmly. Sansa and Arya stood together with Rickon and both of them were stricken with fear and sadness on their faces.

It shook all of them when the gardener came bursting into the Throne Room with Bran in his arms, interrupting the feast and silencing over a hundred people save for the sudden screams from Catelyn when she thought their son was dead.

Lord Tywin immediately had Bran brought to a larger apartment in the Red Keep and immediately tended to by Grand Maester Pycelle. The deduction was that Bran was alive, but only just. He wouldn't be able to wake up except on his own and based of the position of his spine, he would never walk again, or run, or climb, or ride…

Ned's hand paused stroking Cat's hair and clenched into a fist of powerful rage. 'Not again,' he prayed in his heart, 'do not take another son from me.'

They had all been gathered around since the sun had set what felt like hours ago and yet none of them except for Rickon showed any hint of desire for rest. How could they when Bran was lying helplessly on the edge of life and death. It was horrifying, not being able to see a sign that could hint which way things would go. Either his eyes would open, or his breathing would stop.

"Ned," Cat shivered through her sobbs," it's happening again, my prayer… my punishment-"

"Shh," Ned relaxed and closed his arms around his wife and hugged her tighter, but not too tight. "I do not believe it, Cat. I will not."

At first he felt the same about this. Catelyn's prayer of death for Jon all those years ago had still come to collect from their family, but the greater part of him had a dark feeling that this was something different that caused this, something that was not by chance.

He knew what he had to do without a moment's delay, but caring for his wife, assuring her, and their children, was far from a delay.

"I want everyone to go to their rooms and get some rest." Ned said softly but in a tone he used rarely in which he was never spoken back to. Sansa and Arya led Rickon out and Robb took one last look at Bran as he followed Myrcella.

"I won't his side, Ned," said Cat, "I can't…"

Looking over at the window, there was a Myrish sofa positioned comfortably for someone to sit and read underneath the light of day. Ned let go of Cat, approached the sofa, and pulled it away from its strategic position and aligned it next to Bran's bed. "You need to sleep too," He told her as he opened the trunk at the foot of the bed and pulled forth two blankets.

"What about you?" Cat asked.

"I've been a soldier long enough to enjoy sleeping on stone. I'll be right here with you." He wasn't sure if he would be able to sleep though. He had so much going through his mind that he was not sure it would be quiet enough to find peace for rest.

Ned led his wife to the sofa and made sure that she and the baby were comfortable. Cat reached an arm over the bed to Bran's and held it softly as Ned placed the blanket over her. He laid himself down on the floor next to the sofa. It was cold, oddly enough, but he didn't care. He didn't bother to try and sleep if his body would let him. He had half a mind to stand watch outside, but he wouldn't leave Cat's side now.

Ned enjoyed the little frights Cat had whenever she caught Bran climbing the Walls of Winterfell, his mother had those same frights when he did it in his youth. Bran was far better a climber than him and never slipped. It made him question how he could have today.

Had Bran fallen from his climb of his own mistake or by someone else's hand? Was this simply a coincidence that it happened as he searched for dangerous answers, or is this someone's idea of a warning?

Sometime in the night, Ned had finally taken to sleep but he didn't even realize he did. When morning came, it felt like he had simply blinked and the dark of night instantly turned into day. He felt no benefits of rest granted to him, only a slight sore head.

He sat up and looked over to Cat. She was still sound asleep as was Bran. He got up and kissed his wife and son softly before fixing his tunic and hair in a quick moment.

He finally took his leave, though with great reluctance to leave his son's bedside, and stopped outside the door and looked at Jory and Harwin who were standing by for him since the beginning. "Harwin, go fetch someone to relieve you both. But until it comes Jory, you're to stand watch until I return, and no alarm, or fire, or anyone except for myself shall move you from this position, am I understood?"

"Aye, my lord," both said in unison.

Ned rushed down the steps of the Red Keep, passing through shadow and torchlight along his way. Through his entire journey to the gardens where Bran was found, he kept asking himself the same question. 'Is this my fault?' Was this the price he had to pay for breaking his promise to Lyanna? For trying to do what he thought was right?

Dawn broke over the horizon line by the time he left the castle and arrived at the gardens where it was reported that Bran fell. Standing in the spot of grass that the Gardener said Bran was found, Ned looked up the wall and wondered where it was his son must have fallen from. He thanked the Old Gods that his son hadn't climbed any of the main towers of the castle.

His first thought was the ramparts of a walkway to his left, but they weren't high enough to knock his son into an unwakeable sleep. It had to be from the mural tower in the wall. It stood no higher than the Broken tower in Winterfell. A fall from the top would mean certain death, which meant the highest one could hope to live from a fall would be the broken gargoyles… or perhaps the window.

The Window.

The pit in Ned's stomach grew deeper and his intuition began to tell him more and more that this was no accidental fall.

After some time exploring, Ned found his way into the room in which the window belonged. It was a spacious place in which ten to twelve men fully armed could fit in. Two sets of racks stood up against opposite walls which were meant to be filled with bows, crossbows, arrows, and bolts, but were instead covered with dust and cobwebs.

Ned peaked his head out of the window and saw that were he to jump down, he would land exactly in the area that Bran was found. Unfortunately, his worst fear was becoming real. Someone had tried to murder his son.

He took a deep breath to keep his rising anger from distorting his judgment. He understood the reality that this was no accident, but he had yet to understand why it came to be.

Unless there was someone in the castle with a sick mind for murdering children, which would not be a surprising thing to find in the streets of Fleabottom, Bran must have been privy to something that he was not meant to.

He looked around with deep sight at every stone of the floor and surface there was. His many years hunting had honed his eyes to see tracks slight enough that would go missed by many, but he could not find anything distinct. There was a faint layer of dust that settled on the floor but it looked disturbed in a path that connected doors on intersecting walls to each other. This room, while neglected, was part of the castle guard patrol route. But near the window, there were faint signs of footprints that were not his. It was hard to make out, but it looked like two sets. One set larger than his and another that was smaller, but they were too faint to be specific in size. Even then, there would most likely be fifty pairs of feet in the castle that fit each set of tracks.

But Ned at least knew that there were two people instead of just one. After determining he found all that he could, he decided that the best place to be was at Bran's bedside. If… when his son woke up, he would be able to tell what had happened and who had done this to him.

Making his way back into the castle, Ned found himself second glancing at everyone who walked past him. Servants, guards, a noble he did not recognize. Every person around him felt foreign and he could not help but wonder what secrets they have that they would try to kill a boy over.

"Lord Stark," a slender voice came from the shadows cast by a pillar in the Throne Room as Ned walked through it and out stepped Lord Baelish, "I hope you do mind if I pay my condolences to your wife and son. The moment I saw his body brought to us last night… it terrified me like I had never known before."

"I am on my way to his room now, my lord," Ned said, "I welcome any support you have to offer my family." Ned's eyes drifted to Lord Baelish's feet but found that his robes covered them. He quickly glanced back up. "And as it happens, I could use your wisdom."

"Oh? Financial matters?"

"Social." They began walking back up to Bran's room. "Given that you are in the King's Council, I assume you know of Robert's plan to disinherit Joffrey for his actions?" The news was brought to him by Robb at the start of the feast last night. It was spreading quickly but not considered public knowledge yet."

"It was not a pleasant meeting to attend. Lord Tywin was furious though he didn't show it as visibly as the Queen."

"Yes, the Queen. You once mentioned to me at the wedding feast she would have had Robert's bastard, the smith, killed for simply being in the same room as her."

"If I placed gold on that accusation, would I have it returned?"

Regrettably, Ned nodded. "My men reported that a pair of unfavorable looking men were wandering close and constant to where the boy was staying that night, but their presence warded them off."

Lord Baelish chuckled. "Welcome to the Viper's Pit, my Lord, where men are not as honorable to keep bastards so close to home as you are. Though it's no question that Robert has many throughout the city. But so long as they remain there and not the Red Keep, all can be seen as contempt, considering the standards the King and Queen have for the word."

Ned thought deeply. The Queen had become enraged at Gendry's presence at the wedding, and Robb had said had furious she was at him because of Prince Joffrey's fate for his actions in the tourney. Could Bran's fall be some form of retaliation? "Do you think there is a line in which the Queen would not cross?"

Petyr looked at Ned curiously. "Are you asking if she would arrange something similar for a child of yours as she did for Robert's bastard? I truthfully could not say. In the city, no one cares who dies in the streets. But in the castle, we are in Robert's domain and we all know that a wickedness behind his back shall inherit a fate far worse than death from him. But that doesn't mean to say they don't try. Some of my girls are some of the unfortunate few who have not been successful in going unnoticed. Servants and handmaidens thrown out with nowhere else to go. But little do the people of the castle know that every pair of eyes, no matter who they belong to, find a secret or two. Perhaps if you asked some of them, they might have something that would bring clarity to your suspicions."

"Hm," Ned thought about it. Servants were indeed the ones in the castle in which secrets came to light most of the time through gossip and chattering. But in a place like this, such mouths would be shut if one didn't want to find a knife to their throat. "Tomorrow, my lord. I have much to think about today."

"I'll see to it that it takes no more than an hour of your time. Such will help ruse suspicions of your presence in a brothel."

As Ned continued onward with Lord Baelish, he felt a shivering in his bones. It was a growing feeling he had since the wedding feast and things began to turn foul. This city felt like a sickness to him. And he lingered for too long, it would become fatal. Tonight, he had to decide whether or not the celebrations had to be cut short.