(King's Landing: 10/2/298 AC) Ned III

"Where in the seven-hells are they Ned?" Robert asked, shifting restlessly on his gilded chair.

Ned turned his head away from the gathered court, to acknowledge his friend, as they mingled amongst each other, trading stories, and gossip. Sansa stood at his side, lost in the excitement of being part of the King's court, and casting several glances towards the crown prince. The guest of honor, Steffon Baratheon, and his parents, the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone, were overdue by several minutes, and Robert treated it as if it had been hours.

"Who can say, your grace?" he responded.

"Mayhap he was besieged by admirers of the female persuasion?" Lord Renly added as he bit into a peach.

It was an exaggeration, Ned knew. He had spoken with the boy when he had arrived for the tourney, and found him to be a conservative sort, like his father, but friendly like his uncle. 'And almost wholly resembled the Robert he had known in the Vale. More so than Lord Renly even,' Ned thought.

"Ha! That's my nephew!" the King roared in laughter, as he drank deep from his cup. Bits of wine dribbled down his chin and beard.

"The King has summoned them! They should be prompt!" the blonde prince spat, frowning his annoyance.

He felt his daughter lower her head, and look towards the gathered nobles. Lord Renly shot the prince a glance but said nothing.

"What right do they have to keep the royal family waiting? They should…."

"Quiet, boy," the King ordered, causing the prince to snort his displeasure.

"If you wish, your graces," Varys tittered, as he emerged from the shadows, bowing slightly, "I could find out what has waylaid them?"

"Perhaps our newly arrived Dornish guests?" Baelish added, clinging on to his ledger as he always did.

"Dornishmen? Here?" the Queen stated in surprise.

"Dornishmen? Interesting," Lord Renly added in surprise as well, biting off another mouthful of peach.

She looked towards her husband, "Did you know?"

Robert grunted, "I'm sure the message got lost somewhere. Ask Pycelle, if you can find him, he reads them often enough."

"Oh I will have words with him," she said, casting a baleful glance towards Varys and Baelish. "Why was I not informed?"

There was a pregnant pause as Lord Baelish and Varys stared at each other, before Baelish spoke, "I had only learned of their approach last night. The Dornish can be secretive when they wish to be."

"And you?" she focused on the Master of Whisperers, who seemed ready to reply.

"That's enough, woman. They need not explain themselves to you, only to me," Robert whispered gruffly. The Queen frowned, glaring at her husband, before staring off at nothing in particular.

"There they are, your graces," Renly pointed towards the entrance of the hall, the half-eaten peach firmly in his other hand. All those gathered by the main table jerked their heads to the main entrance.

He felt the voices within the hall to fall into hushed whispers, as the Lord and Lady of Dragonstone entered, escorted by their son, his squire Bran, and a Dornish couple. The Dornishman and the Lady of Dragonstone seemed to be heavy in conversation, the Lady Azula held her husband's arm, mirroring the couple from the far south. Ned saw Bran's small form trailing just behind Ser Steffon, to his left, wearing what could only be described as a uniform similar to Steffon's, black pants, dark gray shirt, black embroidered vest, and boots, only with gray coloring on his cuffs and embroidery, instead of gold. A single silver wolf pin adorned Bran's chest while a golden rose adorned Steffon's.

"Very interesting…" Lord Renly muttered, stroking his chin.

Stannis conversed with Ser Steffon, who waved and smiled at several nobles who congregated around them, mostly high-born ladies. As the group grew closer, the Dornishman's features had become more pronounced, revealing thin eyebrows, black viper eyes, and a sharp nose. His hair was black and glossy, with thin silver streaks, and he wore a pale red silk cloak and a shirt armored with overlapping discs of bright copper. The woman at his side had an exotic look to her and long black hair.

Robert rose from his seat, a smile on his bearded face. "Nephew! Goodsister! Brother! Come here, bring your guests, and greet your King!"

A path between the King and Lord Stannis' family cleared, allowing the group easier passage through the crowd. Ser Steffon stood in-between his parents and the Dornish couple, as they marched forward, eyes straight. Once they neared the foot of the King's table they bent the knee, while the women curtsied.

"Rise!" Robert commanded, looking towards his nephew then his Dornish guests. "I see you have brought company to the feast held in your honor. Introductions are in order, yes?"

"Of course, your grace. They are the Prince of Dorne, Oberyn Martell," Steffon pointed to the man, then to the woman, "and his paramour Ellaria Sand."

"A Sand? Hmm, I like Sands," Robert replied, glancing wistfully towards the ceiling with a grin on his face. The King shook off his reverie, and continued, "You presence is quite the surprise. You are welcome, of course, but what compelled you to come to the Capitol?"

"Your Goodsister can be quite…persuasive," the Prince of Dorne looked towards the Lady of Dragonstone and smiled.

In the corner of his eye, he saw Lord Baelish and Varys shift. "Keep an eye on them, whenever you can," Azula's words rang in his ears.

"Ha! So I have been told! Whatever the case, today is a time for celebration. My nephew's good showing in the tourney warrants as such before he returns to Dragonstone! Come! Rise! Go! Eat and drink your fill, with my blessings!" Robert smiled.

They rose, and Prince Oberyn replied, nodding his head, "You honor us, your grace. We are pleased to celebrate your nephew. He has given Dorne much hope, and as such, you have our gratitude." The Dornish Prince gave one last look to the King and his gathered advisors before he turned and whispered words into the Lady Azula's ear. She whispered her response, before the Dornish couple ventured off, disappearing into the crowd.

Robert maneuvered his way around the table and stood before his nephew, 'Like a mirror staring into the past,' he thought. The book the Lady Azula had given him had yielded nothing, but looking at them, Steffon and Robert, his mind began to tug at him, but he knew not of what. Suddenly the King embraced Steffon in a bone crushing hug that Steffon could only reciprocate with a pat from underneath his trapped arms.

"Thank you for this celebration, my King!" the Silver-tongue struggled between gasping breaths.

Robert released him from the hug, placed his hands on Ser Steffon's shoulders, and looked into his eyes. "Were it only not so," the King muttered, patting him on the shoulders before smiling. "Go on, greet the others," he patted him one last time and saw him off as Steffon, followed by Bran, greeted the rest of the household and council members.

"Nephew!" he heard Renly state softly, embracing the young knight.

"No ill-feelings for the tourney uncle?" Steffon began to question before their conversation was drowned out, smothered by Robert's bellowing.

Robert turned his attention to Lord Stannis and Lady Azula. "Brother! Goodsister!"

Robert embraced his brother, looking him up and down, "I see you have picked up the fashion of my Goodsister's people."

"You could say that your grace," Stannis glanced towards his wife who had been smiling broadly. Stannis wore a uniform like the Lady Azula was known to wear, nearly exclusively, right down to the gold-trimmed boots. Although Ned noted, they did not have that same 'hooked' appearance at the toes.

"It's a good look for you brother, rigid and grim," Robert laughed.

Lord Stannis reacted with an awkward, "Thank you, your grace," before Robert moved on to the Lady of Dragonstone.

Robert gave the back of her hand a soft kiss, "You look lovely, Goodsister." His gaze seemed to linger nearly a bit too long on the gown's neckline which amplified the Lady's 'assets.' The black gown had gold flames embroidered onto thin lacey fabric, which ran up from the waist, past the torso, and thinned out at the shoulders. One side held a fringed sleeve of the same material with spots of golden flame embellishments, the other did not, with only a strap of golden flame embroidery holding up that side of the gown. Her hair was drawn up behind her head in a large bun, held together by a headpiece with a large golden stag emblazoned in front of a five-pronged flame.

"So you say. I trust I do not look 'rigid and grim' in that same clothing?" she questioned.

"A jest, nothing more, goodsister," the King's words seemed to catch in his throat before he laughed it off. "You could wear a potato sack and still remain stunning."

Azula giggled, stunning Ned and a few within the court, her own husband included. "Well, now I see where our son," she tightened her arms around Stannis' own, "gets his 'silver-tongue' from."

"Ha! Gods know there are those," Robert cast a slight glare at the crown prince, "who would benefit from such a trait." The king's mood lightened as he looked towards Ser Steffon. The young knight retrieved a small doll, wrapped in cloth, from under his vest, and handed it to the Princess Myrcella.

"She's beautiful, cousin!" the Princess cried, snuggling the little blond doll in the red gown, before launching forward to hug her cousin.

"It was an honor, Princess," Steffon replied, reciprocating Myrcella's embrace.

He heard Joffrey scoff before muttering something under his breath. 'The Prince has grown unsettling ever since their return to King's Landing,' he observed, following the Prince's baleful gaze towards his cousin. Ned's instincts tore at him, warning him of Robert's eldest, and as miserable as he felt for thinking ill of the boy, he had found himself glumly rethinking the betrothal. 'Robert would be disappointed.' Ned wished he would not be the one to take this one last dream away from his childhood friend, but as Sansa's father, she was his responsibility to protect, and his family came first. Looking towards his beautiful daughter, seemingly enraptured by the kind display between the Baratheon cousins, he heard a wistful sigh escape Sansa's lips and saw a smile grace her delicate face. She looked up, saw him observing her, and quickly turned away, her face taking on a crimson hue.

"Lord Stark!" a velvet voice rang out. The Lady Azula stretched out her free hand, startling him out of his thoughts. Her right arm remained entwined with the arm of Lord Stannis who spoke softly with the King.

"How is my fleet brother?" Ned overheard Robert's attempt at murmuring.

"'The Azula,' nears completion. Three more months, your grace, and it will ride the seas under your banner."

"I hear she is to be the largest Iron ship to date. Larger even than 'the Ozai,'" Robert replied, putting an arm over Stannis, and leading him away from the others to continue their conversation in private. The Lady Azula's arm grew slack, releasing its hold on the Lord of Dragonstone.

"My Lady," he replied, kissing the back of the proffered hand. Her burning golden eyes, and brilliant smile gave her an aura of royalty. "Your son performed well," he stated, stealing a glance at the Heir of Dragonstone. Ser Steffon had since moved on, past Myrcella, and had uttered something into Prince Tommen's ear, causing the young boy to erupt into a fit of laughter. For the briefest instant, a look of sadness seemed to come over him, before the young Knight chuckled it away, tussling the young Prince's hair.

"Yes," the Lady of Dragonstone replied, looking towards her son. "By all measure, he would be the perfect son. Young. Handsome. Gallant."

'And the spitting image of Robert,' he found himself thinking again, remembering their time in the Vale.

Azula looked towards the King still in quiet conversation with Lord Stannis, "Between you and I, Lord Stark, my husband finds it quite frustrating when people keep liking our son to the King."

"I would not presume to…" he began, slightly ashamed to have ever thought so.

"Wait until you see him, Ned. You'll like him. He should have been your nephew. The son your sister and I should have had," He remembered Robert confiding in him during their journey from Winterfell to King's Landing.

"Come now, Lord Stark. I may not have met the King in his youth, but I met him close enough to it to see it myself," she whispered.

"You'd have to be blind not to notice the similarities, Lord Stark," the Master of Coin chimed in. A minty smell accompanied his voice, clashing with the fruity sweet aroma hovering around the Lady Azula.

"Inviting yourself into the conversations of others, Lord Baelish?"

"Only when the topic of conversation interests me, my Lady," Catelyn's short, slender, friend replied.

"Do you have anything worthwhile to contribute, Baelish? Or are you merely here to remind me that you still stalk these halls?" Ned felt a slight rise in temperature, as the woman spoke. The warm smile, and soft eyes which had been welcoming, melted away. A razor sharp smile and burning eyes replaced them, causing the Master of Coin to shudder slightly, before regaining his composure and casting a sly grin.

"An observation, my Lady. Nothing more," Baelish answered.

"Go on," Azula stated, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

His eyes locked on to Baelish casting him a strange look. "Are you certain, my Lady?"

"Why should I not be?" Her questioning voice had grown low, cautious.

Baelish smiled, the warmth not reaching his eyes, "I hear the fires of Dragonstone grow hot…"

"Do they now? They might be hotter than you think," the cautious voice giving way to one of hidden meaning, hiding behind a pleasant smile. "Perhaps you and I should continue this conversation elsewhere? With your pardon, Lord Stark?"

He nodded his response and saw Lord Baelish take Lady Azula's arm. Together, the pair disappeared down into the crowd. His mind focused on the previous bit of conversation regarding Ser Steffon and his likeness to the King. The topics of fires and Dragonstone held little meaning for him, and he had not been too keen to delve into what it had meant for Baelish and Lady Azula.

He had thought on Baelish's words, "You'd have to be blind not to notice the similarities, Lord Stark." Once again, his mind tugged at him as he beheld the young knight standing face to face with his royal cousin, the crown prince. The boy stood nearly a head taller than Robert's eldest, and given time he would likely grow to rival the King himself in height. 'The large build, the kindly smile, the pitch black hair.' As exotic as Stannis' wife was, Ned realized their children had looked nothing like their mother. At least, not the two that he had met, Ser Steffon and Lady Ursa. They had her eyes, but nothing more. Their look was wholly Stannis. Wholly Baratheon…

"The Seed is strong…" He remembered Robert telling him of Jon's last words.

The words resonated deep within his mind, and the Tower of the Hand, where the book awaited, called to him…