(King's Landing: 10/9/298) Ned V

"Worry not, Jory will be along shortly," Eddard reassured his eldest daughter. Cassel nodded in acknowledgement and moved to enter his study. He lingered at the entryway for an instant and they stared at one another, father and daughter. He frowned, worried what the coming days would bring them all. 'You are all important to me, never forget that.'

'Clang!' he shut the door behind Sansa after she had turned her back to him and walked away.

His hand remained on the cold door, listening as Sansa's footsteps receded. "Jory?" he stated, turning to face the captain of his guard, who stood straight, left-hand resting on the pommel of his sword, while the other hung freely at his side. "You will keep her safe, while I am away?"

Jory's eyes focused, and he replied with a steadfastness that reminded him of Rodrik. "Without fail, my lord."

"Hmmm," Ned gave a quick nod of appreciation.

"Though if you don't mind my asking, Lord Stark," the captain hesitated a moment, then continued. "Why does Dragonstone warrant your attention so? Why the secrecy?"

"King Robert's bastards are my business, and mine alone. That should be enough for you, Jory," he stated simply, not wanting to speak more on the subject. He held faith in the man to keep his word and not press the issue while doing everything he could keep his family safe.

"Of course, my lord. Forgive me for prying."

"No, it is quite alright. Harsh as my words may seem, rest assured that my business there is of the utmost importance. Even so, I wish you to understand that if I find what I am searching for…" he wavered, sharing a look with Jory. "Then there is a chance that it will become dangerous here in the capital while I am away. Sansa's safety should be your priority, so do not bother yourself with the matters of Dragonstone. I need you focused on the task at hand, here in the capital."

"As you say," he replied, his body had grown rigid and alert.

Eddard strode to his desk and combed through the collection of Dragonstone papers lining the wooden dividers under the table. His hand caught on the two papers he was looking for, one addressed to Lord Stannis, and the other to his beloved Cat and eldest son Robb, both bearing his unbroken seal, and folded in three parts. "When I depart, I will only take a dozen men with me, Harwin included. You will remain behind with the rest of my household and room within Dragonstone manor. Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula have already given leave for us to do so."

"That," Jory paused, though he did not seem to hold a look of apprehension or surprise, only one confusion. "Will we all fit within? We number near eighty."

"Quarters will be tight, but you will all be safest there," Eddard stated, before offhandedly adding, "Dragonstone manor is quite large." He watched attentively as Jory pondered the words, and after a moment, he continued speaking and walked toward the young captain, letters firmly held in hand. "I will have only the barest of essentials brought forth from the tower. Tomorrow I will see the move through to completion. I depart the day after."

"Why did you not tell the Lady Sansa of this?" his captain of the guard pointed out.

So worried had he been of what he would find on Dragonstone, and the grand stir that it would cause if true, that the detail had slipped his mind. "My mind was elsewhere," he answered truthfully, eyeing his captain.

"Dragonstone?"

"Aye," he nodded, holding up the letters to Jory. "Hold these close. If I do not return, to thank you for your service and to embrace my daughter, send them out. If I do, burn them."


Eddard could not tell how much time had passed since Jory had left, but he was aware of the shadows creeping steadily across the cold stone floor of the study, having grown ever longer once the sun had begun its inevitable descent past its midday zenith. The calm silence had allowed Eddard a moment of respite to collect himself, and his thoughts, grim as they were. He had remained firmly seated, after Cassel's departure, and in his ruminations had pulled out the book of lineages, from the plain wooden shelf to his side. Leafing through the old brown pages, he found the entry which threatened to destroy his friend's rule and took in a deep breath. The damning words screamed at him, 'Steffon Baratheon, black of hair. Robert Baratheon, black of hair,'Eddard read, then added his own words to the tome the Lady Azula had borrowed from the Grand Maester's library and entrusted to him. 'Stannis Baratheon, black of hair. Steffon Baratheon, second of his name, black of hair. Ursa Baratheon, black of hair. Joffrey Baratheon, golden-haired. Tommen Baratheon, golden-haired. Myrcella Baratheon, golden-haired.'

The last three names had made his stomach turn, for they were innocent, and he knew what awaited them at Robert's hand should his suspicions, and likely those of his late foster father's, prove true.

'Regardless, Dragonstone will reveal the truth.' Finally disgusted by its contents, he shut it closed and lifted his gaze, scanning the room to distract himself. The room had once belonged to his foster father, a man whom Ned thought of fondly. Sparsely, yet richly furnished, unlike his own study in Winterfell, and clean, though the desk and shelves to his side remained somewhat cluttered. 'Evidence of my continued investigations,' he mused. He crossed his forearms and rested them together across his desk, thinking on the woman. All the words they had shared, and not once had she specifically told him that she knew exactly what critical materials the book had possessed within its pages. Nor even the importance of the two children she had taken in from the street of steel and the brothel.

'Understandable,' he surmised, given the subject's delicate nature, 'but even so.'

The moments before Sansa had come to inquire about the prince, the woman had held a certain confidence in her step, stance, and voice. However, behind her calm, presentable, demeanour, he saw a subtle fear in her eyes.


"The book?" he questioned the smiling woman sitting on the golden bench with brown cushions, hands atop her lap. The newest Hand of the King resided behind his desk, eyes drifting to the book and back again, watching the Lady of Dragonstone as she shifted in her seat. The pleasant smile had slipped slightly, he noted, nevertheless it curiously retained its confident brightness.

"What of it, my Lord?" her voice was soft, but he heard the uneasy caution underneath.

"When you gave me this book," he dug his finger into the cover of the leather-bound book, pausing in uncertainty for a moment, before pressing onward. "You let it known to me that you held it in your possession since Lord Arryn's death, but until the feast, I had never thought to ask. Why did you have it for so long?"

"Lord Arryn," she answered, the name lingering in the air as a reminder of times gone by. "He had confided in me once, Lord Stark," the woman rose from her seat and walked towards him, eyes locked with his own. "He told me the book was important but did not elaborate on why it was so."

"Why did you not tell me of this before?" he tensed. 'She's clever,' Eddard thought, her exploits had assured him of that, at least. The whole notion that information of such magnitude would have completely passed over her head was incredibly unlikely, and he kicked himself for thinking so. 'The only reason she would have to feign ignorance on the subject was out of fear. Perhaps not for herself, but for her family,' the idea slithered into his mind.

The woman looked away, then turned back to him, smile long since faded. "Because Lord Arryn died soon thereafter, my Lord hand. Perhaps it was old age and sickness like they say? But he was hearty and hale, a man not as old as his aged features would have otherwise indicated. Spirits know my family tree has its fair share of those."

The wheels in his mind began to spin at her ominous words, and he felt his brow contort in thought. He had deliberated with himself long and hard, on Jon Arryn, wondering if his death had held deeper meaning than it had outwardly seemed. 'Judging by her words, it would appear so,' he considered.

"Although," she added nervously, "he had been acting strangely before then."

"How so?" he leaned in, staring up at her.

"He had approached my husband and I with plans to foster his son on Dragonstone, scarcely a day after he told me of the book," the woman brought her hands up to rub her shoulders in worry, looking more vulnerable now than ever. As soon as she had, she caught herself and lowered her hands, clasping them behind her back. "However, nothing had ever come of it because of Lord Arryn's passing." He remained silent, mulling over Azula's words.

"Lord Stark?" she stated plainly, eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Does this have anything to do on your request to visit Dragonstone?"

"Yes," his reply was soft and understanding, but no less grave.

"Jon Arryn died for this, my Lord," she warned. "What secrets lay buried on Dragonstone that you find of significance?"

"I cannot say," he wished he could, but he knew the type of man Stannis Baratheon was. If he revealed his suspicions to the Lady Azula, she would reveal them to her husband and regardless of the truth, Stannis would be duty-bound to report to his king. 'He would be in the right, but I will not have innocent blood on my hands if the rumours prove false after the fact.'

"If you will not reveal the truth to me," she sighed, holding a long silence between them as her molten eyes bored into his. "Then just tell me if this is worth risking the lives of my family, and my people? Tell me, Lord Stark, tell me this serves the realm, and I will trust your judgement. You are a man of honour, I know you will not lead me astray. However, I must hear the words from your lips."

"If my suspicions hold true, then it is worth it. If they are not, then you needn't worry yourself."

She remained quiet, staring at him ever more intensely, before suddenly turning on her heel and silently striding to the small arched window looking out into the godswood of the Red Keep. The woman remained frozen, hands at her back, a deep sigh escaped her lips. "So be it," she whispered loud enough for him to hear.

With those words, came Robert's own, the ones he had uttered on their trek from Winterfell to the capital. The words rang in his head, like a drum, and he shuddered. "There's a war coming, Ned. I don't know when, I don't know who we'll be fighting, but its coming. I know it, I feel it in my bones…"

Eddard had thought to ask her of the boy, Gendry, and the infant Barra. However, he had refrained from doing so, remembering his investigations into the other bastards had yielded nothing on them but false leads, dead ends, mysterious deaths, or sudden disappearances. 'Most had been no older than Rickon or Bran,' he thought sadly. He knew the woman had taken in nearly three-hundred random individuals, since her arrival in the capital, before Jon Arryn's death. 'An assortment of blacksmiths and apprentices, whores, tanners, carpenters, people from all walks of life and their families, save the nobles,' he mentally listed the types of people reported to have taken up the Lady Azula's offer of better lives. 'Anonymity had protected them thus far,' Ned thought, and he saw no need to stoke the flames just yet.

"Maybe. Do you know when he will be done?" Sansa's voice was unmistakable to his ears, even muffled behind the polished bronze door. A quick glance at the Lady of Dragonstone had revealed that she too had heard Sansa's voice, turning her head ever so slightly to listen, before returning to her silent vigil over the godswood below.

"Apologies, but I haven't the slightest, my lady," he heard Jory say. Eddard rose from his seat, before Jory's words were done, and calmly marched to the bronze entryway.

"It's quite alright, Jory," he lifted his hand to the door's latch. "I'm sure they will be done…"

'Click'


He rubbed at his temples, suddenly wishing he was back in Winterfell, free from the intrigue of the south. But now that the lions, and the vipers, had taken hold, he could not tear himself away. The only ones he had spoken at length with had been Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula. He had shared words with others, Ser Barristan, Commander Lee, and Robert, chief amongst them, but the Master of Whisperers had refrained from doing so, affording him only the most basic of courtesies and acknowledgements during their small council meetings, while the Grand Maester seemed to ignore him altogether, except to pester him on the book. 'Baelish was another matter,' he idled, thinking on the little man from the fingers. 'He spoke too much, but little of anything,' Eddard recalled when he had asked the man of Jon Arryn. Baelish had regaled him with stories of how he had earned his position on the council, how he worked magic with coin, but never anything of substance. 'Baelish thought age and sickness had taken Lord Arryn, like the others,' Ned knew. 'Everyone did, save for Azula.' The chair creaked under him, reminding him of the realities he now faced.

'Knock!'

"Lord Stark," Alyn's gruff voice rattled out from behind the bronze door. "A message from King Robert."

Eddard sighed, looking out of the window to the quickly setting sun. 'What could Robert want at this hour?' "Enter," he commanded.

The door released a soft groan, as Alyn pushed it open, revealing a bearded man with copper hair. In his hand was a small rolled-up piece of parchment. Unfurling it had revealed more than he had expected, written in Robert's harsh hand.

'Council meeting, now. We've found the Targaryen bitch.'


No sooner had he reached the outside of the Small Council chambers, than the Lady Azula had issued him a welcomed once more. "Didn't expect to see you again so soon, Lord Stark," she smiled a half-smile, seemingly recalling their earlier conversation.

Ser Steffon stood beside her, both of them having been partially hidden beneath a pillar's shadow and engaged in some hushed conversation prior to his arrival. "Lord Stark," the young knight smiled, giving him a quick nod of acknowledgement. "Ser Brandon, awaits at the manor," Steffon added. Ser Justin and three nameless, fully-armoured, Flameguard stood by mother and son.

"Nor I, you, and I am pleased to hear that Ser Steffon," he replied, smiling a half-smile of his own, mind partially distracted with the question of whom the letter had spoken of. 'Rhaella Targaryen? But she was reported dead long ago.' He had briefly thought on asking why they were present but had waved it away, thinking she had been with Lord Stannis when the latter had been summoned. Sers Barristan and Meryn guarded the shut doors leading into the council chambers, both resplendent in their enamelled white-scaled armour and white cloaks. Though he thought the golden sunburst crest of Ser Meryn's helm clashed far too much against the Lord Commander's simple unadorned white helm.

Made of carved wood and lined with wrought iron, the doors behind Robert's Kingsguard expertly muffled the commotion within.

"Have they been there long?" he asked the Lady of Dragonstone.

"Not long, several minutes at most," she replied, having come up next to him, hands at her back, with the Silver-tongue and her Flameguard trailing just behind her, extracting themselves from the shadows. "King Robert and the Spider were apparently the first to arrive, seeing as they had been within when my husband and I had come. We encountered Lord Baelish and Pycelle, just as we came to the outside of the council chambers."

"What of Ren…" he had started before hurried footfalls sounded behind him. They all turned, revealing the King's youngest brother.

"Lord Stark! Good-sister! Nephew!" Renly exclaimed in-between laboured breaths, though he tried his best to hide it. His clothing appeared slightly off, with a button undone near the neck of his embroidered vest of back and gold and ruffled silken sleeves. "Good to see I'm not the last to arrive!" the Lord of Storm's End smiled and straightened himself, before moving to hug Ser Steffon and pat him on the shoulder.

"First time for everything, good brother," Azula's velvety voice added, the mirth readily evident in her tone as she put forth her hand. Renly quickly ignored the offered hand in favour of another friendly embrace. The woman blinked, having been surprised, but a genuine smile graced her lips as she returned the hug.

"Well, in the matters of punctuality, I defer to you, good sister," Renly replied with a grin, before turning back to him. "Come, Lord Stark, let us see what Targaryen Robert has on his mind now." Renly tapped him on the shoulder before he strolled by Ser Barristan whom, Eddard noted, held a slight frown as he opened the doors to the council chambers.

'In my dreams, I kill him every night,' Robert's words echoed at the back of his mind, along with another voice.

'Promise me, Ned.'

After giving a final farewell to the Lady Azula and her son, Eddard followed Renly into the room, the door shutting behind him as he did so.

The iron door seemed to have closed far too loudly, groaning in protest all the way before releasing a thundering 'slam!' Robert had been seated at the centre of the council table, opposite Grand Maester Pycelle, and was reading through several weathered pieces of parchment, while a frowning Lord Stannis sat to his left. Lord Varys stood to the right of the King, near his own seat, while Lord Baelish sat to the opposite left, facing Lord Stannis. The seat of the Master of Laws faced the seat of the Master of Whisperers and was to the right of the Hand's seat, where Renly was already making himself comfortable. Robert glanced up from his collection of missives, just as Eddard was seating himself beside his childhood friend. "Renly. Ned," he stated. "Varys brings news. Go on, tell him," the King muttered in a low tone, motioning to the Master of Whisperers, before noticing how close the Spider had been standing. "Stop crowding me, eunuch," he warned, returning his gaze to the letters in his hand, as the bald man bowed and scuttled away to his seat.

Lord Varys sat and looked to him, a strange look crossing his lilac eyes as he did so. "It would appear that we have located the final Targaryen. A girl by the name of Ivory, daughter of Aerys and Rhaella Targaryen, and sister to Viserys Targaryen," the eunuch spoke.

He winced at the name 'Viserys,' knowing it had been a sore spot between him and the King. A spot he had chosen not to mention, so long as Robert had not mentioned it to him in turn. This time, however, Robert had not seemed to have cared overmuch about the mentioning of Viserys' name. He instead seemed unusually focused with the letters in his hand.

"By all rights a threat to the King's reign, if she could gather support," Baelish added, now looking to him as well.

"What?" Renly questioned, presumably just as surprised by the sudden revelation of another living Targaryen as he was. "Where in the blazes did this come from? Last words held that the former Queen had perished in Essos after her crew had been captured by pirates near the Stepstones."

"It's possible she died whilst in the throes of childbirth, during her…'captivity,'" the Grand Maester's aged voice pointed out, as he calmly rested his hands on the table.

He shook his head, not wanting to know what the former Queen, or her supposed child, had suffered under the hands of pirates. A quick glance to Renly had revealed that he too seemed distraught by Pycelle's words, though he had regained his composure quickly enough. 'Baelish does not seem concerned in the least,' he noted, seeing nothing within the man's grey-green eyes.

"Bah! The fucking Stepstones, again," Robert growled, pushing the letters forward in disgust, to the centre of the table where they were within reach of them all. Littlefinger moved first, followed by Pycelle, but Lord Stannis slammed his hand over the collection of parchments, preventing the two men from acquiring them. "I should have gone, brother, then maybe the bitch wouldn't have escaped. "

Stannis slid the letters in his direction, allowing him a chance to read them.

The missives were worn and well-travelled, with small dark-red splotches staining their edges and corners. 'How many hands did these messages change? How many lives did they cost?' he wondered, as he read the hastily written words aloud.

"A girl of the proper age, and with Targaryen features has been spotted nestled away in the bowels of the pirate ship 'the Bloody Woman,' captained by one Vargyros Brenoran, a darkly-coloured, sinewy Qohorik man with sharpened teeth. His ship is reddish-brown with purple sails. The so-called 'Baby-eater,' bears a tattoo of 'the Black Goat' across half of his pockmarked face. The man's first mate drunkenly spoke of bedding a queen from Westeros, several years ago, that was 'freshly dead.'"

Ned's stomach turned at the thought, with Pycelle's and Renly's faces having expressed what his face did not. Lord Stannis had remained stoically composed, though his right-eye twitched. Batting away the gruesome thought, he questioned the bald eunuch, "How old is this message, Lord Varys?"

"A year and eight-moons, my Lord Hand," the Master of Whisperers replied with a curious gaze. "Nearly three moons prior to the invasion of the Stepstones, by the Royal Fleet, to be exact."

"A tad bit late, don't you think Lord Varys?" Renly and Baelish both appeared to have wanted to say the same thing, though Renly's words spilt forth first. The young lord's face was still twisted in revulsion.

"And what happened to this so-called, 'Baby-eater?' I presume he was not captured during the attack?" the Master of Coin asked, a hint of incredulous amusement was laced into his words.

"Unknown," Varys answered. "News from after the raid is scarce. News from during? Rarer still. Lord Stannis and the Lady Azula were very, 'thorough,'" Ned noticed the eunuch and Master of Ships exchanging steely glances, ones composed of lyrical amethysts and burning sapphires. "Perhaps he did escape? As it is, the original authors of the letters were lost on the Stepstones."

"How so?" he asked.

"Murdered by, forgive me if I misremember, 'a man with an eye-patch, and bearing a strong likeness to one…Euron Greyjoy?'" the portly man turned to him, scrunching his brow.

"Greyjoy!? Impossible! Wasn't that despicable man killed alongside his brother, during the Greyjoy rebellion, my lord?" Pycelle wheezed.

"Indeed, Grand Maester," Varys agreed. "After the burning of Lannisport, if I am not mistaken? Though it would appear the…"

"Rumors are unsubstantiated," Lord Baelish cut in smoothly, a sharp grin lining his face. "And are not fact, unless proven otherwise. Grand Maester? Lord Varys? The both of you should know better."

"Correct, and we should not treat them as such," the Lord of Dragonstone cautioned, seemingly surprised at Baelish's word, though it did not stop the sombre Lord of Dragonstone from eyeing the three men with a withering glare.

Eddard silently wondered if those statements had been meant for him, but quickly dispelled the idea, as both the Master of Ships and Baelish, seemed more focused on one another, rather than himself.

"Oh for…" Robert slammed his hand on the table. "Read the other bloody reports, Ned," he roared, rattling them all out of their conversations.

"Yes, your grace," he lifted the second letter, and read the words written with a noticeably softer hand than the first.

'A group of Red Priests, twenty in total, and several mutes have made port at Grey Gallows. They were aboard a small trading vessel hailing from Asshai. A woman with red hair led them to a small tavern where they met with 'the Baby-eater,' and his crew. The woman and pirate sat away from others, with the mutes, red priests, and captain's crewmen, blocking others from entering their conversation, though not all. The words, 'Kraken,' 'Horn,' 'Dragon,' and 'Egg,' were overheard more than once, as well as some exchange of gold between the red priestess and the pirate.'

"Egg? A Dragon egg?" Renly seemed stunned. "What madness do they hope to accomplish? Hatching one hasn't been done since the Dance!"

"It was a bit after, I believe. Or was it before?" Littlefinger supplied, though he appeared uncertain.

"And 'the Kraken?'" Pycelle asked, "Perhaps the Greyjoys intend to rouse the Iron Islands once more, under the banner of the Dragon? This…Ivory, was it? How do we even know if she is a true Targaryen? Velaryons and Celtigars, share the blood of the Dragon, and bear similar features."

"And who knows how many with such features are scattered throughout the free cities?" Baelish's raspy voice called out.

"Hmmm," the old maester tilted his head in agreement. "What proof have you, of this 'Ivory' being a Targaryen?"

'Everyone appears to be dismissing the word, 'Horn,' he realized, before looking toward his old friend. A furious storm raged in the King's eyes, and he saw his lips curling downward.

"None, save the words from the final message," twin mauves looked to him, urging him to read the third letter.

He looked to the council, then recited the final hurriedly written missive. The words were scratched onto the paper in jagged lines, completely bereft of the smoothness of the second letter.

'The Crow's Eye is here! His red priestess had struck a bargain with the captain of 'the Bloody Woman!' The Targar…' the words cut off, replaced by a sinister-looking hand with curved, tendril-like letters. 'Targaryen girl is here! And she is mine! Come and take her, come and claim her, you fat stag! If you can find me! If not, then that would be yet another woman you failed to save!'

"That fucking squid is dead," Robert issued a low, rumbling, promise. The others surrounding the table shared varied looks of surprise, save Lord Stannis.

His blood began to boil in agreement, for he knew whom the man meant. At the bottom of the letter, he noticed a large red blot and the bloody imprint of a single finger.

"I was told the letter contained a tongue before it reached my hands," the Spider explained. "The timing of the letter seems to indicate that it was written a scant few days prior to the raid."

"Have you any clue where the Crow's Eye has gone?" Ned finally asked, after his blood had cooled.

"Sightings of a ship bearing the likeness of the one he used in the Rebellion was spotted near the ruins of Valyria and even as far out as the Basilisk Isles, but he has thus far refused to make port for an extended period of time."

The Master of Ships cleared his throat. "A report from one of my Lady's warriors indicated she slew a man with an eye-patch, during the battle of Grey Gallows, before kicking his corpse into the sea."

Robert blinked, then barked, "And you had not thought to mention this fact, brother?"

"Greyjoy had been presumed dead after the Rebellion, your grace," Stannis countered. "I had no reason to believe the man still lived. Though the point is moot since I had nought the opportunity to examine the body. What interests me the most, however, is the mention of the ship with purple sails."

"The Bloody Woman?" he probed, leaning into the conversation as the others had.

"Yes, Lord Stark, that very one," the Lord of Dragonstone answered. "Given this revelation," the man lingered on his words. "It would seem the reports my lady wife has received from the Stannisfort, in regards to a ship bearing 'the Bloody Woman's' likeness, have now suddenly risen in importance. If the attack on the Stepstones disrupted whatever business the Crow's Eye had, or if he had truly been slain, then 'the Bloody Woman' is now our best bet to uncover what transpired on the Stepstones. Perhaps this 'Ivory Targaryen' remains their captive? Even if the Crow's Eye yet lives, whatever plans he had for this supposed Targaryen girl seem to have thus far not borne fruit. The fact that sightings of his ship and those of the Bloody Woman hint at an easterly direction would indicate some discordance having occurred. Perhaps due to the raid?"

"An astute observation, my lord," Baelish's words again seemed to surprise the Master of Ships.

"I would hope Greyjoy yet lives, so I could strangle the life out of him, myself." Robert turned to glare at the Master of Whisperers, "If the Lady Azula can find long-thought dead men, and hidden ships, by accident, faster than your web of little birds, then maybe she should be Master of Whisperers in your stead?"

"Hmmm, another Tyanna of Pentos?" Baelish grinned, looking to the spider.

"Or another Lady Misery..." Pycelle mumbled, earning him a glare from the Master of Ships.

Varys' shared a look with the Master of Coin, both the eunuch's chair and that of Pycelle's, creaked. "You are the king, your grace," the bald man nodded. "If such was your wish, I would do nothing to hinder the appointment."

"Hmph," Robert snorted. "Is that so?" he asked, letting an awkward silence fill the air. "Well, allow me to give you a chance to keep your position. If your little birds bring me the Targaryen girl and the one-eyed cunt, alive, you'll keep your post." The king's eye lingered on the Spider. "If, however, my brother's wife can find them first," the King twisted his thick neck and faced his brother, Lord Stannis. "Then the post is hers. Any council against?"

The Grand Maester appeared ready to speak, but remained silent, alongside Varys. Eddard noticed something in the eunuch's eyes, something he had seen only on the battlefield. 'Fear.' Lords Baelish and Renly, however, had both smirked. Renly slightly moreso than the Lord of the Fingers, while the middle Baratheon brother's brooding scowl changed into a straight, tight-lipped face.