A couple of days later, a royal party arrived at the gates of King's Landing. The Stark household was close to the front, with Ned Stark riding his white stallion ahead of the carriage that sat his two daughters: Sansa and Arya. They rode down a sandy and dusty road towards the real castle when they stopped – a few metres from it.
Ned got off his horse and went to where a young, dark-haired male approached him. "Welcome, Lord Stark," he greeted. "Grand Maester Pycelle has called a meeting of the Small Council. The honour of your presence is requested."
Ned Stark looked back at his daughters. "Get the girls settled in," Ned told the Septa, who was with them. "I'll be back in time for supper." Then his attention turned to the man on the horse. "And, Jory. You go with them."
"Yes, my Lord," Jory replied.
"If you'd like to change into something more appropriate ..." the young male began, but Ned took off his black leather riding gloves. Once they were off, the young male led Ned Stark to the chamber of the Hand of the King.
However, they had to pass through the throne room, where the Iron Throne was kept. A prodigious chair, it was over 300 years old and made from the many swords of the first Targaryen king Westeros had seen: Aegon I. But less now than when Aegon I sat on the throne. Over the years, the many kings that followed Aegon got rid of the many swords, trying to make the throne more comfortable. But it still always was uncomfortable. And still managed to prick and stab the odd King. Anyone who it thought was unworthy of being the King of the Seven Kingdoms.
Waiting for him in the throne room was the blonde-haired Jaime Lannister, otherwise known as the Kingslayer. A moniker he was known as for the past twenty or so years when he had stabbed the last Targaryen king – Aerys II – in the back.
Ned had gotten halfway into the room when Jaime had noticed him. "Thank the Gods you are here, Stark," he said. "About time we had some stern Northern leadership."
"Glad to see you're protecting the throne," Ned replied.
"Sturdy old thing. How many kings' arses have polished it, I wonder? Um, what's that line? The King shits and the Hand wipes."
"Very handsome armour," Ned said, hoping to change the subject. "Not a scratch on it."
"I know," Jaime said rather calmly. "People have been swinging at me for years, but they always seem to miss."
"You've chosen your opponents wisely, then."
"I have a knack for it." However, it was more than that. Jaime Lannister was the greatest swordsman in the Seven Kingdoms, having been knighted at age 15.
The room was eerily silent until Jaime spoke again. "It must be strange for you to come into this room. I was standing right here when it happened. He was fearless, your brother. Your father, too. They didn't deserve to die like that. Nobody deserves to die like that."
"But you just stood there and watched."
"500 men just stood there and watched—all the great knights of the Seven Kingdoms. Do you think anyone said a word or lifted a finger? No, Lord Stark. Five hundred men and this room was silent as a crypt. Except for the screams, of course, and the Mad King laughing. And later ...when I watched the Mad King die, I remembered him laughing as your father burned. It felt like justice."
"Is that what you tell yourself at night? That you're a servant of justice? That you were avenging my father when you shoved your sword in Aerys Targaryen's back?"
"Tell me, if I'd stabbed the Mad King in the belly instead of the back, would you admire me more?"
"You served him well … When serving was safe." Ned then walked off past him as he continued into the chamber of the Hand of the King.
When he entered the chamber, Lord Varys was the first to greet him. "Lord Stark," he said as he stood up and went over to him.
"Lord Varys," Ned said, shaking his hand.
"I was grievously sorry to hear of your troubles on the Kingsroad. We are all praying for Prince Joffrey's full recovery."
"A shame you didn't say a prayer for the butcher's son." Ned walked past Varys and saw King Robert's younger brother. "Renly! You're looking well." He hugged the male.
"And you look tired from the road," Renly said. "I told them this meeting could wait another day..."
"But we have a Kingdom to look after," another man finished. Ned turned around and saw that the voice belonged to Petyr Baelish, also known as Littlefinger. "I've hoped to meet you for some time, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Catelyn has mentioned me."
"She has, Lord Baelish," Ned said. "I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well."
"All too well. I still carry a token of his esteem … from naval to collarbone."
"Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel with."
"It wasn't the man that I chose, my lord. It was Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for, I'm sure you'll agree."
"I humbly beg your pardon," Grand Maester Pycelle interrupted, "my Lord Stark."
Ned turned to the sound of the voice. "Grand Maester."
He nodded. "How many years has it been? You were a young man."
"And you served another king."
"Oh, how forgetful of me." Pycelle reached into one of his cloak's pockets, digging for something. He pulled out a metal pin and extended it to Ned. "This belongs to you now." Ned took the golden pin in his right hand and thumbed over the surface. "Should we begin?"
"Without the King?" Ned asked.
"Winter may be coming, but the same cannot be said for my brother," Renly said.
"His Grace has many cares," Varys said. "He entrusts some small matters to us that we might lighten the load."
"We are the lords of small matters here," Lord Baelish said.
Renly handed Ned a rolled-up piece of parchment, to which Ned took it and sat down himself. "My brother instructs us to stage a tournament in honour of Lord Stark's appointment."
"Mmm... How much?"
"40,000 gold dragons to the champion," Ned began. "20,000 to the runner-up. 20,000 to the winning archer."
"Can the treasury bear such expenses?" Grand Maester Pycelle asked.
"I'll have to borrow it," Lord Baelish replied. "The Lannisters will accommodate, I expect. We already owe Lord Tywin three million gold. What's another 80,000?"
Ned stared at Lord Baelish. "Are you telling me the Crown is three million in debt?"
"I'm telling you the Crown is six million in debt."
"How could you let this happen?"
"The master of coin finds the money. The King and the Hand spend it."
"I will not believe Jon Arryn allowed Robert to bankrupt the realm."
"Lord Arryn gave wise and prudent advice, but I fear His Grace doesn't always listen," Grand Maester Pycelle explained.
"'Counting coppers,' he calls it," Renly said.
"I'll speak to him tomorrow," Ned said. "This tournament is an extravagance we cannot afford."
"As you will," Lord Baelish said. "But still, we'd best make our plans."
"There will be no plans..." Ned snapped at Lord Baelish. "Until I speak to Robert." He rubbed his face with his hands. "Forgive me, my lords. I'm… I had a long ride."
"You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark," Lord Varys said. "We serve at your pleasure."
The meeting lasted a few more minutes before it was all decided to split for the day. Everyone left one by one til Ned was the last one at the table. He sighed deeply before getting up and starting to walk out.
As he started to walk out, he was stopped by someone. A male in a blue leather outfit. An outfit that didn't look too familiar in the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. "I've been expecting you for quite some time, dearie," he said, stepping out of the shadows.
Ned looked at him. "You have?" he asked. "And who might you be?"
"Let me introduce myself. The name's Rumplestiltskin," he said, giving a slight bow. "And I believe you are the only man to help me." He didn't know how he ended up in this new land. The last thing he remembered was he was back in Storybrooke. He had just stabbed his father, thinking he would die, too. But he had found himself washed up on one of the shores of Westeros. He didn't know how or why, but he did remember seeing visions of the future. Patches of the future of what was yet to come. And what he saw was a giant wolf.
Ned cocked his head. "Why would I help you?"
"Well, I see the future, so to speak, and I foresaw a time where a great evil fell across this land," Rumplestiltskin explained. "And I believe I am the only one to stop it. With your help, of course. Come, we have much to discuss."
The next day, Ned and Rumplestiltskin walked towards the Hand's chamber. Crossing through the throne room, the two heard the patter of soft footsteps following them. Rumplestiltskin turned around. "We're being followed," he said, looking at an elderly man dressed in robes.
"No. He means no harm," Ned told him, then looked over at the old man – Grand Maester Pycelle. "What do you want?"
"I meant … to give you this earlier … Lord Stark," Grand Maester Pycelle wheezed, catching up to Ned and handing him a rolled-up piece of paper. "I'm so forgetful these days. A raven from Winterfell this morning."
Ned took the rolled paper and began to unroll it, nodding to the old master in acknowledgement before reading it to himself.
Rumplestiltskin looked over at Grand Maester Pycelle, watching him leave, before leaning closer to Ned. "Well, dearie, what does it say?"
"My son, Bran," Ned started to say. "He lives."
"Isn't that good news?" Lord Baelish said as he entered the throne room. "Maybe you'd want to share it with your wife."
"My wife is in Winterfell," Ned told him.
"Is she?" Lord Baelish asked as he started to walk out.
Both Rumplestiltskin and Ned looked at him. "What a charming fellow," he muttered to Ned, who acknowledged him silently before they followed Lord Baelish.
Lord Baelish led the two men to one of his whorehouses, when he turned to Ned. "I thought she'd be safest in here," he said, walking over to the door. "One of several such establishments I own."
But, as they got to the door, Ned grabbed Lord Baelish by the shoulder and pushed him against the wall. "You're a funny man," he said. "Huh? A hilarious man."
"Allow me," Rumplestiltskin said, pushing Ned aside and reaching into Lord Baelish's chest, where he could feel the man's beating heart. He had every intention of ripping out the man's heart, but he was distracted by a female's voice.
"Ned!" the woman called down, and both Ned and Rumplestiltskin looked up at the woman peering over the balcony. It was Catelyn Stark – Ned's wife.
"Cat..." Ned muttered, then said to Rumplestiltskin. "Let him go."
Rumplestiltskin nodded and took his arm out of Lord Baelish's chest before following Ned into the Whorehouse.
"Ah … the Starks..." Lord Baelish said, collecting himself. He had never met anyone who could push their hand inside his chest. He didn't like the feeling. Though he managed to brush it off. "Quick tempers, slow minds."
Inside Lord Baelish's main room of his Whorehouse, both Ned and Rumple met with Catelyn Stark.
"Anyone who would consider the mere suggestion that the Queen's brother tried to kill your boy would be tried with treason," Lord Baelish told the three of them.
"But we have proof," Catelyn protested. "We have the blade."
"Which Lord Tyrion will say was stolen from him. But, thanks to your boy's wolf, the only man who could say otherwise has no throat."
Rumplestiltskin eyed Lord Baelish. "You seem to know too much of the situation," he stated.
"I know these things too well. But, unfortunately, they happen quite a here."
"Oh, I bet they do," he said, approaching Lord Baelish.
"And what are you insinuating? That I control all the misgivings in the Seven Kingdoms?"
"Petyr has promised to help us find the truth," Catelyn said. "That's all. He's like a little brother to me. He would never betray my trust. And I trust him."
"I'll try to keep you two alive," Lord Baelish said. "At least, for her sake. A fool's task, admittedly, but I've never been able to refuse your wife anything."
"I won't forget this," Catelyn told him. "You're a true friend."
"Don't tell anyone. I have a reputation to maintain."
In the evening, Ned stood at one of the gates of King's Landing, saying his goodbyes to Catelyn. He hoped that it wouldn't be the last he'd see her. He wished she could stay with him. But it was too dangerous. For him. For her. For their family.
"I wish I could see my girls," Catelyn said as she stood in Ned's loving embrace.
"It's too dangerous," Ned told her.
"Just for a moment."
"Until we know who our enemies are."
"I know they did it, Ned. The Lannisters. In my bones, I know it."
"But Littlefinger is right. I can't do anything without proof."
"Then we will get proof," Rumplestiltskin said, who was standing close by. As he watched the couple, it made him think of his own love. Of Belle. He wondered what she was doing right now. He hoped that he would see her again.
"And then what?" Catelyn asked.
"We will bring it to Robert …" Ned began. "And hope he's still the man I once knew. You watch yourself on the road, huh? That temper of yours is a dangerous thing."
"My temper?" Catelyn asked with a chuckle. "What about his?" She pointed to Rumplestiltskin. "Gods be good, but it looked like he nearly killed poor Littlefinger. How did you do that?" she asked him.
"Oh, you know. Magic," Rumplestiltskin answered.
"Well, whatever that magic was, it's quite powerful stuff," Catelyn replied.
"Littlefinger still loves you," Ned said, changing the subject.
"Does he?" Catelyn asked, staring up at her husband with admiration in her eyes. They were silent for a moment before leaning in to kiss each other—one last kiss before she departed back to Winterfell.
"Off with you," Ned said.
Catelyn didn't want to. But she knew Ned was right. She looked at him for a moment before heading over to her horse, getting up on it, and riding out of King's Landing.