The horde of Dothraki rode on across the Dothraki Sea for the next few days. For most days, only the Professor rode by Daenerys' side until Jorah Mormont returned from his trip to Qoroh. Besides Jorah, the Professor was the only one Daenerys could count on (other than her handmaidens). Of course, her husband, Khal Drogo, was slowly warming up to her, too.

They rode on til they spied a statue of two horses bucking each other. They rode towards it as it was the first feature of the Dothraki city, Vaes Dothrak.

"Vaes Dothrak – the city of the horse lords," Jorah explained to Daenerys and the Professor.

"It's a pile of mud," Viserys replied when he caught up to the three. "Mud and shit and twigs. Is this the best these savages can do?"

The Professor turned his head. "Your cities would have been like this too, you know, when your ancestors were still developing. If you went back to those times, would you call your own ancestors savages?"

"They are my people," Viserys retorted. "And I shall call them whatever I like. They are my people, and this is my army. Khal Drogo is marching the wrong way with my army," He started to gallop on his horse again while the others kept their pace to a trot.

"Your brother's a distasteful fellow," the Professor said to Daenerys. "He should be careful of what he says."

"He won't. He'll never be careful," Daenerys replied to the Professor, and then she looked at Jorah. "So, if he was given an army of Dothraki, could he conquer the Seven Kingdoms?"

"The Dothraki have never crossed the Narrow Sea," Jorah answered. "They fear any water their horses can't drink."

"But if they did?" the Professor asked.

"King Robert would be a fool to meet them in open battle. But the men advising him are different."

"And you know these men?" Daenerys asked.

"I fought beside them once," Jorah answered. "Long ago. Now, Ned Stark wants my head. He drove me from my land."

"What did you do?" the Professor asked.

"He sold slaves," Daenerys answered.

"Aye," Jorah said.

"Why?" the Professor asked again.

"I had no money and an expensive wife."

"Where is she now?" Daenerys asked.

Jorah was silent for a moment. It had been ages since he last thought of Lynesse Hightower. "In another place," he finally said. "With another man."

That night, Viserys was having a bath in his tent. But he wasn't alone. With him was one of Daenerys' handmaidens, Doreah. He figured that Daenerys shouldn't be the only one with handmaidens. And he was the one who bought her. To him, that made her his property. His property to do whatever he liked with her.

Both were sitting naked in the tub, and he demanded she gave him a thorough wash. To get all the mud and shit off his body. He thought a king always had to be clean and well respected, even in a place as disgusting as Vaes Dothrak. It was his duty to be clean and respectful.

Doreah watched as she dribbled the warm water across Viserys' bear arms and chest. "Your Grace?" she asked.

Viserys looked at her. "Yes, my dear?"

"They call you the last dragon …."

"They do," Viserys agreed.

"And you have dragon's blood in your veins?"

"It's entirely possible." His family used to ride dragons ever since the days they were living in Old Valyria before the Doom.

"What happened to the dragons?" Doreah asked with a slight chuckle. "I was told that brave men killed them all."

Viserys moved a hand to brush through Doreah's hair as he looked at her. "The brave men didn't kill dragons," he corrected. "The brave men rode them. They rode them from Valyria to build the greatest civilisation this world has ever seen. The breath of the greatest dragon forged the Iron Throne, which the Usurper keeps warm for me. The swords of the vanquished, a thousand of them … melted together like so many candles," he added as he picked up a candle and held it close to his chest.

"I have always wanted to see a dragon," Doreah told him. "There's nothing in the world that I would rather see." But she knew she couldn't. There were no more dragons in this world. No one had seen one for years.

"Really?" Viserys asked. "Why dragons?"

"They can fly," Doreah answered. "And wherever they are, just a few flaps of their wings and they're somewhere else … Far away. And they can kill. Anyone or anything that tries to hurt them gets burned away to nothing …" Doreah looked at the candle that Viserys was holding and tilted it, so the hot wax dripped onto his skin, and he let out a gasp, feeling the wax burn his skin.

Viserys didn't mind, and he wasn't going to say anything. He was the last, true Targaryen. And Targaryens were the blood of the dragon. So they should handle the heat like the dragons. "Ow," he said with a playful smirk, watching as she took the candle from him and placed it back on the table beside the tub.

"Yes," Doreah continued. "Seeing a dragon would make me very happy."

"Well, after fifteen years in a pleasure house, I imagine just seeing the sky would make you happy."

Doreah laughed. "I was not locked in," she protested. "I have seen things." But not dragons.

"What have you seen then?"

"I've seen …" Doreah thought, "… a man from Asshai with a dagger of real dragonglass. "

"Ooh."

"I've seen a man who could change his face the way other men change their clothes. And I've seen a pirate who wore his weight in gold. And whose ship had sails of coloured silk. So … Have you seen one?"

Viserys cocked his head. "A pirate ship?"

"No. A dragon," Doreah asked, letting her hands rest against his neck."

"No. No, the last one died many years before I was born. I'll tell you what I have seen – their skulls. They used to decorate the throne room in the Red Keep back when I was a child of just three or four." A way of remembering who they used to be and what they used to ride. "My father used to walk me down the rows, and I'd recite their names for him. When I got them all right, he'd give me a sweet. The ones closest to the door were the last ones they were able to hatch and they were all stunted and wrong with skulls no bigger than dog skulls.

"But … But as you got closer to the Iron Throne … they got bigger and bigger and bigger. There was Syrax and Caraxes; Vermithor and Meleys; Arrax and Meraxes. And Vhagar. But the largest dragon to have ever existed was Balerion … the Black Dread…." Viserys added, feeling Doreah slide onto his lap and sink on top of him. He let out a moan as he felt her weight on top of him, and he shifted his weight. "Whose fire forged the Seven Kingdoms into one," he managed to finish before leaning into Doreah and kissing her deeply.

Doreah broke away from the passionate kiss. "What happened to the skulls?" she asked against his lips.

"I don't know," Viserys admitted. "The Usurper had them smashed to a fine powder, I expect." He kissed her again. He let his arms find their way around Doreah's slender body, just as hers were finding their way around his. "Scattered to the wind." Just like his family and his family's legacy.

"That's very, very sad…." Doreah muttered against his lips.

"Yes, it is," Viserys replied, as he looked back at her. "What did I buy you for? To make me sad?"

Doreah shook her head. "No, your Grace. You bought me to teach your sister."

"To teach my sister how to be a better lover?" Viserys asked. "Do you think I brought you to make Khal Drogo happy?" Doreah was silent, and Viserys knew that was exactly what she thought. "Oh, you pretty little idiot. I didn't buy you to make some savage happy. I bought you to make me happy." He gestured to himself. "Go on, then. Get on with it."

Doreah felt her cheeks redden with embarrassment before sliding onto Viserys lap again.

Ned sighed deeply and looked up at the guest in front of the small council. He rubbed his temples slowly. He had to help run a kingdom – a country – and it was a nightmare. And to make matters worse, he had to find a way to beat the Lannisters.

"It's the Hand's Tournament that's causing all this trouble, my Lords," the guest – the City Watch commander - remarked.

"The King's Tournament," Ned corrected as he leaned back against his chair. "I assure you the Hand wants no part in it."

"Call it what you will, Lord Stark, ser, the city is packed with people and more flooding in every day. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings and a drunken horse race down the Street of Sisters."

"How terribly uncivilised," Rumplestiltskin muttered, who was sitting at Ned's right hand. "And you call yourself the protectors of the city?"

The City Watch commander shook his head, staring coldly at Rumplestiltskin. "The City Watch has protected King's Landing for three hundred years," he snapped. "It is a job we were born to do. The problem is that we need more men."

"If you need more men, then you will get fifty more," Ned told him. "Lord Baelish will see that it is paid for."

I need more men."

"You'll get 50," Ned told him sternly. "Lord Baelish will see it paid for."

Lord Baelish looked up in surprise at hearing his name. "I will?" he asked.

"You found money for a champion's purse, didn't you?" Ned asked. "I'm sure you can easily find money to keep the peace." He took a breath. "I'll give you 20 of my household guard until the crowds leave."

The City Watch commander bowed his head. "Thank you, my Lord Hand, ser. We will put them to good use." He bowed again before turning to leave.

Ned reached out to his cup, took a gulp of water, and sighed. He would have declined King Robert's offer if he knew how hard this job would be. "The sooner this is over, the better."

"The realm prospers from such events, my lord," Varys remarked. "They give the great a chance at glory and the lowly a respite from their woes."

"And every inn in the city is full, and the whores are walking bow-legged," Lord Baelish added.

"I'm sure this tournament gives everyone a bit of money," Rumplestiltskin retorted.

"Hmmm..." Lord Baelish acknowledged before looking down at his papers again.

"Now, if there's nothing else, my lords?" Ned asked before he began to get up, and the rest followed him. They all nodded at each other before leaving for their separate ways.

Grand Maester Pycelle was the last to leave, for he walked very slowly. "Oh, this heat," he complained. "On days like this, I envy you northerners. Your summer snows. Until tomorrow, my Lords."

Ned walked around the table to catch up with the old maester. "I've been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn.

Grand Maester Pycelle turned around. "Lord Arryn?" He repeated. "Oh, his death was a great sadness to all of us. I took charge of his care, but I could not save him. His sickness struck him very hard and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before he passed. Lord Jon often came to me for counsel."

"Why?" Ned asked.

"I have been grand maester for many years. Kings and Hands have come to me for advice ..."

"If you know something, dearie, you will tell us," Rumplestiltskin demanded, walking around the table towards the Grand Maester.

"He came inquiring after a book," Grand Maester Pycelle told them.

Ned looked back at Rumplestiltskin. "A book? What book?"

"Oh, I fear it would be of little interest to you, my lord. A … A ponderous tome."

Ned shook his head softly. "No. I want to read it," Ned told the maester.

The Grand Maester led the two throughout the Red Keep till they arrived at his studies. Then, he walked over to an old, brown desk and pulled out a leather-bound book. "The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, with descriptions of many high lords and noble ladies and their children," he explained, taking a seat in his chair.

Ned approached the desk and took the book. He unlocked and opened it up, beginning to leaf through the old pages. "Harkon Umber, first of his name. Born to Lord Hother Umber and Lady Amaryllis Umber in the 183rd year after Aegon's landing at the Last Hearth. Blue of eye, brown of hair and fair complected. Died in his 14th year of a wound sustained in a bear hunt," Ned read.

"As I said, my lord, a ponderous read," Grand Maester Pycelle said.

"Did Jon Arryn tell you what he wanted with it?" Ned asked.

"He did not, my lord. And I did not presume to ask."

"And Jon's death..." Rumplestiltskin began.

"Such a tragedy," Grand Maester Pycelle finished.

"Did he say anything to you during his final hours," Ned asked.

"Nothing of import, my lord. Oh … There was one phrase he kept repeating. 'The seed is strong', I think it was."

"'The seed is strong'?" Rumplestiltskin repeated. "So, the man talked in riddles?"

"Oh, the dying mind is a demented mind, my lord. But, for all their weight, last words are usually as significant as first words."

"I beg to differ. I have some experience with last words, dearie. Well, any words. Put them in the right order, and they can tell you everything you need to know."

"And you're quite certain Jon died of a natural illness?" Ned asked.

"What else could it be?" Grand Maester Pycelle asked.

"Poison?" Rumplestiltskin asked, and Ned nodded solemnly. "This is a strange land, full of enemies. Jon Arryn may have found something his enemies wanted to keep hidden."

"A disturbing thought," Grand Maester Pycelle mused. "No, no, no. I don't think it is likely. All loved the Hand. What sort of man would dare ..."

"I've heard it said that poison is a woman's weapon," Ned interrupted.

"Yes," Grand Maester Pycelle nodded. "Women. Cravens … and eunuchs." He tilted his head. "Did you know that Lord Varys is a eunuch?"

"Everybody knows that," Ned answered.

"Yes. Yes, of course. I will never know how that man found himself on the King's council."

Ned leaned forward and closed the book, doing up the metal clasp. "We've taken enough of your time," he said.

"No trouble at all, my lords. It's a great honour."

"Thank you, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said with a slight nod. "We'll find our way out." The two turned to leave, walking out of the old maester's room and through the corridors.

Ned looked over at his friend. "So, Rumplestiltskin, what do you think?"

Rumplestiltskin turned to face him. "I think there is much more than that wizened old man is telling us," he told him. "One thing I do know, though … Lord Jon Arryn didn't die from a natural cause."

Ned was going to say something when they bumped into Arya, who was balancing on one leg on the edge of some stone stairs.

"Arya, right?" Rumplestiltskin asked, pointing a finger at her. Ned nodded and moved slowly over to his daughter.

Arya looked up when she saw the two men in front of her. "Syrio says a water dancer can stay on one toe for hours," Arya explained.

"But, if you fall, dearie, it would be a hard fall," Rumplestiltskin told her.

"Syrio says every hurt is a lesson, and every lesson makes you better."

"I'd like to meet this Syrio," Rumplestiltskin mused.

Arya put her other foot down on the ground. "Tomorrow," she told him. "Tomorrow, I'm going to be chasing cats."

"Cats?" Ned asked, puzzled. But then he realised the answer. "Syrio says?"

"He says every swordsman should study cats. They're as quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. So you have to be quick to catch them."

Ned nodded. "He's right about that." He turned to leave, but Arya stopped them.

"Now that Bran's awake, will he come live with us?"

"Well, he needs to get his strength back first," Ned answered.

"He wants to be a knight of the Kingsguard. He can't be one now, can he?"

"Well, that depends," Rumplestiltskin began. "On whether he wants me to heal him."

"You can heal people?" Arya asked. "How?"

"Magic," Rumplestiltskin said, a slight smirk on his lips.

"Magic isn't real."

"Oh, it's quite real, dearie."

Arya stopped balancing and sat down on the steps. Ned approached his daughter, taking a seat next to her. "Someday, he could be lord of a holdfast. Or sit on the King's council. Or, he might raise castles like Brandon the builder."

"Can I be lord of a holdfast?" Arya asked.

Ned chuckled and kissed his daughter's forehead. "You will marry a high lord and rule his castle. And your sons shall be knights and princes and lords. Hmmm?"

No," Arya stated in a whisper. "That's not me." She got up and walked back up to the top of the stairs, where she began to balance again. Ned watched her and chuckled softly.

Ned was walking through the gardens of the Red Keep one day when he was joined by Lord Baelish, who started to walk beside him. He wanted to know how Ned's quest was going. "I hear you're reading a book," he began.

"Hmph," was all Ned could say. He didn't think the type of books he read would be newsworthy gossip. "Pycelle talks too much."

"Oh, he never stops. Do you know Ser Hugh of the Vale?" Lord Baelish asked but got no answer back. "Not surprising. Until recently, he was only a squire – Jon Arryn's squire. He was knighted almost immediately after his master's untimely death."

"Knighted for what?" Ned asked, but Lord Baelish didn't answer and instead gave a grim smile and raised his eyebrows. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I promised Cat that I'd help you."

"Where is Ser Hugh?" Ned asked as they descended some steps, absently noticing the people milling around the gardens and the stone fountain just ahead of them and lowering his voice slightly. "I'll speak to him."

"A singularly bad idea. Do you see that boy?" Lord Baelish asked, and Ned looked to see where he was gesturing to. He saw a young boy, no more than eight, sitting against a tree, drawing patterns in the dirt with a stick, but watching Ned intently.

"One of Varys' little birds," Lord Baelish whispered. "The Spider had taken a great interest in your comings and goings. Now, look, there."

He was talking about an older man. He was bearded with little hair left on his head, and what he had was white and flecked with shades of grey. His skin was dark and weathered. His hands were likely calloused and rough from the ploughing he likely did, judging by the hoe in his hands. He kept glancing up at the pair as they made their way past.

"That one belongs to the queen," Lord Baelish said as they walked past a fountain. "And do you see that Septa, pretending to read her book?"

Ned saw a Septa, younger than Mordane, sitting next to a young nobleman's daughter attempting her needlework. She held a book in her hands, but though her eyes were on the page, they were not following the words, instead glancing up repeatedly.

"Varys or the Queen?" Ned asked resignedly

"No, she's one of mine," Lord Baelish casually admitted, causing Ned to look at him in shock. "Is there someone in your service that you trust completely?" Lord Baelish asked, stopping and facing him.

Ned immediately thought of Jory. "Yes."

"The wiser answer was 'no', my Lord," Lord Baelish advised. "Get a message to this paragon of yours – discreetly. Send him to question Ser Hugh. After that, you might want to send him to visit a certain armourer in the city. He lives in a large house at the top of the Street of Steel,"

"Why?"

"I have my observers, as I said. And it's possible they saw Lord Arryn visit this armourer several times in the weeks before his death."

"Lord Baelish," Ned began slowly, reassessing the man in front of him, "perhaps I was wrong to distrust you."

"Distrusting me was the wisest thing you've done since you climbed off your horse," Lord Baelish said before beginning to walk away.

After having Jory visit Ser Hugh and failing to get any information from him, Ned set off to the armourer on the Street of Steel, accompanied by Rumplestiltskin. "Are you sure it's safe to be here?" Rumplestiltskin asked. "I could have managed by myself."

"No. I need to hear this with my ears," Ned said as he dismounted from his horse, followed by Rumplestiltskin with his, and they walked towards the armourer's building.

The old armourer looked at them before noticing the Hand of the King's pin on Ned's outfit. "What may I get for you, my Lord?" he asked.

"We were wondering if you could give us information," Rumplestiltskin began. "On what the former Hand wanted and why he came here."

The armourer nodded. "You're right. The former Hand did come here several times. I regret to say he did not honour me with his patronage."

"What did Lord Arryn want?" Ned asked.

"He always came to see the boy."

"What boy?" Rumplestiltskin asked.

The armourer stepped aside, and they saw a young teenager with dark hair hammering away at some steel over a fire. "Gendry!" he called, gesturing the young man to come to him.

Gendry dropped his hammer and approached.

"Here he is," the armourer continued. "Strong for his age. He works hard. Show the Hand the helmet you made, lad."

Gendry moved back, picked up a steel helmet in the shape of a bull, and handed it to Ned, who looked over at it.

"This is fine work," Ned commented.

"It's not for sale," Gendry told him.

"Boy," the armourer said. "This is the King's Hand! If his lordship wants the helmet …."

"I made it for me."

"Forgive him, my lord."

Ned shook his head. "There's nothing to forgive. What would you talk about when Lord Arryn came to visit you?"

"He just asked me questions, my lord," Gendry answered.

"What kind of questions?" Rumplestiltskin asked.

"About my work, at first," Gendry said. "If I was being treated well; if I liked it here. But then he started asking me about my mother."

"Your mother?" Ned asked.

"Who she was, what she looked like."

"What did you tell him?"

"She died when I was little. She had yellow hair. She'd sing to me sometimes."

Ned looked at Gendry for a moment. "Look at me," he told him, and Gendry looked up. Ned let his gaze focus on Gendry's features. He could see a resemblance to a young Robert Baratheon. Could it be that Gendry was his son? He nodded slowly and gave him his helmet back. "Get back to work, lad."

Gendry nodded and went back to his workstation.

"If the day ever comes when that boy would rather wield a sword than forge one, you send him to me," Ned told the armourer before walking out of the building with Rumplestiltskin.

"Well, what is it?" Rumplestiltskin asked.

"That young man in there is King Robert's bastard son," Ned answered. "I know that look anywhere."

The next afternoon, once everyone had settled into Vaes Dothrak, Viserys barged into Daenerys' hut, dragging Doreah by her hair. When he entered, Daenerys stepped back from the table where she had been putting jewellery and golden cups.

"You send this whore to give me commands?!" Viserys spat at his sister as he threw the former prostitute onto the ground in front of Daenerys. "I should have sent you back her head!"

"Forgive me, Khaleesi," Doreah sobbed. Her tears were visibly running down her face. "I did as you asked."

"Hush now. It's alright. Irri, take her and leave us," Daenerys said, her other handmaiden.

"Yes, Khaleesi," Irri said, getting up from her seat and helping Doreah before walking her out of the hut.

"Why did you hit her?" Daenerys asked her brother.

"How many times do I have to tell you?" Viserys asked, ignoring the question. "You do not command me! I am the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms! No one can tell me what to do, not even a horse lord's slut!"

"I wasn't commanding you. I just wanted to invite you to supper."

But Viserys wasn't listening. He looked around. "What's this?" He asked, holding up some leather lying on one of the tables in Daenerys' tent.

"It's a gift," Daenerys answered. "I had it made for you."

"Dothraki rags?" Viserys spat. "Are you going to dress me now? Is that what you think of me? As some doll you can dress?"

Daenerys shook her head. "No. Please. Calm down." She knew Viserys could lose his temper, but she never saw him like this before.

Viserys threw the leather outfit back to Daenerys before throwing some golden chains at her too. "This stinks of manure. All of it."

"Stop. Stop. Stop it."

"You would turn me into one of them, wouldn't you? Next, you'll want to braid my hair!"

"You've no right to a braid," Daenerys snapped back. "You've won no victories yet."

"You do not talk back to me!" Viserys said, outraged. He raised his hand and slapped his sister hard across her face, making her fall to the ground on her knees. "You are a horse lord's slut. That's all that you will ever be. And now you've woken the dragon ..."

Before he could go down and enact more violence towards his sister, he began to gasp for air. His whole body lifted a few centimetres, and he clawed his throat for air. Daenerys looked up at him before looking around to see what was going on when she saw the Professor slowly walk in, his right hand held up like it was gripping something.

"Haven't you learned your lesson? About showing respect?" the Professor asked. Viserys couldn't speak. He only gasped and gagged for air while his feet dangled beneath him, trying to reach the ground. The Professor continued. "Now, I want you to leave here and think about it. Otherwise, you might see the fury of a Time Lord," he added, ensuring he never raised his voice. The Professor eyed Viserys carefully before releasing his hand, and Viserys dropped to the ground. He let out a few gasps of air before getting up and running out of the tent.

When Viserys was gone, the Professor rushed to where Daenerys was on the ground. He let his hand brush against the cheek that Viserys had hit, and Daenerys winced softly. Then, he helped her up to her feet.

Daenerys was silent, though. Instead, she kept her gaze on the Time Lord. "What just happened? How did you do that with him?"

"Magic," he told her, to which she gave a look of disbelief.

"You are completely impossible," Daenerys responded, as she hugged him as a sign of thanks for coming in when he did.

"No. Not impossible. Just very unlikely," he responded as he hugged her back.

The hug lasted for a few seconds when she pulled away, realising what had happened. "You harmed him. You harmed the dragon."

The Professor looked back. "Dragon?" he questioned.

"My family – the Targaryens – have had a close bond with the dragons. And some of us are said to have dragon-like properties. My eldest brother – Rhaegar – was said to be the last Targaryen with those properties, but Viserys says he has them too," Daenerys explained.

"Just because he calls himself a dragon doesn't make him one. His personality is… Everywhere. I know his sort. I don't think he's this dragon."

"He is still the true king," Daenerys said.

"A king shouldn't treat his sister – or his subjects – like that," the Professor replied. "He may be next in line to the throne, but he is no king. I don't think you want to see him on that throne over there, either."

"No. Of course not. But the common people over there are waiting for him. Illyrio said they are sewing dragon banners and praying for his return."

"I don't think they are. They'll be praying to live if they are like the common people I have seen elsewhere. To have enough crops to survive. You told me this rebellion was nearly twenty years ago. They probably forgot about the last of the Targaryens. They'll call you a myth. A fairy story, even."

"But Illyrio said ..." Daenerys began to protest.

"What he said may have been true once before. But not anymore. And if there are still common people who still pray for their true king, then it won't be all the common people. And not enough for an army. For them, they need to believe in the Targaryens. For them to see that the Targaryens will be the great rulers they deserve. But right now, they'll be only praying to survive."

Daenerys was silent for a moment. She hadn't thought about that. "What do you pray for, Professor?" she asked, hoping to change the subject.

"Home. Well, someplace I can call home."

"I pray for home, too," Daenerys said, thinking about what the Professor had said and letting it all sink in. "My brother will never take back the Seven Kingdoms," she dejectedly said. "He couldn't lead an army even if my husband gave him one. He'll never take us home."

The next afternoon was the Hand's Tourney, and Ned Stark had sent Rumplestiltskin down there on his behalf. To look around. To see if anyone looked suspicious. And to look after his children – ensure no harm came to them.

Rumplestiltskin didn't mind, however. It gave him plenty of time to look around for himself. He was still a stranger in a strange land himself. Maybe he could overhear something that might benefit him at some stage. He walked down the steps to where Sansa was sitting. He saw her looking at Joffrey. He looked at where she was looking, and Joffrey turned his head.

"You ought to be careful, dearie," Rumplestiltskin said, sitting next to her. "I don't trust that boy you've been gazing your eyes on."

Sansa turned her head. "Do I know you?"

"He's father's friend," Arya explained. "I've seen him with father at the Red Keep."

Rumplestiltskin nodded. "I am," he said when Lord Baelish arrived. He looked up at the man as he stood over them. "And what brings you here?"

"I thought I'd introduce myself to Lady Starks daughters," Lord Baelish answered.

"I'm sorry," Sansa said. "Do I …"

"Sansa, dear," Septa Mordane said. "This is Lord Baelish."

"I've known your mother a long, long time, San..." Lord Baelish began.

"Why do they call you Littlefinger?" Arya interrupted.

Sansa turned around and glared at her younger sister. "Arya!"

"Don't be rude!" Septa Mordane snapped.

"No. It's quite alright," Lord Baelish remarked. "When I was a child, I was very tiny, and I come from a little spit of land called the Fingers. So, you see, it's an exceedingly clever nickname."

Behind them, King Robert stood up from his seat. "I've been sitting here for days!" He roared, and his wife, Queen Cersei, got up and left. "Start the damn joust before I piss myself!"

The crowd cheered as a knight mounted on a black horse began to gallop down one side of the lanes and stopped in the middle to greet the public.

"Gods. Who's that?" Sansa asked when the giant knight caught her gaze.

"Ser Gregor Clegane," Lord Baelish answered. "They call him the Mountain. The Hound's older brother."

"And his opponent?"

"Ser Hugh of the Vale. He was Jon Arryn's squire. Look how far he has come."

"Yes, yes!" King Robert roared again. "Enough of the bloody pomp. Have at him!"

As a trumpet player blew a note, the knights turned and galloped to their opposing ends of the jousting area. The knights charged at each other, lances at the ready. The Mountain swung his lance at Ser Hugh and missed. They galloped on and turned around, prepared to charge each other again. They did, and their lances were at the ready again. The Mountain swung his lance at Ser Hugh again and stabbed him in the throat, splinters of wood spraying everywhere. Sansa let out a scream as Ser Hugh fell off his horse, a sliver of wood still lodged in his throat as he gurgled on his blood, which began to spray everywhere and fill his mouth. Rumplestiltskin looked over at Sansa and Arya while two men pulled Ser Hugh's lifeless body away.

"Not what you were expecting?" Lord Baelish asked, leaning closer to the group. "Has anyone ever told you the story of the Mountain and the Hound? A lovely little tale of brotherly love. The Hound was just a pup. Six years old, maybe. Gregor was a few years older – already a big lad and getting a good reputation. They were some lucky boys just born with a talent for violence. One evening Gregor found his little brother playing with a toy by the fire. Gregor's toy. A wooden knight. Gregor never said a word. Instead, he grabbed his brother by the scruff of his neck and shoved his face into the burning coals. He held him there while the boy screamed. While his face melted. There aren't very many people who know that story."

"I won't tell anyone. I promise," Sansa spoke up.

"No. Please don't. If the Hound so much as heard you mention it, I'm afraid all the knights in King's Landing would be unable to save you."

Rumplestiltskin looked over at Lord Baelish. "Oh, he hasn't met me, dearie," he said, glancing at the Hound. "I promise you, if he ever found himself up against me, he will regret it."

Meanwhile, Ned was still studying the book he had been given from Grand Maester Pycelle. He needed a break from it, so he walked onto the balcony to breathe fresh air. As he looked out from his balcony, he didn't notice Rumplestiltskin poof inside his room.

Rumplestiltskin walked over to the balcony. "Find anything interesting, dearie?" he asked.

Ned was surprised to see him there so suddenly. "I may have to put a bell around your neck," he said with a small laugh. Then he shook his head. "No. Not yet, I'm afraid," he then answered. "How are the girls?"

"They're fine. They're shocked by what had happened before their eyes, but they're resilient. They have their father in them."

Ned smiled. "That they do," he said. "And their mother, too." He walked into his office when Jory knocked on the door and entered. "My lord, Her Grace the Queen," he told them as Cersei Lannister walked into Ned's room. She approached the desk.

"Your Grace," Ned and Rumplestiltskin both acknowledged at the same time.

"You're missing your tournament," Cersei stated.

"Putting my name on it doesn't make it mine," Ned replied when Cersei looked over at Rumplestiltskin.

"How did you beat me here?" she asked.

"I took a shortcut," Rumplestiltskin answered. A lie, but he didn't want her to know what he was capable of. Not yet, anyway. He wanted to get a feel for the people of the Seven kingdoms. He wanted to know whom he could trust. And whom he couldn't trust. No point letting them use him. At least no one knew what the Dark One was or the Dark One dagger. And he wanted to keep it that way.

"Huh." Cersei didn't know there were any shortcuts from where the tourney was being held. It sounded like a strange answer. She turned her attention to Ned again. "I thought we might put what happened on the Kingsroad behind us – the spectacle with the wolves. And forcing you to kill the beast was extreme." She took a breath. "Though sometimes we go to extremes where our children are concerned. How is Sansa?"

"She likes it here," Ned answered.

"The only Stark who does. Favours her mother. Not much of the North in her."

"What are you doing here?"

"I might ask the same of you. What is it you hope to accomplish?"

"The King called on me to serve him and the realm. And that's what I'll do until he tells me otherwise."

"You can't change him. You can't help him. So, he'll do what he wants, which is all he's ever done."

"You seem so sure of yourself, dearie," Rumplestiltskin told her.

"I'm married to the King. I know him better than anyone," Cersei retorted. "All you will ever do is try your best to pick up the pieces."

"If that's my job, then so be it," Ned told her.

"You're just a soldier, aren't you? You take your orders, and you carry on. I suppose it makes sense. Your older brother was trained to lead, and you were trained to follow."

"I was also trained to kill my enemies, Your Grace."

"As was I." Cersei smiled at them both before she left the chamber.