It was day two of the Hand's Tourney. Ned Stark walked towards one of the tents to pay his respects to Ser Hugh of the Vale; the young knight killed the day before by a splinter of wood from the Mountain's lance.

Ned slipped into the tent, where Ser Barristan Selmy watched two Septas clean up Ser Hugh's lifeless body. "Does Ser Hugh have any family in the capital?" he asked Ser Barristan.

"No," Ser Barristan answered. "I stood vigil for him myself last night. He had no one else."

Ned looked behind the two septas, where someone had stacked Ser Hugh's armour. "He'd never worn this armour before."

"Bad luck for him – going against the Mountain."

"Who determines the draw?"

"All the knights draw straws, Lord Stark."

"Aye," Ned nodded. "But who holds the straws?" He looked at the two septas. "You've done good work, Sisters," he acknowledged, and he turned to leave the tent, and Ser Barristan followed him.

Ser Barristan was given his helmet from the guard outside the tent and let the guard pin his white cloak back to his armour. "Life is strange," he told Ned. "Not so many years ago, we fought as enemies at the Trident."

Ned nodded. It felt like a lifetime ago now. "I'm glad we never met on the field, Ser Barristan. As is my wife. I don't think the widow's life would suit her."

Ser Barristan chuckled as he walked with Ned through the tourney area. "You're too modest. I've seen you cut down a dozen great knights."

"My father once told me you were the best he'd ever seen. I never knew the man to be wrong about matters of combat."

"He was a fine man, your father. What the Mad King did to him was a terrible crime."

"And that lad," Ned pointed back at the tent they were just at, quickly changing the subject, "he was until a squire a few months ago. How could he afford a new suit of armour?"

Ser Barristan shrugged his shoulders. "Perhaps Lord Arryn left him some money?" he suggested.

Ned sighed. No, there had to be more than that.

"I hear the King wants to joust today," Ser Barristan added.

"Yeah, that would never happen," Ned replied.

Ser Barristan chuckled. "Robert tends to do what he wants."

"If the King got what he wanted all the time, we'd still be fighting a damn rebellion," Ned said as he approached Robert's tent and entered, leaving Ser Barristan to stand at the tent's entrance. He watched as Lancel Lannister – King Robert's squire – tried to put on his armour.

"It's made too small, Your Grace," Lancel Lannister said in a shrill voice. "It won't go."

"Your mother was a damn whore with a fat arse," King Robert told him. "Did you know that?" Lancel removed the armour and placed it to the side, and King Robert looked over at Ned. "Look at this idiot. One ball and no brains. He can't even out a man's armour on him properly."

Ned glanced at King Robert, gesturing to his big stomach that drooped over the front of his pants. "You're too fat for your armour."

"Fat?" King Robert asked. "Fat, is it? Is that how you speak to your King?" Ned didn't say a word, but King Robert laughed, and Ned joined in. Lancel let out a small laugh, and King Robert looked at him. "Oh, it's funny, is it?" he asked and stopped laughing.

The light left Lancel's eyes. "No, Your Grace."

"No?" King Robert asked. "You don't like the Hand's joke?"

Lancel looked back and forth between the King and Hand in agony.

"You're torturing the poor boy," Ned stated plainly.

"You heard the Hand. The King's too fat for his armour. Find the breastplate stretcher. Now!" King Robert demanded, and Lancel bolted out of the tent.

"The breastplate stretcher?" Ned asked, a tilt to his head as he approached King Robert.

"How long before he figures it out?" King Robert asked back, pouring himself a drink of whiskey.

"Maybe you should have one invented."

"All right, all right. You watch me out there. I still know how to point a lance." King Robert took a sip.

"You've no business jousting. Leave that for the young men."

"Why? Because I'm King? Piss on that. I want to hit somebody!"

"And who's going to hit you back?"

"Anybody who can. And the last man in his saddle…."

"Will be you," finished Ned. "No man in the Seven Kingdoms would risk hurting you."

"Are you telling me those cowards would let me win?"

"Aye," Ned said with a nod.

King Robert shook his head and began to pour another glass and handed it to Ned. "Drink."

"I'm not thirsty."

"Drink," King Robert repeated. "Your king commands it." Ned took the glass and sipped from it while King Robert moved to sit down. "Gods, too fat for my armour."

"Your squire?" Ned began. "A Lannister boy?"

King Robert nodded. "Mmm. A bloody idiot. But Cersei insisted. I have Jon Arryn to thank for her. 'Cersei Lannister will make a good match,' he told me. 'You'll need her father on your side'. I thought being King meant I could do whatever I wanted. Enough of this," he said, getting back up again. "Let's go watch them ride. At least I can smell someone else's blood." He walked past Ned and towards the door of his tent.

"Robert," Ned began, watching him. Surely he wouldn't go out looking like that, with his big belly hanging out where everyone would see.

"What?" King Robert asked, turning back around before noticing what Ned was looking at. "Oh," he said, then laughed. "An inspiring sight for the people, eh? Come, bow before your King! Bow, you shits!" He laughed, and so did Ned.

A while later, it was time for the tourney's second day to start. The crowd cheered as the following riders entered the arena. The Mountain rode his black stallion towards the centre, which was more difficult to control today. He was soon accompanied by his new rival, Ser Loras Tyrell, riding his white mare.

Ned was sitting next to Sansa, and he looked around. But he couldn't see his other daughter. "Where's Arya?"

"At her dancing lessons," Sansa answered before she noticed Ser Loras. She smiled at him. "The Knight of the Flowers." Ser Loras rode up towards Sansa and handed her one red rose, which she blushed and took the rose. "Thank you, Ser Loras," she said, but she didn't see the look he gave Renly Baratheon a few seats back. No one did.

The Mountain and Ser Loras rode their horses to the opposite ends of the arena and took their lances. They stared at each other and nodded.

"Don't let Ser Gregor hurt him," Sansa told her father, leaning into his arm. It would be a shame if Ser Loras' pretty face were severely wounded.

Ned placed his hand over hers. "Hey," he said, looking over at her.

"I can't watch." The nightmares of the previous day were still fresh in her mind.

A hundred gold dragons on the Mountain," Lord Baelish called back to Renly.

"I'll take that bet," Renly replied.

"Now, what will I buy with 100 gold dragons? A dozen barrels of Dornish wine? Or a girl from the pleasure houses of Lys?"

"Or you could even buy a friend."

"He's going to die," Sansa told Ned.

"Ser Loras rides well," Ned told her, focusing back on the arena in front of him, and the trumpet player blew a note, signalling to the Mountain and Ser Loras to start.

The two raced off towards each other, and Ser Loras aimed his lance at the Mountain, keeping it accurate, while the Mountain was trying to lift his shield, juggle his lance, and attempt to control his wild stallion. And it wasn't too long before the Mountain was falling, taking his horse down with him in a tangle of steel and flesh.

The crowd stared in horror. It wasn't usually that the Mountain lost a jousting tournament.

"Such a shame, Littlefinger," Renly called to Lord Baelish. "It would have been so nice for you to have a friend."

Lord Baelish looked behind him. "And tell me, Lord Renly, when will you be having your friend?" he asked and gestured at Ser Loras. Lord Baelish then sat down and leaned towards Sansa and Ned. "Loras knew his mare was in heat. Quite crafty, really," he whispered as Ser Loras rode past, waving to the audience.

"Ser Loras would never do that," Sansa told him. "There's no honour in tricks."

"No honour and quite a bit of gold."

The Mountain threw his helmet towards the ground and looked at Ser Loras trotting around on his horse. He glared at his rival. He didn't lose. He never lost. "Sword!" he roared as someone raced towards him with his sword. He took it and raised it in the air before letting it come down, slicing his stallion's head off.

The audience turned to look at him and gasped in horror. Next, the Mountain made his way towards Ser Loras and used his sword to knock him off his horse. Then, the Mountain aimed his sword at Ser Loras, with the latter using his shield to deflect the blade.

"Leave him be!" roared the Hound as he raced down the podium stairs, picked up his sword, and caught the Mountain's deadly swing. The brothers collided in a flurry of blades and steel while Joffrey watched from his seat, looking at his sworn protector with great interest.

The Mountain and the Hound backed away from each other before they let their swords clash against each other again. Both were fighting with such a rage; it was a wonder they were brothers.

Suddenly King Robert stood from his seat. "Stop this madness in the name of your king!" he roared.

Instantly, the Hound dropped to one knee, and his sword was pressed to the ground. The Mountain's swing missed. He eyed up at King Robert and angrily threw his sword to the ground, and stormed off.

"Let him go!" King Robert called to his Kingsguard as the Mountain walked through them.

The Hound stood up, and Ser Loras approached him. "I owe you my life, ser."

"I'm no ser," the Hound replied bitterly.

Ser Loras looked at him, took his hand, and lifted it graciously in the air. The audience cheered.

Rumplestiltskin didn't go to the second day of the tourney. Instead, he stayed at the Red Keep, where he was in one of the studies, looking through the texts that the Red keep kept. With him, however, was the Valyrian steel dagger. The dagger looked elegant, much like his own. He wondered who had made it and where it had come from. It had to have been someone with excellent taste.

But he was having no luck. None of the texts that he looked through had anything about the dagger. It was as if someone had wiped any record of its existence. He frowned. It must have been owned by someone powerful.

He took the dagger in his hands and looked over at it again. Maybe there was a clue on it somewhere. He waved his hand over the dagger, making it glow purple. But he wasn't expecting writing to glow on the blade. He could, however, make out small words in a faint purple glow and studied the words carefully.

"From my blood come the Prince that was Promised," Rumplestiltskin read. "And his will be the song of ice and fire."

He frowned. "The Prince that was Promised?" he asked himself. But what did it mean? Maybe it tied to what he saw when he arrived in this land. When he had a small vision of a great evil falling upon the land, perhaps that was why he was here.

He engulfed the dagger in a cloud of smoke, making it go to where he had found it before vanishing from the study. He had much to find out about this Prince who was Promised.

Ned was back in the Hand's chamber for the rest of the day. When he heard the door open, he looked up and saw Varys enter. He watched as he began to close the windows and blinds. "How is your son, my Lord?" he asked.

"He'll never walk again," Ned answered.

"But his mind is sound?"

"So they say."

"A blessing then. I suffered early mutilation myself," Varys said as he shut the door. "Some doors close forever … others open in the most unexpected places. May I?" Varys gestured towards the seat, but Ned didn't answer. Instead, he just looked up at him after placing his quill on the desk. Varys sat down at the chair across from Ned.

"If the wrong ears heard what I'm about to tell you, off comes my head," Varys continued. "And who would mourn poor Varys then? North or South, they sing no songs for spiders. But there are things you must know. You are the King's Hand, and the King is a fool. Your friend, I know, but a fool and doomed unless you save him."

Ned looked over at Varys and raised an eyebrow. "I've been in the capital a month. Why have you waited so long to tell me this?"

"I didn't trust you," Varys admitted

"So why do you trust me now?"

"The Queen is not the only one watching you closely. There are few men of honour in the capital. You are one of them. I would like to believe I am another, strange as that may seem.

"What sort of doom does the king face?"

"The same sort as Jon Arryn. The tears of Lys, they call it. A rare and costly thing. As clear and tasteless as water. It leaves no trace."

Ned got up from his chair and walked to the balcony behind him. Was Jon Arryn murdered? Poisoned?

Who would do such a thing? "Who gave it to him?"

"Some dear friend, no doubt. But which one? There were so many. Lord Arryn was a kind and trusting man. There was one boy, however. All he was he owed to Jon Arryn."

Ned turned around and looked at Varys. "The squire?" he asked. The one who died recently. "Ser Hugh?"

"Pity, what happened to him. Just when his life seemed to be going so nicely."

"If Ser Hugh poisoned him …" Ned began. But Ser Hugh wouldn't have been working alone. So there had to be another. "Who paid Ser Hugh?"

Varys shrugged. "Someone who could afford it."

"Jon was a man of peace. He was Hand for 17 years. 17 good years. Why kill him? And why kill him now?"

"Well, he started asking good questions."

Meanwhile, Arya did what Syrio had instructed her to do—chasing cats. To try to be as quick and agile as the animals, where she could sneak up on her enemies without being seen. So she followed a grey tabby cat down a staircase of the Red Keep towards the dungeons. When she entered, she looked around the dimly lit room and came across a massive skull of an animal she had never seen before—the skull of the largest dragon who had ever lived – Balerion the Black Dread.

Hearing footsteps behind her, she hid inside the skull. She peered out through an opening and saw two men. One was Lord Varys. The other was a man she had never seen before, but she could make out he had a brown beard and bushy brown hair. This other man was Illyrio.

"He's already found two bastards," came Varys' voice. "He has the book. The rest will come."

"And when he knows the truth, what will he do?" asked Illyrio.

"The gods alone know. The fools tried to kill his son. What's worse, they botched it. The wolf and the lion will be at each other's throats. We will be at war soon, my friend."

"What good is war now?" Illyrio asked. "We're not ready. If one Hand can die, why not a second?"

"This Hand is not the other," Varys told Illyrio.

"We need time. Khal Drogo will not make his move until his son is born. You know how these savages are."

"'Delay', you say. 'Move fast', I reply. This is no longer a game for two players."

"It never was," Illyrio said as the two men began to leave the dungeons.

Once the dungeons were empty again, Arya crept out of the skull of Balerion. She had to find her father. She had to tell him what she had heard. That people are plotting against him. She raced up the stairs she had come from, but the gate was locked. Darting back down the stairs, she looked around before seeing another set of stairs in the opposite direction, and she raced towards them – hoping this one led to an exit she could use.

Lord Baelish was in the throne room, with his back to the main door as he kept his gaze on the Iron Throne and held a big brown leather book. He was deep in thought when Varys entered the room behind him.

"The first to arrive and the last to leave," he commented as he approached Lord Baelish. "I admire your industry."

Lord Baelish turned around slowly. "You do move quietly," he noted.

"We all have our qualities."

"You lokma bit lonely today. You should pay a visit to my brothel this evening. The first boy is on the house."

"I think you're mistaking with pleasure," Varys replied.

"Am I? All those birds that whisper in your ear – such pretty little things. Trust me," Lord Baelish said, resting his hand on Varys' shoulder. "We accommodate all inclinations."

"Oh, I'm sure. Lord Redwyne likes his boys very young, I hear."

"I'm a purveyor of beauty and discretion – both equally important."

"Though beauty is a subjective quality, no? Is it true that Ser Marlon of Tumblestone prefers amputees?"

"All desires are valid to a man with a full purse."

"And I heard an awful rumour about a certain lord with a taste for fresh cadavers. It must be enormously difficult to accommodate that inclination. The logistics alone … to find beautiful corpses before they rot."

"Strictly speaking, such a thing would not be in accordance with the King's laws."

Varys leaned closer. "Strictly speaking," he said and moved on towards the small council chamber.

Lord Baelish turned around. "Tell me. Does someone somewhere keep your balls in a little box?" he asked, watching as Varys turned to look at him again. "I've often wondered."

"Do you know, I have no idea where they are. And we had been so close," Varys answered, and Lord Baelish chuckled. "But enough about me. How have you been since we last saw each other?"

"Since you last saw me or since I last saw you?"

"Now, the last time I saw you, you were talking to the Hand of the King."

"Saw me with your own eyes?" Lord Baelish asked. Or did one of your little spiders tell you?

"Eyes I own."

"It was council business. We all have so much to discuss with Ned Stark."

"Everyone knows of your enduring fondness for Lord Stark's wife. If the Lannisters were behind the attempt on the Stark boy's life and it was discovered that you helped the Starks come to that conclusion … to think a simple word to the Queen …."

"One shudders at the thought," Lord Baelish said. "But do you know something? I believe I have seen you even more recently than you have seen me."

"Have you?"

"Yes. Earlier today, I distinctly recall seeing you talking to Lord Stark in his chambers."

"Was that you under the bed?"

"And not long after that, when I saw you escorting a certain foreign dignitary … Council business, is it? But, of course, you would have friends across the Narrow Sea. You're from there yourself, after all. We're friends, aren't we, Lord Varys? I want to think that we're friends. So you can imagine my burden, wondering if the King might question my friend's sympathies. To stand at the crossroads where turning left means loyalty to a friend, turning right to the realm …."

"Oh, please," Varys interrupted.

But Lord Baelish continued. "To find me in a position where a simple word to the King…." But he couldn't finish as Renly Baratheon entered the throne room and interrupted him.

"What are you two conspiring about?" Renly asked, but Lord Baelish and Varys didn't answer. Well, whatever it is, you'd best hurry up. My brother is coming."

"To a small council meeting?" Lord Baelish asked.

"Disturbing news from far away," Varys answered, following Renly to the small council's chambers. He turned to look at Lord Baelish. "Hadn't you heard?"

Arya managed to find an exit out of the dungeons, but it took her outside the Red Keep. And outside of King's Landing. And she had a hard time trying to get back into the city. But she managed to persuade the city guards to let her inside and find her father. But they escorted her and told Ned what had happened. So Arya sat in front of Ned's desk as she listened to him.

"You know ai had half my guard out searching for you?" Ned asked. "You promised me this would stop."

"They said they were going to kill you," Arya stated, remembering what she had heard.

"Who did?" Ned asked.

"I didn't see them, but I think one was fat."

Ned rubbed his forehead with his hand. "Oh, Arya," he murmured.

"I'm not lying!" Arya protested. "They said you found the bastard, and the wolves are fighting the lions and the savage … Something about the savage."

Ned raised an eyebrow. "Where did you hear this?"

"In the dungeons, near the dragon skulls."

"What were you doing in the dungeons?"

"Chasing a cat," Arya admitted sheepishly before a knock interrupted them on the door before it opened.

Both Ned and Arya turned to look and saw Jory enter. "Pardon, my Lord," he began. "There's a night's watchman here begging a word. Says it's urgent."

Ned got up from his seat, walked around his desk, and stood beside his daughter, placing an arm around her. "Your name, friend?" he asked, watching as the night's watchman approached them.

"Yoren, if it pleases," the night's watchman said, looking over at Arya. "This must be your son. He was the look."

"I'm a girl!" Arya snapped back at Yoren.

"Did Benjen send you?" Ned asked Yoren.

"No one sent me, my lord. I'm here to find men for the Wall, see if there's any scum in the dungeons that might be fit for service."

Ned sighed. "Oh, we'll find recruits for you."

"Thank you, my lord. But that's not why I disturb you now. Your brother Benjen, his blood runs black – makes him as much my brother as yours. For his sake, I rode here so hard I damn near killed my horse. Others are riding, too. The whole city will know by tomorrow."

"Know what?" Ned asked.

Yoren looked over at Arya and stepped aside. "Best said in private, my lord."

Ned turned to his daughter and kissed the top of her head. "Go on. We'll talk more later," he said, watching as Arya reluctantly walked out of the room. "Jory, take her safely to her room."

Jory nodded. "Come along, my lady. You heard your father," he said, walking with her before the door shut behind them.

"Well?" Ned asked once he and Yoren were alone together.

"It's about your wife, my lord," Yoren began. "She's taken the Imp."

Ned walked out of the Hand's tower and towards King Robert's quarters to tell him what he had learned about his wife and Tyrion Lannister. He knew it would have been better to tell his oldest friend first. However, he saw Rumplestiltskin come towards him. "Where were you?" he asked.

Rumplestiltskin shrugged. "Just doing some research of my own," he answered. "I may have some leads that may help me yet."

Behind them came a man's voice. "Lord Stark, your presence has been requested in the small council chamber. A meeting has been called."

Ned turned to look at the man. "I need to see the King first – alone."

"The King is at the small council meeting, my lord. He has summoned you."

Ned looked back at him. Had King Robert already learned about Tyrion being taken prisoner by his wife? "Is it about my wife?"

"No, my lord. I believe it concerns Daenerys Targaryen."

"The whore is pregnant," King Robert boomed as he told the small council what he had learned from across the Narrow Sea and reiterated his point of view.

"But murdering a child?" Rumplestiltskin asked. "It seems a bit much, no?"

"Ned, I warned you this would happen," King Robert said. "Back in the North. I warned you, but you didn't care to hear. Well, hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both. And that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead."

"And you will dishonour yourself forever if you do this," Ned told the King.

"Honour?!" retorted King Robert. "I've got seven kingdoms to rule! One king, seven kingdoms. Do you think honour keeps them in line? Do you think it's honour that's keeping the peace? It's fear – fear and blood."

"And what you are offering is the act of a coward," Rumplestiltskin said. "This unborn child is not in any war with you. And you're afraid of it? Because of a rumour?"

King Robert looked at Rumplestiltskin. "And who are you? Standing here with the small council. I hardly know you, and we're telling you secrets of the realm?"

"I may be the wisest man you have ever met."

"If you're so wise, what would you do when a Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki army invades the Seven Kingdoms? What would you do then?"

"The Narrow Sea still lies between us," Ned answered. "I'll fear the day they teach their horses to run on water."

"So you want us to do nothing?" King Robert asked.

"The wisest advice is usually the simplest," Rumplestiltskin said.

"And that's your wise advice? Do nothing till our enemies are on our shores?" King Robert looked at his other council members. "You're my council. Counsel! Speak sense to these fools!"

Rumplestiltskin stepped forward, and he raised his right arm. He gripped at the air and magically began to choke King Robert, lifting him out of his chair slowly and watching as he clawed at his throat.

"Rumplestiltskin … Stop!" Ned demanded, watching as Rumplestiltskin continued to choke the King.

Rumplestiltskin eyed King Robert slowly before releasing his grip, watching as he fell back to his chair, gasping for breath.

"Guards!" King Robert called, then pointed at Rumplestiltskin. "Arrest him!"

Rumplestiltskin looked around at the guards approaching him before disappearing in a cloud of maroon smoke.

The guards looked back at King Robert. "Go on. Find him!" he demanded, watching as the guards exited the room.

Ned approached the table. "I followed you into war – twice, without doubts, without second thoughts. But I will not follow you now. The Robert I grew up with didn't tremble at the shadow of an unborn child."

"She dies," King Robert replied.

"And I will have no part in it."

"You're the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You'll do as I command, or I'll find me a Hand who will."

Ned took off the Hand's pin on his lapel and threw it on the table in front of King Robert. "And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man."

King Robert looked at the golden pin on the table, then back up at Ned. "Out. Out, damn you," he said. "I'm done with you and your traitorous friends." He watched as Ned turned around and walked out of the small council chambers. "Go, run back to Winterfell! I'll have your head on a spike! I'll have your friend's head on a spike, too! I'll put them there myself, you fool!"

Ned was in his room, where he was packing up his belongings, before heading back to Winterfell, when Jory entered the room. Ned looked over at him. "I'll go ahead with my daughters," he told him. "Get them ready. Do it yourself. Don't ask anyone for help."

Jory nodded. "Right away, my lord," he said, turning to leave. He looked back at Ned. "Lord Baelish is here for you."

Lord Baelish entered the room. "His Grace went on about you at some length after you took your leave. The word 'treason' was mentioned."

"What can I do for you?"

"When do you return to Winterfell?"

"Why?" Ned asked. "What do you care?"

"If you're still here come nightfall, I'll take you to see the last person Jon Arryn spoke with before falling ill. If that sort of thing still interests you."

"I don't have the time."

"It won't take more than an hour. But as you please," Lord Baelish added, turning to leave.

Ned turned around and looked at Jory, reaching for his sword. "Round up all our men and station them outside the girls' chambers. Who are your best two swords?"

"Heward and Wyl," Jory answered.

"Find them and meet me at the stables," Ned said and followed behind Lord Baelish.

King Robert had retreated to his quarters and was sitting at his desk, trying to come to terms with what had happened. Ned resigned from being his hand, and some man he didn't know had choked him without touching him.

Cersei entered the room and approached where her husband sat. "I'm sorry your marriage to Ned Stark didn't work out. You seemed so good together."

King Robert looked over at her. "I'm glad I could do something to make you happy."

"Without a Hand, everything will fall to pieces."

"I suppose this is where you tell me to give the job to your brother Jaime," King Robert said and took a sip of his wine.

"No." Cersei shook her head. "He's not serious enough. I'll say this for Ned Stark – he's serious enough."

"Hmm."

"Was it worth it? Losing him this way?"

King Robert got up from his seat, went to the window behind his desk, and looked through it. "I don't know. But I do know this – if the Targaryen girl convinces her horse lord husband to invade and the Dothraki horde crosses the Narrow Sea … We won't be able to stop them."

"The Dothraki don't sail. Every child knows that. They don't have discipline. They don't have armour. They don't have siege weapons."

King Robert studied her. "It's a neat little trick you do – you move your lips, and your father's voice comes out."

Cersei chuckled. "Is my father wrong?"

King Robert looked over at his wife. "Let's say Viserys Targaryen lands with 40,000 Dothraki screamers at his back. We hold up in our castles. A wise move – only a fool would meet the Dothraki in an open field. So they leave us in our castles. They go from town to town, looting and burning, killing every man who can't hide behind a stone wall, stealing all our crops and livestock, and enslaving all our women and children. How long do the people of the Seven Kingdoms stand behind their absentee king, their cowardly king hiding behind high walls? When do the people decide that Viserys Targaryen is the rightful monarch after all?"

"We still outnumber them," Cersei said, sitting in a chair.

"Which is the bigger number, five or one?"

"Five."

"Five …" King Robert held up his left hand, holding his fingers up. "One." He held up his right, holding it in a fist, and put down his left hand. "One army – a real army united behind one leader with one purpose. Our purpose died with the Mad King. Now we've got as many armies as men with gold in their purses. And everybody wants something different. Your father wants to own the world. Ned Stark wants to run away and bury his head in the snow."

"And what do you want?"

King Robert picked up his wine goblet and looked at it before taking a large gulp. "We haven't had a real fight in nine years. Backstabbing doesn't prepare you for a fight. And that's all the realm is now – backstabbing and scheming and arse-licking and money-grubbing. Sometimes I don't know what holds it together."

"Our marriage," Cersei stated.

King Robert laughed, and Cersei joined him. "Ah, here we sit, 17 years later, holding it all together. Don't you get tired?"

"Every day."

"How long can hate hold a thing together?"

"Well, 17 years is quite a long time."

King Robert nodded. "Yes, it is."

"Yes, it is," Cersei repeated, taking a sip of her wine. "What was she like?" she asked of Lyanna Stark, her husband's first love.

King Robert stared at her. "You've never asked about her, not once. Why not?"

"At first, just saying her name in private felt like I was breathing life back into her. I thought if I didn't talk about her, she'd fade away for you. When I realised that wouldn't happen, I refused to ask out of spite. I didn't want to give you the satisfaction of thinking I cared enough to ask. And eventually, it became clear that my spite didn't mean anything to you. As far as I could tell, you enjoyed it."

"So why now?"

"What harm could Lyanna Stark's ghost do to either of us that we haven't done to each other a hundred times over?"

"You want to know the horrible truth?" King Robert leaned forward. "I can't even remember what she looked like. I only know she was the one thing I ever wanted. But someone took her away from me, and seven kingdoms couldn't fill the hole she left behind."

"I felt something for you once, you know?"

"I know."

"Even after we lost our first boy. For quite a while, actually. Was it ever possible for us? Was there ever a time, ever a moment?"

King Robert was silent for a moment. "No," he answered. "Does that make you feel better or worse?"

"It doesn't make me feel anything." Finishing her goblet of wine, she placed it on the table before getting up from her seat and exiting the room. She had finally had her thoughts confirmed.

Lord Baelish took Ned Stark to one of his whorehouses, where Ned met a prostitute holding her baby. "She looks like him don't she, my lord? She has his nose, his black hair."

Ned studied the baby girl briefly, and then nodded. "Aye."

"Tell him when you see him my lord. If it pleases you, tell him how beautiful she is."

"I will."

"And tell him I've been with no one else. I swear it, my lord, by the old gods and new. I don't want no jewels or nothing, just him. The King was always good to me."

"When Jon Arryn came to visit you, what did he want?"

"He wasn't that sort of man, my lord. He just wanted to know if the child was happy, healthy."

Ned smiled. "Looks healthy enough to me. The girl shall want for nothing," Ned said, before turning to leave the whorehouse, but stumbled across Lord Baelish in the other room.

Lord Baelish looked over at him. "Brothels make a much better investment than ships, I've found. Whores rarely sink."

"What do you know of King Robert's bastards?" Ned asked.

"Well, he has more than you for a start."

"How many?"

"Does it matter? If you fuck enough women, some of them will give you presents."

"And Jon Arryn tracked them all down? Why?"

"He was the King's Hand. Perhaps Robert wanted them looked after. He was overcome with fatherly love."

Sighing, Ned turned to leave the whorehouse, and Jory followed him. Ned glimpsed ringmail over leather, gauntlets and greaves, steel helms with golden lions on the crests. Their cloaks clung to their backs, sodden with rain. He had no time to count, but there were ten at least, a line of them, on foot, blocking the street with longswords and iron-tipped spears.

"Such a small pack of wolves," Jaime Lannister commented from the white horse he rode before dismounting.

"Stay back, ser," Jory said. "This is the Hand of the King."

"Was the Hand of the King," corrected Jaime. "Now I'm not sure what he is – lord of somewhere very far away."

"What's the meaning of this, Lannister?" Lord Baelish asked as he came out of his whorehouse.

Jaime glared at him. "Get back inside where it's safe. I'm looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don't you, Lord Stark? Blonde hair, sharp tongue, short man."

"I remember him well."

"It seems he had some trouble on the road. You wouldn't know what happened to him, would you?"

"He was taken at my command to answer for his crime," Ned lied to protect his wife.

Jaime ripped his longsword from its sheath and urged his stallion forward, and his men lowered their spears.

"My lords!" called Lord Baelish. "I'll bring the city watch." The Lannister line parted to let him through and closed behind him. He put his heels to his mare and vanished around a corner.

"Show me your steel, Lord Stark. I'll butcher you like Aerys if I must, but I'd sooner you died with a blade in your hand," Jaime cooed from where he stood.

Jory stepped in front of Jaime. "If you threaten my lord again…."

"Threaten?" Jaime mocked. "As in, 'I'm going to open your lord from balls to brains and see what Starks are made of'?"

Ned calmly stood his ground. "You kill me, and your brother's a dead man."

Jaime grinned. "You're right," he said as he glanced back at his soldiers. "Take him alive! Kill his men!"

The first of Jaime's men threw their spears straight into the chests of Heward and Wyl. Ned drew his sword, cutting at phantoms in red cloaks who gave way before him. Jory Cassel also charged, cutting through the Lannister guards on the other side. A steel-shod hoof caught a Lannister guardsman in the face with a sickening crunch. A second man reeled away, and for an instant Jory was free.

Jory soon lunged at Jaime Lannister, lunging his sword at him. But Jaime took out a dagger and plunged it through Jory's eye and through his head.

Ned watched, moving closer to Jaime, and aimed his sword at him. Jaime deflected his blade and swung his own at him. They clashed their swords for all to see before one of Jamie's soldiers stepped behind Ned and plunged his spear in the back of his leg. Ned let go of his sword and dropped to the ground in pain.

Jaime marched over to the soldier, unhappy that his duel was over so quickly. Raising his sword, he brought it down, cutting the soldier's throat. Jaime turned his attention to Ned. "My brother, Lord Stark – we want him back."