NOTE: Okay, if anyone got a bunch of notifications, sorry. Fanfiction isn't emailing that I updated. I keep deleting and reuploading in an attempt to remedy the situation.

I'm back! Sorry about the wait everyone. There is no need to beg, I promise, the chapters will keep coming. I would like to point out, however, that the weekly schedule I once suggested is no longer in play. I will get these up as soon as I can, but work has prevented me from keeping a regular interval between chapters.

Also, I have actually changed quite a bit in the upcoming chapters so it might be a little slower as I reshuffle the plot. Yay plot bunnies?

Thank you for all the kind reviews! You guys are amazing! Please enjoy the next installment!


Chapter Twelve
The King

Jaime

No one had said a word when he walked out of his chambers later that day, despite sporting bruises on both his cheek and neck. The other members of the Kingsguard knew better than to test his temper. Ser Mandon was staring, as he always did, but this time there was real weight behind his dead gaze. Jaime met his eyes, a silent challenge for him to try anything, but the man simply walked away.

White Sword Tower was unusually cramped that day. Four of the seven members of the Kingsguard were there, himself included. Sers Mandon, Arys, and Preston were all inside, leaving Ser Meryn with Cersei and her younger children and Ser Boros with Joffrey as he practiced with a crossbow on the tourney fields while they remained. Ser Barristan, he was told, had taken off with the king early that morning.

There was a conversation he was glad to not be part of.

Unfortunately, it was Jaime's turn to watch the royal chambers. Since Ser Mandon had watched the king overnight and the other two guarded his family, that left him next in line. Ser Mandon was not about to say anything of his whereabouts last night so for all the others knew, Jaime had gotten a good night's rest after the helmet debacle.

What a night it had been, making him forget about that embarrassment.

With a sigh, Jaime departed the tower, ignoring his meal entirely. There were too many things on his mind making his stomach turn. He wished Tyrion would return already from his damned excursion to the Wall. His little brother was the only one he trusted to help him sort these things out.

And what would he do? After recovering from a fit of laughter himself over his helmet woes, Tyrion would probably make a joke about the Stark girl and how close he was to her. Then a joke about Cersei and one about Robert. Most people would brush off what he said as insults and the inability to take anything seriously, but Jaime knew better. Tyrion's jests were an excellent way of evaluating a situation. It was how his brother kept things from getting too out of hand.

It was when the joking stopped that the concern really began.

No, Jaime thought, perhaps he would not joke about this at all.

He stood in front of Robert's chambers for the better part of an hour, waiting to relieve Ser Barristan when he heard footsteps down the hall. Briefly, Jaime wondered if Robert would recall the previous night and his role in it. He must have remembered some part if he decided this morning was good for a hunt. After all, when things became remotely uncomfortable for the king, the Kingswood was his sanctuary. Assaulting the daughter of the Hand probably qualified.

Jaime was not terribly worried about himself, unlike Cersei. After a night of thinking it all over, which had proven more tortuous than the act itself, he felt confident that he was not in the wrong. He had neither touched Robert nor demanded he leave the girl alone. Heavily implied, yes, but the decision was the king's to make. Even so, Robert would not dare anger his father. The fear of Tywin Lannister was what held the realm together.

Still, when Robert rounded the corner, cheeks red and huffing, a part of Jaime thought he might have been wrong. He thought the king was about to plow him over; he showed no signs of stopping until he halted barely short of his armored form. Jaime watched his eyes look him over, particularly his bruises. He could almost see the wheels turning in the king's head, which was a rare enough sight.

"You. In." Robert finally barked, marching into his quarters. "Selmy and the wench stay out!"

Jaime might have laughed at how his cousin knew to stand aside, had the movement not revealed two other followers.

One was a man he had spoken to just the other day, one of Ned Stark's soldiers. His hand was at the ready on the hilt of his sword. By the way Ser Barristan was watching him, something had already been attempted.

Behind him was none other than Myra Stark.

Seven hells.

The girl was pale as a sheet, much like when he had found her earlier. He had hoped she would not bother leaving the Tower of the Hand for some time, or at least longer than a day. The Starks, it seemed, were bound and determined to get themselves in unending trouble.

Her eyes met his briefly before closing them against tears. She followed her guard inside, keeping her hand on his elbow.

That small touch may have been the only thing keeping him from cutting the king down.

Ser Barristan appeared at Jaime's side, eyes never leaving the man. "Watch him."

He thought about being snarky, but could not find the words. With a nod, Jaime entered the room and shut the door behind him.

Robert was pacing back and forth behind his desk, mumbling something under his breath. Stark's man…Jory, that was it, was watching his every move, having strategically placed himself between the king and Myra. The girl had taken to keeping her eyes closed, hands folded in front of her.

The king did have a more official space, somewhere, but when not with the Small Council, Robert preferred to do things from the comfort of his chambers. An excellent decision by the ruler of the realm, bringing a girl he traumatized here, with his bed right behind her.

He supposed they ought to be grateful. There wasn't a servant girl in it this time, naked or otherwise.

Slowly, Jaime walked toward the Northerners until he was next to Jory and, in a way, hiding Myra as well. He could hear her breathing behind him, deep and slow. She was trying to calm herself, but he doubted it was working.

That feeling from the night was returning, the anger and something else. He almost wanted to call it…protectiveness. It had been a long time since he had found anything worth defending. Neither of the kings had been worthy of it, Cersei did not believe she needed it, and her children…well, he was never around them long enough to know. He had wanted to protect Queen Rhaella, Princess Elia, even her children, but they were all long dead. Maybe the Stark girl was some sort of replacement.

Or perhaps he was out to prevent a war. How gallant of him.

"You going to stop me?" Jory mumbled, though Jaime doubted Robert would have heard him if he shouted.

He eyed the hand that grasped his sword. It was pulling on it ever so slightly, revealing the steel beneath. If Robert so much as breathed funny, the man would lunge.

Honestly, he was surprised Ser Barristan hadn't taken it from him.

"I can't say it's not tempting to let you go," Jaime admitted, resuming his watch of the king's pacing. "It is my job, however, and the man is family."

And unfortunate truth for everyone involved, really.

"Better to let it go," Jaime continued, glancing back at Myra. Had she grown smaller? "You wouldn't want to leave her alone, would you?"

Jory looked at him a moment before he heard the distinct clack of a sword fully sheathed. Smart decision. All the man's loyalty would have counted for nothing against him, and Jaime had to admit, murdering Jory in front of Myra was not something he wanted.

"You saying you won't help her?' Jory asked, eying his bruises, as if he didn't already know what he had done.

Jaime sighed, feeling the anger pull at him again. "There is only so much a man can do."

"A man or a Lannister?"

Actually, running him through did not sound so bad an idea now.

Sometime during the exchange, Robert had managed to calm himself, or at least stop pacing. He pulled out the chair and sat beside his desk, instinctively reaching for his goblet before thinking better of it.

Jaime thought back to the hall, and the full wineskin his cousin Lancel carried. Robert was sober, or as much as he could be after a night of drinking. The man actually felt guilty.

The day was filled with many firsts.

Robert finally looked at them, his eyes moving back and forth between him and Jory. "Let me see her."

"I don't think that would be wise, Your Grace," Jaime found himself saying. He had not meant to speak at all, but he supposed it was better than anything the Northerner had to say.

He was playing the diplomat again. Tyrion would be impressed.

The king, however, was not. "Grow a maester's chain while I was gone, did you? It'll be a cold day in the seven hells before I take counsel from you."

Must have been awfully chilly last night then.

"Now let me see her," Robert continued. "I trust that the girl can speak for herself."

On that, Jaime was not entirely certain. Jory must not have felt the same either. He just glared at the king and refused to budge.

Robert narrowed his eyes. "First you draw steel on me and now you refuse an order. Are you begging for the King's Justice?"

Jory never flinched. No once could ever accuse a Northerner of not being loyal, or stubborn for that matter.

The king's anger might have gotten the better of all of them had a pair of small hands not emerged from behind them. Though she hardly touched either man, both Jaime and Jory stepped aside, allowing Myra to move into view. Still shaking, he watched the Stark take one last, deep breath and open her eyes.

It was as if she had become a different person. The shaking stopped, her eyes, dark and serious, were able to hold Robert's gaze, and even some color had returned to her face. She was a far cry from the girl who had been hiding behind them moments before.

She may just survive King's Landing after all.

"Your Grace," Myra said, voice calm and even.

Robert said nothing.

Jaime looked to the king, and found himself surprised. All the strength Myra had gathered seemed to have been taken from the Baratheon. Now Robert's eyes turned downward, his anger all but diminished, the shame he clearly felt visible for all to see. He had never seen the king this way. Not even Cersei could do this to him. No, around her he would only act worse, as though it were a challenge to his authority.

But here, he had none. Robert Baratheon, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm was thoroughly cowed beneath the gaze of Myra Stark.

Jaime had only ever seen two people effectively shut the king up: one was his father, and the other was hers. Perhaps they had all been wrong about the quiet girl from the North.

Now it was Robert who took a nervous breath. "I have shamed you…and I have shamed myself. A man who doesn't recognize that isn't fit to wear the crown, not that I am anyway."

Robert chuckled to himself. Jaime wondered if the man was aware of his presence anymore. This wasn't something he'd ever admit in front of him.

He sobered up again. "I won't ask for your forgiveness. I'm not worthy. I can only hope one day we'll get past all this and that things can go back to…no, I s'pose they can't even do that. I've thoroughly fucked it all up, haven't I?"

Myra bowed her head, looking at her hands, but she lifted it again before speaking. "That is one way of putting it, Your Grace."

Robert nodded, frowning, before turning his gaze to Jaime. "I remember punching you, but what happened to your neck?"

"Courtesy of Lord Stark, Your Grace," Jaime replied. As he expected, Myra turned to face him, that concern back in her eyes. She blamed herself, he knew, but it was done now. He wanted to leave it to rest. "He cares for his daughter very much."

He wondered if Robert realized he had taken two hits for him, and for the good of the realm, he supposed. Perhaps that was what he was good for now, letting lords take out their anger on him rather than each other with their armies.

How proud his father would be.

"Suppose I'll never hear the end of it from your sister now," Robert said, shrugging off his comments. "Me owing the Kingslayer for-"

"Jaime!"

Her voice was so sudden and loud, Jaime nearly jumped. Jory had put his hand back on the hilt of his sword while Robert's eyes had grown wide.

Myra was shaking again, only this time out of anger.

"His name is Jaime," she spoke through gritted teeth. "If you're going to thank him, perhaps you should not insult him in the same breath."

It took a moment for Jaime to realize his mouth was open, like some gaping fool. He promptly shut it, though it seemed both Jory and Robert had yet to realize they looked the same.

Myra had calmed, appearing to realize what she had done. She looked sheepishly to her feet, but made no move to take back the words, words she had used to defend him with.

No one had ever questioned the title, not his father, not his sister, not even Tyrion, who instead insisted he use it as some sort of shield, a joke to claim as his own so no one else could.

Oh, he had tried. By the looks he got from others, he tried very well, but inside he still felt every syllable in his chest. There was no way to stop it. It was simply another pain to become used to, much like a great many things in his life.

But then Myra Stark came along. The girl he pegged as weak and uninteresting had just berated the king into silence over it.

This was growing far more complicated than he bargained for.

Robert blinked, coming back to himself. He did not say a word to her, perhaps afraid of antagonizing the girl any further, and instead turned to him.

"You have my thanks…Jaime."

He could only nod. His voice had run off somewhere.

Next he supposed King Aerys would rise from the dead, a dragon reborn. It'd certainly be the most fitting conclusion to the day.

Starting to chafe under the scrutiny, Robert stood. "You should go now. I believe I've caused you enough grief for one day, Lady Myra."

"Thank you, Your Grace."

Despite the power she had just commanded, it was more than obvious Myra was still desperate to leave the room. She crossed the breadth of it in a few strides, ducking out the door with Jory without acknowledgment of either curious party that waited outside.

"You too," Robert continued, staring at him. "I've seen enough of your face for one day. Go stand and look pretty somewhere else."

Jaime nodded. Being told not to spend time with the king? He had no problem with that. Perhaps he could finally get some sleep.

"And Kingslayer," the king said as he approached the door. "Breathe a word of any of this and I'll have your head, your father be damned."

Ah, there was the Robert he remembered.

"Of course, Your Grace," Jaime replied with a dutiful nod before departing the room. He, too, did not bother to give a second glance to either Ser Barristan or Lancel as they both entered the room to resume their kingsitting duties. He was tired, angry, and more than a little fed up with everything at the moment; he just wanted to be alone.

As he rounded the corner, however, Jaime found that he would have to wait a little longer for that particular wish to come true.

There, sitting against the wall, her dark hair clinging to the stone as if she had slid down the thing, was Myra. She was alone, basking in the sunlight pouring through the window across from her, waiting. For him, he guessed. Surely she wasn't waiting for Robert to stop by again, and Cersei's half-hearted attempt to throw Lancel her way had certainly backfired. If his cousin couldn't appeal to a girl who more or less tried to like everyone, he was more than a little hopeless in life.

"I sent Jory ahead," Myra spoke, having noticed his presence. However, she continued to face the window. "I had wanted to speak to you alone. I don't believe I actually thanked you properly and…really, I don't remember what else I was going to say."

She turned to face him then, a sad, little smile on her pale face. "I must seem pathetic to you."

The girl who silenced the king with a look, that was hardly pathetic. That was something nobles dreamed of doing all their lives. But he did not say that.

"No," was what he said. He did not miss the hopeful glint it brought to her eyes. "No, I don't think so."

Jaime offered his hand, and she took it without hesitation. He watched her play with the loose strands of hair, attempting to fix the mess she had made. Her hands still shook slightly.

"You should go away inside," he said, suddenly reminded of a younger man who would not have done much better in her position. "When you're faced with something you cannot stand, just don't be there. Find something inside to hold onto until it's over."

Myra tilted her head. "That sounds like giving up."

"Sometimes that is all we can do."


Ned

"She wants to go home, and I can't say I blame her," Jory confessed.

They stood near an outer door to the keep, one that led to a secluded beach that the lords and ladies liked to frequent when the air had grown too warm for even their Southern tastes. As it was, the day had been rather cool, so the spot had been abandoned, save for a small boy claiming his mother was a chambermaid.

With his big, round eyes and tattered clothes, Myra had taken to him in an instant and sat with him on a rock. He was teaching her to fish.

Though Ned had briefly wondered if the boy was one of Varys' famous little birds, he was grateful nonetheless for his daughter's distraction. Even from where he stood, he could see the warm smile on her face as she watched the boy blather on with great interest.

The common folk back home had always loved her. She knew each of their names, inquired after their families, struck up genuine conversations that made a person feel as though they truly mattered. While other lords and ladies were greeted with respect, as was expected, Myra made faces light up and smiles form. She did not make people do anything. They simply wanted to because of it was her. It was a kind of power King's Landing would never understand.

Ned nodded, understanding entirely. "Neither can I, but I fear things have grown too complicated for even that small mercy."

His old friend gave him a confused look. Ned motioned for them to walk, taking their conversation away from the door, nearer the waters, where the rushing waves began to drown out all other sound. Both Myra and the boy turned to face them momentarily before returning to their task.

"Catelyn has Tyrion Lannister," Ned admitted when they had gone far enough. "Lord Tywin will know in a matter of days, if he doesn't already. He'll be on the warpath."

"The roads won't be safe," Jory concluded, looking to the horizon, as if he would find answers there. "Surely, you can't ask her to stay here, my lord."

Ned sighed. He knew that if he did ask, Myra would obey. It would shatter her heart, but she would respect his decision nonetheless. He actually wished that she wouldn't, for once; he wished she would yell at him for it, get angry that he would ask her to do such a thing, but that was not her way, not when it came to herself.

Cat had been right about her after all.

"Aside from Winterfell, King's Landing is the safest place for us to be right now, as twisted as that sounds," Ned replied. He, too, found himself looking to where the sky met the water. If only all his problems could be solved by staring into the distance. "We are in the wrong here, Jory. If I cannot get Robert to help us…"

He did not wish to finish the thought. It was a dark place that he had been to far too many times in his life.

"The king may not be enough," Jory spoke after some time, letting the dark thoughts linger. "There was already a conspiracy here long before we arrived, my lord. This may just set things into motion we aren't aware of."

Now it was Ned's turn to look confused. "What are you suggesting, Jory?"

Jory nodded toward the sea. "There are other ways to the North, my lord. And a ship passing by Dragonstone is no unusual sight."

The pieces began to fall into place, revealing a dangerous ploy. "It would be, given Stannis has closed the island off. No one has heard from him in weeks."

"Surely he can't ignore an order from the Hand of the King."

And why not? He had already ignored have a dozen missives from Ned, begging he return to his Small Council seat. His departure after Jon Arryn died meant only one thing: Stannis knew the answers he searched for, and for a reason he could not fathom, the man refused to give them up.

"A plea, more like," Ned replied, turning away from the sea. "I'll not order him to come where he knows there's danger."

"Not even to help his brother?"

Ned sighed. He knew there was no love lost between the older Baratheons. Stannis was a cold-hearted man to begin with, though not without his virtues. Despite his attitude, he had ever served Robert to the best of his ability, and what had his brother done to repay his kindness? Gifted Storm's End to Renly and left him to rot on Dragonstone. Robert may as well have stabbed Stannis. It would have been less painful.

Still, Stannis Baratheon was a dutiful man. Perhaps all he needed was an extra push.

It wasn't like he had much choice in the matter.

He looked back to his daughter. A small fish they had caught had gotten loose and the little boy had begun to chase it down the beach as it flopped across the sand. Myra giggled at the antics. The sound was a sweet one.

The Others take him. It had not even been a day, and now he was asking her to do the impossible, far from him and anyone else in her family. When all this was over, she may never smile again.

"She'll have to agree," Ned murmured. "I won't lie to her. Not about this."

"She will, my lord."

Yes, she would. Like Stannis Baratheon, she was dutiful to the end, no matter what life threw at them.

Somehow knowing his thoughts, Myra turned in their direction, watching the two men through her windswept hair. She stood then, leaving the boy to his antics as she crossed the beach to meet them; she rubbed her arms as if chilled by the wind, but they all knew that was not the case. Perhaps the whole keep knew now.

It made the decision that much easier.

"Find us a ship, Jory," Ned ordered, dismissing his captain.

Jory nodded, immediately heading for the doorway.

The boy, Ned noted, had disappeared.

Myra watched him leave before closing the remaining distance between them. Despite the…detour she and Jory had taken earlier in the day, they had still arrived on the beach well before he had. She was so focused on her efforts with the boy, Ned had not wanted to bother her.

There were dark circles under her eyes and a pain deeper in her irises, but the life had returned to them, and it was more than he could have asked for.

Before she could speak, he wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead. Though she returned the hug, Myra neither cried nor clung to him. That time had passed. This, she knew, was for him. The last time they had seen one another, she had backed away, and though he knew that it had nothing to do with him, Ned needed the reassurance.

"Will you speak with him?" Myra asked, looking up at him.

Ned could not tell what emotion was running through his daughter's eyes, but it left a knot in his chest nonetheless. "I suppose I must. The Hand cannot ignore his king forever."

Now the concern in her eyes, that he knew. "If I told you I forgive him, will it keep you from doing something foolish?"

"And do you?"

Myra put her head on his shoulder, taking her time as she watched the waves. "No, not now, but perhaps some day, when I've been far away so long I've forgotten what it's like to be here. Maybe then."

He sighed, kissing her forehead one more time. "Come, Myra. We have a lot to discuss."


"I wish you'd just punch me and get it over with."

Robert was standing by the hearth, the warm glow casting strange shadows on his face so late in the evening. His crown sat on his desk, alongside an empty, unused goblet and a half written letter. He'd never known the man to write anything of his own, not in a long time. It was almost surprising he remembered the letters.

Ned might have laughed at that, once.

And now he wasn't sure what to do.

Before he had entered the chambers, Ned had ideas on what to say. Sentences he'd practiced over and over again, an entire speech maybe, meant to shame his friend into utter submission, but the moment he passed the doors, the words were lost to him. As were his emotions. They were too few or too many, but either way, he felt nothing as he looked at Robert.

That included the love he once held for the man.

Perhaps now he was well and truly alone in the world.

"Damn it, Ned, scream, throw a chair or something. You're making me nervous, sitting there all gloomy."

Maybe that was what he intended. Robert preferred active confrontation. Passiveness got under his skin. It was a better punishment.

"And invite your guard to attack me?" Ned spoke, finding his words again. "I think not."

Robert snorted, but said nothing. They fell into silence again, neither moving. Ned could not say how long they had been there. He briefly recalled seeing the sun when he had entered the room, but it had grown dark now. Had it truly only been one day? Surely a lifetime had passed since then.

Ned flexed his fingers, curling them into fists and relaxing them again. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the pin reflecting the fire's light on its golden surface. It felt so much heavier now, as if it might drag him down to the floor and never let him stand again.

He took a breath. "She is my daughter, Robert."

The king sighed. "I know."

"Then why?" Ned asked. He watched his friend stare into the flames for a long time, but received no response. Anger propelled him further into the room. "You attacked my daughter, left her broken and bruised, I will not suffer silence from you."

"And what do you want me to say?!" Robert shouted. This was the kind of conflict he wanted, a shouting match he could always win. "That I take pleasure in beating young women? That the damn girl came at me and I defended myself? I don't have an excuse Ned, and I don't plan on coming up with one!"

Ned stepped closer until he was just out of arm's reach of his king. Any further and he would be tempted to take Robert's advice.

"You thought she was Lyanna, and you assaulted her for it!" Ned continued, raising his voice to match Robert's. He wondered how the kingsguard was still outside the door. "Is that how you would have treated my sister?"

"You damn well know it isn't. I loved Lyanna."

"Aye, but you didn't know her," Ned replied, remembering a girl with dark hair and a spirit so stubborn even Robert could not match it. "All you saw was her beauty and nothing else. She'd have fought you tooth and nail on anything she didn't agree on. And what would you give her, Robert? The back of your hand as you do Cersei Lannister?"

Robert made a choking noise. "If you think that I-"

"We all loved her, Robert!" Ned shouted, cutting him off. The king did not get to win, not this time. "I held her when she was born, and when she died, and I mourned her, but it was seventeen years ago. You have to let her go!"

To that, the king had no reply, but his eyes told much more. Ned could see all the emotion playing in them, various stages of grief, anger, disbelief. One moment he was the man who slew the Last Dragon and in the next he was the one who discovered it was all for naught.

Ned took a deep breath and sighed. He could not hold on to his anger, not even now. The pitiful creature standing before him did not feel worth the effort.

"There's a darkness in me, Ned," Robert said solemnly, his eyes back to the flames. "Maybe you already know that. It taunts me day and night, with his face, with hers. I can't be rid of them."

His friend paused, turning away to look at him again, meeting his eyes with a seriousness Ned had not seen in some time. "I did know Lyanna. Not as well as you, but I knew her. Thought I might tame her I guess. I don't know. Half my youth is drunk and the other half is passed out from being drunk. I'm surprised I remember her face at all.

"But what I do remember…She wouldn't take anything from anyone, bit like your other daughter. But somehow, he got his way with her. Rhaegar Targaryen."

He watched Robert's fists clench. "He took her and he killed her. I know it. We all know it. But some part of me deep down wonders how; some part of me always thought she might have left with him. And why not? He was a pretty boy that made all the girls swoon with his silver hair and stupid harp."

Promise me, Ned.

Closing his eyes, Ned turned away. He was a hypocrite, he knew, daring his friend to let go of a past he had yet to shake himself from. But the situation was different, he told himself, and far more dangerous.

"I thought she was a dream, Ned. Just another damn dream come to make my life miserable once again. I would never…could never…"

"But you did," Ned mumbled, his voice returning.

"But I did," Robert echoed. "And I'll burn in all seven hells for it."

The man sounded almost willing to do so. It was not an apology, not much of one at least, but from what Ned had gathered, Robert had spoken as much to Myra earlier, and it would have to do for now. As much as he wanted to walk away from it all, fate had determined he had other things to see through.

"I suppose I can make Jaime Lannister the Hand," Robert continued, noting his silence. "The man is apparently better than me at any rate. Cersei'll be unbearable now, not that she wasn't before."

"There's no need," Ned replied, glancing over his shoulder. "I'm staying."

Robert blinked. "What sort of damned fool are you, Stark?"

"The desperate kind," he said with a sigh, moving to sit in a chair by the hearth. "My wife was here, Robert, in secret, not very long ago. She brought a dagger with her, one used in the attempted murder of our son, Bran. We were…informed that the dagger belonged to Lord Tyrion. She has since encountered him on the road and taken him prisoner."

He knew Robert was surprised when he was silent for a full minute. The man slowly sank into the chair next to him, an utterly blank look on his face as he processed all that had been provided to him.

"Seven fucking hells, Ned."

That seemed an appropriate reaction.

"Ser Jaime does not know yet, nor should he."

"And how do you propose we keep him in the dark? This damn place is so full of holes, it's a wonder the thing still stands," Robert replied, his eyes lighting as the idea dawned on him. "Surely, you're not asking me to lock up a man who we both somehow owe because your family wrongfully took his brother prisoner."

Ned was too ashamed to reply.

Robert sighed, eying his goblet in the distance. "Where'd she take him?"

"Somewhere near the crossroads, or so I'm told."

"She'll take the Imp to the Eyrie, the Others take it," Robert mumbled, standing again. "The instant Tywin Lannister gets word his son's a prisoner, he'll burn half the country down just to make a point, and I can't say I blame him."

"If Lord Tywin is reminded that his other son is here…"

"I'm not making the man my prisoner!" Robert shouted, rubbing his head. "I'll keep him from killing you, but that's all I promise. Besides, his father'll see it as an act of war. He'll burn King's Landing down before letting us use his son against him, or do you not remember the last time a king tried that?"

Ned felt like a fool. It was a rare thing, Robert being the diplomatic one. Usually he wanted to charge in headfirst without pausing to think of the consequences. And these words he himself spoke? They hardly sounded like him at all. This had been a long day for everyone it seemed.

Again, Robert sank in the chair, pointing a finger at him. "Write a letter, send a rider, I don't care what you do. Get ahead of this, Ned."

They had both dug their graves. Now it was time to lie in them.


Any errors you find, feel free to point them out. I am ridiculously tired right now and the grammar switch may have shut off a long time ago.

Thanks for reading!