Chapter VI
King's Landing
Isildur slammed the doors of his solar shut behind him, and let out a low, wordless noise of frustration. Frustration with the King, with the Queen, with the Small Council, with the King's court, with the whole of King's Landing. He crossed the sun-bathed room and poured himself a glass of iced water from a pitcher beaded with perspiration, and then he sunk gratefully into his chair, wiped sweat from his brow and drank deeply of the cold, refreshing water. Not for the first time, he found himself yearning for home, for the clear air and cool mornings of Ithilien, and a good summer snow. Mostly he yearned to be done with King's Landing and all the people within it.
The smallfolk often said that the late summer was the hottest part of all, and he believed them. The sun beat down mercilessly on the city, and a heavy, moist heat lay upon King's Landing like a stifling blanket. The days were scorching and the nights humid and sweltering. Many of the city's commoners had taken to sleeping by the riverbank at night, where the only cool air could be found. Some of the commoners even said that this recent heat wave was being stirred up by Isildur himself or "that Gondor sorcerer" as they called him.
It had been a month since Isildur had arrived in the city to become the Hand of the King. A month and he had not achieved nearly as much as he wanted. Despite all the best of intentions and efforts, Isildur could tell that his position in court was tenuous. He was no fool, he could see how the nobles of the court looked at him, and hear how the servants whispered behind his back when he passed. Every lord and lady of the court seemed to suspect some Numenorean plot to usurp the throne or bring this disaster or that misfortune upon this house or that house. The servants, on the other hand, seemed to fear him. They whispered that he could curse a man to a lifetime of suffering just by looking at him, and that he communed with dark powers late in the night. The Faith had a different reaction to Isildur's presence and on every street corner there seemed to be half-mad holy men and self-proclaimed prophets. They preached that Isildur planned to destroy the Great Sept of Baelor and erect a temple to the One God, driving out the many gods old and new, and extolling the faithful to not stand for the presence of this 'heathen' in their presence. Of course he planned no such thing, but it made no difference as far as the common folk were concerned. It seemed like every living soul in King's Landing feared him or suspected him of treason, heresy or both. It was not how Isildur had imagined the smallfolk reacting to his appointment.
The King's council was no better. Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws, was all jokes and easy smiles, much as Robert had been at that age, friendly enough outwardly, but of no serious value in any debate within the council. Stannis Baratheon, Robert's other brother, had disappeared to Dragonstone shortly after Jon Arryn's death, and despite dispatching several ravens to summon him, Isildur had heard of nothing from why he had left or when he would return. He was sorely missed; despite his cold, unfriendly nature he had always respected Stannis' staunch sense of duty. Pycelle was a simpering sycophant, who blustered and droned on about nothing in his old age, and Isildur was almost certain he was someone's puppet. Like Renly, Littlefinger was all smiles and jests, but there was something sharper about him, his humour was barbed, and Isildur disliked the private little smile Baelish always had, and how he looked at everything as if he knew some private little joke that no one else was privy to. Varys the Spider was little better, a plump and powdered eunuch, speaking in soft, silky, deferential tones, appearing disarmingly effeminate and squeamish, yet he had no doubt that Varys had eyes and ears everywhere, and that at least some of them were following Isildur himself.
Even Robert himself was a part of Isildur's frustrations. He had ordering the creation of a King's Host, "to keep the scum in line" as he put it, and yet thought nothing of the great expense of building and maintaining an army of ten thousand trained fighting men. Robert loved feasts, festivals and the hunt. To Isildur's dismay, he had even ordered a tournament to be held in honour of his appointment as Hand of the King. They had quarreled long and loud when Isildur told him that he could have his host or his merrymaking, but he could not have both. They had filled the halls of the Red Keep with the sounds of arguments and shouting over that little disagreement.
At least I talked the fool into postponing the damned tournament by a fortnight Isildur thought wearily, rubbing his brow. I wish I had Ned's job. Why could not he be Robert's Hand? Is he not Robert's best friend and closest companion?
There was a knock at the door, and the voice of Ohtar came through the heavy oak timbers:
"My lord, Lord Varys wishes an audience"
Isildur inwardly groaned. He had hoped to escape the council for the rest of the day at least.
"Very well Ohtar" he called.
Ohtar opened the door and Varys the Spider glided into Isildur's solar silently, hands folded within the large, drooping sleeves of his colourful, garish robes, a small half-smile on his plump face. Ohtar watched Varys closely with hard eyes and his hand on the hilt of his sword, and then closed the door behind him. Varys turned to face Isildur, and then bowed with a courtly flourish.
"My Lord Hand" Varys said in his simpering, soft voice.
"What do you want Varys?" Isildur demanded "I did not summon you".
Varys' half-smile remained plastered on his face.
"I admire your candour my lord. May I sit?" Varys said. Isildur nodded, and the eunuch sat down in a chair across the desk from him, gathering up his silks and robes as he did.
"Now, Master of Whisperers, what are you here for?" Isildur demanded.
"To serve the good of the Realm, my Lord Hand, just as you are. There are things you must know and things I must tell you" Varys said. Isildur scoffed.
"I've been in this viper's nest a month now and heard nothing from you outside of council meetings. You are rather tardy about your duties, Lord Varys" he remarked drily.
"Alas, you must forgive me my lord, but think on all you know about me, and then try to imagine all that I know about you. It is not easy for a spider to trust" Varys said silkily.
"They say you know everything Varys" Isildur replied.
"Oh I have heard many a song from many a bird, however you are rather a difficult subject my Lord Isildur" Varys said with a nervous chuckle. "I know what you look like, a very tall man somewhere in his thirties I would estimate, yet I know that you are a great deal older than that. I know you landed here some thirty years after Aegon. If I might pry for an anecdote my Lord, what was old Aegon the Conqueror truly like? I've always wondered"
"Avaricious, solitary, obsessed with his own legacy, talked too much" Isildur answered. It was no exaggeration, although the first Tar-Aegon had been generous enough to the Numenoreans after they had sworn fealty, he had not left a favourable impression on Isildur or his father and brother. People called him "Aegon the Dragon", and indeed he was much like a dragon: Arrogant, ruthless and full of greed.
"I suppose one must forgive a tedious speaker when his words are backed by dragonfire" Varys said.
"Quite. Now what do you need to tell me Varys?" Isildur pressed. Varys' smile faded and his tone and face grew suddenly serious.
"Very well my Lord, if you wish to go straight to business, so be it. You are being-"
"Watched, I know. If that's all you have Varys, I'm unimpressed Spider" Isildur said. Varys smirked.
"Why, my Lord, one would almost guess that you have played this game before" the Spider said.
"More than you know, Lord Varys. Aren't you supposed to know everything?" Isildur replied.
"Oh my lord, they say I know everything but I am merely a humble servant. Do you know who is having you watched?" Varys asked
"You, the Queen, and most likely Baelish as well I would guess" answered Isildur.
"Well done my lord. You know, it was I who suggested to His Grace that you might make a better Hand than dear old Ned, and you have not disappointed me. Ned Stark is too much of an honourable man to see what goes on in the shadows of a king's court, but you, my lord, you have walked in those shadows before, you know how this game is played" Varys said with a small, enigmatic smile.
Crafty devil. I will need to be more careful with him. Isildur thought. Slowly, his face betraying nothing, he began to bend his will towards Varys' mind, his eyes as hard and grey as a sword blade as they bored into the man before him, Isildur's gaze steady and unyielding. There were secrets there, and Isildur could see the Spider spinning webs within webs. It could take him hours of searching to untangle it all, but even a cursory glance revealed to him that Varys knew much about his people and their history.
"Ned would have been a good Hand, he is a good man" Isildur said, breaking away from his brief search.
"Perhaps, but you are the King's Hand my lord, and the King faces death, unless you can save him. It has been a close run thing; you scotched the snake but did not kill it when you had the tourney postponed. They had planned to kill him then, but so far he has escaped the doom prepared for him" Varys said, his tone deathly serious.
"Kill him? How?" Isildur asked.
"In the same way as they killed Jon Arryn. The tears of Lys they call them, a most insidious poison, it is clear, odourless and tasteless, it leaves no trace, but death is certain. At a tourney feast, with Robert drinking everything he can get his hands on… You know what they planned to do my lord, you can see how easy it would be. Like Jon Arryn, Robert refuses to use a taster" Varys replied.
"Jon Arryn? Maester Pycelle told me he died of a sickness, though I have suspected that Pycelle is somebody's pet. He was a good man, he gave the realm good years, who could poison him?" Isildur said, rubbing furrowed brows wearily. He knew that King's Landing was a pit of intrigue and plots, but he had never expected anything like this.
"Oh there were many, you know as well as I that Lord Arryn was a kind and trusting man. There is one, a boy who owed all he had to Jon Arryn. His squire, now a knight, Ser Hugh of the Vale. Of course, with the tournament postponed, he may have left the capital by now" said Varys.
"But why? Why poison Jon Arryn? Why poison Robert?"
"Why does anyone poison a king? With Robert dead, the throne will pass to Joffrey, but he is still young, he would need a regent"
"And the city is already filled with Lannisters" Isildur said, as if seeing the pieces of a puzzle assemble themselves before him. Varys nodded.
"And Jon Arryn?" Isildur asked.
"Before he died, Lord Arryn was beginning to ask questions, I'm afraid even I know little more than that. Alas, my lord, I must cut this visit short. We wouldn't want the Queen to think you and I were on friendly terms, that would alarm her, and Her Grace has such a bad habit of doing foolish things when alarmed" Varys said with his small, mysterious smile. He arose, and bowed again, before heading to the door.
"Varys" Isildur said as the Spider opened the door to the hallway.
"Yes my lord?" Varys replied, turning back.
"Can I trust you?"
"My lord, you can trust me only to be untrustworthy. It is the ones who try to make you trust them that you must beware" the Spider said, and then turned in a swish of silks and was gone.
"Cirion! Ohtar!" Isildur called into the hallway through the open door. Immediately his squire and his housecarl came swiftly into Isildur's solar. Despite the heat, they were both dressed in mail hauberks of black steel rings, the coifs pulled back off their heads, with long black surcoats bearing the tree, stars and crescent moon that was Isildur's sigil, swords and daggers at their hips. Ohtar was scratching at one of his old battle scars, as was his habit.
"Close the door" Isildur commanded. Cirion shut the heavy oak door behind him. Isildur rose from the desk, and walked over to his balcony, where the curtains had been flung open to let in as much of the breeze as possible. Looking outside, his keen eyes spotted what he was looking for: Upon the battlements of the curtain wall, across the courtyard from the Tower of the Hand, a red-cloaked Lannister guard was staring intently at balcony of Isildur's solar. Grimacing, he quickly closed the curtains, not wanting to be observed any more than he already had been. He turned back to Cirion and Ohtar and leaned down against his desk.
"It seems our duties here might be a little bit more complicated that I first presumed" Isildur said.
"Like in the old days my lord?" Cirion asked.
"Aye Cirion, like in the old days" Isildur answered. Ohtar and Cirion nodded grimly.
"But it will be different this time. The players of this game are different. Our enemy is not the Deceiver, merely men. There may be some plot here to usurp the Crown and I intend to find the truth behind this. Ohtar, I have need of you. There is a knight, Ser Hugh of the Vale of Arryn, former squire to Jon Arryn. He may have left already with the tournament postponed, but find him for me if he hasn't and quietly inform him that I would like a word with him"
"Aye my lord" Ohtar said with a nod, and then turned to leave.
"Ohtar" Isildur said before his squire could go. He smiled a little. "Perhaps put on some different clothes before you go speak to Ser Hugh"
"My lord, we are Dunedain, and the only Dunedain in the city, we'll be noticed wherever we go, but as you wish." Ohtar said with a chuckle.
"Do not hurt him if he refuses, Ohtar" Isildur said as the squire left.
"Yes my lord" Ohtar replied with a slight grin, and then he left, walking swiftly away, and closing the door behind him.
"What does my lord command?" Cirion asked.
"I need the men to be on the watch for anyone with eyes on us or on this tower. I want to know who are the informants and the spies in this castle, or at least who are the ones watching us. Instruct each watch to keep their eyes open for anyone who might be spending a suspicious amount of time around the tower, but keep it quiet, don't let anyone know you're watching." Isildur explained.
"As you wish my lord" said Cirion, then he saluted and quickly left the solar.
Isildur picked up his cup of water and drained it, drinking deeply. He turned around and crossed the room to the balcony once more, and flung open the curtains. The guardsman that had been watching had moved away now. A merciful breeze cooled the sweat on Isildur's forehead as he leaned against the railing of his balcony and looked out upon the city. The sun was beginning to set, a brilliant ball of red on the horizon that cast long shadows throughout the the castle. Down in the yard beneath him, men in the crimson cloaks of the Lannisters were finishing up their day's training with swords and axes, filling the yard with shouts and the clash of steel on steel. Amongst the redcloaks, Isildur spotted the tall, broad shape of the Hound, and several younger lads in the white and brown garb of the Squireguard.
Isildur looked up from the yard and stared out at the glittering, distant Blackwater Rush, and the sea beyond it. It had been fifteen years since the last time he set foot in King's Landing, but longer, much longer, since he had last played this kind of a game. And the last time, we lost our home in the end he thought grimly. It was home, in Numenor, in the court of King Ar-Pharazon where Isildur had learned the game from his father and grandfather. He had learned to move unseen, to say little and give away nothing when he did, to watch and perceive men's intentions, to observe the relationships between men of power. He had been young then, so young; he was barely come to manhood in those days. The King's Men were everywhere, and the Faithful were few and persecuted, and ever the foul temple that the Enemy had erected to Morgoth smoked with sacrificial fires and echoed with the screams of the condemned. Those had been dark days, when the King's ear was held by the creature who called himself Mairon the Admirable, but whom Isildur knew as Sauron the Deceiver.
This place is not Armenelos, and my foes here are not Sauron or the King's Men, this time we shall have the mastery Isildur mused, sweeping his gaze out across the expansive view of King's Landing. It was a strange feeling for a man at times, to be a Dúnadan. It had been over two centuries ago when Isildur and his kin had first set foot in King's Landing, in the thirtieth year after Aegon's Landing by the Westerosi reckoning. It had been a far smaller city in those days, a few thousand houses and other buildings sitting close by the river, with muddy dirt streets, and the Red Keep still an unfinished heap of stone on Aegon's Hill. Isildur could never forget the hour he spent with his father and brother in Aegon's hall, telling the tale of how their people had come to wash up on the shores of Westeros under the steady, unflinching gaze of Aegon the Dragon. Isildur had been sure that Aegon would laugh at them and cast them out, but instead he had given them titles and lands to settle in the north, and asked only that they bend the knee and swear fealty to him in return. With three great wyrms at Aegon's command, they had to bend the knee or risk their people's destruction. It would be nearly another hundred years before Isildur would see King's Landing again, after the Dance of the Dragons, to crown Rhaenyra Ruling Queen of the Eight Kingdoms. And again, it would be many lives of men before he came to the capital again, when it was a smoking ruin after the Lannisters had sacked it and thrown down the Mad King. He could not have guessed when he first set foot in King's Landing all those years ago that he would someday be Hand of the King in this city. The years come and go, and every time I return King's Landing grows larger and busier, but it always has the same stench Isildur thought with a chuckle.
Isildur awoke the next day to the sounds of the bells from the Great Sept of Baelor ringing out, greeting sunrise and calling the faithful to morning prayers. He had grown used to that sound already in the month he had been in King's Landing: A long, loud, tolling noise that could be heard from every part of King's Landing. There was something oddly reassuring about the sound of the sept bells, rung out regularly at sunrise, the noon and sunset.
He arose from bed and, still dressed in his smallclothes, walked over to the copper basin of warm water the servants had laid out for him. He immersed his head and face in the water, splashing it all over his neck and back as he did. Then, soaking a towel in the water, he set to washing the rest of his body before dressing himself. Unlike the fashionable members of the court with their ornate, heavily decorated doublets and hose, Isildur preferred the simpler clothing of his people: Plain linen tunic, trousers, black boots, and a long black surcoat with the white tree embroidered on his chest, belted around the waist with Narsil at his side.
After lightly breaking his fast, he left his chambers. Two of Isildur's housecarls, Huor and Belegorn, fell into step behind him when he left, mail hauberks clinking as they did. They followed him out of the tower of the Hand. The yard was empty except for a few of the young squires going through their morning drills. Above them the great hall loomed, and its heavy doors were flung open by footmen at Isildur's approach. A knight in the white and red armour of the Redguard glowered at Isildur and his housecarls as they passed into the hall.
The great hall of the Red Keep was a vast chamber; with space enough for a thousand men and to spare. Hefty stone columns lined the long hall, with floral designs in the shape of vines crawling up around them in bronze. Once the great black skulls of Targaryen dragons had lined the hall, giving it a sinister air, but now in the place of the skulls there hung bright woven tapestries showing scenes of hunting and nature. Isildur did miss one of the skulls: That of the beast that his father had slain, which Queen Rhaenyra had covered with the banner of Gondor in the hall in honour of his father's feat. The Mad King had torn it down and had it burned when Gondor refused his call to arms.
At the far end of the hall, raised up upon a high platform, was the throne itself. The Iron Throne, Seat of Kings. It was a twisted and misshapen beast of a throne, jagged and treacherous, fanged with barbs and spikes of steel. The fires of the old wyrm Balerion had forged it, melted down from the thousand swords of Aegon's enemies. It sat upon its platform sullenly, hunched and brooding, a dark mass of blackened steel amongst the golden light of the hall.
Isildur walked past the throne to the door at the back of the great hall, the staring eyes of another Redguard following him and his housecarls all the way. Within the council chamber, he found the King's small council already assembled and waiting for him.
All around the meeting table, the men who ruled in King Robert Baratheon's name sat. The eternally bemused half-smiles plastered on the faces of Varys and Baelish made Isildur yearn to throttle both of them. Renly Baratheon looked fashionable in a doublet of rich green decorated with small gold studs in the shape of stag's heads. The Grand Maester Pycelle was almost ready to doze off, his eyes heavily lidded. Isildur saw that both Ned and Aratan had joined the council today. He smiled slightly to see that Ned looked as impatient and distasteful amongst all these courtiers as Isildur felt.
"My lords" Isildur began, sitting at the end of the table on the right hand of one empty chair, that of King Robert. "What have you for me today?"
"Your tournament grows nearer my Lord Hand, I think it best we start making our plans" Baelish said.
"The tournament, Lord Baelish. It is certainly not mine by choice or design. What does the King desire?" Isildur replied.
"What any man desires: To eat, drink, fuck and be merry" Littlefinger quipped. Renly chuckled. Isildur exchanged a glance with Ned; He disliked a king's own council laughing at the king behind his back.
"His Grace wishes a tournament of four days, with a joust, a melee, and an archery competition, and a great winner's purse for each event" Lord Varys said, handing Isildur a piece of paper where the scribes had recorded all the details. Isildur's eyes widened as he scanned over the plans.
"Fifty thousand gold dragons for the champion of the joust? And another forty thousand for the champion of the melee?" Isildur said, aghast.
"I expect I shall have to borrow from Lord Lannister, but no matter, at least he doesn't haggle like an old fishwife like the High Septon" Baelish said. Isildur rubbed his brow.
"We will make the prize thirty thousand for the winner of the joust, twenty thousand for the winner of the melee and ten thousand for the winning archer" he said.
"How frugal, a tourney for cheap" remarked Baelish sardonically.
"Were we being frugal, Lord Baelish, there would be no tourney at all" Isildur replied sternly.
"My Lord, the realm prospers on such events" Varys said smoothly "They give the great a chance for glory and the lowly a respite from their woes"
"The tournament will put money in many purses Lord Varys, I have no doubt, but it will put little enough back in our own coffers. Perhaps we ought to introduce a tax on brothels?" Isildur said with a pointed look at Baelish.
"Now you're beginning to sound like Stannis Baratheon, my lord" said the Master of Coin with a smirk.
"Stannis wouldn't tax the whorehouses, he'd burn them down" said Renly.
"You're Master of Coin Lord Baelish, I care not what you do, but find some way to put some silver in our treasury out of this" Isildur said. Baelish will find a way, he is clever. He is dangerous though, he knows all too well his own cunning
"Shall we move on? Lord Stark, what progress have you to report?" Isildur continued, nodding to Ned. Eddard straightened up in his chair and began to speak, addressing the whole Council.
"We've established a camp outside of the city, about half a day's ride away. We plan to pay the men according to their skill. It will work out to fifteen silver stags a month for a common man, ten gold dragons a month for a trained archer and fifty gold dragons for a sergeant. I have commissioned several workshops on the Street of Steel to provide pikes, crossbows, gambesons, helmets, whilst the Dunedain sergeants that Lord Isildur provided drill the men with the basics of soldiering. I reckon that we can maintain ten thousand fighting men, trained with pike, short sword and crossbow"
"Not much of an army for the King of Eight Kingdoms is it Lord Marshal?" Renly remarked.
"It is peacetime army. If the realm is invaded, those ten thousand trained men can train thousands of others at need, and the armies of the lords and their bannermen will support the King's Host." Aratan explained. He did not add "Or else the Host will come down on their heads", but the implication was heavy in his words.
"What will be the burden on the Treasury I wonder?" Pycelle said ponderously.
"With only ten thousand, it shall not be too heavy an addition to our expenses to pay the silver for most of the men. The gold… Well I'm sure our good Lord Hand will solve that soon" Baelish replied, jotting a note on his account book. There was a gleam of something in his eyes that Isildur disliked.
"You have only mentioned foot? What will the Host do for horse I wonder?" Renly asked.
"There are knights and freeriders a plenty in the kingdoms. We thought it prudent to keep the Host on foot to save the Crown from the expense of warhorses. And we shall recruit the captains and other officers from amongst the knights and nobles of the realm" Aratan explained. There were nods of agreement from around the table.
"Whilst we are on the topic of the Treasury, a group of merchant captains have come forward to me with this" Baelish said, sliding a large piece of parchment across the table to Isildur. Isildur examined it with a close eye; it was covered with the names and signatures of many notable merchants in King's Landing, and their seals along the bottom.
"It is a petition; these merchants seek royal permission to sail to the far east in search of new trade routes, to Qarth or beyond. They would like an escort of warships from the royal fleet; in exchange they offer us a cut of all their profits from their voyage. This venture may well help us pay off our considerable debts" the Master of Coin explained. Though his face was smiling, his gray-green eyes did not.
"Yes, I shall bring it before Robert to deal with in court" Isildur replied "We must also bring Lord Stannis back to King's Landing, for he is Master of Ships and must have a say in this matter"
"Alas my Lord Hand, there has been no raven from Dragonstone, no word, nothing" Pycelle said, folding his hands beneath his long beard.
"Hmm, and Lord Varys? What know you of Stannis' self-imposed exile in Dragonstone?" asked Isildur.
"I fear that none of my little birds have brought me any songs out of that dreadful island" Varys replied apologetically. "However, I have heard some most dreadful songs from here in the capital itself. It would seem that some of our smallfolk take offense to your faith Lord Isildur, they are worried that you do not hold with the old gods or the new"
"You're losing your edge Varys, everyone knows that." Renly said with a smirk.
"I do not hide the fact that I do not hold with the Seven or the olds gods" Isildur said, narrowing his eyes.
"Nor I" Aratan added.
"We have all heard the dreadful things they say against you in the streets my Lord Hand" said Varys "But I fear that there may be whispers against you in the Faith itself, even amongst the Most Devout. To whisper against the King's Hand is to whisper against the King himself and his council"
"We might turn the people in our favour if you were to attend prayers in the Sept of Baelor" Renly suggested.
There was silence around the table. Isildur stared at him with hard grey eyes. Renly recoiled slightly.
"That I cannot and will not do, and you would do well to remember it Lord Renly" Isildur said slowly.
"A poor jest my lord Hand" Renly laughed with a shrug
"It is not much to worry about I deem, the Faith Militant has been gone for centuries" said the Grand Maester.
"I remember. Still their influence is considerable. Bring me the names of those who speak against the Crown, I must consider this matter further" Isildur replied.
The morning's meetings wore on until the bells of Baelor rang out midday. There were plans to be made for the tournament, for the provisioning of the Host, preparations to be lain out for the next winter, for the next harvest, for the next feast, financial arrangements to be made in regards to the Crown's considerable debts, diplomatic and trade relations with the Free Cities to be considered. Isildur felt like a gardener tending to a garden that grew uncontrollably whenever he turned his back, no matter how much he pruned it. Though many of the issues were similar to what he faced at home as Lord of Ithilien, they were on a different scale entirely, problems of eight kingdoms, not of one highland fief.
"That will be all for today my lords" Isildur said, leaning back in his chair when the bells began to ring. There was a scraping of chair legs on stone floor, and the small council rose as one to depart, each bowing to Isildur before they left. Eddard and Aratan were the last to rise.
"Ah, Aratan, Ned, pray would you two join me for luncheon? I wish for some company today" Isildur said, smiling towards them. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched Baelish leave the room and Belegorn close the door to the council chamber behind him. Isildur's smile fell and his face grew serious.
"There are things we must discuss, the King may face death and I will need both of you" said Isildur. Both Aratan and Ned's eyes widened in shock at the sudden change.
"What? What doom?" said Ned, brows furrowed.
"What need of us?" said Aratan urgently.
"Not here" Isildur hissed in a low voice "Too many listening, too many watching. Meet me in" he paused to think of the place in the castle where they would least be expected to be. "The royal sept, tonight, while the rest of the castle sleeps. And ensure you are not followed"
"But what is this threat?" Ned pressed.
"We cannot speak of it here. I shall tell you all I know tonight. Now go, and speak of this to no one"
Eddard's reservations about this whole situation were clear, but still he and Aratan rose and agreed to meet Isildur in the sept at midnight, then they turned and left the council chamber.
When Isildur arrived back at the Tower of the Hand, he found Ohtar leaning against the wall next to the door, his scarred face creased by a small grin of self-satisfaction.
"I found Ser Hugh my lord, he waits in your solar" Ohtar said at Isildur's questioning look. The squire fell into step with Huor and Belegorn behind Isildur as they passed back into the tower.
"Well done Ohtar, where did you find him?" Isildur asked, ascending the stairs towards his solar. Ohtar chuckled.
"We asked his innkeeper where he was, and we were told he was last seen heading towards the Street of Silk. Found him there arguing with a, uh, young lady that his knighthood deserves a discount"
Isildur quirked an eyebrow.
"Westerosi, all the same" he sighed.
Within his solar, Isildur found Ser Hugh sitting in the chair by his desk, waiting for him. Hugh was a young man, with a narrow face and a large nose, dull blue eyes and a mop of blond hair atop his head. On his chest he wore a surcoat of sky blue with a white crescent moon as his sigil. The new knight arose when Isildur stepped into the room.
"My Lord Hand" Hugh said curtly.
"Ser Hugh is it not? I do not believe we have been introduced?" Isildur said, extending a hand courteously. Hugh did not take it.
"What is the meaning of this summons my lord?" said Ser Hugh, almost demandingly.
"I had thought we might discuss your former master, Lord Arryn and his recent death" Isildur said, walking around the desk and settling into his chair. Ser Hugh sat back down across from him, face slightly paled.
"What would you like to know?" Ser Hugh asked, only the barest hint of a quiver in his voice.
"I am curious: How did Lord Arryn take sick?" Isildur said.
"I don't know my lord" said Hugh, a little too quickly "He was a very old man"
"Old by the reckoning of your people, yet he had always been hale and sound, until this sickness took him. Do you not think that such a thing would raise suspicion?" replied Isildur.
"I do not my lord" Ser Hugh answered stiffly "He was old, he took sick, and he died"
"The Hand of the King? Died suddenly? Can you not think of any reason that someone might wish him gone? And you were his squire, very close to him as a squire is" Isildur said. Hugh bristled in his chair.
"Is my lord suggesting that I-"
"I suggest nothing, are you confessing?" Isildur cut him off.
"I am a knight, I will not stand to have my honour insulted like this. I had nothing to do with Lord Arryn's death, and if any say otherwise than I will meet my accusers with steel in hand and let the gods show the truth of it" Ser Hugh snarled. Isildur did not even need to look into his mind, he could see that this young man had all the foolish arrogance of a new-made knight, yet there was no lie in Hugh's eye.
"As you say Ser Hugh. Still, you must agree that the whole thing seems strange does it not?" replied Isildur. The anger passed from Ser Hugh's face, replaced by a look of slight worry.
"I confess my lord, yes I have found it all quite unusual and very sudden" Hugh said.
"Perhaps you might help me look into this matter, you were Lord Arryn's squire, you must have known much of his comings and goings" Isildur said.
"Aye my lord, but I fear I know only little, I was only his squire and Lord Arryn did not confide in me." Hugh said apologetically.
"What can you tell me Ser Hugh?" asked Isildur.
"Before he took ill, Lord Arryn was spending much time with Lord Stannis, out in the city, or taking long rides in the kingswood" said Ser Hugh
"What did they talk about?" Isildur inquired, furrowing his brows.
"Alas I do not know my lord, they rode alone and spoke in private for the most part" explained Hugh with a grimace. "I cannot help you much more than that"
"Very well Ser knight, you may go and be about your business, but stay in the city at least until after the tourney, I may have more questions for you" said Isildur.
Ser Hugh thanked Isildur, and then stood and took his leave with a stiff bow. Isildur sat at his desk for a moment, hands clasped in front of his face, elbows resting on the table. Quickly he decided what he must do. The tall Numenorean lord stood and crossed the room quickly, shutting the door and then locking it. He pulled the curtains close across each window in the room, casting his solar into a shaded half-light, and then he unlocked a chest along the wall and opened it.
At the bottom of his chest he found what he was looking for, a round, hard object wrapped up in soft black cloth. Gently he picked it up, the heavy, round weight of it filling both his hands. Sitting back down at his table, he unwrapped the cloth. Beneath it sat the most prized of all his possessions in King's Landing, a marvel of the Elder Days: A palantir, a Seeing Stone.
The palantir was perfectly round, wrought of solid dark glass or perhaps a black crystal, Isildur knew not. A pale light glimmered faintly and distantly within its depths. Isildur set his hands on either side of the palantir and stared into it. The light in his solar dimmed and he felt himself drawn deeper and deeper into the darkness of the palantir, until all he could see was the blackness of the Seeing Stone and the distant white light within.
He was looking down upon King's Landing, soaring above it like an eagle, yet he felt neither wind nor breeze. Beneath him, the city was spread out upon its three hills, the Red Keep looming above it all. He knew that within his solar in the tower of the Hand, his body remained whilst his eye and his mind had entered into the palantir. He was high in the air, the land spread out beneath him like a map upon a table, and he turned north towards where he felt the presence of the other Seeing Stones. In an instant he felt the one he was searching for and started towards it, flying across the land at impossible speeds, hundreds of leagues passing by in minutes. He turned his gaze westward as he flew and saw Casterly Rock, fortress of the Lannisters, high, strong, never broken, a bastion of might and power . He turned eastwards and saw the Mountains of the Moon, teeming with mountain clansmen who appeared as tiny as ants from high in the air. In another moment, beneath him flew the Neck, which had been such a slow, miserable part of his southward journey, now flying past in an instant. There was a swash of wine-dark sea beneath him as he passed over Blazewater Bay, and then Gondor lay beneath him. He passed over his home, Minas Ithil, sitting upon the river Sirhun in Ithilien, its high citadel as pale and white as the moon. He felt a pang of longing within him, but he could not linger. He flew on, north and west, across the highlands and the moors, and then he saw it: Annuminas lay beneath him, the great ships in its havens appearing as tiny as a child's toy boats. For a moment he looked down upon Annuminas, feeling the tug of the Seeing Stone in the citadel. Isildur looked out to the north, the gaze of his palantir showing him things far beyond the reach of even a Numenorean eye. He saw the Wolfwood, dark and green and wild. He saw the Wall, a sheer cliff of ice that shielded the realm.
He bent his will towards beyond the lands beyond the Wall, but he could not see. All there was that he could see beyond the Wall was a shroud of darkness and shadow, and staring into its impenetrable depths Isildur felt a sudden dread creep up within himself, like a cold hand closing around his heart.
He turned back towards Annuminas and focused his mind on the feeling of the Stone he had come to make contact with. He felt its insistent pull upon him and allowed himself to be drawn towards the chamber of the Stone in the heart of the citadel of Annuminas. He soared down, through the clouds, through the streets, passing through the solid stones of the wall as if they were air, and as he drew nearer to his destination, blackness took him and Isildur saw no more.
When he regained his vision, he was looking up at a vast, domed ceiling, painted blue, dark as the night sky. The ceiling was studded with gems and precious stones made to resemble the stars, and these stars glinted and glimmered in the sunlight that lit up the chamber from tall windows set in the walls and the ceiling. Isildur knew himself to be seeing the room from the palantir that sat upon a stone platform in the centre of the chamber. He looked around, searching for the guardsman that was meant to be keeping a watch upon the Seeing Stone.
Dressed in the livery of Gondor, a young Dúnadan stood close by the door to the hall, a look of wonder upon his face. He must not have seen the Seeing Stone called upon before Isildur thought.
"It is I, Isildur. Send word to my lord father, I wish to speak with him" Isildur said, his strong voice carrying through the palantir as clearly as if he was standing there himself.
"Aye my lord" said the guardsman, and he saluted and quickly walked out of the room.
When Elendil arrived, he swept into the chamber, his sky-blue robes billowing out behind him. Elendil closed the door behind him, with a nod to the guard standing outside.
"My son, what news do you bring? I know you would not call upon me through the Seeing Stone to merely visit" Elendil said, setting a hand upon the palantir to look upon his son's face so far away in King's Landing.
"Grave news from the capital, father. I cannot speak for long, so I must be quick: I fear that there is a plot upon the King's life" replied Isildur.
"What? By whom? How did you come to know this?" Elendil asked. His brows were furrowed, yet his tone was not one of shock.
"Lord Varys has confided his suspicions" Isildur said.
"You should not place your trust in a spider Isildur, you are wiser than that"
"I am not putting my trust in him, but knowledge is his trade and if he suspects something it would be wise to investigate it ourselves. There is much jealousy and many schemes and plots here in the court of Tar-Robert, one even may wish to throw down the King himself and usurp the Crown"
Elendil sighed, rubbing his brows wearily.
"Ever has King's Landing been a hole full of rats, much as even the court of Numenor became. Whom do you suspect?" he said.
"I believe it may have something to do with the death of Jon Arryn. Lord Varys believes it has a Lannister plot, and indeed it could be. The capital is full of Lannisters and men sworn to them" answered Isildur.
"If the Queen's own kin are plotting treason, you must go to the King with this suspicion" said Elendil.
"I cannot do that father. Robert considers me a friend, to accuse his own wife and her family of treason without proof? Our people are distrusted enough as it is" Isildur replied.
"It matters not if they distrust us, it is your duty. You must go to King." said Elendil automatically.
"Yet if they distrust us, how can I do my duty? I cannot go to the King unless I can prove my suspicions father, surely you know that"
"Your word should more than suffice. The King may find the truth of it himself, with your aid"
"Robert has many virtues father, but subtlety is not one of them. No, I must do this myself before I bring it to him" Isildur insisted. Elendil's eyes flashed for a moment, and Isildur knew he had erred. His father was not used to being disagreed with by his sons.
"Let us not bicker now, there are other things we must discuss, for if House Lannister plots to overthrow the King, who else but us may stand before the might of Casterly Rock? Few enough houses can match the hosts of the Westerlands on the field, and if Lord Tywin aspires to place his house on the throne, many may join him." said Isildur.
"You need not worry yourself my son" Elendil replied with a grim smile "The eyes of the White Tower see much more than the Lannisters may suspect. If Lord Tywin marches, we shall know."
"Good, that is good. How goes Anarion's preparations?" Isildur said. A shadow passed over Elendil's face.
"He has been diligent, but your brother is discontent. He feels that we should command the Andals, for he tells me that surely we are stronger and wiser and more just than they, rather than stand beside them when the day comes and the Enemy is upon us" said Elendil wearily. Isildur sighed.
"Ever have our people been plagued by such thoughts. There are times when I feel that it would be better if the Valar had never blessed us with our powers" Isildur said.
"He was young when Numenor fell, still a boy really. It may be that the lessons we learned from such hardship are not as clear to him" Elendil said with a shake of his head.
"He adores you father, you must speak to him and he shall listen, I know Anarion. Alas father, I fear I have stayed too long already. I must be away now"
"You are the King's Hand Isildur, and you are my son, if there is any that can protect Tar-Robert it is you." Elendil said, raising his hand in farewell.
With a jolt and a sudden lurch in his stomach, Isildur found himself back in his chamber in King's Landing, birds chirping outside his window. The room swam before his eyes, but he shook his head and cleared his vision. The palantir still sat upon his table, dark and impregnable. The words of his father had only added to the cares upon his troubled mind. Once again he wrapped up the Seeing Stone in its dark cloth and then reverently placed it back in the chest, which he closed and securely locked. Then he unlocked his doors and cast open his windows, allowing sunlight back into his chamber.
The rest of the day passed slowly in meetings with the small council, talks with this noble and that noble, and long wandering walks throughout the castle. He felt as if all the troubles of the world were born upon his shoulders, and yet he could not act. He found himself often walking the battlements, staring out to the sea and listening to the sound of the gulls, wishing for nothing more than to take ship, strike out for the horizon and leave it all behind. Other times in the council chambers, whilst Renly joked and Baelish smirked, he wished only to sweep Narsil out and pull the truth of all of this out of them right then and there, yet he knew that would not bring him his solution. Everywhere he walked through the Red Keep there were smiles and nods and bows to his face and whispers behind his back.
He was glad when the sun finally set behind the western hills, bringing an end to a long and wearisome day. He waited for several more hours, the moon climbing high in the starry night sky. Isildur stood in his bedchamber, watching out a narrow window. One by one, he watched the windows of Maegor's holdfast darkened, candles being put out and fires burning down. Finally he was sure that the rest of the castle was sound asleep. Isildur turned and quickly crossed his chamber, opening the heavy door. Outside his door stood Huor the housecarl.
"Huor, give me your cloak" Isildur said, tapping his guardsman on the shoulder. Unfastening his broach, Huor took off his plain, drab grey cloak and handed it to his lord. Isildur took off his own finer cloak and the eagle broach, then swept Huor's cloak over his shoulders and pulled the hood up to shadow his face. He started down the hallway towards the stairs.
"Be safe my lord" said Huor.
"Do not worry, I shall return in a short time" Isildur said, and then turned to quickly walk away.
The night air was cool and smelled of sea salt when Isildur exited the Tower of the Hand. Quietly and quickly he strode across the yard, Huor's grey cloak blending with the dark and the shadows beneath the walls. The royal sept lay across the bailey from the Tower of the Hand, and Isildur walked to it cautiously, wary of any eyes that may be watching. The sept was a round building, with a high domed roof and seven niches carved out of the walls on all sides, each bearing a carved stone image of one of the Seven. In daylight, windows of crystal and stained glass lent it a shining, colourful aspect, but in night it was darkened. Isildur smiled and was glad that Robert was not as pious or as prone to praying all night as Baelor the First had been and that the septon of the Red Keep was not as devout as perhaps he could be.
Isildur stopped at the door and looked back at the courtyard, scanning it for any sign of followers or unwanted eyes. A few guards were patrolling the battlements but all were looking out to the sea or the city, none towards the sept. He turned back and opened the door.
The interior of the sept was a round chamber of moderate size, sparsely lit by candles that burned softly from seven altars, each set before its own image of the Seven. The candlelight and the homely size of the royal sept lent it a sense of intimacy that grander structures like the Great Sept of Baelor did not possess. Despite this, Isildur could not help but feel a sense of unease at entering the temple of these false gods. He still remembered the temple that Sauron the Deceiver had erected upon Numenor in those last dark days, built for the worship of the Great Enemy. It had been a dark place of fear and pain and death, filled with screams. Even stepping into a sept of the Faith of the Seven still made the hairs on the back of Isildur's neck bristle. Worship for Isildur was done out in the open air, worship was the Three Prayers of Thanksgiving and the quiet contemplation of the beauty of nature, of mountains and waterfalls and the sea and the stars.
His eyes quickly adjusted to the half-light inside the sept. In the center of the room was a raised wooden altar, upon which was set a seven-sided crystal which, in daylight, would cast a rainbow of light when raised to the sun. Near to the altar stood Aratan and Eddard. Aratan was cloaked as Isildur was, but Isildur winced slightly when he noticed that Ned wore nothing to obscure his identity, and he saw the grey direwolf of House Stark plain upon the breast of his doublet.
"Were you followed?" said Isildur softly, quietly closing the door to the sept and then pulling his cloak back off his head.
"No of course not, now what is the meaning of all this?" said Ned, too loudly. I can't blame him for having no patience for this sort of thing. All this creeping in the dark is distasteful business for a man of honour thought Isildur.
"Shh, keep your voice down. We do not know who may be listening" said Isildur, crossing the sept to stand near to the altar with them, close enough to whisper.
"What have you found out father? What threat did you speak of?" whispered Aratan.
"I have reason to suspect that the Lannisters may be plotting against the Crown" answered Isildur.
"What? Lord Tywin is the grandfather of Prince Joffrey, his own daughter is the Queen, why would they plot against the Crown?" said Ned.
"Truth now my friend: Do you really trust Cersei Lannister or her kin?" Isildur asked.
"No" Ned admitted "She has always hated Robert I think. But why plot against him now?"
"Joffrey is not yet of age, he would need a regent, they could place a Lannister puppet on the Iron Throne. I think that Jon might have somehow found this out and that is why he died so suddenly. They may have slain him" Isildur explained.
"I confess I found Jon's sudden sickness strange as well and worrisome" said Eddard.
"How did you come to suspect this father?" Aratan asked.
"Lord Varys came forth to me with his suspicions"
"Varys? The eunuch?" said Ned with a touch of disgust in his voice.
"Indeed, I do not waste my trust on one such as him either. However he is the Master of Whisperers for a reason, and if he sees reason to suspect a plot, then it would be wise that we should find the truth of it ourselves" replied Isildur.
"But what can we do? I know not even how to begin" said Aratan.
"Aye, I have no mind for such intrigues. We speak to Robert with this" said Eddard.
"There is little that I do these days is not noticed, by dint of my station and office, but I shall try to look into Jon Arryn's death and find what truth I can in all of this. We will need proof before we speak to the King" Isildur whispered.
"But what can we do until then? Father, you cannot expect me to stand by whilst you bear this burden alone" said Aratan with a hint of frustration.
"No, no I will have need of you both. Varys said that I scotched the snake but did not kill it by having the tournament postponed. It may be that our enemies conspire to do something during the tourney, there is always much food and drink in such a celebration, and tournaments are always full of accidents"
"My intention had been to test my lance in the tournament…" said Aratan.
"That is good, do so. I shall never turn away the aid of someone I can trust in this horrible city" Isildur said, smiling and clapping his son on the shoulder.
"If we fall into a struggle with Lannisters, both of our armies are north of the neck Isildur, we are isolated with only a handful of men and even with your ships it would take our allies months to come south in force. Lord Tywin has never been defeated in the field, he is a great commander, his armies are many and his arm is long. The King's Host may mean the difference between victory and defeat for us here" said Ned. The voice of Ned Stark, friend and comrade of Isildur and Robert, was gone, replaced by the calm, steely voice of Eddard the Quiet Wolf, the cool, methodical, relentless commander who had not yet met an army he could not put to flight.
"Yes, that is true Ned. We will have to ensure their loyalty" Isildur replied.
"Leave that to me" the Lord of Winterfell said with a grim half-smile. "I have no taste for these palace plots, but soldiers I understand. Many of the men and their officers are from the Westerlands, but I will ensure that their loyalty, their duty, is to Robert and to the Realm, no matter what it takes"
"If there is any man who can do so, it is you my friend" said Isildur. "But until we have found out more, we must be quiet, we must be cautious, we must be observant. The peace of all Eight Kingdoms could fall upon our shoulders to uphold. Our vigilance must not falter!"