EDDARD IV
"The Small Council had assembled, with Tywin Lannister sitting in Jon's old place as his Hand. Ned felt strange. A certain sadness was over him, and yet he tried his best to not let it show in front of the members of the council.
He had taken Robb with him this time, to watch over, for only perhaps the second or third time ever, and now with Lord Tywin as Hand. He had told Robb to mostly be quiet and watch, and he had no doubt in his mind that he would do so. Still, it was important for him to get practice at what it's like to rule if he were to take over the throne some day. Ned was glad to see that he seemed silent and concentrated but eager to learn as he sat down next to his father on the extra seat of advisor.
They had walked through the Throne Room and stopped for a brief moment afore the Iron Throne, as Robb knew what his father wanted said with that short motion. He had told him the story long before, and though he did not tell all, enough was apparent for Robb to stare with deep thought at the steps where his own father and brother had met their deaths so many years ago. With that severity in mind, as Ned stood and held a firm grasp of the room with alware in his grey northern eyes, and he saw the same in Robb's blue, they marched onwards to the adjoining council chamber.
"My lords", Eddard said as he went through the doors.
"Your Grace", they all replied, as they went up and bowed for him. Lord Tywin as well, though notably much slower and more quietly than the others, already sensing his own power, it seemed. That was not as it should have been, but what else should he have expected? He was not sure.
"My son, Prince Robb, will accompany us as advisor for this meeting, my lords. I hope that he will be able to learn as much as he can so that he will be wiser for the time that the crown will pass to him."
They all bowed, showing their acknowledgement and acceptance, and this time, Ned saw a slight movement of consideration and show of respect behind Lord Tywin's eyes. He seemed to think it a wise move, as he lowered his head slightly more forward and down in acceptance and acknowledgement of the [decision/[ ]], his bald head gleaming in the light of the room.
"I will be happy to learn as much as I can from my royal father, His Grace.", Robb said, a bit more stiff than Ned would have imagined, as he looked with severity on all those attended, and sat down. Ned gave him a quick reassuring pat on the back and nodded with a silent face.
With that, Ned sat down at his place as well, with Robb to his right side and [ ], as well as [ ], and after that in due order Ser Barristan, Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Baelish, Wylis Manderly on the right side, Lord Gyles Rosby on the left side, and Lord Tywin at the end of the table, right opposite him, in Jon Arryn's old place. Ned did his best not to overthink the placement. If things worked out the way they should, this would only be one of many times that he would see the gaunt and morbidly staring face of the Old Lion staring back at him.
And so he truly did, with eyes of green flecked with gold from the place where previously had been those honourable and kind ones of his foster father, but... each man has his place in this world, and so also he has to leave it on when he passes, Ned thought. He tried hard to not look into the painted ceiling to show his inner thoughts before the council, of how he thought of Jon floating somewhere and watching it all with a strange sadness from above.
He harkled himself.
"Very well. Let us begin." He turned to Lord Tywin, and did his very best to not let the words get caught in his throat, the ones that felt all the manner so strange for him to speak, and yet which ones he surely must speak and try to become accustome to all the same. He steadied his heart and voice.
"Lord Tywin, do you have anything you would like to say before we commence with the list?"
The Old Lion looked back at him with a certain calm, and a certain surprise, but still seemed collected and at relative ease. He was grateful that he had been paid the respect, Eddard knew.
"No, Your Grace." Lord Tywin gave a small inclination towards a nod or bow with his head down.
Eddard regarded him for a small while before taking his word for true.
"Very well. Grand Maester Pycelle. The list, if you would."
He inclined his hand at Pycelle, making it extra clearly with the motion of the routine since this was Lord Tywin's first time here, but then he stopped himself, realizing that Lord Tywin had sat on this very table, in this very hall, for close to twenty years before he himself had even left the Vale to go to war. And now they were both here together, a king and the ghost of the former Hand, and the growl of the present one, back in the hall where hehad sat advising theMad King for all those years, a lifetime of friendship andservice before he turned fully into his moniker and deadly self. How strange it all was...
Pycelle cleared his throat as always and lifted the list high into the air, also doing it extra ceremoniously, because of Lord Tywin's presence, he supposed. They had gone long back as well.
"Firstly, we have the payment for the cost of the tourney. The 30 000 gold for the winner of the jousting, given to Lord Robert Baratheon, 15 000 for the second place, to Ser Loras Tyrell, 15 000 to one Anguy the archer of Dorne for best archer... And several others, as you all know..."
"Now that does certainly put a slightly less happier clinking noise in our coffers", Baelish said.
"The tourney was a great success", Robb said, eager to give compliments to their new Hand and to put the Master of Whispers in his place as well. "We had people from all across the kingdoms joining, and the smallfolk were much appreciative of it. Is that not so, Your Grace?"
Robb turned to face Ned.
He looked at his son, almost slightly taken aback by his eagerness, as well as the formal titulation instead of the usual "father", but he supposed that he had to be glad to see him do so. It would help him for when he would take in command. He would be a good king, Ned could sense already.
He had to steady himself once again, as he tried his best to match the energy of his young forth-headed son. He took his arms to the table, steadying himself as he did the best to take command.
"Yes..." He said. "The tourney was good for the realm, I freely admit it." He nodded slightly towards the direction of Lord Tywin. "If we can only get the reckoning of the numbers right, I will be happy to put it among our many fine achievements for the year." He gestured at Lord Gyles.
"Ah, yes, Your Grace..." Lord Gyles coughed slightly and looked at his parchments, consulting his lists.
"For the prizes of the winner and second-place of the tourney and the [ ]... 30 000 for the champion, 15 000 for the runner up, 15 000 for best archer, and 8 000 for the champion of the melée. As you decided, Your Grace."
Had the prices truly been that high, even though he had lowered them by almost half? He supposed they had been. He sighed but did his best to try and accept the enormous spending and move on.
He made a note in his mind that this would be the first and last time of such vast expenditure, or else he would have to find himself another Hand. He doubted if even Robert would have been so irresponsible with the coffers, had he been put on the council, as he'd speculated of many years ago.
"Then there is the cost for the tourney itself. The restoring of the tourney grounds, the sicktent, which we were granted for only a small sum by the High Septon... As well as food stands... Peacekeepers and much else..." Lord Gyles mumbled, and almost began to cough once again.
"Let me hear it."
"Around 5,000 gold dragons, Your Grace."
Ned looked at Lord Gyles. The prize was a reasonably low one, when all things were considered.
He gave a nod, showing his approval, as Littlefinger watched from across. And then they were on to the next. Pycelle trailed with his ancient spotted fingers across the parchment of the list.
Robb looked slightly shocked from the sound of the prizes, even though they had been there. But when he would get a better understanding, and came to know more, he would be even more so, Ned thought. It took a long time to fully come to grips with all numbers of the finances of the crown.
"Next, Your Grace..." Pycelle declared as he looked through the list, "Is the matter of the disease among the Kingswood. From our reports the sickness has continued to spread into the small villages to the south but has mostly been kept from reaching the city on account of our guards and peacekeepers. Several knights from the northern Stormlands who competed in the tourney have fallen ill, however, and we shall have to see what becomes of this."
"We will keep guarding the bridges.", Ned said. "Have the guards and peacekeepers remain."
"Very good, Your Grace", Pycelle noted and agreed.
Lord Tywin watched from his chair at the news of the sickness with a dissatisfied visure as if he was annoyed at the gods themselves. Eddard wondered if the commonfolk of Casterly Rock ever dared to catch an illness for the wrath of Lord Tywin's ever watchful eyes.
"Have we made any investigations as in to what this disease is?" He asked Pycelle with a suddenn upfordering tone.
The Grand Maester was only all too quick and eager to reply, as if he was jumping right back into the olden days when he and Lord Tywin had both sat and served together on Aerys' council for years on years.
"Oh yes, my lord hand", Pycelle replied. "I personally examined a man who had been caught from the northern strands of the Blackwater, after having made his way illegally across in a small wooden boat. He had fever and sweating of the skin, sickness and tawnyness of the eyes, runniness and slight redness of the nose, coughing of the lungs, unsteadiness of legs and feverishness of mind."
"So... a fever?" Littlefinger concluded in his jesting tone.
"No no, there is far more than that, my lord. The other men and women who have been afflicted have also been unsound of the bowels and... some more symptoms which I have noted..."
Pycelle fumbled amongst his heavy robes to find his parchments for the further notes on the disease.
"Fever or no, it is an illness which we do not want in the city. That much must be clear." Lord Tywin announced with such a fervor that Eddard Stark glimpsed flames in his eyes.
"Indeed", Lord Gyles agreed. "I for one would not want it to reach the lands around my own keep at Rosby. But I believe that His Grace has solved that with these peacekeepers, as we have noted."
"We already knew about this illness before", Littlefinger said with a bored tone. "It is a late summer fever, no more. A few have died, many have survived. The count is only around a hundred so far."
"And yet these knights from the Stormlands were allowed to compete in the tourney? They might still have caused a minor plague upon the city.", Lord Tywin declared, outraged. "If I shall give my council to this, Your Grace, it is a mark of shame upon the city to not be able to control its illdoms."
Baelish turned slowly to follow Lord Tywin's intensegaze shooting out across the counciltable at Eddard's own. Robb and [Wylis ] Manderly seemed aggravated by the newhand's indecent tone, but both held deadly quiet, looking to the king to take his reaction as their own. Ser Barristan as well. Lord Gyles coughed, and only somehow managed to do so demurely, the sound echoing hollowly in the tall marble ceiling of the council chamber.
King Eddard stared back at his newmade hand, his mind intense, his speech standing by for the moment, his heart frozen.
"So it is.", he only said.
Lord Tywin gave one final indignant glare before yielding to his king's admitorial words. And then the council bumped back into life again, Pycelle reading the next point in his usual doddering tone as if nothing particular had just transpired at all. And so it begins... Eddard thought grimly.
...
Ned did his very utmost best to remain courteous and control his temper in the presence of Lord Tywin, his new-made hand, to serve and guide him in ruling the kingdoms for many years to come if they made it through the winter.
And yet each and every time he looked in the shrewd, golden-gleaming eyes of the lion lord he saw the faces of Elia Martell and Rhaegar Targaryen's children, such as they had been in life, and those of their killers.
Ser Amory Lorch, the Murderous manticore knight, and the young but enormous and brutal Ser Gregor Clegane, The Mountain that rode. The men were still as famous now as they'd been in life, perhaps more so, rightfully detested and condemned for their horrible deeds in word and song. Songs that stretched all the way up to Winterfell, Ned thought to himself, as he recalled the cold gaze of Sandor Clegane, the man with the terrible burned face called the Hound, staring back at him from Benjen's and Cersei Lannister's side, sword in hand...
After the deed, and the execution of his older brother Ser Gregor, he had become the lord over his house, and shortly after that, he had followed Cersei Lannister from Casterly Rock to Winterfell to take up residence as her household knight and protector. But whether it was anger, fear, acknowledgement or gratitude that he had seen in the grisly man's eyes on those hale days in Winterfell with Cersei, Ben and Jon, the children and all the others, Eddard still could not say.
He himself had never wanted to take over the part of his own elder brother, to become lord in Brandon's stead, much less to become king, but it had all been thrust upon him. And Sandor Clegane had felt the same fate upon his shoulders. Perhaps that was why he had left his home to travel up north, Ned thought to himself.
…
At any rate... For what it was worth, Lord Tywin Lannister had sworn solemnly to all those present in the aftermath of the sack that his murderous vassals had acted entirely on their own, and not at his orders, even as the other Lannister soldiers sacked the city, killing thousands of innocents. Ned could still hear their screams in his nightmares.
He had taken the justice of Ser Amory and Ser Gregor himself, in accordance to the Old Way, his Ice separating Ser Gregor's head from its shoulders even as he spat out the foulest curses known to man or demon. His enormous, brutish head had rolled down into the basket, but then toppled it over on account of its unexpectedly huge size and went down into the awaiting mass of people down below, as a roaring cheer of commotion went up. Ned had felt sick to his stomach in that moment.
Ser Amory had went off differently, at first cursing and swearing like his young protegé, but then crying and sobbing with his high thin voice, pleading with his evil swine-like eyes, for once full of remorse and regret, before Eddard Stark had steeled his ears and heart and taken his head as well.
Justice had been served, with Ice. Lord Tywin had nodded in approval at the deed, and said nothing. And yet... Still... There was something in the back of Eddard's mind that would not give him rest.
He thought of Jaime, sitting the throne, and the rumous that men spoke of Ser Amory having thrown the last lord of Tarbeck Hall, a boy of three, down a well, at the orders of Lord Tywin years before.
Lann the Clever had used his lies and schemeing in the very beginning to lure Casterly Rock from the Casterlys, and there was not many things in this world that a man of power would not do to keep his stature in this world. Tywin Lannister, he was sure, would not balk at the murder of children if it was for a greater cause that he deemed worthy enough.
But Ned did his best, and had done his best, to see to only the truths he knew already when confronted with the rumours at the time. Jon had seen to that, he had spoken to him, to him and Robert both, even as his friend's blue eyes almost glimted with malicious satisfaction at hearing how the "dragonspawn" were gone and done away with, even without anyone having to give the orders. Ned and Robert had begun the argument of their lifetime on that day, and only Jon and the memory of Lyanna had been able to reconcile them later. But the memory of Lord Tywin's eyes, and the satisfaction in even his own friend's ones still awakened a deep ghastly unease deep within him.
The only thing, and a significant thing it was, which kept Eddard Stark from acting on it, even now, as fourteen long eternal years had passed and gone by, was the advice of Jon Arryn, his foster father, to him and Robert both, ever since he was a boy. Jon Arryn had called for [besinning – temperance? ] kl – for temperance and peace.
And Ned had taken the words of the man who was most like his father, the father that remained to him, to heart. Jon Arryn had taught him honour, and if Jon could trust in the word of Lord Tywin, then surely I could to, he had reasoned.
And so he had decided, and so he had done. The advice had come once again when Jon lay sick and dying. He had recommended Tywin Lannister as his successor, once again. Ned had promised him, just like he had promised another thing to his sister all those years ago. He would keep his promise.
And still... King Eddard Stark could not help but feel an unease when he looked into those golden green lion eyes. He wondered whether Lord Jon had truly ever seen past Lord Tywin's outer side, an found what was hidden within. He had promised him, he trusted him, but still therein his heart he held his lingering doubts about the Warden of the West.
Gods save me, and the realm... he thought. Old Gods help us, watch over us, and save us, he prayed.
...
There was another thing which troubled him as well. Something quite different but equally severe and pertaining to Jon Arryn. The deadly serious concerns about his death coming from Stannis.
The Master of Laws had been away at Dragonstone for several moons, but then later he had finally let his fears be known by sending a letter. First had come the letter from Viserys, regarding the attack on Riverrun and Daenerys. And then, a significant while after that, during the later stages of their journey, as they came back towards the Red Keep, Stannis had finally written to him and said the terrible thing, the one thing which Eddard had hoped not to read; that he had reason to suspect ill-deed in the events surrounding the death of Lord Jon.
Ned had felt shocked to read the letter, and even more so to hear the words coming from Stannis himself when he had come to visit again some time later. He had returned to the capital just in time to see the arrival of them and the Lannisters, Ned remembered, as Tyrion Lannister and Joffrey had walked behind him into the corridor. Stannis had made his concerns even more known some couple of days later, when they had found the time for it after the gestation of various other old news.
They had spoken with in King Eddard's solar, with only Jory and Ser Marlon elsewise present, and he had told him once again of Lysa's concerns with sending Sweetrobin to be fostered with Stannis and Viserys at Dragonstone. Ned remembered it well.
Lysa had been close to mad with her straining against the proposal, after all, and she spoke to Jon on countless occasions to make him change his mind, but the Hand had set his mind upon the plan. Or at least that was what Stannis focused on when they spoke. Ned had considered his words, with deep alware and severity at each syllable that came from his old trusted advisor. Stannis Baratheon was many things, but a liar or a fool he was not. His concerns were real. Ned believed them.
...
Lord Gyles made a resounding cough which stirred King Eddard Stark back into the present moment. Grand Maester Pycelle had just finished speaking about something pertaining to the upkeep of the stables, or so it seemed, and now they were discussing the cost of reparations for it.
He had slumbered off in the conversation, it seemed. Robb was watching him with a worried look.
"It is a small wonder the horses have not risen up against us in open rebellion yet", Littlefinger japed.
"The whores, my lord, or the horses?" Wylis Manderly retorted, to the brothelmaster..
Littlefinger smiled. "A small difference indeed, my lord. Both sorts may become aggrieved if you do not know how to handle them. Both can give you a good ride, but one takes their wages in hay and barley, the other in coin."
Pycelle was quick to interrupt, getting on to the next point of the list, that of Lysa, young Robert and the governance of the Vale.
"The lady Lysa has continued to remain silent in response to our many letters. She seems to still be grieving most deeply for Lord Jon, ever since the late Hand's funeral, and will not reply by raven or else. From what we can tell, she has not yet held a formal ceremony at the Eyrie to showcase her son as the new lord of the Vale, but has nonetheless sent out letters to the lords of the Vale asking for their fealty via Lord Nestor Royce. Though Lord Yohn Royce assured us in the days following the tourney that he shall attempt to visit her at court and do his best to console her in her trying time."
...
Eddard spoke up.
"Very good, Pycelle. I have every faith in Lord Yohn to see it through so that Lysa might feel as she has a friend to stand her by in her sorrow, as do we all need."
He harkled himself, and then was silent for a while, before bracing for the next point on the list.
"There are graver things as well to tend to. I spoke with my brother at Winterfell. We must send more men to The Wall, as many as we can afford. We shall begin by sending sixty good men, or as close to it as we can find, taken from the black cells. If they choose to take the black, they will go north and be allowed to do so. But that is not enough. We shall have to find more skilled workers as well. Woodworkers, builders and huntsmen from all around the Crownlands and the Kingswood, and House Wode's lands around the southern shores of the God's Eye as well. Mayhaps some are found to be poachers, but no matter. On the Wall they will serve under the Lord Commander and protect the realm."
"Hear, hear", Pycelle nodded chimingly. "A very wise decision, Your Grace. The end of summer will almost be upon us, even though it may not seem like it. Even if the coming winter should only stretch on for four or five years... Manning the force of the Night's Watch will be sure to be in all our best interest before the coming winter."
Littlefinger snurped his mouth slightly, but nodded. Lord Gyles made a coughing declaration of support, while [Wylis/[ ]] Manderly agreed with the decision staunchly. Lord Tywin made the tiniest nod in accordance.
And so it begins, Ned thought again, his mind even grimmer now, if possible. His brother had managed to tame one lion, a young and proudly snapping lioness at that, up at Winterfell while still in his youth of manhood. Here was his own challenge to do so, and prove once more that he was worth the crown bestowed upon his head by strange happenstance and the crimes and sins of another. If Benjen had done his part for the safety of the kingdoms, against his pride or judgement, so would he, for the safety of the realm and his children, he swore to himself once again.
A scolding or two is only a start. I will need to sorely temper the Lion's heart before winter is here.
The sun's rays shone still intensely, yellow and burning from the windows outside, making him sweat in his royally attired doublet, promising an eternal summer that went on and on, watermelon after watermelon splashing against Robert's lance on the green of the tourney grounds, merry maidens washing their clothes while their round breasts and bellies bobbed under their thin yellow, orange and red fabrics and their naked feet painted slight grey shadows of water on the cobblestones just outside the castle walls..., and all of the fowels as well... the little songbirds chirping frequently, incessantly, sproodling with joy and lustfilled symphonies from the windowsill as soon as the sun arose beyond the fishmarket's lowlying hills to the south of the Red Keep...
All of this, this long summer, seemed to only go on and go on forever, shining ever so goldenly while Grand Maester Pycelle's white beard grew toved and steaming with the early afternoon sweat and his words murmured on about point after point on the council list, but King Eddard Stark of Winterfell knew far better than to trust a southron sun to be able to stymie the winds of winter."