EDDARD V

"The early hours of the day were accompanied by the bustling sounds of the city. It was a cool enough day for once to be doing an outride of the parameters.

They took care to wait until the first busy hours of the fishmarket had ended before riding out. Jory was by his side, as Ser Barristan, Ser Marlon, Ser Arys and Ser Balon guarded the children at the castle. Heward led over the dozen of the royal guards walking beside them.

The gates of the Red Keep opened up before them as they set out. The streets seemed full of people, and they rode slowly but steadfastly, while their foreguards went ahead of them with the king's banners to make way. Ned had dispensed with the trumpets not long after taking the throne, but the heralds called out loudly and often for his grace King Eddard of House Stark, lord protector of the realm, and the people all moved to the sides of the streets with cauditude.

The Iron Gate at the northeast, leading up to the Rosby road, was protected among others by young Matthys Cassel, Jory's younger brother. The lad had come down to the capital some years back and been spared the fate of his other brothers back up at Winterfell, who had all died along with their father while hunting in the Wolfswood. Rather than feeling sorry for the boy, Ned had chosen to see it as a blessing from the Old Gods, who had kept him safe down south.

Jory took care to see that there were no threats towards his king before allowing himself to greet his brother. The two Cassels spoke for a brief while in the meantime as Eddard enquired the other guards, chief among them the captain of the gate, Ser Berth Tyles. He was a strong, stout man with an irksome yet effective voice, black of hair and shaved of chin, who had held the gate for more than eight years now, and was a Kingslander through and through. His family had been tile-makers ever since the time of Aegon the Unworthy, perhaps before. Like most in the city, they had directly or indirectly sworn fealty to him when the Targaryens were defeated.

He hailed him His Grace and bowed deep as Eddard approached off his horse, proclaiming the arrival of the king as loud as he could over the sounds of the common people stirring around them, and gave proper answer to each question Ned had to ask.

"There was a degree of ruckus some three days past, Your Grace. A half-dozen men of whom most I had not seen earlier came here mad drunk in the early afternoon and started fighting each other bloody. We set them on their way, and took ahold of their wine and three daggers from them, though. They were mad about losing the wine. 'Cursed us to all the seven hells before they left, the stinking gutter rats."

"Any special vintage of the wine? Or something special about the daggers?"

"Gods no. Cheap rosewater, only half fermented, from somewhere just outside the city, I'd say. The daggers were finer, I'll admit, but not all too expensive for the likes of them, I suppose. Two of them bore Steffon Waters' mark, Steffon the Anvil...-"

Ned nodded. He knew the blacksmith, who had his shop at the Street of Steel among the others.

"-...and the third one I did not recognize. From south of the city, I'd imagine. Somewhere along the coast perhaps."

"Very well.", Ned replied. "No weapons or sharp steel being transported into the city of late? Nor other dangers?"

.

"Not as much as a sewing needle, Your Grace. My men are as careful as ever with searching through, even in the heat. Even with all the extra folk coming in now at the end of summer."

Eddard nodded. Other than that, most things seemed to have been calm of late.

"Merchants with handcrafts on their way from Rosby to here, prayer's wheels, hoop-slings, tents, wicker baskets, simple bronze and iron jewelry, farmers and hunters with mallards, ducks and mink and fox pelts, farmers with some fine fat cows, sheep and pigs from Rosby to be sold at the markets here in the city..., the same as usual, Your Grace.

There's much more wheat coming in, though, and rye as well. Harvests abound now at the end of summer. Nikkys has care of the numbers if you would like to see."

He motioned for his second-in-command, Nikkys the noteful, with his long parchment. Eddard took a cursorial look over the list of goods, taking note inside his mind and seeing if anything stood out.

"Thank you, Ser Berth", Eddard finally nodded, and turned to Jory, who was quick to follow after as he took his leave of Matthys. And then on they rode, to the next gate, going northwest, and then sotuthwest, and then to the next on their round of patrol.

The Dragon Gate was manned by Ser Robin Mulber, the youngest of all the captains. Twenty-and-three, straight and slender as a pole, and brimming with eagerness to prove himself to his king. The man had a clean-shaven, boyish yet already mature face that stared intently with blue eyes of determined youth, and close-cropped reddish brown hair. He took his position with utmost severity.

"Your Grace! Welcome!" He hailed loud and clear as Eddard disembarked from his horse.

"I thank you, Ser Robin", he replied, giving the reigns to Alyn.

"I humbly hope that the manner of the gate is to your satisfaction, Your Grace", the lad said.

Eddard took his time and inspected it well, taking care to see that the bolts and hinges were not in disrepair. Ser Robin called out an order and made his men take charge open and close it.

"It seems to be working well enough", Eddard noted.

"What Master Jernys cannot fix himself, he puts all of his best men to", Ser Robin explained.

"So he does", Eddard agreed.

"We have recently repainted as well, Your Grace. The sun chafes most harshly these long days, but the painters do a fine job. Red fale paint, from the deep copper mines of the Vale, Your Grace."

Ned was well familiar with the paint, having been fostered at the Eyrie himself. The farmers and miners of the Mountains of the Moon made the paint with red copper and iron rust, as well as horse and oxen hyde from the draft animals that carried the carts.

"It looks fine enough", Ned promised. "What of the people passing through it?"

Ser Robin motioned for the king to inspect his list, a meticulous parchment where he had noted the slightest changes in those who would pass. There was as much information to make anyone dizzy, even after fourteen years on the throne and at a solar dealing with similar papers.

"Anything that stands out the most?" Eddard asked.

"The offenders this past fortnight have been many, Your Grace, though we have sent them all on their way, outside the city or to the castle cells", Ser Robin assured. "More drunks than ever before, beggars, even now in the splendour of summer, people who have never lifted an honest hand to work in their life, fruit-thieves, quacksalvers playing the part of false maester for the smallfolk, afterslantering hedge knights from the Riverlands with more steel than sense... Here is the list, Your Grace."

Ser Robin once again motioned for the parchment, and Eddard made sure to read the part wherein the most troubling passers-by had been written down.

"There was one more thing, Your Grace", Ser Robin said cautiously. "Something that I thought extra worthy of your attention."

"Tell me", Eddard prompted.

"A little bird, as it were", Ser Robin said with sarcasm clear in his voice. "A lowborn gutter rat from the Free Cities, though the child spoke a manner of the Common Tongue as well. We interrogated him when he did not carry proper payment to pass through the toll gate. A sloppy job for a spy, I should say."

"A spy?" Eddard asked. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, Your Grace. From Pentos, the boy admitted after questioning. He could not swear himself free from his accent, nor from the tattoos on his forearm when we pulled up his sleeves. Though he still will not say who he works for. Most like, they are no friend of the crown."

"And his business here in the city?"

"A message", Ser Robin said, as he unveiled a tiny rolled up piece of parchment with a neutral seal of orange.

"For whom?" Eddard asked.

"I do not know, Your Grace. This he will not say either. Not unless we threaten to torture him. As I know that you would not like us to do. But perhaps there are clues in the message. Read it, if it please you."

Eddard took the small yellow parchment into his hands, opened it and read through it carefully.

...

The pink maidens have our prize. Brave and beautiful, they have robbed us of it. Next comes the search to her former guardian. Red or black, his cause will be the same as ours, if we can make him see. As the maidens have gotten their own one, every man has his price. Preparations. Stay on alert.

...

"The Pink maiden..." Eddard spoke quietly to Ser Robin. "House Piper?"

"I thought the very same, Your Grace. Or perhaps Maidenpool, for House Mooton."

Ned thought on that. He had reflected on the similarity of the houses more than once. Though House Mooton's sigil was not a maiden, despite the famed story of Princess Jonquil, but a red salmon.

"This is about the Princess Daenerys", he said.

"Most likely, Your Grace", Ser Robin confirmed. "Her sudden betrothal to Ser Marq Piper of Pinkmaiden is well known and clearly the talk of many places far and near."

"I should have expected as much", Eddard said regrettably. He took a look back at Jory, who simply nodded at him, and then turned back to make sure they were not overheard.

"Come into the gatehouse with me", he waved to Ser Robin and the two men sat down inside the comforting shade of the small stone building.

The gatehouse to the Dragon Gate was large enough to house the dozen guards that manned it. As of now, two of the men sat drinking lemonwater at the table, but they quickly moved aside when they saw their captain and king approach.

"Your Grace!" They bowed, and kneeled.

"Into the barracks", Ser Robin commanded, and the men did as told.

They sat down at the table while Jory came quickly after, guarding the entrance from anyone trying to enter. Ser Robin began to diligently pour up a fresh drink for his king, but Ned stopped him. He did not have time for pleasantries if what the parchment showed was true.

"Do you have any thoughts on who it could be?" Eddard asked plainly, doing his best to keep his own worries in check. A king must never show himself weak to the people who followed him.

"It could be most anyone from Pentos, or any other of the Free Cities", Ser Robin said quite openly. "Anyone who would be interested in the cause of the Targaryens", he added, for the sake of clarity.

"Aye..." Ned said with a sigh.

"The colour orange, from what I understand it, is mostly used by rich merchants, as I understand it, though", he said. "All the way from Pentos down to Myr. They have a merchants' guild, or several."

Eddard Stark of Winterfell had never in his life thought that he would have to familiarize with the goings-on of politics across the Narrow Sea, not even once he became king, but now he felt that he must do some investigating of his own on the matter. Perhaps Littlefinger was right, after all, he surmised reluctantly in his mind.

"The rest of it I think I understand better", Ser Robin continued. "'Next comes the search to her former guardian. Red or black, his cause will be the same as ours.' Lord Hoster Tully, and his disgraced brother Ser Brynden. The Blackfish."

Ned thought about it. What did Ser Brynden have to do with any of it? Did the writer of the parchment want for him to take protection of her? As far as Eddard could remember, the Blackfish had not spent any time at Riverrun since before the war. But perhaps he would indeed be a better guardian for her, if Lord Hoster were to die of his illness soon. Ser Brynden might even return to Riverrun. As far as Ned knew, the Blackfish had no qualm with his nephew at least.

Or else perhaps the girl might be moved to be fostered with Ser Brynden and Lysa at the Eyrie, he surmised. Was that why Lysa had escaped the city in such a rush before Jon's funeral? A strange thought, though not impossible, he supposed. Who could say what went on inside his good-sister's grief-stricken mind?

As far as he knew, she had never showed any interest towards the princess before. Though perhaps she wished to have her own son betrothed to her... She must have known that Arya would be all too wild a match for her sickly Sweetrobin, and so looked out for another option from her father's ward. The pieces all began to slowly fall into place...

"I shall think of this", he promised Ser Robin. "In the meantime, tell no one, keep it a secret if you can."

"Of course, Your Grace." Ser Robin bowed down again, as they got up from the table. Eddard handed the small parchment to Jory, who put it discreetly inside his sleeve before going out of the gatehouse again.

...

They continued on, even as the thoughts rang inside Eddard's mind. The rest of the surveying went quickly by in comparison to what Ser Robin had shown him.

The captain of the Old Gate, Ser Hyland Tether, stood on his post with a vigilant outlook, surveying the landscape with a dutiful frown under his helm and above his grey moustache whiskers.

The captain of the Lion Gate, looking west, Ser Leobald Tallhart, had come with them from Winterfell and only recently taken up his position. He was the younger brother of Ser Helman Tallhart of Torrhen's Square, and previously served as lord castellan there until his king had given him the offer to come south. Loyal men were always needed, and their journey had been good for rejuvenating them with some fresh Northern blood, Eddard reflected.

Ser Leobald had brought his family with him as well. Ned hoped that they would take a liking to the city, even though the gods knew that it was nothing like the North. So far, it seemed to have gone by well.

The captain of the Gate of the Gods/[ ], Ser Lyle Rushton, was a stout, portly man of middle to short height, a round head of brown hair and a proud moustache to match. House Rushton was yet another of a small local house, from the villages and foothills along both sides of the Blackwater Rush, leading southeast from the God's Eye and east into Blackwater Bay just south of King's Landing.

There were settlements most all around these days, and House Rushton had at least three small wooden keeps, and one small fortress made of stone, but as Eddard recalled it, the first village of Rushton had originally been on the northern bank of the river, even long before the Targaryens conquered it and named it all into the Crownlands. It was still there, although it had melted into the others who had shot up over time and time again. Pycelle would remind him of the whole story now and then when he had use of asking.

...

After they were done with their patroling, they returned to the castle and Ned went the long way up to his solar to clean himself off for the rest of the day. He dragged himself out of his boots, as Alyn helped him remove his cloak and hang up his armor and clothes on the wall.

The water was cold and refreshing against his back, as he rested himself before his meeting with Stannis.

…

Stannis seated himself with a fast and determined motion, his boots clanking against the desk table of Eddard's solar, his back straigher than any fure tree. Ned cleared his throat.

"It is good to have you back at court, my lord. I take it you did not hold much liking for the tourney of Lord Tywin."

If Stannis had been a happier man, Ned might have smiled as he spoke the words.

"An empty gesture for the pride of the new Hand", Stannis said. "And some tomfoolery for all the new knights of summer soon to be made."

Ned agreed to some extent, as he had not been overly keen on the tourney either. Still, he knew that part of the reason for Stannis' absence had also been the presence of Robert. The two Baratheon brothers had still not reconciled after their falling out during the war, not after all these years, and neither would take the first step to amend the gap of mistrust that lay between them.

But Ned knew better than to press the matter. If the day would come when they made peace with eachother, it was most like not to come today. And so he let sleeping stags lie, and went on to ask about what news he had.

Stannis, as he had expected, was ever direct.

"Prince Viserys has not taken kindly to Lord Hoster's decision to marry off Princess Daenerys to Ser Marq Piper. If he were ever a fire in his heart like his father, I have seen it now."

Eddard had known that this reaction would surely come, or at least anticipated it. Now he must confront it. He had given his blessing to the union at Riverrun, when he came to visit her, and now he must defend that stance and uphold the decision he had made to let it stand.

"I had suspected as much. The decision was not made by Lord Hoster himself, though, as I understand it. Perhaps pressed on, yes, but Princess Daenerys chose her suitor herself.

I spoke to her about it, I can assure you. She seemed pleased enough with her match. I suggest that Viserys would do well to respect her choice. She was not forced into it, whatever some may say."

Stannis looked at him.

"That is news to me, Your Grace. But I shall tell him as much. Although I fear it will not do much good in stopping his anger at the match. Prince Viserys wants for her to marry the young Lord Monterys, his good-brother on Driftmark. Lord Monford has much the same idea in mind. It has been long in planning, as I am sure you recall us having discussed in earlier times some years back."

"Indeed I do recall that discussion, my lord", Ned admitted, "but it is no longer for him to choose what becomes of his sister. His power stretches to the confines of Dragonstone, and no more. Any claims to rule over the other branches of his house, as well as any previous lands and dominions of the crown, was given up by Ser Willem Darry on account of Queen Rhaella to save the both of their lives. You and I were both with at the moment. This is all well known and established."

"Well known to us, aye, and to those who were old enough to make an oath at the time. Well known enough to those who would still listen to their protectors", Stannis agreed. "Viserys himself is not one such."

"He might be ignorant at times, yet he still has potential to be better than his forebears. I trust in you to make him see that, as I always have.

If you cannot tame him now, however, tell me so swiftly, and I shall speak to him. Summon him to the capital within the moon, or else I shall travel to Dragonstone myself and hear his words. That way we might finally make an end of this trifle once and for all."

"Yes, Your Grace."

Stannis seemed to mull on something else, though. He scanned the hallway behind him with a cursorial glance, making certain that they were alone. His mind was astray, for once. But before Ned could ask the question out of his mouth, he spoke up.

"There is another matter that I must speak to you on. It concerns Lord Jon."

"Aye...?" Ned inclined. "Tell me, my lord. Is it about the boy?"

"Not chiefly", Stannis said, "though it may concern him as well."

He took the time to scratch himself on his chin, peeling out some type of greenish black plant matter from beneath his teeth and dusting himself off on his coat with his gloves before continuing.

"Lord Jon was ever in fine health."

"So he was", Eddard agreed, already sensing what Stannis was thinking.

"I cannot believe with my own eyes and mind that he died of a sudden fever. It must have been something else. Poison, perhaps."

Ned sat staring back at his Master of Laws. He could not pretend as though the dark thoughts had never crossed his own mind, yet he had pushed them away, as notions of his own grief. But now, perhaps, if Stannis had also felt it, he began to doubt himself.

"I hear what you are saying. Though it gives me great trouble", he confessed. "I had not thought that we had any enemies so close, that would have a grievance to Jon."

"Grievances are found in many places", Stannis said. "A lord is only ever as safe as the hearts of the people who serve him."

Ned knew that there was truth to that.

"Are we suggesting poison by anyone in particular?" He asked, carefully.

"I cannot say", Stannis admitted. "Though I fear for all of us in this. As for untrustworthy servants, we would be well to clear this city of its many rats and snakes. As I have urged many times before."

"The city or the castle?" Ned urged. "Our walls are thick."

"Cracks can always be found. For those who know where to look. The Spider knew such things. Even in the time of Aerys, the little birds would come from across the Sea, from north to south, and the Spider would weave his nets. Who can say that we have not one such among us still? Or a dozen."

"Do you have any proof? Besides ill notions. Anything we might investigate? Anyone to question?"

He wondered if the Master of Laws knew about the little bird Ser Robin had found by the Dragon Gate. Was that what Stannis was referring to?

Stannis was silent for a long while.

"I do not mean to lessen your worries", Eddard continued. "It is only that I have found that doubt tends to breed more doubt. Until we are certain as to the death of Jon, I think it best to hold tight on our suspicions. Would you not agree? Or do you have some proof for our suspicions?"

The Master of Laws sat for a long while, staring, first at the king, then down at his gloves, for an even longer while, and then finally out the window in deep thought before turning back again. He breathed out, a sound of weary resignment.

"No, Your Grace."

"Very well. I will be glad to look into this if you should name someone in particular. Or something you or one of your men have seen. But until then I think it best to keep silent of it", Eddard said.

There was a long silence again, as the lord castellan of Dragonstone considered whether he had any more information to spare. In the end, though, he did not, or else he chose to not say. He coughed.

"Of course."

Stannis bowed to his king, and then stood up from the desk, as swiftly and decidedly as he had sat down.

"Stannis?" Eddard called, just as he was about to turn away.

The Master of Laws stopped for another final short moment.

"What news comes of the Lady Maldaena? Is she gone with child yet?"

Stannis considered the question before answering. His grey face looked ill-bothered, for some sake.

"Not as of yet, or so Cressen and Pylos both say, yet... It is a matter of woman-kind. Who can tell?"

Eddard nodded.

"Good so. You will tell me if anything comes to change."

"It is not likely. They have been trying at it for nigh on a year, as the tides rush into shore and the night goes into day. But yes... I shall tell you when there is news.", he agreed.

"Until we meet again, my lord."

"Until we meet again, Your Grace."

...

Stannis swept out in the corridor, his smokey grey and gold cloak streaming behind him as he made his best effort to not look in the face at Lord Baelish who came towards him at the same moment.

"My lord", Littlefinger smiled affectatiously nonetheless, and made a mocking bow. The Master of Laws and lord castellan of Dragonstone did not reply, already halfway towards the exit of the corridor and inside his own mind of stirrings and brooding contemplation.

Eddard shot a glance over his shoulder to ensure himself that there was noone else listening in, before he sighed and gathered his strength to let Baelish inside the solar.

"I thank you for the unexpected meeting, Your Grace", the Master of Whispers said as he slid down into the chair opposite him.

"My lord." Eddard motioned for the glass of lemonwater stationed at the table, and Baelish happily took a glass and drank.

"No cupbearer today, Your Grace?" Baelish said. Ned was unsure if it was mockery or a question.

"I thought it best that noone overheard what we are to speak of."

"Excellent judgement, Your Grace."

Eddard scratched himself lugubriously on his beard, altogether too used to Littlefinger's words to let them get to him.

"My lord... It has been more than two moons since we returned from our journey to Winterfell."

"So it has." Littlefinger smiled. "Our new guests, the Lannisters, have certainly made the most of that time to work their way into all of our good graces."

"So they have. As do all of our allies. As would anyone."

"Yes, indeed, Your Grace, but not anyone is Lord Tywin Lannister, your new Hand, nor good-father to Lord Benjen."

Eddard felt that the conversation was already slipping out of his hands. He was still the king, though, and for once he made use of it. He extended his hand in a silencing motion.

"My lord."

Baelish took the hint, for once, and went silent.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I speak too soon for your liking."

"Indeed." He scratched at his beard again, and felt the manganian wood of the desk with his left hand as he prepared himself for what to say.

"This is about the council. How are you feeling to your new position? Are you very fond of it, or would you prefer it to be placed as Master of Coin once again?"

Littlefinger got his mischievious look in his eyes again, as always, and raised another cup of lemonwater to his peppered little spade beard and moustachioed mouth.

"There it is, Your Grace... I do believe the Old Lion has put his claws into you already, it seems."

"I am fully aware of the extent of Lord Tywin's ambitions. He is not the Warden of the West for naught. And I did not arrange for my brother to marry Cersei Lannister all those years ago on account of her pretty hair, believe it or no. Lord Tywin is our ally, and has been for many years. To rule means to make peace with our old rivals, so long as they bend the knee before us and pledge us their fealty."

"And you have his fealty now?"

"I do", Eddard confirmed. "I am certain of it. More than any other man can say that he does."

"Very well", Littlefinger nodded. "I would be foolish then to take that certainty away from you."

"My lord..." Eddard raised his voice again.

"Your Grace." Littlefinger came to semblance before his authority again.

"Forgive me, Your Grace. I can simply not hold myself from instilling these little pebbles of vexating wisdom into your mind. It is my duty to you, as Master of Whispers, after all... Unless, of course, you would have anyone else than me in mind for the job..."

He was already caught on to it, then. Ned had suspected as much even before he walked in.

He sighed.

"It seems you are already aware of these plans, as ever. Well then... What say you about it?"

Littlefinger put down the glass of lemonwater on the table in front of him, licked his lips of the chilling splendour from the drink, and seemed to think on the proposal for a while before responding.

"I do believe..." he said carefully, "that it would be wise to hold your peace with Lord Tywin, if indeed you have such a peace, and fealty from him, as you claim. And we all know that he is not a man to forget a slight. Or indeed... a debt."

Eddard knew that they were speaking of Jaime Lannister.

"One son for another. Aye. I understand as much as that, my lord. That is what he wants next."

"Tyrion, the Imp..." Littlefinger mused. "A man of many hidden talents, from what I hear. Chiefly visiting my establishments in the city, and those of my peers, but... he has a head for reading as well. I am surprised his father has not let him become a maester on account of that large head of his, but... He surely needs him for other purposes than to spill his ink on dusty scrolls of paper, do you not think?"

"Tyrion is no longer the heir, if he ever was", Eddard explained. "He has named the young lord Joffrey in his stead. You have met him. It is his brother Gerion's bastard son."

"Or so one would believe..." Littlefinger said. "Well, have it your way, Your Grace. I only mean to say that for the Imp... A position on the Small Council is merely a start... But soon he will crave more, as is only right. A wife of high rank from among your court. Lands. Perhaps a castle of his own."

"He surely has enough castles in his father's lands. The Westerlands is teeming with golden keeps and treasure. He can surely not hope for greater things from what small lands I hold over here."

"Perhaps so, but perhaps not... Should he serve you for many years onwards, through the coming winter perhaps, then the Red Keep will be his home, and the Westerlands will grow to be a place far away for him. After all... A man serving in the capital cannot make his home away from his duties."

"As do I know more than anyone", Eddard said with a weary voice, looking out of the window.

"You miss it, do you not? ..." Littlefinger spirked. "Winterfell... It is calling for you still, my lord. And your wife as well. Cat is sorely missing you. And the princes as well. You wish to return to them. If not for anything else, then to help them get back to the capital safely."

"It is of no matter", Eddard said. "I can not leave my throne."

"I admire you, and your sense of responsibility..." Littlefinger cleared his throat and leaned forward, with an intimate glance, as if he was about to speak in deep confidence. "Would you like to know a secret?"

Eddard said nothing, tired of Baelish's mind games. He merely waited for the answer. And Littlefinger gave it to him.

"The throne is not yours, Your Grace... Not truly. Not anymore. Perhaps it was, right after you took it, and for some time after, but you have served it well, and done your duty... Raised some heirs, and made a dynasty all of your own. … Now, however, it is not yours anymore, no more than you wish it to be. You need not feel its weight anymore.

It belongs only to your line. Leave it to your son to take command. Prince Robb is more eager for rule than anyone I have ever seen. He will succeed to the task with bravery and joy, greater than that which you feel when you hold council or listen to the endless petitions. He is young, and strong, and full of energy for the task at hand. Let him marry a high-standing girl of a great southern house, Margaery Tyrell perhaps, and his rule will be the safer for it.

Meanwhile, you will betrothe the Princess to the newly made Lord Joffrey Lannister. And the lion's grasp on your power will steady itself into sated and silent contentment, all before long. As for the Imp... Anyone with decent lands will serve. Lady Lollys, perhaps. A nice fat lamb for an ambitious little lion. Besides... That would be a most amusing sight for the bedding night", Littlefinger chuckled.

Eddard raised his hand up to his forehead, trying to wipe away the sweat from his brow and gather his thoughts at the many proposals for what to do. He waited for a little before replying again.

"As ever, you are full and eager of plans for the future, my lord. And I do agree that Robb will make a good king when it is his time. For that much I thank you. But what is your plan for yourself? It was that which I most wanted to speak to you about."

Littlefinger shrugged his green-tuniced and silver-striped shoulders.

"If my king has no further need for me, I shall take my services where they are needed. The Vale perhaps. Lysa will need comforting, and a steady hand to make her choose allegiance in the time to come. From what I gather she remains... Distraught over Lord Arryn's passing. Even close to mad with grief, one might say. 'Else, well... Why did she not even attend Lord Jon's funeral? She fears."

Eddard looked up at Baelish to see whether he was genuine in his response.

Lysa would need comfort and counselling, yes... But if Baelish could not make her stay in King's Landing the last time, what would change now?

"And how do you propose to sway her, my lord? She is in deep grief. She is hardly herself anymore. That all started even before Jon's death, however. When she heard of the plans to send young Robert to Dragonstone with Stannis."

"Hmmm... Yeess, Your Grace... That much is true. She is not the most stable of women. That much was clear already when we were young. But I do believe that I have learnt the proper ways of calming her over the years... And should she not want for my support and consolation, then of course I will return to the capital again for whatever service I can hold to you, Your Grace."

Eddard thoguht of that. He would not like for Littlefinger to be far away where he did not have any control over him, even less than usually, but on the other hand Lysa needed to be helped. He knew that whatever his motives may be, he held the utmost love and affection for both his Tully sisters. At times the man seemed almost a miracle-worker. With his glib tongue and a sense of purpose within him, perhaps he truly could bring Lysa back into the fold. They would certainly need all of the provisions possible from the Vale before the autumn came around.

And the boy as well, young Robert, most of all, would need someone to watch over him. He had still been suckling on Lysa's teat when she left, Ned remembered. That was not well for the future Lord of the Vale and Warden of the East. Perhaps Baelish might wean the boy a bit from his mother.

"You are certain that you would be willing to give up your position as Master of Whispers to Lord Tyrion?" Eddard asked once again, to be certain.

"I am", Littlefinger confirmed.

"And do you believe he would do as good of a job as you yourself?"

"Aaah, now that is not all certain", Littlefinger admitted, "but... if he should fail, I will soon be back from my encounter with Lysa, and we can make other arrangements then. I might just give him a tip or two before I depart, however, to teach him his letters. You know what they say. Give a half-man a fish, he will feast for a day. Teach a half-man how to fish, well...-"

Eddard tore into his hair, feeling the mattness of the heat of day beading in pearls of sweat already, as Ser Balon Swann extended his handkerchief to him. He wiped his brow and head with it.

"Very well", he decided, as he began writing down the decision on a piece of parchment. "Lord Petyr Baelish. You will hereby be relieved from your position as Master of Whispers on my council, in order to travel to the Eyrie to help and give amends to Lysa Arryn.

You will be given a guard of forty of our best soldiers from the Crown's domains to accompany you. Take whatever small provisions such as you may need for the journey. I expect you to be able to accomplish this task within the half-year. If however you are not able to sway lady Arryn within the time that is hereby established, you shall write back as soon as is possible and tell me so."

"An utmost suitable frame of time, Your Grace", Littlefinger smiled and bowed as Eddard scrawled down the order on parchment and they both stamped their seal on it, Ned with his royal direwolf seal and Littlefinger with his newly made little mockingbird seal, replacing the earlier Titan of Braavos that he had used before.

...

"Very well, Your Grace. Though there is one last thing of import which I recently found out pertaining to my position, and the safety of your rule and that of our many allies. Something that I feel that I need to convey to you personally before I take my leave..."

The king looked on Baelish with [ ].

"What is it, my lord?"

Littlefinger turned his head and made sure that they were alone from servants in the room before replying.

"Lord Mooton wrote to us again. He is finished with the rousing of the last prisoners, as well as the investigation of their camps along the Fork to the east of his lands."

"Aye? I thought it was already finished the last time over. What of it?"

"Not quite so, Your Grace. There was a second encampment found, where the invaders had first set up, before moving to the attack on Riverrun. Lord Mooton went to ride out to see it himself."

Littlefinger spoke silently now, almost close to a whisper.

"Tell it all", Ned urged.

Littlefinger took care to stood up from the chair and looked around a final time, sneagling through the windows of the solar door into the hallway outside, making certain that noone was there to hear.

"There were many sigils and signs found from the motley party, some familiar from the Golden Company, some unexpected from our own lands, but one more so than the others."

The manner in which he presented the information, taking his time to stretch out on it yet once again, told Eddard that it was something he would not like to hear. But he would hear it anyway, and make the best decision of whatever terrible thing this could be.

He looked on Littlefinger, as the Master of Whispers gave his final word, leaning on the handle by the doorway out.

"There was found a flag with the standard... of the golden stag... of House Baratheon."