Jory

King's Landing stank, he thought as his ship nosed into Blackwater Bay. It stank of people crammed into too small a space, it stank of sewers that hadn't been planned well and above all it stank of corruption. He winced slightly as a particularly foul whiff of air went past his nose and then put it from his mind. He'd smelt worse. Pyke came to mind. That had been a bad one.

The small cutter that the ship had launched after it had anchored approached the nearest jetty and he could see that very little attention was being paid to him. Well, that was as it should be. Lord Stark had stressed how important it was to be quiet and quick for this trip. It was too important to waste time.

He'd been lucky – it had been a fast trip South and he'd spent much of the trip watching the land go past. He'd always liked travelling by sea, even if he was always green on the first day or so. As the cutter came to a more or less gentle halt next to the jetty he reached for a rough wooden ladder and quickly climbed it, before looking around to orientate himself with where he was. Far above he could see the Red Keep.

An hour later he was sweaty, a little more used to the stink, but above all ready to cleave the head of the self-important idiot standing in front of him from his shoulders. "The Lord Hand does not see anyone who turns up at the gates to the Red Keep and says that he has a 'message'. He is a very busy man. Give it to me and I will look into the matter."

Jory fixed the man with a look. "I am come from Winterfell with a message from Lord Stark, the Lord Paramount of the North, to Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King. Lord Stark charged me himself with this task. This message is for the Hand of the King alone. Not…" he looked the man up and down. "A doorwarden."

The man seemed to swell up like a toad. "Either hand over your message or leave at once before I have guards eject you!"

Jory set his jaw and then pulled out a silver pendant with a Direwolf emblazed on it. "This," he said through gritted teeth, "Is the symbol of my authority. I am from Lord Stark. Stand aside and do not interfere with a messenger from the Lord Paramount of the North."

The doorwarden looked at the pendant as if it meant nothing, but the older of the two guards (who had been watching the whole thing with a look of sardonic amusement) came to attention and slammed the butt of his spear on the flagstone beneath his feet, joined a moment later by the younger one. "Pass, messenger from the Lord Paramount of the North!" the first guard barked, with a surreptitious wink.

This seemed to floor the doorwarden, who then looked outraged when Jory shouldered past him. "How dare you! Guards – arrest that man!"

The guards stared at him. "Don't be a fool man. He bears Lord Stark's mark. I've seen it before. Want to get sent to the Black Cells by the King when he hears that you turned away a messenger from Lord Stark?" The doorwarden deflated completely and Jory passed on, with a smile and a nod at the veteran guard.

The smell was lessened up here, perhaps because the wind blew it away, he could not say. But perhaps he was already getting used to it. He asked directions quietly and soon found his way to the Tower of the Hand, where a sharp-eyed man dressed in the livery of House Arryn was guarding the door. "I am Jory Cassel of Winterfell, here with a letter from Lord Stark, the Lord Paramount of the North to Lord Arryn, the Hand of the King." The words made him seem almost pompous, but they had to be said to gain admittance. This guard at least did not quibble, but instead nodded slightly and told to Jory to wait a moment before slipping inside the Tower, his place being taken at once by an equally sharp-eyed replacement. Lord Arryn, it seemed, was not a man who employed idiots.

Hearing the sound of boots he turned his head slightly. A blond man with a snowy white cape and a look of sardonic amusement was crossing the courtyard. Ser Jaime Lannister. The Kingsguard flickered a glance at him, dismissed him in an instant – and then paused.

"I know you, don't I? I never forget a face," Ser Jaime drawled as he turned to look at him. "You were at Pyke."

"I was, Ser." Jory said with a nod. "I was with you at the breach. We both watched Thoros of Myr go through with that flaming sword of his."

The Kingsguard shot him a genuine smile, like a flash of light from out of the murk. "That I will remember until the day I die. That sword terrified the Ironborn scum. Damn near terrified me as well." He shook his head at the memory. "That was a good war," he said quietly. "A war that meant something. Your name?"

"Jory Cassel, Ser. Of Winterfell."

Ser Jaime quirked an eyebrow at him. "You're a long way from home."

"Here to see the Hand of the King to deliver a message from Lord Stark."

"Ah," Ser Jaime said ironically, "We all have our duties. Be well Jory Cassel of Winterfell." And then he sauntered off with a nod, the sardonic look swiftly reappearing on his face.

Jory watched him go with a slight frown. That was a man who was dangerous. The saunter disguised a man who seemed to always be on balance and ready to draw his sword.

"Cassel?" He turned to see the first man at the doorway. "The Hand will see you now."

Lord Arryn, he could see at once, was a tired old man with more silver in his hair than grey anymore. There was something in his eyes, a strain perhaps at being Hand of the King for many years, since King Robert had taken the throne. But his back was still straight and he still moved briskly as he stood and greet him. "So you have a message from my good-brother Lord Stark?"

"I do my Lord," Jory replied as he extracted the bloody thing from his jerkin. It was wrapped in a stitched leather wallet and he hadn't let it out of his sight during the entire journey South. "Lord Stark also gave me a verbal message. He said that every word within is meant truly. And that I am to wait in King's Landing until you have a reply for him."

Lord Arryn frowned a little, inspected the wallet carefully with a raised eyebrow and then pulled out a small knife and opened it, before tugging out the letter. "Ned," he muttered, "is being cautious." And then he broke the seal and read it over. When he had finished it he re-read it and then placed it on his desk, before turning and walking to the window, which he stared out of for a good few minutes, obviously thinking deeply.

Just as Jory was starting to wonder if he had forgotten that he was there Lord Arryn turned back, smiled slightly and then looked at the door. "Quill!" A short man dressed in Arryn colours entered quickly. "This is Jory Cassel of Winterfell. He is to be housed in the Red Keep tonight – good quarters and good food. He'll be on his way in the morning." He turned back to Jory. "Jory Cassel, I will have a letter of my own for Lord Stark here first thing tomorrow, just before dawn. Lord Stark needs help for the Wall and I intend to help him. Thank you – you are dismissed."

Jory nodded respectfully and then followed the man named Quill. He had the oddest feeling that Lord Arryn's mind was on something else completely.