Jory
The quarters that he was taken to in the Red Keep were not large, but the bed was comfortable, there was access to a place where he could bathe (that was a mercy – the ship had allowed him just the option of having a bucket of seawater dunked over him every other day, something that had not been offered when they entered Blackwater Bay and the floating effluent that the tide was taking out) and above all he could relax and not worry about that damn letter anymore. And the food was good and the wine was even better. He preferred ale, but wine was the only option that night for some reason.
Men and women came and went from the rooms around him, mostly from the Lord Hand's establishment, but occasionally from other places and he found a spot overlooking the main courtyard, paid for a small flagon of wine and indulged himself in his favourite practice of people watching. At one point he saw Lord Arryn from a distance, in conversation with a small sickly boy and a woman who had red hair the colour of Lady Stark and who had to be the Lady Arryn. But if Lady Stark was sleek, wry and friendly – and ruled with a rod of iron – Lady Arryn seemed to be overweight, fretful and to his mind over-possessive of her son.
Then there were the others. At one point a fat, totally bald, pale man in exotic robes pattered across the courtyard, his hands in his sleeves and his face blank of all emotion. Jory distrusted him on sight for some reason that he could not pin down. An hour later the man returned, this time in conversation with a slim short man with grey hair at his temples, a small goatee and a look that combined cunning with smugness. The two seemed to be trading barbs as they walked, like two man playing a game that only they knew the rules to, and he narrowed his eyes as he watched them pass through a doorway out of sight. Something was scratching at his senses, warning him that there was danger here.
And then there was the shock. At one point, just as he was mulling when to retire and sleep until the morning, there was a stir in one doorway and a pair of men dressed in armour with white cloaks stepped through, followed by a tall fat man with long black hair and a beard that had the odd streak of grey in it. Jory blinked at the sight of the man. That was… King Robert? He remembered him from Pyke, where he had been perhaps a little heavyset but not fat, not like that. The King had stomped heavily across the courtyard, looking like a man preoccupied with many cares and then vanished through another doorway. Jory blinked and then sighed. Lord Stark would want to hear about that. He'd asked Jory to gather his impressions of what King's Landing was like these days. Yes, he would most likely want to hear everything about that.
Sleep had come easily but he still woke before dawn, alarmed by that mysterious internal notion that now was the right time to get up. As he pulled his jerkin on there was a soft knock on the door and he walked over and opened it. Quill was standing there dressed in dark clothing. "You are ready to leave?"
"I am," Jory replied, as he picked up his small bag of possessions. "Lead on."
Quill led him down the passage in total silence, their passage lit only by the light of a single lantern, then down a short flight of stairs, up a passage that seemed to be steeper than it looked and then up another flight of stairs. When they came out into the open air he saw a small group of people ahead of them. One was Lord Arryn, who was looking fondly at the face of a small sleepy child who was in the arms of a woman about Jory's age. Wait. That was young Lord Robert.
Lord Arryn noticed his arrival and then strode over to him. "Jory Cassel," he said quietly, "I have a task for you. Here is a letter for Lord Stark. You must deliver it to him with all despatch." He handed it over, it being stitched into what seemed to be the same leather wallet as the one that he had brought South, or near enough.
"I shall deliver it, my Lord Hand," Jort replied quietly. "This I swear."
"Good. I have another request. This-" he gestured at the woman and the child, who had now fallen asleep, "Is my son, Robert Arryn. He is to be fostered at Winterfell, as Lord Stark requested. I would like you to take him there. He is to be attended by Annah, acting as his nursemaid, and these two men as his guards – Willets and Rikson. Both are loyal to House Arryn. Once they are at Winterfell Annah is to stay with my son and the guards are to be sent back here to me. Here is a small purse of Dragons so that you can keep my son and your party fed and watered along the way, as well as horsed." The Hand passed over a small but heavy clanking pouch. "Now – ride down to the docks. There will be a boat waiting for you – Quill will escort you to the correct jetty, where the boat will be waiting. And – give Ned Stark my thanks."
Jory looked into the face of the Hand of the King and then knelt formally. "I will bring your son to Winterfell my Lord Hand. This, too, I swear."
The older man placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you. Now – go."
They mounted quickly and then passed down through the courtyards and the open gates, where blinking guards looked at them in some surprise, before passing down the winding road to the docks. As they rode the light strengthened and the guards who had been holding lighted torches threw them away, the burning brands sending showers of red and gold sparks across the flagstones for an instant before they guttered and disappeared.
Quill led them in the growing dawn light to a jetty, where five guards in Arryn colours awaited them, next to a man who nodded at Quill. "Ser Davos," Lord Arryn's man replied. "I bring the party from the Hand of the King and place them in your care. Safe journey."
"I will do my best, I can do no more," the other man said and Jory recalled that this must be the Knight of Onions. Whatever his title he quickly got the trunks and other baggage that they had brought into the boat, similar to the one that had rowed him into the docks the previous day, followed by the party.
As Ser Davos's men rowed them out with quick clean strokes Jory looked back at King's Landing, before gazing up at the Red Keep. Far above him a white-haired speck was watching their departure and he knew without doubt that it was Lord Arryn. Concern roiled for a moment within him. He had a great duty ahead of him. Very well. He looked ahead. The ship was close now. North again. Away from this stench.