A/N: Long time no see readers, I haven't put anything out in a while, because I decided to take this week off for personal reasons. Thank you for you neverending patience, and I apologize if this chapter is a little rough around the edges. The chapter starts a little before the end of the last chapter, and it is during the day of the hunt that killed King Robert. We find out Eddard Stark's less than favorable view of Stafford right now, and a POV from someone that is NOT a Stark or a Baratheon to mix things up. I decided to throw our old friend Odyn Sand, the bastard Dornishman this time. Some of the convos seem to messy, and bear with me in this as this is me trying to break some writers block, as many of my plans indicate that the story should have hit the war long before this. The next chapter will also be a bit of time skip, because it fast forwards to after Eddard is captured, and the chapter after that will be Arya's POV of the execution. Afterwards, we will take a bit of break in the Seven Kingdoms to check in on our favorite mercenary, Ellion, who has been in limbo for about two to three months now.. Stafford Baratheon will receive his next POV, after that when he makes his daring escape from King's Landing. All of this and more will happen this week, as a reward for the patience given by the readers. I didn't really think this chapter was very good, but I tried making a little bridge chapter before the content really escalates after Eddard is captured. (Note I really do not know how much review replies I have slacked on so if I missed you, please let me know)
Golden Dragon King: I didn't like Joffrey very much either, and all of me really hated him more after all his actions in the books. Hopefully, you stick around and read the war segment as it gets really good and I devoted a lot of time planning it. Thank you for your review.
Both Unidentified Guests: As much as it hurt me to hurt Arya in that way, I really had to make a choice and the decision would hurt one of them regardless. Thank you for your review.
A Fellow Writer: If you had been reading previous author's notes, you would have found out that the pairing was part of a challenge I set for myself. The challenge was to make myself not know the pairing I was writing about, so it was either a poll for popular opinion or putting their names in a hat right at the decision and picking. Lord Stark's fate is a spoiler and I'm not revealing that, but he isn't too pleased with Stafford's decision. Thank you for your review.
Vulcran: Thank you for your input, and I'll get back to you on your messages soon, been very busy and haven't even noticed how many PMs I missed in the inbox.
Sarcasm Brightens my Day: Well, the story was left up to a random poll so *technically* I as the writer didn't sideline her, I merely acted as a tool for the sidelining. Anyway thank you for your review and your kind regards.
Enjoy and see y'all tomorrow
Odyn
"I'm just stating the possibilities, my prince-"
"How dare you suggest that!" Stafford suddenly roared, "My own flesh and blood... to commit such VILE crimes?" Stafford was furious, his sapphire-blue eyes smoldering with rage while raw from crying. His gold silk cloak, clasped with an iron stag, shimmered in the afternoon light, above his onyx doublet. The two sat on stone steps, only hours past a wild boar fatally goring King Robert, on the hunt of Prince Stafford's sixteenth nameday.
"I know she's your mother, but these Lannisters-"
"My mother loved my father. They may have not been as close as I wanted them to be, but for her to murder him? I ought to have you arrested for treason." The prince took another swig of wine from his flask, trying to blink out what remained of his tears. Odyn could only pray that he would never have to suffer the death of his own father. Or someone accusing whoever his mother was of his father's murder. But the suspicion was too much for him to bear.
"Think about it, my prince. Almost all of your father's closest allies have died or persecuted severely. The Kingslayer ambushed Lord Eddard, what remained of the Arryns have fled to the Vale in what I've heard is an unshakeable fear, the Starks are infighting thanks to your brother, and as you've told me, your betrothed had told you of people plotting against the Iron Throne in the catacombs. And on top of all of this, your father was slain in hunting conditions he's mastered. He's a hard drinker, and after mastering the art of hunting while drunk, as you say he is, why die now?" Odyn paused briefly, drew a flask of his own, and took a light sip. He hoped to keep from being drunk, and wanted to provide support for the prince a much as he could.
"And if we are on the subject of drink, that bedraggled squire Lancel kept on chugging your father's flask down his throat. That fool should've known he's been giving something deviant from the usual amount or drink if Robert actually manages to slip up on routine hunting behavior. From what I've heard, it takes some serious intentional shit to satisfy your father's thirst for drink or physical vigor while drunk. Again I must ask, how? And why mess up now?"
"My uncle, Renly is still here, alive and well. And so is Stannis, so I don't know what in seven hells has gotten into you. It must have been some coincidence. My family wouldn't do shit like this. We haven't always gotten along, but we don't murder each other."
Odyn shrugged heavily. There was no changing the resolve of the prince. His reason was impaired by a passionate, bleeding heart, and it was no better when grief filled his heart. Petitioning this prince is like putting a mountain on trial, he thought, an utterly irreconcilable venture. Beside him the prince lapsed into silence yet again.
"My prince, you need to listen to-"
"Leave me to my grief, bastard. First you came to comfort me, and now you spit venom at the Lannister name. What the fuck do you want with me?" The prince exploded, throwing his flask to the ground, and avoiding Odyn's eyes.
Slowly, after his hands covered his tired face, he rose from the silence and turned to Odyn Sand. "Sorry, I didn't mean to call you that. I was just…"
"It's no problem, Stafford. It was a bad idea to pursue this at such a bad time."
Stafford had paused, picking up his flask. After downing another deep gulp, he began to speak again.
"Can we stop… Whatever this is? This paranoia serves nothing but to hurt a fragile situation. I do not deny that the people of this court are capable of killing. Hell, I can kill you right now, if I was angrier than I was sad. But the motives, t-they just don't make sense. Why would anyone of my blood plot to kill my father and ruin his friends? What reason would they have to orchestrate all of this, huh?"
Odyn was quiet. It was true, though every condition aligned for a plot of this sort, no motives he was aware of or thought of already fit. He felt helpless. Unable to console his friend or avenge his father's memory, the bastard of Dorne's talk with the prince felt even more hollow than Petyr Baelish's smiles.
"Exactly. You see what I mean. Nothing of this makes any sense. Nothing makes any sense at all. This was supposed to be another year to celebrate life, not the rot of another casket being laid into the crypts. My father…" The prince wiped his eyes and looked into the sky. If her ever died I'd scourge the heavens to get my father back. Stafford he knew, felt much of the same. "It should've been me, Odyn. It should've been me. I should've protected him while I still had the fucking chance. But I didn't. And now he's gone, I'll never see him again. He was a great man. I'm… what's left."
"He's not gone. He lives on within you, and the burning passion of your heart. A man can die, but the legacy he builds lives on. You, my prince, are not his leftover. You are his legacy." Odyn fixed his black eyes into Stafford's. The prince's reddened eyes stared back as they both went silent.
"All men must die, but not all men live. And your father lived. And you will live, Stafford. We're all legacies in the end. Let's leave behind a good one."
For a moment, Odyn could see the faint hint of a smile grace the prince's face, and quickly get subdued beneath rapid gulps of wine. "It'll be hard, but I'll give it my all and beyond. My father casts a long shadow," He declared, "And my brother and King Joffrey has much to live up to."
The thought had made Odyn cringe internally, remembering the clusterfuck of the after-tourney party. Stafford broke two engagements and the oaths he made with the Starks to protect Arya for her own sister. Had Odyn arrived earlier and witnessed Joffrey's rebuttal, he would've had to request another red blanket from the Lannisters to present his body to the court. For how badly Prince Stafford mess up foreign relations with the Starks, there was no right for his moronic brother to fuck it up out of sympathy for Stafford, Odyn withheld his feelings on the matter. "I pray to the Seven that your brother can fill his father's throne. I can only imagine the machinations of those who seek to rob his throne." And weep with joy.
Stafford paused worriedly, his eyes turning grimmer than Lord Stark's. A few moments later, Stafford downed a bigger gulp of wine, the fear in his eyes unrelenting. "My prince, what exactly have you done that night?"
"Odyn, I fear I've made a terrible mistake.
"Would you mind explaining what you have done that night to upset your royal family?"
Stafford rose, and Odyn got up from his seat. "Walk with me. This'll be a long talk."
A few corridors away from the King's death chamber and a whole half hour later, Odyn listened, utterly dumbfounded by the error of the Prince. His own drunkenness had led to vast errors and lapses in his own judgement, and Odyn believed in being open about his emotions. But what Stafford and Joffrey had done to the Stark girls was beyond anything he thought he was capable of messing up.
"So he grabbed her, and began to… Violate her."
"What in SEVEN HELLS was he thinking?" Odyn's fists clenched so hard he felt blood flow from his palms. At least Stafford and Sansa both agreed to what they did, but what Joffrey had forced upon Arya had sickened the Dornish bastard. The sun was hanging low and lazily in the sky, in the late afternoon. "Stafford, if I were you I'd-"
"Don't, Odyn. Remember? Eyes everywhere. No one with their wits intact and their impulses checked will start a fucking insurrection against the king like this!"
"Where were your wits and checked impulses when you stole your brother's girl in a fit of passion?"
"I didn't steal her! She came to me willingly."
"Try telling that to your brother."
"You know that this shit is not as simple as that, you fool! I would've if it were." Stafford kept his voice lowered, still indignant.
"You had a chance to keep the betrothal to Arya! I fully understand that you love Sansa, and since there's no going back I support your endeavours as much as much as I can, but to tear apart the Seven Kingdoms? Disgrace her family? Break your oaths?"
"I was already given that talk, Odyn."
"Clearly not enough."
"What was that? I'm damned sure that YOU of all people are not lecturing me about thinking with the right head!"
Odyn went quiet. Damn it. "You're not wrong, my Prince. A valid point. But were you in the right to do such a thing? I don't think either of us can answer that. The Gods can only imagine how badly you've fucked up."
"So do you support me or not, Odyn?"
"Yes. And I know I'm not the one to lecture someone on the dangers of passion. But please, for your sake and for the Kingdoms' sake, please think this shit through before the stability of this fragile situation in King's Landing collapses. Pray tell, do you have anybody else in King's Landing who supports you and who you know will protect you? Because with the oncoming shitstorm, we're going to need them."
Stafford and Odyn's feet echoed in the vast hallways of the Red Keep. Save for a few soldiers on high alert, the mourners at King Robert's private chamber, and din of a small feast a the great hall, their words resounded across the empty stones and red walls. "I have my uncles Renly and Stannis. I've always been good with Renly."
"We may need him soon, if- no, when this situation and its conspirators grows out of control. But are you really sure that you can tru-"
"Stop doubting them. We can trust them, simple as that. No questions asked, Odyn, and I mean it."
"As you say, Prince Stafford." The two disgruntled and weary young men soon entered the great hall, and sat down at two open seats at one of the long tables. They sat in silence for a while, Odyn hoping a change in this uncomfortable topic. Despite the tables being lined with a good amount of food for the few dining there, Odyn could see the emptiness in Stafford. All this good food, and not even he could stomach it. He knew the Prince would have to be greatly saddened to be driven to abstaining from eating. And finally, after an awkward moment of loneliness in a room full of people, Stafford spoke up.
"On a different note, I never got to ask: How did you fare after the tourney?"
Odyn felt shaken from his silence, albeit gratefully. He let out a deep breath quietly, his hopes for a change in the conversation to begin being answered.
"After I was carted off the field-the Mountain himself threw me to the ground-I remained awake and well. My armor cushioned the impact, and my wounded belly had already recovered a good amount from when this Karl Tanner as I recalled assaulted me. It hurt, but in the end, I only had a few bruises, some minor thirst, a couple of sprained fingers, and a headache the maesters at the tent managed to dull. So considering what had happened to me and the people I have fought, I'm doing pretty well. And sorry, I almost forgot: Good fight." Odyn held out his hand across the table to Stafford. He shook it firmly in return.
"As to you."
"So now I wonder, if your maesters were at the Red Keep, who's tent did you find refuge in if not the infirmary?"
Odyn himself smiled at the memory. "I recall that it was decorated with the green and gold of Highgarden, my Prince. Lady Margaery and her brother Loras themselves allowed me to be brought inside."
Stafford chuckled quietly, taking another swig of his wine. "What happened?"
"After my guards explained that we lacked a tent or any maesters on hand to treat and examine my injuries, they offered their help."
"Making friends, aren't we?"
"I suppose so. Margaery was the one who convinced Loras to allow me in. And while he did help, Margaery was the one helping the maesters check me for injury. Helped them and my guards doff my armor. Don't know what the seven hells they'd want with a Bastard of a noble house theirs' had feuded with since time immemorial. I wonder what she sees in me. Doubt I'm worthy of their company."
"Are you complaining?"
"Hells no, Stafford. Hells no."
"I can tell you've got something for her, Odyn," He observed before another swig of wine, "Did you two talk after you were recuperated from your injuries?"
We had, in fact. About an hour or so before much of the people had left the tourney grounds, Loras allowed Margaery and Odyn to stay in their tent. He recalled some business he had to settle with a nobleman, and he said he'd back in about an hour. After he doffed his armor save for a shirt of mail beneath his gambeson, he left the tent.
As she was helping some of her servants pack their baggage to leave the Crownlands, Odyn had began to help without being prompted. While they packed their bags, they began to talk to one another.
"Odyn, are you sure you're alright? That was a hard fall." She brushed her hair out from her eyes as she handed a bag to a few other servants, each heading out the tent. Her pale brown hair shone in the lamplight of the Tyrell pavilion. There was hint of stress in her doe-like eyes and a rawness in her nervous voice.
He laughed mirthlessly, hefting a bag over his back. "Not as hard as when I fell for you."
"Shut your face, you bastard. I have no time for your japes." Ouch. Those words stung more than even Gregor Clegane's headbutts. Odyn bristled at the remark, and braced for more.
"This is not funny. Not even close. You could've died fighting the Mountain, and you know it. Why did you fight him?"
The bastard stopped laughing, and returned with a hardness in his voice. "You damn well know what that monster has done to my father. What he has done to Elia. What he has done to my family." He handed her bags to a nearby servant.
"Has the insanity of dying for our forefathers' mistakes and grudges ever crossed your mind? We are not our parents. And you are not Oberyn Martell." She spit back with a harshness in her weary voice that gave even Odyn pause. A rose is not without its thorns.
She sighed tiredly, coughing from her sore throat. "We have a chance to leave this world a better place than how they left it. Wasting our lives to rehearse the wars of our fathers should be the last of your priorities." Pushing strands of her hair from her face, she continued to pack her bags. The Tyrells were to leave at first light, the day after the tourney. Neither of them told Odyn where they're heading to, so he just assumed they were coming back to Highgarden.
The bastard groaned, rolling up another banner of House Tyrell carefully. His bronze lamellar glinted in the dimming lights of the tent, and his sword was at his side.
"You can be so much more to this world than another Oberyn Martell. This world is rife with warriors, and any fool can be a 'hero', but what we really need are good men. People who stand up for what they believe in. Those who want to break this cycle, not to spin it further around. The ones who aren't afraid to be the better person."
"In a world like this, even is enough. The world could be worse."
"The world could be better, Odyn. Too bad it's filled with people like you."
A quiet fell upon the whole tent and all the retainers, as if razorblades were held at their throats. Odyn froze. You had one job. One fucking job. Choosing his next words carefully, the bastard of Sunspear spoke.
"All I want of this life is to give the people of Westeros a world that doesn't need people like me. But there are others out there. Those who seek to poison and destroy the people, to corrupt their hearts and drown them in depravity. For your world to work, people like me must fight the good fight until we are no longer needed. And sadly, the world has and will always need people like me. It's how things are."
"But does it have to be?" She looked at him with her brown eyes, like wells of molten bronze. "Too many people have lived and died seeing the world as it is, not as it should be. And I don't want you to be among the forgotten dead, Odyn. You and I, we're made for so much more than names on a grave. Never forget that."
Odyn, handing some of the last bags to her servants, looked at the Lady of Highgarden. There was this passion in her, to help and protect and save. Whoever gets her love in the end certainly is lucky. "I won't. Because death isn't a matter of if. It's a matter of how. Better to burn out than fade away, am I right?"
"When I die, they'll see the flames from all around." Margaery laughed gently.
"Better later rather than sooner, Margaery. There's so much more to do."
"We talked a fair bit, I guess. Shortly after a long conversation, Loras came back from whoever he was talking to and demanded a private audience with his sister. He looked nervous. A bit on edge. Rambling about plans or such. So me and Margaery said our farewells, and my forces left the tent. Never saw her again after tha-"
"Wait a second. What was Loras talking about?" Stafford nearly lept from his seat at the mention of Loras' rambling.
"It was a bit indistinct, just muttering under his breath. His sister started to look concerned."
"Did you manage to hear any words he may have been saying?" This strange light filled Stafford's once weary eyes at once.
"My ears may have been fucking with me, but I swear I could make out the words 'heir' and 'Storm's End'. Whatever the hell he meant is beyond me."
The prince's eyes widened. "This is an… interesting turn of events. I was unaware he made the deal already…"
"What do you mean by that, my prince?"
"It doesn't concern you. Not yet, at least."
"As you say, Stafford."
Between speaking with Odyn, Stafford often looked nervously at the tables of Stark bannermen to look at Sansa. He was most likely looking out for Arya. His is the fury, but there is no fury like a pissed off ex.
"I have a proposition to make for you, Odyn. You need to follow me right now." The two got up from their seats and began talking in the hallway outside the hall, only after Stafford glanced and examined the privacy of the spot.
"What is it that you wanted to discuss, Stafford?"
The prince sighed heavily and began to talk. "My uncle Stannis, he's developed this utterly… outrageous theory. I don't want to believe it, but after all the evidence, it's starting to make sense."
"What theory?"
"He believes that my sister and brothers are not of my father's blood. That they're not Baratheons."
The idea left Odyn Sand distressed. "Of what blood are they then?"
Stafford came in close, and whispered as soft as he can: "My uncle. Jaime Lannister."
At first, Odyn reacted with amusement and a bit of outrage, but as he remembered the tourney and Joffrey's temperament, his blonde hair and green eyes, and how different from Stafford and his "father" he was, his stomach turned sick.
"By the Gods… That means your mother has been committing incest with your uncle. She and Jaime have turned the royal family into an inbred cuckold."
"That's why I refused to believe your theories. Stannis's ideas. They imply the Lannisters have taken the Iron Throne. That my mother betrayed my father and all the Seven Kingdoms, for a mad dash of power."
Odyn stood there, agape. He had no words for what abominations the Queen and her brother have been making. Come to think about it, it makes a lot of sense.
"Reminds me of Baelor." Odyn managed to croak.
"I'm sorry?"
"Baelor Breakspear. Son of King Daeron the second and Mariah Martell. He was their trueborn son, but looked more Martell than Targaryen. Didn't stop the Blackfyres and political enemies to start propaganda to weaken his claim to the throne. How are we to be sure that Stannis is not trying to do the same?"
"Exactly. That is why I'm asking you an important task. You must find proof to this claim, or a lack of it, and report back to me and Renly. We cannot act out on these suspicions without proof lest we make Blackfyres of ourselves."
Odyn nodded, his stomach still queasy and his mind dazed at the revelation. "I will do my best to find proof of these claims. You have any ideas on where to start?"
"I have overheard from my uncle Renly that Ned Stark is investigating similar claims and has found evidence concerning them during his main investigation of Jon Arryn's death. Or murder, now that he has also uncovered proof of my mother's treachery."
"I'll start with him then."
"That would be the best. I saw him leaving Robert's chamber with this big book after his last words with him were exchanged. Most likely a book borrowed from Maester Pycelle. If you move fast, you can still make it to them. Lord Stark's leg is still injured badly, and he walks slower."
"This is a good start. I will make my wa-"
"YOU BITCH. YOU BITCH!" The sudden screams and shrills made Stafford jump back, almost tripping. Recovering from his shock, he ran into the great hall, followed by Odyn. There were sounds of struggle and fighting.
"Oh great, I sure hope it isn't what I think it is," He muttered under his breath.
Bursting into the great hall, the two men came upon the sight of Arya Stark violently slapping down Sansa at the far side of the room, and her sister attempting to shield herself from her blows. Multiple guards soon followed to try and prt Arya off her sister.
"You ruined everything!" Arya screamed as she continued wailing on her sister, who began weeping while covering herself. "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I HATEYOUIHATEYOU…"
"Good grief… Arya, what are YOU DOING? Get off her!" Stafford shoved multiple people aside, and did his best to separate the two from one another. Arya responded by a flurry of punches across his face that made Odyn step back. Blood and fury ruled her grey eyes. People were soon crowding around the scene from all over the hall, afraid.
Stafford, a black eye and a bloody nose, turned to Odyn regretfully. "We'll talk later, Odyn. I'll settle this. Make haste to Lord Eddard-" Another blow to his stomach knocked the wind out of him, ending their conversation.
Gratefully, Odyn ran through the crowd and out of the hall. Screams, jeers, and Stafford's shouts echoed behind him. Keep moving forward, just keep running…
A few hallways away, a couple flights of stairs, and after what seemed like no time at all, he found himself almost knocking into a grim, grey-eyed looking fellow as he left Grand Maester Pycelle's office. Heavily muscled and tall, Ned walked with a limp, and leaned on a wooden cane. Odyn's own legs felt sore after breaking into a sudden sprint, and his lungs were frantic for a breath.
"Odyn Sand of Sunspear. I haven't seen you in a while. How is King's Landing serving you?"
"Better. Without my maesters and guards confining me to the keep after my adventures," He said hoarsely, "it would be heavenly."
"I'm glad to hear you're safe now. Tensions with Dorne have been abated for the most part. Your father is furious, but luckily Doran Martell managed to resolve the situation effectively before things got out of control. Is there anything you wanted to tell me?"
"Well, I just ran to here from the great hall."
"And why is that?"
"Your daughters are fighting. Again, according to Stafford Bara-"
"EXCUSE ME? Good Gods, that boy is always undermining the stability of my daughters! I ought to tea- Grrrrrh!" Brusquely shoving aside Odyn with great shock and anger, Ned made his way to the great hall as quickly as he could, stumbling down the stairs.
Gods save these Starks. Dusting his shoulders, he strode into Pycelle office. Upon entering he saw a bald old man, dressed in red velvet robes and gold finery, beneath a long, snowy beard. The man sat at a table surrounded by bookshelves. Upon his cluttered desk of papers, letters, and records, was a massive, leather-bound tome.
"Odyn! You're looking well, considering all the injuries you've managed suffer this past month. How do you fare?" His voice was high, thin, and weary.
"I feel just fine. A couple of bruises, but my and the Tyrells' maesters have treated most of my other injuries."
"That's good to hear. No more tensions with the Martells apparently. That much Lord Stark and I discussed."
"Speaking of Lord Stark, I just met him outside. Why'd he come here?"
Pycelle shifted in his seat, moving some papers around across his desk to see Odyn better. "He came here to return this book he had borrowed from me. Why he wanted suffer such tedious reading from a book written so long ago is beyond me. It's only been updated at the Citadel and sent to the Red Keep recently."
"Why'd he borrow it then?"
"He was investigating… private matters I cannot discuss with anyone outside the council. Strictly confidential, you must understand." You have no idea.
"Has anyone else taken an interest to the book?"
"Jon Arryn, former Hand of the King. He began reading it shortly before illness took him."
Lord Stark must've been following whatever Jon Arryn was investigating before his... sickness took him.
"Well, you can add me to the list. May I borrow this book from you, Grand Maester Pycelle?"
Odyn could see a subtle twitch in Pycelle's eyes as he motioned a hand to the book, and a brief darkening of his expression. Tension filled the sunlight room, and the dusk sky was bathing the room in golden-orange light.
"Sure, you may borrow this book. I have no idea why people have taken such an interest in the book. Why have you?" He asked albeit accusingly.
"Some light reading. Something to do in my confinement after my injuries."
Pycelle shrugged and shifted in his seat. "Alright then. If you've got any further inquiries, medical issues or need for books, you know where to go. Stay safe, Odyn Sand."
"I bid you farewell, Grand Maester." Odyn picked up the musty book from Pycelle's desk, turned around, and walked outside. He could feel the old man's beady eyes following him as he exited the office. What are you hiding, Grand Maester?
As he was walking down the Red Keep's halls, he read the book's cover. It was The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children, written by Maester Malleon. It smelled of age, weathered parchment, dust and old leather. He took great care of turning the pages, and was very cautious when handling the book. Upon hearing a sudden clamber of footsteps, he closed the book and headed to the sound.
Two hallways ahead one staircase down, he saw multiple soldiers of House Stark dressed in furs and ringmail marching down the halls, in the direction of the great hall. I wonder, is the Hand's office still guarded?
The Tower of the hand was only a short walk away. All the while, multiple men-at-arms of House Stark were swarming away from it. The situation at the great hall between Stafford and the Stark sisters must've escalated in his absence. Perfect distraction.
Soon enough, he came upon an unguarded doorway to the Tower of the Hand. Without a guard in sight, Odyn began to pick the lock. His book in the crook of his arm, he steadily unlocked the door. It was easier than he had expected, and though it provided some resistance, it was no match for him. Upon the last click of the lock, he opened the door and began his ascent to Ned Stark's quarters.
After a brief climb, he found himself in a long room with a high-vaulted ceiling. The bench space could easily fit two hundred. Walking past the table, he soon made it to the private audience chamber. The soft Myrish carpet muffled the sound of his feet, and the golden light of the sunset shone through already yellowed curtains over tall windows. Inside the chamber, Odyn saw a table surrounded with yellow-stained windows, the Myrish rugs beneath it steadily climbing in luxury, and ornate tapestries hanging from the walls in golden thread.
On the table was a simple, undecorated book, filled with sheafs of papers. Reaching over to the desk and opening the book, he was greeted by the scrawlings of Ned Stark. In it, was a brief summation of the days he was Hand. Skimming through, the investigation into Jon Arryn's death was a prominent theme. Main suspicion of murder beginning a few weeks ago. Seems to be focusing on observations drawn from this book of lineages. Odyn's eyes grew wide. Gendry was one of Robert's many bastards, all having the Baratheon coloration. But Joffrey lacked such a coloration…
On top of all that, the last recorded entry that caught Odyn's eyes explained Ned Stark confronting Cersei with those suspicions a day before, and readying a force with Janos Slynt and Renly to arrest them on the morrow? Ned had alerted the Lannisters of his plot beforehand…
He grabbed both the books and fled the tower, running to the dungeons, where Stafford had asked him to meet. Eventually, he burst through the doors of his chambers, Renly talking to Stafford.
"Odyn, have you got the information?"
"That, and so. Much. More."
I wish the Lannisters good fortune in the wars to come. With a smile on his face, Odyn began to present the facts. "So, here's the situation…"