EDDARD VIII

"King Eddard Stark sat with his Hand in the confines of his private solar high up in the Red Keep. The leaves on the trees outside down below were yellowing, as the end of summer seemed to be drawing ever more near, and King's Landing lay surprisingly cool for the day being.

They were discussing matters of great importance for the realm. After the deaths that had come, and the investigations which had still not brought any answers of who was behind it all, such talk was dire necessary, Eddard knew in his heart, even though it may stir up old wounds as they tried their best to plaster over them.

...

"Prince Quentyn is a good friend of the crown prince", Lord Tywin allowed. "He is a well-mannered and polite young man, and holds no grudges of his own person. His father's kingdom, though, is another matter entirely."

"I will not send him away on account of such things. The Dornish boy, Gerris... They would never have poisoned one of their own."

"No man can know such things", the Old Lion said in a decided tone. "Who can say what goes on in the courts of the Dornish? Snakes slither the way they will, the same as dragons, one head bites off the one of its brother without remorse, and a new one soon grows in its stead."

Ned had to bring his utmost sense of temperance to not fling the cup of lemonwater across the table in the face of the Old Lion right there and then. Not to raise his sword from its scabbard and ask the lord of Casterly Rock if her would now at last confess to that he had been the one to send the order for the murder of Princess Elia's children...

In some explicable way, as gods and ancient heroes made battle over his head's view upon the tapestried ceiling of the room, his blood stilled itself to ice again, preventing his seven kingdoms to bleed yet again over the foul shadows of old and dark sins... The Mountain and the Manticore were dead, he reminded himself again, for the hundredth time. He had taken their heads himself, shaking but decided before the unpleasant carrying out of the judgement, while Lord Tywin Lannister had watched.

It had been justice, and it was done. Long ago. There needed not be more to it, although he would never allow himself to forget it either. This fowl thing,... the sin.

"The Dornish are a people as stubborn as the southern sun that continually scorches their lands", his Hand explained, in a slow and deliberate fashion, like a lion tearing the last dry pieces of meat off a bone. "They have far more pride than sense. 'Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken'. It has ever been so. The Targaryens tried to conquer them with dragons for near two hundred years, and failed, time and time again. Only a royal marriage into their own line could at long last secure Dorne into the fold and sate them. And they will not cower down for anything less this time either, I fear."

"I do not wish to sow discontent, my lord hand", Eddard said, "yet I do not see your own bannermen doing their utmost to honour my royal peace."

"No. The West and the Dornish are not at ease", Tywin admitted. "Though there can still be reason to forge a better future in time."

He stretched out his back, raising his goblet into the air slightly.

"Brax and Lydden... They have their slights from the war still. But there will not be another one. Mark my words. A war with Dorne would serve my lands naught."

"A war with Dorne is forbidden", Eddard accentuated, "under my rule as king. No amount of old slights can change the rule of the law. Not since Aegon's days."

There was a silence for a minute, as his Hand contemplated carefully what to say next, not to stir his wrath yet again.

"...Of course, Your Grace. I merely meant to say that, should it break out, there would be nothing to be gained from waging a war with such a minor foe. Their land is barren, and far too hot for sensible men to inhabit, as I'm sure you would agree..., they don't share a border with us... We would have to go through the heart of the Reach to even be able to meet them in the field. No. There will be no war with Dorne, as long as I remain Lord Paramount."

Ned gave a short, curt nod, confirming what should already have been clearer than winter ice for any man to know.

He did not appreciate the leisurely arrogance of war-time speculation, nor the scoffing tone against the other kingdoms who were not Lord Tywin's own. He was in charge of them now, bound to protect them and rule over them, and should not berate them for the meagreness of their lands.

He spoke up.

"I do not wish to hear any more speculation about war coming to pass between anyone present here at court. You will keep your bannermen in line and I shall do the same with Prince Quentyn's party. Prince Doran is a sensible man. He will not want to risk anything either. Make sure to calm your own people from the fires of old embers, if you can."

"Of course, Your Grace."

Tywin was silent for a while, as he thought on the proclamation.

...

"But there is not only the west and Dorne that keeps us busy. You have seven kingdoms", he noted, "and each one needs to go on and be held firmly in place by your rule."

He scanned over the large coloured map that lay between them on the long table.

"The North, and the West, as well as The Riverlands... are all secure through us and the crown."

He swept a strong but gnarled hand the colour of yellowish leather across the map.

"The Stormlands... by our friend and ally... Robert Baratheon."

"I have no qualms about Robert", Ned was quick to assure.

"No", Tywin agreed. "He is a friend to us, fiercely loyal, and has been so far..., just like his father was before him."

"That still leaves Dorne, The Reach, the Vale... and the iron islands."

He muttered the last part about the iron islands, just as he gave a little flick of his fingers to a tiny gathering of stone pebbles intended to simulate the fortress of Pyke on its southern shore.

"The Vale... is currently being secured by your Lord Baelish", he acknowledged.

"It is", Ned confirmed. "I have confidence that he will make it so. Him and Lady Arryn are as close as brother and sister. She trusts him. If anyone can make Lysa heed reason in her grief over her husband, it will be him."

Tywin looked content with the knowledge, as he took a few more steps around the table, surveying the map further to the south.

"Very well... That still leaves three whole kingdoms as of yet unaccounted for. A considerable force, should they all band together at the same time."

He took another final step, stretching his torso across the table to point at the little grey volcanic island to the right. "And... Dragonstone."

"Aye." Ned's face was hard, an iron mask of rigour and determination. "Dragonstone too."

"I gather the meeting with prince Viserys went well?"

"As well as is possible", he said, not wanting to give too many details away. He was still feeling the waters around the prince and Lord Velaryon's pledge of renewed fealty.

"I keep hearing how he takes after him.", Lord Tywin said in a displeased tone, as he raised himself up again from the table, drawing his hand up and placing it behind his back in a pose of annoyance.

Ned turned his head in the heat of the room, his hair sweating, as he tried his best to follow along with his Hand, where he sauntered around the room discontented, walking restlessly back and forth, just as a large tall grasshopper waiting to jump right at him and claw into his face.

"Who?" Ned said, trying to not get lost in the fast whims of the conversation, and the Old Lion's fast and nimble[ ] mind.

"His father", Lord Tywin said, a certain bitterness into his voice, as that of old regrets and anger.

Ned gave a thought to the statement.

"He was showing signs of it already as an infant", Tywin went on. "I knew him well in those days. I hear he has taken up consort with a strange red priestess from Asshai of late." He scoffed. "The fire remains ever their fascination. I do not particularly wish to see where this foolish tale ends."

"It is not of yet as ill as that...," Ned tried. "She came to accompany Lord Stannis' wife, the Lady Selyse Florent. She was nowhere near him when I came to see the prince."

"As good of an excuse as any. The ill-mares of fire and destruction would do well to be seen to, so that they don't reach our shores. They burn people, these red priests, all in the name of their lord of light. Did you know that?"

"I am certain that Viserys will come to better mind now that I went to him. It is the attempt on his sister that has shaken him so.

He needs a firm hand. Stannis has ever been that hand before, yet... I will need to keep better watch over them both now. He will be better once his wife bears them a child, as well. His fires will be soothed by her water. What he needs... is calm and security, for his line. As we all do."

Lord Tywin stood thinking on it a long while, grubbling with a stale date pyp in his mouth that he had taken from the fruit bowl in front of them both.

"Hm.", he said, finally. "Let us hope so."

"Still... Half of the royal fleet remains at Dragonstone and Driftmark, respectively. You have been given the promise by Lord Monford. How long will it be until it is back under royal command in full? "

"A fortnight perhaps. Maybe more."

In truth he had no idea how long it would be, but it was better to say something. Tywin Lannister was ruthless with his insistence to know precisely every little detail. If they could merely quench the fires of anger that were seemingly arising all around them, it would very well be a good skill, and of value to the kingdoms, Ned thought.

...

"You don't believe...- Forgive me, Your Grace, but you don't believe he could be the culprit?"

"I know not", Ned admitted. "We are as close as blind in this game of thrones."

...

They finished their convenement soon thereafter, as the Hand of the King and Warden of the West took his long, striding steps out from the hall and down the stairs towards the courtyard and on to the Tower of the Hand.

Ned remained in the solar for a goodly while, thinking and mulling over what they'd gone over. Jory and Ser Marlon stood posted in the room, neither saying a word to interpret or interrupt his thoughts. He was thankful for the silence after his long talk with his Hand.

...

The children were having their lessons with Grand Maester Pycelle as usual, though Robb and his friends would most likely be practicing in the courtyard outside.

The stone floors clanked beneath his boots as he walked along the long corridors to where the sun streamed in broad, warm beams on the marble patterns of the floors. Vayon Poole came up to him briefly, as they strode through the great doors to the castle, and gave him the quick version of the reckonings for the day.

...

As he went down to take a walk in the rose garden outside, Martyn came up to him bearing a letter.

"Your Grace!", he bowed, handing Ned the piece of parchment. "We've had another little bird."

Eddard looked on his messenger thoughtfully, before accepting the note.

"What bird was this?" He asked, in a tone which could have been said to be most displeased.

"Another orphan child from the Free Cities, it would be, from the looks of him", Martyn said. "Allow me to escort you, Your Grace." He bowed again.

Ned followed after, disgruntled but reluctantly curious to see whether they had truly had one more come forth. The first one was still held captive in the comfortable cells. He had seen to it that the young boy had all that he required in food, clothes and other necessities, and given the guards explicit instructions to not hurt him.

Grand Maester Pycelle had spoken to the boy on several occasions, questioning him, asking about his health and trying to get whatever information or admittal out of him as he could. So far, they still only knew the most basic parts of the matter. That he was a young child acting as a spy in service to the eunuch, Lord Varys, on the other side of the Narrow Sea. What specific mission had gotten him to King's Landing was still a secret, and neither would he do Pycelle the courtesy of interpreting the letter for him or the king of the Seven Kingdoms.

Ned had long given up getting any further knowledge from the boy, but neither would he be clever to let any information pass out of the castle again with him. He knew far too much. Unless any other option presented itself, he would have to remain at the Red Keep for perpetuity, in some capacity or another.

At least until he could find out the plans about Princess Daenerys, what it all meant... Red or black, her guardian... He thought it to mean the Blackfish, for the black trout of the red Tullys, but he was no longer certain.

...

Martyn stopped just shy of a corner in the castle walls, pointing out the young boy who stood held on by two guards, the one of them being Ser Jory Cassel's little brother, Matthys. The boy was taking to his duties well, from what Ned knew and had heard. He was pleased to know at least that it was Jory's own flesh and blood, and a man he would trust to be loyal, who had caught the young informant. He did not want to be played for a fool by intercepting messages that were in actuality meant to be read by him. Perhaps the boy had wanted to be caught.

As it turned out, indeed he did.

"He came up to us, Your Grace", Matthys said. "He wanted us to deliver the letter to you, for your eyes only to read. We tried shooing him away, we lifted our swords at him, but he was unafraid."

That is because he knows that a far worse fate awaits him should he fail in his mission, Ned thought grimly to himself. Of Essosi spies and their handlers, whether man or eunuch, the mercies of the Mother, or the honours of the Old Way of the North, would be a foreign dish.

The poor boy would likely await torture, perhaps castration if he was unable to deliver the message, if that had not already happened to him. Pycelle had assured him that such was the case, along with the removal of most of his tongue, for the first boy. In spite of another name, the cell guards had apparently taken to named him Grey Gull / Sparrow[ , for his grey robes, the little feathery plumes of soft grey hair on his round head and the strange sound that came from his throat that was the only sound they ever got out of him, squeaking falsely like a seagull when they would threaten to poke him with their maces or pikes.

With a foreboding sense inside his chest, Eddard lifted up the piece of parchment and read it.


To His Grace King Eddard Stark,

Lord Protector of the Realm, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Keeper of the Throne,

Your Grace, you do not know me, other than by far-spread and often ill repute, but I do know you, more than you yourself know. Who am I? Someone who has the realm's best interests in mind, I assure you, and a great admirer of your work to keep the peace during your reign thus far.

You may not immediately believe me in this, as only a fool would trust blindly in the judgement of a complete stranger who dares not show his face, and yet all the same I fear that seeing me so directly would serve you naught. I have sent you one of my little birds instead, just as I assume you caught the last one. If you did not, I apologize. It is only that my good friend did not hear back from me and the message I had for him. But I digress...

The upcoming marriage of the Princess Daenerys is a great deal, greater than perhaps you or I can imagine, even. You and I both know that a Piper, although a by all accounts old and respectable house in their own right, is not the best route for her, or for her historically great and noble house. She would have deserved to be with her older brother, the Prince Viserys, and barring that, he had made his plans for her to wed the young Lord Monterys Velaryon. You must surely know all this, and so I hope you will forgive you if I bore you with specifics.

Nonetheless, I hereby implore you to reconsider her offer, as well as your treatment of His Royal Highness the prince. He may be young and foolish at times, but he is the one best suited to watch over her hereafter. The Tullys of Riverrun and their many friends have served her well in her young years, but I fear they will serve her no more. I know that your Royal wife may feel extra towards her house in this, but I trust for you to make the fairest judgement on the merit of your just rule thus far. We all trust you to see.

The Princess Daenerys must do away with her betrothal to the Pipers, or the kingdoms will bleed. I say this not as a threat, but rather as a well-intended warning. The prince is not an easily sated man, as you well know, and yet... Sometimes it is a wiser thing to feed the sleeping beast than to stir him.

Please consider my offer, Your Grace, and in return I and my friends shall do our best to steer away from your rule in future. This will be the final bird you catch within your gates, my king, this I promise, so far as you listen to my advice. You have the power within your hands to stop the coming bloodshed. Please do so, and save your many kingdoms from the ravages of war. You are the Lord Protector. We heed your call.

/ A spider who is also a friend."


...

"Varys."

He almost blurted out the name, before giving a feint cough as to cover it up. Fortunately, just as he said it, Moon Boy was performing his juggleries with ripe late summer melons some few feet behind them, making a rush of laughter go up from Lords Buckler, Wendwater and Lefford.

"Pardon, Your Grace?" Martyn asked him.

"Nothing", he said. "Let us be on our way."

"And what of the boy, Your Grace?" The other guard asked him, the tall one besides Matthys. He should know his name, but it was something with an S. Styger, he thought he recalled it to be. One of the sterner ones.

Eddard Stark thought long and hard on that, before replying, as he turned back towards the castle.

"Take the boy into the cells, and treat him well, but keep him far away from the other one", Ned decreed. "And take the letter up to Lord Tyrion's chamber at once. It seems I am in need to speak with my Master of Whispers."