Chapter 139: Ambushed
Lord Eddard's gray eyes shifted slightly, his gaze falling sharply on Pycelle.
"I heard you sent Maester Corman away at the time?"
Pycelle nodded solemnly. "I regarded Corman as I would my own son, and I had absolute confidence in his abilities. But he is still too young. The young often cannot comprehend how frail an old man's body is. Lord Jon Arryn's constitution was already too weak for bold treatments."
"I could not watch Corman make a mistake, so I had no choice but to send him away and take over myself. At the time, I felt it was the best choice, but looking at the result, we still lost our respected Lord Jon Arryn... Perhaps what I did was wrong. Lady Lysa will never forgive me."
After he finished speaking, Pycelle's face was filled with self-reproach.
Lord Eddard was not one for offering comfort; he changed the subject directly.
"Did Jon Arryn say anything when he was critically ill?"
Pycelle composed his mournful expression. He frowned in thought for a moment before saying, "In his final stage, while suffering from a high fever, Lord Jon Arryn called out for Robert several times. I am not certain if he was calling for his young son or for His Grace, the King."
Lord Eddard sighed under his breath and pressed on, "Grand Maester Pycelle, did Lord Jon Arryn leave any last words?"
"Seeing that there was no hope for Lord Jon Arryn's recovery, I gave him milk of the poppy to drink, so that he would no longer suffer."
Pycelle slowly continued, "Lord Jon Arryn said a few words to Lady Lysa and His Grace, praying for his young son. In the end, he said, 'The seed is strong,' and after that, his words became muddled and unclear..."
Lord Eddard's brow furrowed. "'The seed is strong'?"
Pycelle nodded. "Yes, Lord Eddard. Everyone present heard it, but we were not too surprised. Lord Jon Arryn was already delirious by then."
After a moment of silence, Lord Eddard asked, "Grand Maester Pycelle, in your opinion, was there anything suspicious about Lord Jon Arryn's death?"
Pycelle's body stiffened for a moment. He shook his head and said, "No, I do not believe there was anything suspicious. Lord Eddard, death, while saddening, is also the most natural of things."
Lord Eddard stared intently at Pycelle's face and said in a low voice, "Northmen are not much for beating around the bush. I'll say it directly. Do you think Lord Jon Arryn was poisoned?"
Pycelle's weary eyes suddenly widened. "Lord Eddard, poisoning is abhorrent. Your speculation is chilling. We are in Westeros, not the Free Cities. Only there is poisoning a commonplace occurrence."
After a pause, he added, "Forgive my bluntness, but your speculation is baseless. Any country maester could recognize the common symptoms of poison, but Lord Jon Arryn showed no such signs. Besides, everyone loved Lord Jon Arryn. What kind of beast would dare to poison such a noble man?"
*The Free Cities...* Lord Eddard's pupils contracted. He felt that Pycelle was hinting at something.
Lord Eddard found talking to these people truly exhausting. He desperately wanted to just grab the man before him and demand to know what he meant, but this was not the North. He told himself to endure it, not to offend people just for the sake of getting a quick answer.
Besides, would a cunning man ever give him a straight answer? Lord Eddard felt it was more likely he would get another vague hint or a purposeful lie.
Thinking of the secret letter Lysa had sent, Lord Eddard said, as if it were a casual remark, "Grand Maester Pycelle, thank you for your answers, but I have heard that poison is a woman's weapon."
Pycelle stroked the white beard that flowed down to his chest and mused, "There is such a saying. It includes women, cowards... and eunuchs..."
He seemed to recall something important, lowering his voice as he continued, "Did you know that Varys, the Master of Whisperers, was originally a slave from the Free Cities? Lord Eddard, you must not trust him."
At that moment, the cry of a raven came from above their heads.
So, Pycelle's earlier hint was to warn him not to trust Varys? In truth, Pycelle didn't need to remind him of this. Varys had a knack for making his skin crawl, and Lord Eddard would instinctively be on his guard against him.
Pycelle's gaze shifted to the roof. He lamented, "It was I who informed Winterfell of Lord Jon Arryn's death. I have never in my life sent a raven with such a heavy heart."
Lord Eddard murmured, "Black wings, black words."
Pycelle brought his gaze back down and said, "So the saying goes, but it is not always so. We know that the black birds can also bring glad tidings."
"Grand Maester Pycelle, you are right."
Lord Eddard stood up from his chair, a polite smile appearing on his stern face. "I have taken up too much of your time. Thank you for your help."
Pycelle rose unsteadily, placing a hand on his chest. "I hope I have been of assistance... Lord Eddard, it is my greatest honor to serve you."
As Pycelle escorted him to the door, Lord Eddard seemed to suddenly remember something. "Grand Maester Pycelle, forgive me, but I have one last question."
Pycelle stopped, his murky eyes turning to Lord Eddard.
"When Lord Jon Arryn was critically ill, was Queen Cersei present?"
Pycelle gently shook his head and replied with a tone of helplessness, "Our queen never made an appearance. Everyone knows she dislikes Lord Jon Arryn. Not even His Grace, the King, can force Queen Cersei of House Lannister to do something she does not wish to do."
...
Outside the Tower of the Hand, Glyn's sword easily parried the downward slash from Jon Snow. He tilted his head and said, "Ser Jon, haven't you eaten? Or perhaps..."
With a push of Glyn's sword, Jon stumbled back several steps before steadying himself.
Glyn held his sword by the hilt, the longsword standing at his side, and asked quizzically, "Are you actually a lady?"
Arya Stark, who was watching the excitement nearby, shouted, "Lord Glyn, don't underestimate girls!"
Glyn smiled faintly. He raised his voice toward Arya, "My apologies, Lady Arya!"
Arya lifted her chin, then yelled at Jon, "Brother, knock Lord Glyn down!"
*Didn't this little girl say we were good friends just a few days ago? ...Ah well, being fickle is a child's prerogative.*
Glyn wasn't angry at all. He continued to taunt the slightly unsteady Jon.
"Jon, would you like to eat something first?"
...
Jon, dressed in a grey tunic under a leather vest and mail, was already drenched in sweat. He gasped for breath, gripping his sword tightly with both hands.
*Why is he so strong?* Jon had always been proud of his sword skills, but now he was beginning to wonder if the men back in Winterfell had been intentionally letting him win.
He had been knocked down three times in a row, almost powerless to resist. Jon couldn't help but question his life.
Jon forced a smile at the hopping, cheering Arya.
He took a slow breath, his gaze sharpening once more as he focused on his opponent not far away.
Glyn raised his sword, holding it with one hand, and assumed a fighting stance.
Clang! Clang! Clang!
After Jon parried three blows, his footwork faltered. He lost his balance and fell hard to the ground.
Glyn sheathed his sword, walked over, and extended a hand to the stunned Jon.
The hand appearing before him brought Jon back to his senses. He looked up at Glyn's gentle face, hesitated for a moment, then took the offered hand and let himself be pulled to his feet.
Jon caught his breath and bowed his head slightly. "My lord, thank you."
Glyn patted Jon's arm and walked off in another direction, having spotted Lord Eddard.
...
Jon took the waterskin from Montun and said irritably, "Montun, please wipe that look off your face. I know I did horribly."
Montun said artlessly, "Jon, don't lose heart. Lord Glyn defeated a hundred knights at Highgarden. He's just too strong."
Jon sighed helplessly. He didn't feel comforted in the slightest.
Southerners were weak to begin with. Everyone in Winterfell said one Northman could defeat ten Southerners.
Still, defeating a hundred men was indeed very strong. Thinking about it, Jon felt a tiny bit comforted by Montun's words.
...
In the Hand's Solar.
Lord Eddard leaned back in his chair, propping his feet directly on the desk.
Glyn also leaned back in his chair. He smiled and said, "Lord Eddard, it seems your harvest from Pycelle did not satisfy you."
"Glyn, call me Ned."
Lord Eddard's tone was tinged with anger. "Talking to them is enough to tire a man to death. I can't even tell if they're lying or not. By the gods!"
Glyn looked up and laughed. He stood, picked up the wine jug, poured a cup, and handed it over.
"Lord Ned, forgive my impertinence, but King's Landing is not the land of the First Men. You can only try your best to adapt."
...
Two days earlier, Glyn had been summoned to the Hand's solar by Lord Eddard. Before Glyn could even finish reminiscing about the days he was "oppressed" by Jon Arryn in this very room, Lord Eddard suddenly spoke.
"Glyn, I trust you. I need your help."
Glyn Cleber Lannister Tyrell Baratheon Stark nodded emphatically without a moment's hesitation.
Through some inquiries, Lord Eddard had already confirmed Glyn's honorable intentions. Furthermore, from his own perspective, he couldn't think of any reason why Glyn would betray him.
Lord Eddard frankly told Glyn that he suspected Lord Jon Arryn had been murdered and hoped Glyn would assist him in secretly investigating the truth.
Lord Eddard stared into Glyn's eyes, his voice grave. "Until we find evidence, anyone could be the murderer. We must maintain an impartial heart."
After taking his leave of Lord Eddard, Glyn immediately went to Maegor's Holdfast and, out of necessity, accepted the "task" from Queen Cersei to "monitor" the Starks.
In short, the far-sighted Lord Glyn had been successfully ambushed by Lord Eddard. That was why, when he got the chance today, he took his frustrations out on Jon Snow in the name of a friendly spar.
...
"By the gods..."
Lord Eddard drained half the cup of wine in one go. Thinking about the messy affairs of the past few days, he couldn't help but curse under his breath again.
(end of chapter)