chapter 141 part 2
Glynn: "..."
Based on what Glynn knew of the original story, he had already confirmed that Hugh was a pawn put forward by Lord Baelish, and that Varys was intentionally facilitating Baelish's scheme. They both wanted to incite a war between the wolf and the lion.
Petyr Baelish had already, directly or indirectly, bought off Squire Hugh. When he met with Lord Eddard, he would certainly provide carefully crafted false information, pointing the finger at the Lannisters.
Varys had long seen through Petyr's conspiracy and was more than happy to give it a push; they both hoped for chaos.
Then there were the clues Lord Jon had left behind when investigating the royal lineage.
Glynn reined in his thoughts. He planned to leverage this one matter into two.
...
Lord Eddard already felt an inexplicable sense of danger. He sensed that the time to uncover the real culprit was not far off.
If the Lannisters were behind Jon's murder... Tywin Lannister would not sit idly by. Moreover, he was ruthless toward the vanquished; the fate of the Targaryens was the best lesson.
He had to send a raven to Winterfell at once, instructing his son to mobilize his vassals in his name and prepare the North's defenses ahead of time. Unless the Lannisters used the entire military might of the South as their shield, they would never dare to invade a prepared Neck. And they could only dream of such a day.
If war was unavoidable, he and Robert wouldn't mind holding a grand celebration at Casterly Rock.
...
The wolf showed its fangs. Varys glanced at Lord Eddard's expression, his smile gradually deepening.
Varys's and Glynn's gazes met. Glynn's eyes held a subtle smile.
"Thank you for your troubles, Varys."
"Lord Hand, Varys is always at your command."
...
...
The Tower of the Hand.
Just after breakfast, the steward, Vayon Poole, led Arya Stark to the empty small hall.
"Boy, you are late."
A strange voice entered Arya's ears. She saw a slender, bald man with a great hooked nose emerge from the shadows. The stranger held a pair of thin wooden swords.
Arya was not frightened by the stranger's sudden appearance. Instead, she asked excitedly, "Who are you?"
"I am your dancing master."
The bald man spoke with an accent, like the cadence of the Free Cities—perhaps Braavos, or Myr.
The bald man tossed a wooden sword to Arya. She reached out to catch it but missed. With a clatter, the sword fell to the ground.
"Boy, from tomorrow on, you will catch it every time. Now, pick it up."
Arya protested, "I'm a girl!"
She noticed the wooden sword was like a real one; it had a hilt, a guard, and a round pommel.
The bald man grinned. "Boy, girl, you are a sword. That is all."
Arya picked up the sword. She wiped her sweaty palms on her trousers and held the sword in her left hand.
The bald man showed a satisfied expression. "The left hand is best. Everything is reversed, and your enemies will not be used to it! But your stance is wrong. Do not face me. Turn your body to the side... Yes, like that! You are as thin as a spear, you know? This is also good, because you make a smaller target."
"Now let me see how you hold it..."
He leaned closer, studying her hand, then pried her fingers open and readjusted them. "Good... just so. Not too tight... yes, but be quick, and graceful."
Arya asked, "If I hold it like this, what if I drop the sword?"
The bald man gave Arya a sidelong glance. "The sword must be part of your arm. Does your arm fall off? Of course not! Syrio Forel was First Sword to the Sealord of Braavos for nine years; he knows these things. You will listen to him, boy."
Arya put on a "fierce" expression.
Syrio Forel grinned again. "Now we begin the dance. Remember, boy, this is not the dance of steel you see in Westeros, the dance of knights, all hacking and slashing. No. This is the dance of assassins, the water dance, swift and sudden. All men are made of water, do you know this? When you pierce a man's body, the water leaks out, and he dies."
With that, he took a light step back, raised his wooden sword, and pointed it at Arya.
"Now you will try to strike me, boy."
...
...
The Throne Room, a meeting of the Small Council.
Lord Eddard glanced at Grand Maester Pycelle, who was acting no different than usual. He even suspected the man he saw last night was an imposter.
The Red Keep was indeed full of lies, deceit, and hypocrisy.
The matter of state they were discussing today was still the tourney that Lord Eddard found utterly tiresome.
"The kingdom flourishes because of tourneys! For the nobility, it is a grand opportunity to seek glory. As for the common folk, well, they can temporarily forget their worries and find solace."
Petyr Baelish spread his hands. "Many people can also make a fortune from this. The inns of King's Landing are full to bursting, and the whores are so busy they can barely stand, their purses jingling with coppers as they walk."
Lord Renly laughed heartily. "It's a good thing Stannis isn't here. Do you remember that time he proposed to the Small Council that we investigate all the brothels in King's Landing? The king asked him if he wanted to ban eating, shitting, and breathing while he was at it."
"Honestly, sometimes I really wonder how Stannis produced that ugly daughter of his. I can't imagine him in bed. Perhaps he goes to it as he would a battlefield, his expression grave and solemn, determined to do his duty."
The council members broke into laughter.
Lord Eddard did not join in. He looked at the smiling Renly and said, "I was also thinking about your brother Stannis. I wonder when he will leave Dragonstone and return to the Small Council."
A corner of Petyr Baelish's mouth turned up. "Lord Hand, if we were to drive all the whores into Blackwater Bay, I believe Stannis would appear here immediately."
As Petyr Baelish finished speaking, the men laughed even louder.
Lord Eddard's gaze sharpened. "My lords of the council, I have heard enough about whores for one day."
He rose from his chair and added, "We are finished here."
(end of chapter)