Since the quarrel at the Trident, House Stark and their men had ridden at the very front of the procession, keeping their distance from House Lannister and avoiding the growing tension between the two camps. The king was rarely seen. Rumor had it he stayed inside the wheelhouse all day, drunk beyond sense.
"Robert, has that crown truly corrupted you so?" Eddard wondered.
The king was no longer the companion of his youth. Something stood between them now. Lannister soldiers. Lannister women. The Lannister kingslayer.
The quarrel had also left cracks within House Stark itself. Arya blamed Sansa, Sansa complained about her sister's wild temper, and Jon could do nothing to reconcile the two girls.
Eddard rode through the towering bronze gates of the Red Keep, his whole body aching, weary and hungry, his mood foul. Jon followed not far behind. Scars marked his face and body, but thankfully the wounds had not worsened and were healing well.
Jon and the butcher's boy stared up at the imposing Red Keep. Jon felt a quiet unease rise within him. The place was unfamiliar, the situation grim. He knew why the Stark party had pushed their march forward. The hatred between them and the Lannisters only seemed to deepen.
"Lord Hand, Grand Maester Pycelle has convened an urgent Small Council meeting. He requests the presence of the new Hand of the King, if it is convenient."
The Lord Steward delivered the message first, which did little to improve Eddard's mood. All he wanted now was a hot bath and a roasted duck or chicken.
"If it's convenient, move it to tomorrow," Eddard said irritably as he dismounted.
The steward bowed slightly. "Very well, Lord. I shall inform the councilors that you are unable to attend."
"Damn it." Eddard frowned. This was King's Landing, not Winterfell. If he followed his temper here, he might offend every lord before even settling into the office.
"I'll go. But give me a few minutes to change into something more suitable."
"Yes, my lord," the steward said. "We have prepared Lord Arryn's former chambers in the Tower of the Hand for you."
"Much obliged," Eddard replied. Then he added quietly, "See that a room is prepared for my son as well."
Winter was coming. In the end, family was the only thing he could truly trust.
Behind him, his family and retainers passed through the gates one after another.
"Jon," Eddard called.
His son stepped forward.
"That woman has always been arrogant. You offended her. In King's Landing you must be careful. Especially that butcher's boy beside you. They would kill a butcher's apprentice without the slightest hesitation."
"I understand, Father." Jon nodded gravely.
"Father, you must be careful as well. This is King's Landing," Jon said slowly.
It was not that he was especially perceptive. But a bastard learned to survive in narrow spaces. He had grown used to reading Catelyn's expressions.
Eddard gave further instructions to the steward, telling him to settle his two daughters. Afterward he borrowed a set of clothes from the Lord Steward to attend the meeting. His own carriage was still somewhere on the road into the city.
The council chamber of the Red Keep was richly furnished. The floors were covered with Myrish carpets instead of simple rush mats. In one corner stood a wooden screen from the Summer Isles, carved with hundreds of vividly colored exotic birds and beasts. The walls were hung with exquisite tapestries from Norvos, Qohor, and Lys. Flanking the doorway stood a pair of Valyrian sphinx statues, their rounded garnet eyes gleaming brightly in their black marble faces.
Yet none of this luxury could lift Eddard's foul mood.
The moment he stepped inside, the man he disliked most, Varys, hurried forward.
"Lord Stark, I heard of the unfortunate incident on the Kingsroad. Most regrettable indeed. We are all concerned about young Lord Jon's injuries and pray for his swift recovery."
Varys's hand left a smear of powder on Ned's sleeve. A cloying sweetness clung to him, the smell of rot beneath perfume, like flowers blooming atop a grave.
"My son is well. He is recovering quickly. The king has said the matter should be forgotten by everyone," Eddard replied, polite but cold.
Varys simply smiled and said nothing more.
Stark answered his friendliness with indifference. No attempt to draw him closer, no effort to curry favor.
So Stark indeed, he thought. And a fool besides.
Eddard withdrew his hand from the eunuch's grasp and crossed the room toward Great Lord Renly. Renly stood beside the carved screen, chatting with a short man who could only be Littlefinger.
When Robert first seized the throne, Renly had been no more than a boy of seven. Now he had grown into a man, and his appearance bore a striking resemblance to his elder brother.
The sight made Eddard deeply uncomfortable.
Every time he looked at Renly, it felt as though time had turned back, and the Robert who had returned triumphant from the Trident stood before him once more.
"Lord Stark, it seems you arrived safely," Renly said.
"And so did you," Eddard replied.
"Forgive my frankness, but at times you and your brother Robert seem cut from the same cloth," Eddard added.
Yet when he looked more closely, the differences were clear. The young king had been broader and stronger, carrying the scent of blood and war. Renly, by contrast, was more refined and slender, like a gallant young noble.
"I'm hardly his equal," Renly said with a shrug. "Though we do have someone who looks even more like the king. A pity that bastard isn't on our side. Instead he's become a thorn in my brother's side, enough to keep our queen awake at night."
"Lord Renly, best not say too much," Varys murmured as he stepped closer. "That is not something meant to be spoken aloud."
"At least you dress better than the king," Littlefinger said playfully. "The amount Lord Renly spends on clothing would put most ladies of the court to shame."
That was no exaggeration. Great Lord Renly wore a dark green velvet doublet embroidered with twelve golden stags. A half-cloak woven with gold thread draped stylishly over one shoulder, fastened with an emerald brooch.
"Surely that isn't some terrible crime," Renly said with a grin. "Look at the way you're dressed. That's what truly counts as bad manners."
Littlefinger ignored the jab. With a faintly mocking smile, he looked at Eddard.
"Lord Stark, I've wanted to meet you for many years. I imagine Lady Catelyn has mentioned me to you?"
"She has," Eddard said, studying him.
There was something in Littlefinger's arrogance and sly amusement that felt like an insult. It irritated him. Perhaps he was not truly a wolf after all. Otherwise, that remark alone might have been enough for him to order Littlefinger's head taken.
"If I remember correctly, you also knew my brother Brandon."
Renly burst into laughter, while Varys leaned a little closer.
"I knew him well," Littlefinger replied. "I still carry a memento from Brandon on my body. Did he ever mention me?"
"Often," Eddard said. "Usually when he was furious."
He had no desire to continue this conversation. Word games like this held no appeal for him.
"I always thought the Starks weren't so quick to anger. In the south, people say your family is made of ice, and that once you pass the Neck you begin to melt." Littlefinger laughed.
The man certainly had a tongue made for stirring trouble. But Eddard had no intention of indulging him.
"Lord Baelish, you may rest assured. I have no intention of melting anytime soon."
Eddard moved toward the council table and spotted Maester Pycelle.
"Maester Pycelle, you seem quite hale."
"My lord, for a man of my years I remain fairly sturdy, though I tire easily." The Grand Maester was something of a living relic among the Small Council. Eddard suspected he might be the longest-serving Grand Maester of them all.
The Grand Maester raised his head from the bench at the far end of the long table and smiled. He had a kindly face, with a few strands of white hair hanging down on either side of his long-bald forehead.
His maester's chain was nothing like Luwin's simple one. Pycelle's was a heavy collar made from twenty-four different metals, hanging from his throat to his chest. Every metal known to men was represented: black iron and red gold, bright copper and heavy lead, fine steel, tin, and dull silver, brass, bronze, and pale white gold. Garnets, amethysts, and black pearls decorated the chain, with jade and rubies set among them.
"We may as well begin," the Grand Maester said, rubbing his great belly. "If we wait much longer, I fear I shall fall asleep."
"Then let us start. My apologies for keeping everyone waiting."
Eddard took his seat beside the king's place, the position at the king's right hand. The king's chair itself stood empty, its back embroidered with the crowned stag in threads of gold.
"Lord Stark, you are the King's Hand," Varys said. "Serving you is our duty."
"I have come to the wrong place," Eddard said as he settled into his seat.
Perhaps Rickard or Brandon would have felt more at ease in this chair. But both of them were long dead.
And what do I have instead?
Eddard sighed inwardly. Just as Robert had said. A pack of fools and flatterers. Littlefinger with his endless jokes. Renly. The sweet-smelling dead eunuch Varys. And Pycelle, who looked as though he ought to have been buried years ago.
But how many of them were truly loyal to Robert?
Perhaps every last one of them served the Lannisters.
"There are only five of us," Eddard said, though he already knew the answer.
Stannis and the old knight were absent. Those two likely felt just as out of place on the Small Council as he did. Eddard did not trust the men before him. His thoughts drifted briefly to the two empty seats.
"Not long after the king rode north, Lord Stannis returned to Dragonstone," Varys replied. "As for our heroic old knight, he is presently escorting His Grace through the city. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, that is his duty."
"Perhaps we should wait until Ser Barristan and His Grace join us before beginning?" Eddard suggested.
Renly laughed loudly.
"If we wait for my brother to honor us with his presence, we might be here for years."
"Our dear king has many matters to concern himself with," Varys said smoothly. "Such trivial affairs are left to us, to ease His Grace's burdens."
"What Lord Varys means," Renly added, "is that finances, harvests, and laws give my royal brother a headache. So the management of the realm falls to us."
He leaned back slightly.
"Still, my brother does occasionally remember to give instructions. This very morning he ordered me to ride ahead into the city and have Grand Maester Pycelle convene this council immediately. He said he had urgent business."
Eddard felt his heart sink into a frozen abyss, as if an Other's icy hand had brushed his spine.
Every word Renly spoke only confirmed the fears growing in his mind.
A king should not rule through stubborn arrogance or hoard power for himself. Yet neither should he abandon his duties and drown himself in indulgence.
Eddard had expected Robert to be reckless.
He had not imagined it would be this bad.
Golden dragons, soldiers, matters of governance. How could Robert have become so careless? That Lannister woman had not stolen his soul. Robert had willingly surrendered himself to a life of excess.
"Read the letter, Lord Eddard," Littlefinger said with a faint smile.
Eddard accepted the letter Littlefinger handed him.
What urgent command had the king sent?
He broke the wax seal stamped with the crowned stag, flattened the parchment, and began to read. The more he read, the harder it became to believe.
Robert's war?
It had somehow turned into a grand tournament.
And it would be held in Eddard's name.
"A tournament? This…" Eddard's face darkened. "Damn it."
Renly promptly announced,
"His Grace commands that we hold a grand tournament to celebrate the appointment of the new Hand."
"We are quite used to it," Varys said with a shrug. "That is the king's command. Our good Robert loves spectacle, especially a fine tournament."
Eddard felt the room spin slightly.
Not war.
Entertainment.
"Before that," Eddard said bluntly, "let us discuss the king's debts."
Robert had already dealt him a heavy blow. Now he wanted a clear answer.
As soon as Eddard spoke, the room fell silent.
Everyone present began quietly reassessing just how much Lord Eddard Stark already knew.
It seemed to be far more than they had expected.