Each day in King's Landing grew hotter than the last. Some fools claimed it was a sign that endless summer had arrived, while others said it meant this would be the final summer.
Littlefinger visited Eddard often, and that day he came again.
Eddard knew he could not trust Littlefinger. The man's cleverness and sly nature made him deeply uncomfortable. Yet there were even fewer people he could trust elsewhere. And as a friend of Catelyn's, Littlefinger had at least revealed quite a few secrets to him.
When Eddard entered the study, Littlefinger was sitting by the window, watching the white knights practicing their swordplay in the square below. Their cloaks and armor were magnificent, especially the milk white cloaks that reflected the proud reputation of the Kingsguard.
"If only old Selmy's head were as sharp as his sword," Littlefinger said lazily. "The council meetings would be far more entertaining."
"Ser Barristan's valor and honor are unmatched by anyone in King's Landing."
After spending these past days with him, Eddard had come to feel deep respect for the elderly white-haired commander of the Kingsguard.
If only everyone were like Barristan, Eddard thought. But he knew that was merely a wish. Robert had said it himself many times. King's Landing was filled with flatterers and fools, and the Small Council was the worst of all. Lord Jon was dead. Barristan was old. Stannis had fled. And as for himself, who knew how he was supposed to clean up this mess.
"His lifeless solemnity is just as unmatched," Littlefinger added. "Though I suspect he still has a few good years left in him at the tourney. Last year he unhorsed the Hound with a single lance. It has only been four years since he last took the champion's crown."
Eddard had no interest in tournaments or champions. To him they were little more than entertainment. Still, winning a tournament had some value. Jousting demanded exceptional horsemanship. Yet jousting was not the same as real war. Robert himself preferred the bloodier melees that more closely resembled an actual battlefield.
Eddard did not remain silent for long. He bluntly asked Littlefinger why he had come.
"I promised Catelyn I would help you investigate quietly. I always keep my word," Littlefinger said with a smile.
Eddard looked at him while thinking to himself: what exactly does Littlefinger gain from this? The man had always been clever, and now he had made a fortune in King's Landing.
"What I found concerns people, not events," Littlefinger corrected. "Four people, in fact. Have you ever thought of questioning the Hand's servants?"
"How do you know about them? I thought the extra four all left with Lady Lysa?" Eddard stared at Littlefinger, his gaze carrying a faint chill.
He had never considered it before. But if even the old Maester Pycelle could not be trusted, then what exactly did this cunning Littlefinger want?
Eddard knew Lady Arryn had packed up the entire household and fled to the Eyrie. Everyone close to Jon had left with her. Lord Jon's maester, his steward, the captain of his guards, along with his knights and attendants.
"Do not look at me like that, my lord," Littlefinger said calmly. "As Master of Coin, I naturally have my own channels. Besides, I once served as a retainer under Lord Arryn."
"Oh." Eddard pretended to understand.
He still did not trust the man, but for now Littlefinger was at least a useful source of information.
"Not everyone left," Littlefinger said. "Most of them did, but not all. A kitchen girl who found her belly swollen hurriedly married Lord Renly's groom. A stable boy joined the City Watch. A serving lad was dismissed for theft. And one more person remained. Lord Arryn's squire."
"Arryn's squire."
Eddard felt a flicker of excitement. A squire stayed closer to his master than almost anyone else. He would know his lord's movements better than most.
Yet realizing this also made Eddard aware of his own carelessness. He was still new to the Red Keep, with little information and slow progress. Reluctantly, he had to admit that he had begun to rely on Littlefinger's network of informants.
"Ser Hugh of the Vale," Littlefinger continued. "After Lord Arryn died, the King knighted him."
"Then I'll summon everyone at once," Eddard said bluntly.
"Very good, very good. That's exactly it." Littlefinger smiled with quiet satisfaction, a sense of accomplishment rising in his chest. Foolish direwolf. King's Landing is not your den.
"My lord, come here. Look out the window," Littlefinger said, drawing back slightly.
"Look at what?" Eddard asked. "At the eyes watching me?"
"You truly surprise me." Littlefinger's face broke into a look of exaggerated astonishment. "Excellent, my lord. In the game of King's Landing, caution like that is essential. Though I suspect you know very little of how the game is played."
He continued, pointing them out one by one.
"The boy sharpening blades at the armory door, he belongs to the Spider. And on the city wall, far to the west, above the stables. That guard leaning against the wall? He's the Queen's man."
"Damn it," Eddard muttered with a sigh. "I knew things were bad. I didn't realize they were this bad. Still, I thank you for the warning, my lord."
"No need for thanks." Littlefinger smiled. "That is the terror of King's Landing. The Red Keep is crawling with informers. Why do you think I hid Catelyn in a brothel?"
A look of discomfort crossed Eddard's face, as though the very mention of intrigue and deception left a bitter taste in his mouth.
Littlefinger noticed everything. Eddard was still the same Eddard as ever. But perhaps now he had a more perceptive subordinate at his side.
"My lord, since we're speaking of this, you might send one of your exemplary subordinates, someone you trust completely, to quietly inquire about these people's movements. That way it won't attract attention."
"That's a good idea." Eddard stopped Littlefinger just as he reached the door. "I'm grateful for your help. Perhaps I shouldn't have distrusted you."
Littlefinger looked back with a smile.
"Lord Eddard, you learn far too slowly. Distrusting me is the wisest thing you've done since you fell from your horse."
...
Some time after Littlefinger left, Jon slowly entered Eddard's study.
"A confrontation," Eddard thought again and again. The sense of danger pressing around him seemed to grow with every passing moment.
When would the confrontation come?
He hoped he would be ready, like a climber standing at the foot of a mountain, preparing for the ascent.
"He comes here often, my lord."
"Yes." Eddard looked at Jon and gestured for him to sit.
"What is your impression of him?" Eddard asked.
"Very good, and very bad," Jon replied. "Lord Petyr brings laughter with him. He's clever, quick with words, friendly and approachable. He seems to get along well with everyone. Many people speak highly of him."
"But there are just as many who curse his name."
"Oh?" Eddard said. "Go on."
"From what I've learned, Littlefinger's reputation is far from good." Jon spoke carefully, though tension showed in his voice. "The knights of the Vale call him a flatterer who climbs through women, a small man currying favor with Lady Lysa. They say he's a strange creature. No knighthood, no noble lineage, only brothels and laughing women, spending his days scraping together coin for the King."
"With his birth and his riding skills, without Lady Lysa's support, he would be nothing. And there's more…"
"Speak, child," Eddard urged.
"Then I'll speak plainly, my lord. Many say Lady Lysa and Littlefinger are far too close. Littlefinger has never tried to hide his connection with House Tully, and he once claimed that he… that he…"
Jon faltered, the words sticking in his throat.
"What did he claim?" Eddard asked.
Jon's expression twisted as if something were lodged in his throat.
"The words are too vile, aren't they? And they likely involve Catelyn as well." Eddard suddenly understood. Littlefinger must have been spreading crude rumors all over King's Landing, boasting that he had taken the maidenhood of the Tully sisters.
"Damn him," Eddard cursed angrily.
A flicker of shame and embarrassment crept into his thoughts. Perhaps he was not a true Stark after all.
If he were truly a Stark, with the blood of the running wolf in his veins, a foul mouth like Littlefinger's would have earned him a headless corpse long ago.
But this was not the time for anger. This was about duty, honor, and the future of the realm. For his brother Robert.
"There's worse," Jon said, gathering his courage. "Some even spread vicious rumors that Lord Petyr and Lady Lysa are entangled with one another. They say Littlefinger's office itself was arranged by Lady Lysa, who begged Lord Arryn to give it to him. But Lord Arryn was always too busy, and no one dared say such things in front of him."
"That's enough, Jon." Eddard frowned deeply. "Do you understand what you're saying? I asked you to listen and gather information, child, but I hope you will not carry every filthy rumor in your memory."
This concerned the reputation of the man who had raised him.
"My lord, I know you may scold me. But have you considered this?" Jon said quietly. "Petyr has never married, never had children. Even though he was born to a humble house, with the power he holds now, many nobles and wealthy merchants would gladly marry their daughters to him."
"So what is he waiting for?"
"Or what is he afraid of?"
"That is not normal."
Jon could not hold back.
"Think about it, my lord. There must be poison hidden in Petyr's gifts."
"You speak well, Jon." Eddard let out a long sigh. "I realize now I may have been wrong about one thing."
"Perhaps leaving you in Winterfell would have been the better choice. Your careful mind could have filled in the gaps for Robb and helped guide his path."