Eddard missed Catelyn's embrace, the sound of Robb and Jon practicing swordplay in the yard, the cool days and biting nights of the North. But he could not retreat. This was war.
"Lord, the Hand of the King's tournament is already underway. I know you dislike such occasions, but if you speak with the knights who have come from the Vale, you may learn more than you expect," Jon suggested.
Jon looked more mature now. The sword wound Joffrey had given him had left its mark on his face, and the short scar often jolted him awake at night. It curled across his cheek like a tiny centipede, spoiling his features, though Jon had never been particularly handsome to begin with.
Jon had been the first to feel the cruelty of King's Landing, and it had proven harsher than he ever imagined.
"You make a good point, Jon. You've given me something to think about," Eddard said.
Jon's words set his mind turning. Had he relied too heavily on Littlefinger for information?
"Lord, I simply feel that this man cannot be trusted," Jon replied calmly.
Bastards grow up faster than other children. Something restless runs in their blood. They must learn early to read the room, judge people's expressions, and weigh every shift in circumstance.
King's Landing itself was tangled with intrigue. Yet Littlefinger had climbed rapidly through its ranks. That could only mean one thing: schemes and deception were the ladder beneath his feet. In Littlefinger's eyes, only profit truly mattered.
Jon had heard Littlefinger's story. Clever, capable, quick to seize opportunity. But could a man like that, one who bore old resentment toward House Stark, truly help them? Especially when he still clung so tightly to the past.
Jon was, by nature, a pessimist. He could not afford to ignore Littlefinger's darker side.
"The Vale... the Vale..." Eddard murmured, thinking it over again and again. The Hand of the King's tournament was drawing many nobles to the capital. In a way, Robert had done him a favor.
The Vale was where Eddard had spent his youth. In those days at the Eyrie, he and Robert had been young and proud. Their foster father, Great Lord Jon, had loved them deeply and even raised a rebellion for them.
But now Great Lord Jon was gone.
The burden now rested on Eddard's shoulders.
The knights of the Vale, men who valued honor above all, would certainly attend the tournament. Perhaps he could speak with them and learn more. As Great Lord Jon's foster son, Eddard still had many connections in the Vale. House Stark and House Royce had even been joined by marriage once.
"I used to wonder what Robb lacked," Eddard thought. "Perhaps it is simply the eye for power."
He could not help reflecting on how he had raised his son. Robb did not possess Jon's instincts. As the heir to Winterfell, he had never endured hardship. Nor had he served as a squire to another noble house and received the discipline that came with it.
In caution, sensitivity, and careful judgment, Robb could not match Jon, who had grown up a bastard.
"Perhaps I should have taught Robb to see more clearly. But I did not. Very well. When this war is won, I will teach him better."
Eddard looked at Jon as the thought crossed his mind.
"You've done well, Jon. There are many matters I must rely on you for. You must act carefully. King's Landing is full of spies and informers. It is not our Winterfell."
"I understand, Lord," Jon replied without hesitation.
"What do you think we lack?" Eddard asked.
Talent was something a man was born with, and Eddard could not help admiring Jon's natural ability. Perhaps hardship truly forged a person. Without Catelyn's cold looks and quiet rejection, Jon might never have developed such keen awareness.
"A way out, my lord," Jon said frankly. "We have only a hundred guards. Even if we hurried to hire sellswords, we would have two hundred men at most. What could such a force truly accomplish?"
Jon's words made Eddard pause.
He had never considered a retreat.
In his mind, he had always believed he could accomplish his task: uncover the truth behind Lord Arryn's death and bring the situation under control.
"A way out?" Eddard repeated.
"Lord, have you noticed the situation in the Red Keep? Forgive my bluntness, but the king has been far too indulgent toward House Lannister," Jon replied quietly. "Their spies watch us day and night. And those red-cloaked soldiers... the sight of them alone makes my skin crawl."
Eddard said nothing.
King's Landing was a city of half a million people. With only two hundred men at their command, they could change nothing. He had never truly considered that before. In his mind, the king was still someone worthy of trust.
"You may go, Jon. I need some time to think. Also, I have a new task for you," Eddard said.
The task was to have Jon visit the septons in the Vale and inquire about Lord Arryn's condition before his death. It was little more than a tentative lead, but it was worth trying.
"Understood."
A moment later, Jon left Eddard's chambers.
After Jon departed, Eddard sank into deep thought. If Varys, the perfumed spymaster, could not be trusted, then could someone like Littlefinger be any better? Cat might still cling to the bonds of old friendship, but Eddard could not afford such faith.
"I am a Stark. I am the leader of the wolf pack now. I must win this battle," Eddard told himself.
He began to reconsider his path in the investigation. His purpose in King's Landing was to uncover the truth behind Great Lord Jon's death. The clues themselves were fixed, yet he had relied far too heavily on Littlefinger.
There were two main leads.
The first was the great book Jon had been studying, and the words he had cried out: the seed is strong.
The second involved several of Great Lord Jon's attendants whom Littlefinger had pointed out. Perhaps those men might reveal something useful.
But now Eddard saw a new approach. It was not enough to gather clues alone. He also needed to learn more about the Vale itself, and about the story between Lysa and Littlefinger, by speaking with the knights who had come from the Vale.
"Perhaps I should not trust them so easily. Littlefinger least of all."
...
In the council chamber of the Red Keep, the Small Council assembled as usual. Yet today there was one notable difference.
The commander of the Gold Cloaks, Slynt, had been summoned to attend. As always, the king was absent, so the meeting was presided over by Great Lord Eddard.
Can I truly trust any of them? No.
Eddard studied the men seated before him. Not one of them put his mind at ease.
The aging Grand Maester.
Great Lord Renly, carefree as a young noble.
The sweet-smelling Varys.
And the cunning Littlefinger.
With the Hand of the King's tournament underway, the order of King's Landing had indeed worsened. Slynt himself was a large man with a double chin. When angered, his cheeks puffed out like a frog's, and his bald head flushed red.
"My lords, all these troubles come from the Hand of the King's tournament," Slynt complained to the council.
"The king's tournament," Eddard corrected him with a frown. "I assure you, the Hand has no interest in it whatsoever."
In truth, Eddard had no interest in the tournament either, but there was nothing he could do. For now, he could only follow the king's command.
"Call it what you like, my lord. The fact is knights from every corner of the realm are pouring into the city," Slynt said. "And for every knight who arrives, there come two freeriders, three craftsmen, six soldiers, a dozen merchants, and two dozen prostitutes. As for thieves, there are so many I wouldn't even dare to guess."
"This cursed heat has half the city already reeling. Now all these people have flooded in."
"Just last night, someone drowned. There was a tavern riot, three knife fights, one rape, two fires, and more robberies than I can count. A drunken horse even charged into the Street of Sisters."
"And the night before that, someone found a woman's head floating in the Rainbow Pool at the Great Sept. No one knows where it came from, and no one knows whose head it was."
"Damn it," Eddard cursed inwardly, exhausted.
Winterfell had never been so difficult to govern. The people of the North lived quietly and simply. But King's Landing was crammed with people from every corner of the realm, a chaotic mix that made order nearly impossible to maintain.
"Truly dreadful," Varys said with a shudder.
Great Lord Renly Baratheon was far less sympathetic.
"I'll tell you what, Janos. If you cannot even keep order in the city, perhaps the City Watch needs a commander who can."
"Lord Renly, even Aegon the Dragon himself couldn't control this place," Slynt said indignantly. "What I need is more men."
Eddard frowned.
He had heard enough about this man already. Taking pay for soldiers who did not exist and accepting bribes from his own men were among his favorite habits.
And now, claiming he lacked manpower, he was asking Eddard to provide more.
"How many men do you need?" Eddard asked.
"As many as possible, my lord Hand."
"Then hire a hundred new recruits," Eddard said. "Fifty will go to you, and fifty will be added to my own guard. With the tournament underway, I seem to be short of men myself. As for the money, Lord Baelish can arrange it."
Everyone in the chamber heard Eddard's decision.
Fifty recruits for himself. The Hand's appetite was hardly small.
There could only be one explanation: Great Lord Eddard had come to feel a deep sense of danger in King's Landing.
"I'll arrange it," Littlefinger said, frowning. Why did everything always come back to money? Counting out copper was no easy business.
"Exactly. Since you were able to scrape together hundreds of thousands of golden dragons for the tournament, finding a few more coppers to keep order in King's Landing should not be difficult," Eddard said.
"As you command. Since it is our noble Hand's order, I certainly cannot let your shining reputation suffer," Littlefinger replied.
"I'll also spare thirty men from my own guard until this crowd in the city disperses," Eddard told the commander of the Gold Cloaks.
The tournament had indeed turned the city upside down, but whether he liked it or not, he had to do his part to keep this farce under control.
On behalf of the Gold Cloaks, Slynt thanked him at once. "Many thanks, my lord Hand. I'll make sure they're put to good use."
"And one more thing," Eddard said. "Do not dock their pay. I do not want to hear that these men have started causing trouble because you failed to pay them."
"Rest easy, my lord. I'll treat every soldier like one of my own blood."
After the commander of the Gold Cloaks withdrew, Eddard turned to face the rest of the council.
"The sooner this farce ends, the sooner I'll be at ease," he said wearily.
This tournament had become an enormous nuisance. Funds had to be raised, order had to be maintained, and everyone insisted on calling it the Hand's tournament. Before the gods, Eddard took no pleasure in tournaments. To call it his was practically an insult to his honor, salt rubbed into an open wound. Worst of all was the king's attitude. Robert seemed to think Eddard ought to feel proud of it.
"It is precisely such occasions that make the realm flourish, my lord," Grand Maester Pycelle said. "For the highborn, it is a fine chance to win glory. And for the poor common folk, it offers a brief escape from their sorrows."
"And quite a few people can line their purses besides," Littlefinger added. "Every inn in the city is packed to the rafters, and the women are so busy taking customers they can hardly close their legs to walk. Their pockets jingle with copper every step they take."
Eddard looked at the two of them playing off each other and felt a wave of loneliness.
The tournament was far too extravagant. Others might be making money from it, but the crown was spending huge sums of golden dragons in return. No matter how he looked at it, the losses outweighed the gains.
Great Lord Renly burst out laughing. "Good thing my brother Stannis isn't here. Do you remember when he proposed shutting down all the brothels? The king asked whether he meant to ban eating, shitting, and breathing while he was at it. Truth be told, I sometimes wonder how his ugly daughter ever came to be. When my brother climbs into bed, he looks like he's marching into battle, solemn as a septon and determined to do his duty."
The whole chamber erupted in laughter.
Everyone knew the tales about Stannis. Too cold, too stiff, utterly lacking in charm. A man no one found easy to deal with.
"Stannis..."
The thought struck Eddard at once. At the Small Council, he had perhaps one or two men he might count as allies, and this one had gone off to Dragonstone.
"You seem to be thinking of Stannis as well," Eddard said to Great Lord Renly. "I wonder when Lord Stannis means to leave Dragonstone and return to King's Landing to carry out his duties again."
"As soon as we throw every woman into the sea, he'll come rushing back," Littlefinger said.
That only made the others laugh harder.
"I've heard enough about women for one day," Ned said, rising from his seat. "That will be all."
He had no interest in speaking with them any longer. There were barriers among them all, hidden but impossible to ignore, and nothing seemed able to melt them away.
Eddard withdrew to the Tower of the Hand and returned to his solar.
Once inside, he took off the formal silk garments he wore for council, sat down with a book for a while, and waited for Jory. As soon as the horses were ready, he would be going out again.
The book Eddard was reading bore the full title Genealogies and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms (With Descriptions of Many Lords, Ladies, and Their Children), written by Grand Maester Malleon.
It was a massive work, and painfully dull besides. Yet Eddard forced himself to continue. Since Great Lord Jon had studied it so carefully, then somewhere among these scattered remarks and trivial notes must lie what he had been searching for.
Important clues had to be buried within these yellowed, fragile pages. The only question was whether Eddard could uncover their meaning. But what exactly was he meant to find?
He turned again to the section on House Lannister. This time he read slowly and carefully, hoping some useful detail might reveal itself.
"The history of House Lannister is indeed ancient," Eddard thought. "They were even kings once."
The Lannister line could be traced back to the Age of Heroes, to the trickster known as Lann the Clever. Like Brandon the Builder, he was a figure of legend, though singers and storytellers favored him even more.
In the songs, Lann the Clever did not conquer Casterly Rock with sword or spear. Instead, he drove House Casterly out through sheer cunning. It was also said he stole gold from the sun itself to brighten the shine of his golden curls.
At that moment, Eddard almost wished the man were real and standing beside him, ready to trick the book into giving up its hidden secret.
A rapid knock at the door announced the arrival of Jory Cassel.
Eddard closed Malleon's heavy tome and called him in.
"I've agreed to send thirty men from my guard to the City Watch until the tournament ends," he told him. "You will choose the men. Put Alyn in command, but make sure they understand their duty is to calm disputes, not provoke them."
Eddard rose, opened a cedar chest, and took out a light linen shirt.
"Did you find that stable boy?"
"My lord, the City Watchman you mentioned," Jory said, "swears he will never touch another horse again in his life."
"Why?"
"He says he knew Lord Arryn well, that the two of them got along immediately," Jory said with a snort. "He claims that every time a boy celebrated his naming day, the Hand would always give him a few coins. Said Lord Arryn understood horses too. Never pushed his mounts too hard, and often brought carrots and apples for them. The horses all liked him for it."
Eddard considered the matter carefully. This might be his last lead. He needed to hear every account from those who had once served Lord Arryn.
"Wait a little longer. I will wait for Jon," Eddard said. "Also, look into the knights from the Vale attending the tournament. I want their names."
"As you command, my lord," replied the captain of his household guard.
Eddard felt he was drawing closer to the truth, yet the mystery still needed to be unraveled thread by thread before even a hint of the ending could appear.
"Tell me everything you know in detail. Then I will wait a while longer," Eddard added.
"I will, my lord," the captain answered.
Eddard waited alone. Some of the information he needed had been entrusted to Jon to uncover.
He could only hope Jon would succeed and help him find the answer to the riddle.