The wind howls before the mountain storm.
Cersei Lannister stood by the window of the high tower, looking down at the courtyard below, where her eldest son, Joffrey, was dallying with Sansa Stark.
An involuntary wave of irritation rose within her, and she remembered the prophecy of the witch known as Maggy the Frog from her childhood.
Though she desperately wanted to disbelieve it, the earliest prophecies had all come true, including the death of her childhood friend Melara Hetherspoon, the unrequited love she held for Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, and the prophecy that she would marry the King, and they would have children, though "sixteen for him, and three for you".
Now, only two prophecies remained unfulfilled.
"You will be Queen, until there comes another, younger and more beautiful, to cast you down and take all that you hold dear."
"Gold shall be their crowns and gold their shrouds. And when your tears have drowned you, the valonqar shall wrap his hands about your pale white throat and choke the life from you."
Cersei Lannister thought to herself: She was now certain that the brother who would kill her must be Tyrion Lannister, that monstrous dwarf who had killed their mother at birth!
And now, as Cersei looked at the young and beautiful Sansa Stark, she felt that the younger woman from the prophecy who would replace her must be Sansa Stark.
Her heart hammered in her chest.
Cersei Lannister was a woman with an intense desire for control; her love for her eldest son, Joffrey, was even more pathological and possessive.
At this thought, Cersei Lannister gripped the windowsill tightly with her slender hands, feeling as though her beloved son was being stolen away from her.
Cersei was born with a persecution complex. In her childhood, because her playmate had heard the prophecy with her, she had pushed the girl into a well and drowned her—poor Melara Hetherspoon, who had still been naively asking if she would marry Jaime Lannister.
And now, Cersei had set her sights on Sansa Stark; her venomous gaze seemed as if it would kill Sansa on the spot.
Furthermore, Joffrey was becoming increasingly disobedient, and sooner or later, she would be wiped out by his queen.
She needed to prepare for the future.
...
The Vale, inside The Eyrie.
The sky cells were where The Eyrie held important prisoners. They were not ordinary dungeons; to be precise, they were shelves hanging over the edge of the cliff.
The floors slanted slightly downward, with each cell having a different degree of incline, but they were all alike in that they had walls on three sides, while the fourth was exposed to the cold air of the high altitude.
Anyone inside who was not careful risked falling from the dizzying heights, plummeting into the valley below.
Tyrion Lannister woke with a start from a dream, in which he had a human face, the body of a lion, and the wings of a dragon.
He thought to himself: "Wait, don't I already have a human face?"
Before he could ponder the meaning of the dream, he turned his head and realized he had almost fallen into the abyss beside the sky cell.
"Damn Starks!" he sneezed and cursed.
Since he was no longer sleepy, Tyrion sat up immediately, thinking of a strategy to escape.
His mismatched black and green eyes blinked incessantly, and his long, straight, pale blonde hair fluttered in the wind.
However, after thinking for a long time, he realized there was only one path to take: a trial by combat.
"Mord! Mord!" Tyrion shouted the jailer's name.
...
King's Landing, inside the Tower of the Hand.
Just moments ago, Yoren of the Night's Watch had snuck into the Tower of the Hand to report to Eddard Stark that Catelyn Tully had kidnapped Tyrion Lannister at the crossroads inn.
Eddard Stark felt as though he had been struck by a thunderbolt. Disaster! he thought. Capturing Tyrion at this moment would surely exacerbate the conflict between House Stark and House Lannister.
"Jory!"
"My lord, you called?"
"Go and ready the men. We must return to Winterfell immediately."
"Yes, my lord."
Eddard Stark prepared for the worst. He knew that although Tywin Lannister was not fond of his dwarf son, he would be forced to take up arms, if only for the honor and prestige of House Lannister.
If his son were captured and he failed to march to demand satisfaction, Tywin would likely be mocked as the "Laughing Lion," Tytos Lannister.
Moreover, the situation was far too complex; it would be best to return to Winterfell first.
...
Just as Eddard Stark was about to pack his things and leave, the steward informed him that His Majesty the King was holding a crucial small council meeting, and the Hand of the King was required to attend.
With a sense of unease, Eddard Stark stepped into the council chamber. He first scanned the room to gauge everyone's reactions.
He noticed Grand Maester Pycelle dozing with his eyes closed, while Renly sat in his chair, sniffing his collar as if there were some floral scent upon it.
The Master of Whisperers, Varys, and the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, were whispering to each other.
Seated at the head of the table, His Majesty the King, Robert Baratheon, squinted his eyes, his fingers tapping rhythmically on the armrest, lost in thought.
"Hand of the King, you are late. We were just discussing with His Majesty the King how to kill those two Targaryens, especially since the little girl is already pregnant."
The moment Eddard Stark entered, he heard Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, speak. He knew this was a warning.
"What! Your Majesty, I believe..." Eddard Stark's first instinct was to stop Robert, for he could never bring himself to commit such a dishonorable act as killing children.
"What do you believe! Are you trying to get me to spare them again!" Eddard Stark's plea was met only with the King's fury.
"I've said it before: those bastards just need to spread their legs across the Narrow Sea to birth a brood of little Targaryens, and within ten years, they'll be leading a massive army back to reclaim the throne!"
"Your Majesty, your dynasty is as solid as a mountain; it will not be easily shaken. Besides, they are just children." Listening to Robert's bluster, Eddard Stark retorted while feeling utterly speechless.
He thought to himself: Good grief, do you think they're laying eggs? If one could really raise an army in ten years, the Targaryens wouldn't have lost their kingdom.
"What do you know! Must they march to your doorstep before you wake up!" Robert roared. Growing increasingly fat and old, he had become fearful; he dreaded the day his own children might be dashed to death, just as Rhaegar Targaryen's children had been.
"How can you truly bring yourself to kill a teenage girl? She is only a teenager, she has never even seen the Targaryen dynasty, yet you would kill her!" Eddard Stark could not accept this and pleaded, "I beg you, Robert, you are murdering children!"
"That bastard is pregnant! Do you hear me! That bastard is pregnant!"
"But the child born may not be a boy."
"You fool! Regardless of whether it's a boy or a girl, that dragon-spawn will surely come back! As my Hand of the King, you must consider how to kill them! Use poison, use blades, whatever it takes—you must kill them!"
"Robert, listen to me! I ask you, did we not rise up against The Mad King Aerys Targaryen precisely to stop him from killing children? Have you forgotten! You have forgotten everything!"
Eddard Stark rarely lost his temper, but he saw that Robert had changed. They had once killed the dragon together, but ten years later, Eddard realized with a shock that his comrade-in-arms had slowly grown "dragon scales" of his own.
Everyone present was siding with the King, carefully considering the means of assassination. Only Sir Barristan Selmy of the Kingsguard spoke up for Eddard Stark, stating that he also firmly disapproved of killing children.
Just as the others were debating, His Majesty the King, Robert Baratheon, unexpectedly closed his eyes and said no more. Seeing this behavior, Eddard Stark grew angry again.
From the time Eddard Stark had met Robert Baratheon at the knee of his foster father, Jon Arryn, he had known this bad habit of Robert's.
That was, whenever Robert felt he was in the wrong and had no argument left, he would simply shut his mouth and play dead like an ostrich.
"Robert! I am talking to you! Do not play dead with me!"
"I am the King! You insolent fool! Who gave you permission to speak to the King like that! Pack your things and get back to Winterfell! I never want to see you again!"
Robert cursed at Eddard Stark, his face flushed red. He felt guilty and humiliated by Eddard's words, but he was the King, and he felt entitled to rage even when he was in the wrong.
"It is a tragedy for the Seven Kingdoms to have a King such as you!" Eddard Stark was truly incensed. Unable to endure Robert's cruelty any longer, he cast down the badge of the hand of the king and turned to leave.
"Get out!" Robert bellowed, though in truth, he desperately wanted to embrace Eddard Stark and beg him to stay.
But he was the King now; he could no longer lower himself to embrace his good brother as he once had.
As Eddard Stark was about to leave the council chamber, he spoke deeply, his back to Robert Baratheon.
"Robert, you have changed. You are no longer the ambitious, spirited Robert of our youth."
...
Inside the Tower of the Hand.
Eddard Stark haphazardly stuffed a pile of miscellaneous items into a large chest, without any order; it was clear he was very angry.
"My lord Hand, perhaps I should help you pack." The steward, Poole, was puzzled; he did not know what was wrong with his lord, but he had been fuming all day.
"No need. I am no longer the Hand. Go outside and see if Jory has the carriage ready."
"Yes, my lord."
However, just as Eddard Stark had prepared everything and was about to depart for the North, he saw Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, standing at the door, as if he had been waiting for a long time.
"Lord Stark, I have found the person whom Jon Arryn and Stannis frequently visited at the brothel. If you have the time, perhaps you should accompany me."
"Then let's go." Eddard Stark could not resist the urgent need for answers in his heart.
To avoid suspicion, the group specifically rode through the alleys. Jory Cassel led the way, and upon reaching the destination, he stood guard at the entrance, allowing Petyr Baelish and Eddard Stark to enter alone.
Once inside, Eddard Stark learned that Petyr Baelish had found the former stable boy of Jon Arryn; fortunately, the man was still alive.
The stable boy led them inside the brothel, where they finally found the girl whom Jon Arryn and Stannis had frequently visited.
Seeing the infant in the girl's arms, Eddard Stark's thoughts raced.
He lowered his head to carefully observe the infant's features. After a long moment, he looked up and sighed deeply. As he had expected, the child was black-haired and blue-eyed!
Petyr Baelish did not disturb Eddard Stark, turning instead to flirt with a few of the prostitutes. It was unclear what witty joke Lord Baelish had told, but it had them giggling uncontrollably.
"The seed is strong"—so that was what it meant! Eddard Stark suddenly understood. Whether it was the "bull" Gendry he had seen at the blacksmith's shop a few days ago, or this infant still in swaddling clothes, they were all black-haired and blue-eyed.
This proved that the physical traits of House Baratheon were stronger than those of other houses, and children born of the union between Baratheon and Lannister would always be black-haired and blue-eyed.
Because the "strong seed" of the Baratheons, when combined with the Lannisters, would never produce a child with golden hair!
(A side note: The concept of "the seed is strong" is a setting that exists only in the original novels written by Martin, and it has nothing to do with genetics or science in real life.)
...
Just as Eddard Stark confirmed the answer in his heart, walked out of the courtyard, and prepared to return to Winterfell to make further plans.
A squad of Lannister knights blocked their path, led by the "kingslayer," Jaime Lannister, whom Eddard Stark knew all too well.
"Well, well, if it isn't our upright and selfless Hand of the King?"
Jaime Lannister's handsome face was full of mockery. Looking at Jaime's provocative demeanor, Eddard Stark knew that today would likely not end well.
Eddard Stark had brought only fifty guards when he came to King's Landing; after all, even for the Hand of the King, it was impossible to bring an army.
"kingslayer..."
"Don't call me that! You hypocritical wretch, your wife has kidnapped my brother. Is the honor of House Stark just a load of crap?"
The next moment, Jaime was the first to draw his sword, followed immediately by the crisp sound of dozens of Gold Cloaks drawing their swords in unison.
Littlefinger, Petyr Baelish, seeing the murderous scene, decisively fled in the direction of The Red Keep.
The next moment, the tense situation deteriorated completely.
"Kill all his men!" With that, Jaime snorted coldly, turned, and rode away.
Jaime actually wanted to kill Eddard Stark, but he knew that if he killed him on impulse, it would surely cause great trouble for his house.
Thunder rumbled in the sky, and a light rain began to fall.
Watching the numerous and menacing Gold Cloaks, Jory Cassel and the fifty guards behind him immediately drew their longswords. He knew that his group was likely doomed today, but even if they died, they would make these men pay!
Like cornered beasts fighting for their lives, Jory Cassel and the others formed a circle and pressed forward, resisting with all their might.
Both sides were blinded by bloodlust, the ringing of clashing swords filling the air. As the killing intent intensified, the rain grew heavier, and soon the entire street was flowing with blood.
Eddard Stark rode through the crowd, charging back and forth, managing to kill three or four men.
But it was of little use; the Gold Cloaks were numerous, outnumbering them several times over. He could only watch with bloodshot eyes, helpless, as the good brothers who had followed him for years were killed one by one.
"Lannisters! Those bastards!"
Although Jory Cassel was highly skilled, he was outnumbered. Jory Cassel killed five of the enemy in succession, but his left arm was struck by a sword, and his thigh was pierced. He turned pale, bleeding profusely.
"Jory!"
"My lord, farewell!"
In the midst of Eddard Stark's heartbreak, his horse had its legs slashed, and the warhorse collapsed, crashing down with him.
Eddard Stark felt an intense pain surging from one of his legs. Severely injured and drifting into unconsciousness, he could not tell which leg had been broken. His vision went black, and he collapsed in the street...