"Good girl."
Jaqen's voice was soft, but something hungry burned underneath it. "Would you come a little closer so a man may see you better?"
He sounded exactly like the kind of stranger parents warned kids about.
Arya wasn't scared. She actually stepped closer and poked at the strange red-and-white hair with a twig she'd picked up off the ground.
"It's real!" Her gray eyes were wide with wonder. "Half red, half white, and split right down the middle. How'd you do that?"
Joffrey moved forward without a sound, placing himself neatly between them.
Jaqen tried to peer around him, still chasing the girl with his eyes.
Joffrey didn't budge.
"Her name is Arya Stark," he said, voice carrying across the quiet courtyard. "Second daughter of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, and Hand of the King."
"She is also my guest."
The apprentices stopped whispering. Even the breeze seemed to freeze.
The chained foreigner and the prince stared at each other in perfect silence.
Jaqen finally dragged his gaze away from Arya. The brief slip was gone; his face was calm again.
He stayed quiet a long moment, as if weighing some invisible price.
"A man…" he began, slipping back into that musical, foreign cadence. "A man is called Jaqen H'ghar. He comes from Braavos."
"He is a nameless traveler on the roads of Westeros. A man who lost his way."
"Lost your way?" Joffrey raised an eyebrow, skepticism plain. "What kind of traveler wanders into the deepest inner ward of the Red Keep and puts three armed guards in the infirmary?"
"Jaqen H'ghar, if you want me to take those chains off, you will give me a clear promise."
"You will not harm me, or anyone near me."
On the last words Joffrey locked eyes with him.
Arya had caught the sudden seriousness in the air. She tightened her grip on the twig, face tense.
Jaqen didn't answer right away.
He lowered his eyelids, wrestling with something inside himself.
After a long pause he exhaled softly.
"King's Landing is only one stop on a man's journey."
"A man came here seeking… ancient wisdom." His voice turned vague, almost like he was reciting half-remembered verse. "A man's true destination lies where storm meets salt water."
He lifted his head. His gaze seemed to pass straight through Joffrey and fix on some distant shore.
"A man swears by the name of the Many-Faced God. That is the nature of a man's path, and the whole truth of why he stands here now."
The corner of his mouth twitched in the faintest smile as he looked back at Joffrey.
"So, most cautious and troublesome prince… may a man be released?"
The courtyard was so quiet they could hear everyone holding their breath.
The apprentices had backed way off. Even Arya had stopped fidgeting.
They might not have understood the words, but the tone alone told them this was serious.
Joffrey almost laughed inside.
All he'd wanted was a simple promise. He hadn't asked the man to spill his entire life story.
Still, the hint was clear enough.
Storm and salt water. The Iron Islands.
Joffrey let out a slow breath and nodded at the gaoler.
"Take the chains off. I'll square it with Commander Janos."
The locks clicked open.
Jaqen stood, rolling his wrists.
Then he turned and gave Joffrey a smooth Braavosi bow.
"A man thanks you, Your Grace. A man will remember the debt."
"You may go," Joffrey said evenly. "I'll have men escort you out of the city and give you a horse and some coin for the road."
Jaqen shook his head, that faint, unreadable smile returning.
"A man is not leaving yet."
…
That same day, in the Red Keep's council chamber.
The raven's message killed whatever was left of the tourney's festive mood.
"I want them dead!"
Robert's roar made the whole room vibrate.
He slammed his fist on the table. "I want the mother and the whelp both dead, and that idiot Viserys with them!"
"Gods damn you, Ned! I warned you. And now the girl's pregnant!"
Every member of the small council tried to disappear into their chairs.
Eddard kept his spine straight, face like stone.
"Your Grace, you're chasing shadows."
Varys twisted his powdered hands together.
"My lord, I would never bring the king false tidings."
"Friends across the Narrow Sea saw it clearly. The last daughter of the old dynasty, Princess Daenerys Targaryen, has wed the Dothraki horse-lord Drogo and is already with child."
"The report is certain."
Eddard gave the eunuch a cold look.
"If the information is wrong, we have nothing to fear. If the girl miscarries, we have nothing to fear. If she bears a daughter, we have nothing to fear. If the child dies young, we still have nothing to fear."
"Besides, the Narrow Sea lies between us, and the Dothraki think salt water is poison."
"I'll start worrying the day they teach their horses to walk on water."
Robert drained his cup and slammed it down.
"So you want to wait until that dragonspawn is old enough to bring an army across the sea before we do a damn thing!"
"It's still an unborn babe," Eddard said, meeting the king's glare across the table.
"I never thought I'd live to see the day Robert Baratheon became a coward."
The king hurled the wine flagon at the wall.
"You forgot?" he bellowed. "You fucking forgot how the Mad King burned your father alive and strangled your brother? You forgot how Rhaegar stole Lyanna?"
"If I don't kill them, the gods will curse me!"
He swept his bloodshot eyes around the table. "Well? Speak up! Should we kill them or not?"
Renly nodded at once. "Yes."
Varys, Littlefinger, and Pycelle murmured their agreement.
Only Barristan spoke against it. "Your Grace, this would not be honorable."
No one knew whether the old knight's objection came from pity for an unborn child or the last faint tug of loyalty to the blood he had once sworn to protect.
Eddard rose, expression grave.
"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. The man who takes a life should look the victim in the eyes."
"Robert, I will not be part of murder." He unclasped his cloak, laid the carved silver Hand's badge on the table in front of the king, and said quietly, "I once believed you were better than this."
Robert's face went from red to purple.
"Get out! Get the hell out! Go back to your frozen shit-hole Winterfell!"
"If I ever see your face again, I'll have your head!"
Eddard said nothing more. He turned and walked toward the heavy doors.
In that suffocating silence, a panicked voice rang out from the corridor.
"Your Grace! Lord Tywin Lannister demands an immediate audience!"
The doors burst open.
Tywin Lannister strode in.
His pale green eyes, flecked with gold, swept the room and locked onto Eddard.
"Your Grace. My lords."
"I am here to formally accuse Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell."
"His wife, Catelyn Tully."
"Has used armed force on the King's Road in the Riverlands to seize my son."
"Tyrion Lannister."