The gloomy sky brightened almost at once. The thick clouds that had hidden the sun drifted apart.
In that same instant Joffrey felt the familiar chill race up his spine and spread through his whole body.
He shivered hard, nearly dropping his cup.
You've got to be fucking kidding me.
Is something up there actually watching?
What the hell had he done to deserve a lightning bolt in broad daylight?
He glanced at Eddard's face and saw the same stunned look on the normally stone-cold features.
In this world some things really were watching—gods, old and new—who punished those who broke the rules. Guest-right breakers, kinslayers, oathbreakers. They all met ugly ends one way or another.
But Joffrey had only spoken the words. He hadn't actually done anything.
Surely the gods didn't need to drop a thunderclap just to scold a mouthy kid.
He set the cup down with a steady hand and muttered, "One clap of thunder and the whole yard jumps. That one nearly scared me to death."
Eddard looked at him. The tension on his weathered face suddenly cracked.
"So the prince is still just a boy after all," he said. "Afraid of thunder."
Joffrey blinked, then laughed.
"Sudden thunder is the gods' warning."
"Maybe I spoke a little too boldly just now."
Eddard didn't answer right away. He thought for a long moment, then drained his own cup in one slow swallow.
The silver cup clinked softly when he set it down.
"Your Grace," he said, voice low and rough, as if the words had to be dragged up from the bottom of his chest.
"I have known your father for twenty years."
"From the day we met at the Eyrie, through the fields of the Trident, to the moment he took that chair."
"He was brave, generous, loyal. Men followed him gladly."
Joffrey listened in silence.
Eddard's brow furrowed.
"But I don't know when he changed."
"Maybe it was Rhaegar's death. Maybe Lyanna's. Or maybe that damned chair finally crushed the life out of him."
Joffrey kept his eyes steady, waiting for the rest.
"Or maybe…" Eddard's voice dropped to almost nothing. "Maybe he was always like this, and I simply never noticed before."
The exhaustion on that battle-scarred face was something Joffrey had never seen.
"You were right, Your Grace."
"I've been hunting for villains," Eddard said slowly. "The man who murdered Jon Arryn. The traitors whispering poison in the king's ear."
"I thought if I found them and removed them, everything would go back to the way it should be."
"But what if… what if the king himself is the root of the problem?"
His voice grew quieter still.
"What if I killed every traitor in the realm and Robert still sat there drinking and wasting gold, ignoring the kingdom?"
"What then?"
Joffrey stayed quiet.
He knew Eddard wasn't really asking him.
Eddard was asking himself.
The man who had never bowed to winter or war was now facing a question he couldn't answer.
"So after the shouting match I decided to wash my hands of it. Resign, go home to Winterfell, guard my wife and children, and wait for the long winter."
Eddard shook his head.
"But if I leave—if every decent man walks away because he's disappointed—then the king will be left with nothing but flatterers and schemers."
Joffrey saw Eddard's hand clench into a fist, then slowly open again.
"When Jon Arryn died I wasn't there," Eddard said, calm as if describing someone else's life. "He faced that spendthrift king, those scheming lords, and the Hand's seat all by himself for decades, and died with no one at his side."
"I don't want that for Robert."
"He may be the last brother I have left."
Eddard lifted his eyes. Something new and bright burned in the gray.
"Your Grace, rest easy. I'm not leaving."
He stood, spine straight once more.
"I will speak with Lord Tywin and settle the matter of your uncle face to face."
"Catelyn seized the wrong man. I will apologize, pay whatever compensation is required, and accept full responsibility."
Joffrey nodded silently.
Eddard turned and walked away with firm steps, disappearing into the depths of the courtyard.
Joffrey sat alone at the stone table. The wine left in his cup had gone cold.
He stared after Eddard, motionless.
Seven hells.
That was intense.
Was listening to a truly good man bare his soul always like this?
All he'd wanted was a reason to keep the man from resigning.
…
Two days later, the small council chamber.
"To Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West, my beloved father."
Grand Maester Pycelle unrolled the parchment, his old voice echoing through the hall.
"While traveling south I happened to meet Lady Catelyn."
"At her earnest request I agreed to accompany her to the Eyrie to see the Vale and help her uncover a terrible secret."
"Please do not act rashly because of idle gossip and damage our good relations with Lord Stark."
"I went with her of my own free will."
"—Your most loving son, Tyrion Lannister."
Silence fell over the chamber.
Lord Tywin sat in the observers' gallery, his stern face showing nothing.
"My lords," Pycelle said, lowering the letter, "it appears this was nothing more than a misunderstanding."
"A misunderstanding?" Tywin's voice was cold as the stones of Casterly Rock.
His gaze slid past everyone and fixed on Eddard. "He admitted in public that he ordered my son seized."
Varys spoke in his soft, oily tone. "My lord, Lord Eddard was surely overcome by anger when he spoke those words."
Eddard rose from his chair.
"Lord Tywin, Catelyn seized the wrong man. The fault is mine."
"I have already sent urgent orders for her to release your son at once."
Tywin studied him for a long moment, as if seeing the wolf of the North for the first time.
Then he gave a single nod.
"My patience has limits, Stark."
The air in the room eased.
"The assassin…" Robert suddenly spoke, voice thick with drink. "The one who tried to kill your boy. That part is true?"
Eddard nodded. "It is."
"Ah, so that explains it," Varys slipped in smoothly. "Lord Eddard's reaction was understandable. Any father would be furious if his own child's life was threatened."
The eunuch sighed and shook his head.
"Still, it is strange how the matter became entangled with Lord Tyrion."
Robert looked annoyed. "Ned, why didn't you tell me about something this big?"
Eddard lifted his head.
"Your Grace, I must now accuse one man."
"The man responsible is—"
Before he could finish, a sharp voice cut across the table.
"Your Grace!"
Littlefinger, who had been silent until now, shot to his feet.
He took three steps backward and dropped to his knees on the stone floor, arms spread wide.
"Your Grace! I have sinned!"