Ever since the quarrel at the Trident River, House Stark and their retainers had ridden at the front of the procession, keeping their distance from House Lannister to avoid the escalating tension between the two factions. His Majesty the King barely showed his face, reportedly staying in the wheelhouse, drunk day in and day out.
"Robert, has that crown corrupted you so much?" Eddard thought to himself. His Majesty the King was no longer the friend of his youth; a barrier seemed to have risen between them. Lannister taxi soldiers, Lannister women, the Lannister Kingslayer.
The quarrel had also left cracks within House Stark. Arya blamed Sansa, and Sansa complained about her sister's wild temper. Jon was unable to reconcile the two girls' conflict.
Eddard, sore, tired, and hungry, rode through the towering bronze gates of The Red Keep in a foul mood. Jon followed not far behind him. Although scars remained on Jon's face and body, fortunately, his wounds had not worsened and were healing well.
Jon and the Butcher's boy looked at the majestic Red Keep. Jon instinctively felt a sense of unease—a strange environment, a terrible situation. Jon knew why House Stark's party was speeding ahead; the animosity between them and the Lannisters seemed to be deepening.
"Lord Hand, Grand Maester Pycelle has called an emergency Small Council meeting and hopes the new Lord Hand will grace us with his presence if convenient." The Lord Steward informed him of this, much to Eddard's displeasure. All he wanted was a hot bath and a roasted duck or chicken.
"If convenient, let's make it tomorrow," Eddard said grumpily as he dismounted.
The Steward respectfully replied, "Lord Hand, then I shall inform the councilors that you are unable to attend."
"Forget it, damn it," Eddard replied. This was King's Landing, not Winterfell. If he indulged his temper, he might offend all the councilors before even taking office. "I'll go now. But give me a few minutes to change into more formal attire."
"Yes, my Lord," the Steward said. "We have prepared Lord Arryn's former rooms in the Tower of the Hand for you."
"Thank you," Eddard said, softly adding, "Remember to arrange a room for my son as well." winter was coming, and only family was truly trustworthy. Behind Eddard, his family and retainers also entered the gates.
"Jon," Eddard called his son closer.
"That woman is always arrogant. You have offended her, so you must be careful in King's Landing. Especially the Butcher's boy with you; they have no qualms about killing a Butcher's boy."
"I understand, Father," Jon nodded heavily.
"My Lord, you must also be careful. This is King's Landing," Jon said slowly. It wasn't that he was good at reading people, but a bastard naturally lived on the margins. He watched Catelyn's expression.
Eddard then told the steward to settle his two daughters. He then borrowed a set of clothes from the Lord Steward to attend the meeting, as his carriage was still halfway through the city.
The Small Council chambers in The Red Keep were exquisitely furnished. The floor was covered with Myrish carpets, not rush mats. In one corner of the room stood a wooden screen from the Summer Isles, carved with hundreds of lifelike, colorful exotic birds and beasts. The walls were hung with exquisite tapestries from Norvos, Qohor, and Lys. On either side of the door stood a pair of Valyrian sphinx statues, their rounded garnet eyes shining brightly in their black marble faces.
But all this luxury could not dissipate Eddard's foul mood. As soon as Eddard stepped into the room, his most detested Varys sidled up to him.
"Lord Stark, I heard about the trouble you encountered on the Kingsroad. It is truly regrettable. We are all concerned about young Lord Jon's injuries and pray for his swift recovery." Varys's hand left a trace of powder on Ned's sleeve. He exuded a sweet, decaying scent, like flowers growing on a grave.
"My son is fine, recovering well. His Majesty the King also said everyone has forgotten about it," Eddard replied coolly but politely.
Varys merely smiled and said no more. Stark was so cold to his friendly overtures, neither trying to win him over nor showing him any favor. "Truly a Stark, but unfortunately, a fool."
Eddard withdrew his hand from the eunuch's grasp and walked across the room towards Lord Renly. Renly was by the screen, chatting with a small man, who must have been Littlefinger.
When Robert first seized the throne, Renly was merely a seven-year-old boy. Now he was a grown man, bearing a striking resemblance to his elder brother, which made Eddard extremely uncomfortable. Every time he saw Renly, it was as if time rewound, and Eddard saw the dashing Robert, fresh from his victory at the Trident River, standing before him.
"Lord Stark, it seems you have arrived safely," Renly said.
"As have you," Eddard replied.
"Forgive me for saying so, but sometimes you and your brother Robert truly seem cast from the same mold," Eddard praised.
However, upon closer inspection, Eddard could still discern differences. The younger His Majesty the King was stronger, exuding the scent of blood and war. Renly was more flamboyant and delicate, like a refined nobleman.
"I'm nothing compared to him," Renly shrugged. "But we have someone even more like His Majesty the King. It's a pity that Bastard isn't on our side; instead, he's a great worry to my brother and keeps our Queen from sleeping."
"Say less, my Lord Renly," Varys interjected, sidling closer. "That is not to be spoken of."
"At least you dress better than His Majesty the King," Littlefinger said playfully. "The money Lord Renly spends on clothes, few ladies in the court could rival."
This was true. Lord Renly wore a dark green velvet doublet embroidered with twelve golden stags. A gold-embroidered half-cape draped elegantly over one shoulder, fastened with an emerald brooch.
"That shouldn't count as a heinous crime," Renly laughed. "Look at what you're wearing; that's truly rude."
Littlefinger ignored his mockery. He looked at Eddard with a smile that bordered on insolence. "Lord Stark, I have wanted to meet you for years. I imagine Lady Catelyn must have mentioned me to you?"
"She has," Eddard said, looking at Littlefinger. He felt Littlefinger's arrogance and malice were an offense, and this attitude angered him. Perhaps he was not truly a wolf, otherwise, he would have cut off Littlefinger's head for that remark alone. "If I remember correctly, you should also know my brother, Brandon."
Renly laughed heartily, while Varys moved even closer.
"I knew him well," Littlefinger said. "I still bear Brandon's memento on me. Did Brandon mention me?"
"Often, mostly when he was furious," Eddard wanted to end the topic. Such wordplay was not to his taste.
"I thought you Starks weren't so hot-tempered. Down south, everyone says you're made of ice and melt once you cross the Neck," Littlefinger chuckled.
Littlefinger truly had a talent for stirring up trouble, but Eddard had no intention of getting entangled with him.
"Lord Baelish, rest assured, I do not intend to melt too quickly." Eddard moved towards the council table and saw Grand Maester Pycelle. "Grand Maester Pycelle, I see you are still hale and hearty."
"My Lord, for my age, I am quite hale, though easily fatigued," the Grand Maester was a living fossil of the Small Council, and Eddard believed he might be the longest-serving Grand Maester. The Grand Maester looked up from his seat at the end of the long table, smiling. The Grand Maester had a kindly face, with a few strands of white hair hanging down on either side of his already bald forehead.
His maester's chain was not a simple metal one like Luwin's, but a heavy necklace strung with twenty-four different metal links, hanging from his throat to his chest. The chain was forged from every metal known to man: black iron and red gold, gleaming copper and heavy lead, steel, tin, and dull silver, brass, bronze, and platinum. Garnets, amethysts, and Black Pearls adorned the metal chain, interspersed with emeralds and rubies.
"Perhaps we should begin," the Grand Maester said, rubbing his hands over his large belly. "If we wait any longer, I fear I shall fall asleep."
"Then let us begin. I apologize for the delay." Eddard found his seat, the one to the right of His Majesty the King, symbolizing the King's Hand. His Majesty the King's seat was empty, its back embroidered with a crowned stag in gold thread.
"Lord Stark, you are His Majesty the King's Hand," Varys said. "It is our duty to serve you."
"I've come to the wrong place," Eddard settled into his seat. This seat might have been more comfortable for Rickard or Brandon, but alas, they were gone.
And what did I have? Eddard sighed. Just as Robert said, a bunch of idiots and sycophants. The joking Littlefinger, Renly, and the fragrant, dead eunuch Varys, and that Pycelle who looked ready for the grave. But how many truly loyal to Robert were there? Perhaps all were staunch Lannister loyalists.
"There are only five of us," Eddard said, feigning ignorance. He knew Stannis and the Old Knight were absent. These two might have felt as out of place in the Small Council as he did. He didn't trust those before him; he thought of the two figures who hadn't appeared.
"Not long after His Majesty the King went north, Lord Stannis returned to Dragonstone," Varys replied. "As for our heroic Old Knight, he is currently accompanying His Majesty the King through the city. As Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, that is his duty."
"Perhaps we should wait a little longer, until Ser Barristan and His Majesty the King join us?" Eddard suggested.
Renly laughed loudly, "To wait for my old brother to grace us with his presence, who knows how long that would be."
"Our dear His Majesty the King has too many things to worry about," Varys said. "Leave the minor matters to us, to lighten his burden!"
"Lord Varys means that anything involving finance, food, and law gives my royal brother a headache. So the governance of the realm falls to us," Lord Renly added. "However, my royal brother does not forget to give instructions from time to time. For example, this morning, he commanded me to enter the city first and for Grand Maester Pycelle to immediately call this meeting, as he has an urgent task."
Eddard felt his heart plummet into an icy valley, as if an Other was stroking his back. Every word Renly spoke confirmed his suspicions. While His Majesty the King should not be autocratic and pigheaded, he also should not abandon all his duties for extravagance and dissipation.
Eddard had anticipated Robert's absurdity, but he hadn't expected it to be even more outrageous than he'd imagined. Gold dragons, soldiers, and state affairs—how could Robert be so muddled? That Lannister woman hadn't stolen his soul; he himself chose a life of debauchery.
"Look at the letter, Lord Eddard," Littlefinger said with a smile.
Eddard took the letter from Littlefinger. What was His Majesty the King's urgent command? Lord Eddard broke the royal crowned stag wax seal with his thumb, smoothed out the parchment, and became increasingly incredulous. Robert's war? How had it turned into a grand Tourney? And in Eddard's name.
"A Tourney? This…" Eddard's face was ashen. "Damn it."
Renly immediately announced, "His Majesty the King has commanded us to hold a grand Tourney to celebrate the new Lord Hand's appointment."
"We are all used to it; these are His Majesty the King's commands. Our good Robert loves a spectacle, especially a Tourney," Varys shrugged.
Eddard felt dizzy. Not war, but amusement.
"Before that, let's first discuss His Majesty the King's debts," Eddard said directly. Robert had already dealt him a blow, and now he wanted a definitive answer.
As Eddard spoke, everyone fell silent, beginning to reassess the information Lord Eddard possessed. It seemed he knew more than they thought.
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