The tower solar was cold.
The fire in the hearth had burned down to red embers, and the mist from the street outside seeped through the stone.
Ned sat at his desk, still wearing his damp doublet from the ambush. Unlike his usual demeanor suitable for the Hand of the King, he now looked like a man who had spent too many hours contemplating a wall with thoughts elsewhere.
His hands were still. He didn't speak about the fight or the Lannisters. He just watched the candle flame flicker.
And Jory? He was in the hall; I could hear the occasional scuff of his boots, tense about the current situation.
I moved across the floor and sat by Ned's chair. My shoulder was stiff where I'd taken a blow in the alley, but I ignored it. I rested my head on his knee. He didn't look down immediately, but after a moment, his hand found the fur behind my ears. His grip tight, fingers unyielding.
The book sat open on the desk. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms. It was a massive, ugly thing bound in iron and calfskin.
"Jon Arryn was looking for this," Ned murmured while his voice was rough. "He spent his last days with it. He kept saying it to the King. The seed is strong."
He turned a page. The vellum made a dry, scraping sound in the chamber. He was looking at the Baratheon lineage, but his eyes were unfocused. He was tired, his mind caught between his wife's recklessness and the mystery in the King's bloodline.
I stood up and put my paws on the edge of the desk. And I didn't point or bark rather just rested my chin on the heavy page, my weight pressing down on the entry for the Baratheon line. I stayed there, my eyes fixed on the guttering candle.
Ned looked at me, a brief, weary shadow of a smile touching his face. He didn't say anything. He just watched me for a moment before his gaze dropped to the page where my head lay.
He looked at the description of Orys Baratheon. Black of hair.
He reached out and turned the page back. Then forward. He began to read the descriptions aloud, his voice gaining a hard, brittle edge.
"Lyonel Baratheon, black of hair. Steffon Baratheon, black of hair. Robert Baratheon, black of hair."
He stopped. He flipped through the thick vellum until he reached the end of the chapter. He found the marriage of Robert and Cersei.
"Joffrey. Myrcella. Tommen."
He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't have to. The words on the page described a lineage of black hair, yet the children in the Red Keep were all gold.
Ned's breathing changed. It wasn't a gasp, just a sharp, controlled intake of air. He leaned back in his chair, the book left open. I stepped down from the desk and sat back on the rug. He wasn't looking at the book anymore. He was looking at the empty air in front of him.
He was thinking of the smithy. He was thinking of Gendry's black hair. He was thinking of the girl in the brothel with the same dark crown.
"Gold," he whispered.
The realization didn't take long, but the sad truth was something he couldn't ignore. He looked at the book, then at his own hands. The secret Jon Arryn had died for was now clear to him.
Ned closed the book and sat there for a long time, the silence of the solar stretching until the candles were nothing but nubs of wax. He didn't look at me and ask if I knew. He just looked at the embers in the hearth.
"Jory!" he called out.
The door opened. Jory stood there, his hand already on his hilt. He looked at Ned, then at the closed book on the desk.
"My Lord?"
"Double the guards," Ned said, keeping his voice cold. "On the girls' chambers. On this tower. I want four men on the door at all times."
"What's happened, My Lord?"
Ned stood up, his movements stiff. "The world has changed, Jory. And we are in the middle of it."
He walked toward the window, looking out at the dark city.
While I stayed by the hearth, watching the last of the red glow.
[Level 16]
[Status: The Lion's Bane]
[Objective: Protect the Pack]
The investigation was done. There was nothing left to find. Just the moment of truth.