The solar was cold, the air stale and smelling of tallow candles that had burned down to nothing over the night. Ned sat at his desk, eyes bloodshot, staring past the balcony.
The heavy thud of boots in the hall broke the silence, followed by the jingle of spurs. Robert didn't bother to knock. He shouldered the door open, looking every bit the man who had tried to drink away a disaster and only succeeded in making his temper shorter. He was in his hunting leathers, his face a mottled red, his beard stiff with dried ale.
"Seven hells, Ned," Robert growled. He didn't look at the book. He looked at the floor, the walls, then wiped a hand across his mouth. "Enough of it. I've had enough. The fool is bleeding, the court ... I won't sit here. I won't sit in this stinking castle and listen to the whispers. I can't breathe in this place."
Ned stood up, his movements stiff. "Robert..."
"I'm not here for a sermon," the King snapped, cutting him off. He reached into his belt and pulled out the gold badge of the Hand. He didn't hand it over; he dropped it onto the desk. It clattered against the iron binding of the book and slid an inch. "I'm going to the woods. I need a hunt. Something honest for a change... kill something. When I get back, I want this mess sorted. Put it on. Gods know I need someone who isn't a Lannister whispering in my ear. Put it on, Ned. That's an order."
Ned looked at the badge, then back at Robert. The words were there, the truth about the children, the lie they were all living. He opened his mouth, but the look in Robert's eyes stopped him. Robert wasn't looking for the truth; he was looking for an exit.
"I'll be here," Ned said.
"Good. Don't let the women or that eunuch crawl into your head while I'm gone." Robert turned and stomped out, his heavy cloak catching on the doorframe as he vanished.
I followed him. Ned didn't call me back; he was already sinking into his chair, his hand hovering over the gold badge.
The courtyard was a mess of noise and smell. Hounds baying in their kenneled wagons, the smell of wet horses and woodsmoke making it worse along with their shit. Robert's hunting party moved with a frantic, messy energy. I wove through the legs of the horses, my ears twitching. Most of the men were just eager for the trees.
Near the stables, the scent changed. Honey and cinnamon. A wine strong enough to turn a man's head after a few swallows.
I saw Lancel Lannister. The boy was struggling with a leather skin, his face pale and covered with sweat despite the morning chill. He was fumbling with the straps, his hands shaking so much the wine sloshed audibly inside. He looked skittish, his eyes darting toward the King and then back to the wine skin, never settling.
I moved toward the horses, intending to stick to the King's shadow. If I could get to the Kingswood, I might be able to keep the boar away or at least rouse Robert before he got himself gutted.
A spear butt thudded into the mud just in front of my nose.
"Get back... go on, get back," Lancel hissed. His voice was thin and shaky, lacking for someone in his career. He held the spear like someone more afraid of the butt than the tip of the spear, the tip wavering near my chest. "The King... he doesn't need a Northern mutt underfoot. Move!"
I didn't growl. I looked past the boy. Ser Barristan and the other Kingsguard were already mounting up. They didn't care about a squire and a hound.
Lancel stepped closer, trying to look bold, though his heart was thumping a frantic heartbeat audible from feet apart. "I said... I said move! I'll have you dragged off. I'll have the master of hounds... just move!"
I changed my stance, ready to bolt past him, but then I stopped. I looked back at the Tower of the Hand.
High up, near the arrow slits of the servants' quarters, I saw a flicker of movement. Two shadows, small and still, watching the courtyard. They weren't looking at the King. They were watching the door to Ned's tower.
I felt a coldness that had nothing to do with the morning air. Robert was riding out into the trees, but the real hunt was happening here. If I followed the King, I'd be miles away from the Red Keep. While Ned was alone. Arya and Sansa were in their rooms, and the only man guarding them was Jory, whom I trust unlike other northern men still in Red Keep.
If I stayed, Robert would likely never come back. I knew what the wine would do. But I looked at Lancel, then back at the tower. I couldn't be in two places, and Robert had been inviting his own death for years. Maybe it's better to stay back.
I backed away from the spear. Lancel let out a ragged breath, a weak, shaky smirk appearing on his face as he thought he'd won. He turned and hurried to tie the wine skin to the back of the King's saddle.
"Move out!" Robert bellowed.
The party began to file through the gate. The sound of the hooves on the drawbridge was loud. I sat in the mud of the courtyard and watched the yellow banners fade into the city streets. I didn't feel like I'd made a noble choice. I felt like I'd just watched a man walk off a cliff. He deserves to die anyway, just not the right time for us.
I turned and walked back toward the Tower of the Hand. I didn't run. I moved slowly, my ears swiveling to catch the whispers from the shadows and the scuffle of feet in the stone hallways.
I reached the door and sat. Jory was there, his hand on the hilt of his sword, his eyes scanning the courtyard. He looked down at me, his brow furrowed.
"Back already?" Jory asked. "Thought you'd be off with the hounds."
I didn't look at him. I looked at the stairs leading up to the girls' rooms. The King was gone, and the Red Keep was beginning to feel very, very small.