When Fire Meets Ice(slow updates)

Chapter 10: They're Back

INT.Red Keep

POV-3rd Person

As Ned made his way to his chambers, Grand Maester Pycelle approached, bearing a scroll delivered by a raven from Winterfell earlier that morning. His expression shifted briefly, a mixture of curiosity and concern before Petyr Baelish materialized before him. 

"Good news? Perhaps you'd like to share with your wife."

"What game are you playing Littlefinger?" Ned asks the man clearly in no mood for his games. "My wife is in Winterfell." 

"Is she?" He asked almost mockingly with a twinge of amusement in his eyes, he beckoned the Hand of the King to follow him.

Ned followed, his wariness deepening, and his thoughts lingering on whether this seemingly endless day would ever reach its conclusion. Petyr Baelish guided him to a weathered, three-story timbered building, where the sounds of music and laughter wafted through the air like distant echoes. They stood before the entrance to Petyr's brothel, strategically positioned on one of the bustling streets in the city. "I thought that she'd be safest here," Baelish explained calmly, his tone betraying no hint of guilt or hesitation. "One of several such establishments I own," he added as if it were a casual revelation.

SLAM!

That was the final straw, Ned's patience worn thin by Littlefinger's relentless games. He whirled around, seizing the trickster man and pinning him forcefully against the wall, his fingers closing like a vice around Petyr's throat. "You're a funny man, hmm?" Ned's voice dripped with cold fury as he maintained his grip, unyielding. "A very funny man."

"Ned!" An urgent voice pierced through the tense moment, calling out to him from above.

Ned noticed Catelyn looking down from a window. Suddenly, recognition struck him. He released his grip on Petyr's throat and went inside, feeling hopelessly confused.

"The Starks...quick tempers, slow minds."

They entered the establishment, passing through a bustling common room where a plump woman belted out bawdy songs, while young women in linen shifts and hints of colored silk clung to their lovers and perched on their laps, oblivious to Ned's presence.

Inside, Catelyn awaited him, and when her eyes met his, she cried out in relief and rushed into his arms, embracing him with unwavering intensity. "I feared you'd never come," she murmured, holding onto Ned as if she never wanted to let go. "Petyr has been bringing me reports. He told me of your troubles with Arya and the Prince. How are my girls? How is Draven?"

"They're both in mourning and filled with anger, but Draven is slowly recovering," Ned assured her. Concern etched his face as he examined the deep cuts on her. "Cat, I don't understand. What are you doing in King's Landing? What's happened? You've been hurt. Gods. Those are deep cuts... a gash from a sword or... how did this happen?" He inquired, his worry for his wife's safety evident in his voice.

Catelyn discreetly produced a dagger from beneath her cloak and placed it gently into Ned's hand. "We have proof. We have the blade."

"Which Lord Tyrion will claim was stolen from him," Petyr suggested, his tone laced with cunning. "The only man who could say otherwise has no throat, thanks to your boy's wolf."

"Petyr has promised to help us find the truth. He's like a little brother to me. He would never betray my trust."

Ned found this news difficult to swallow, but the harsh reality was that they needed assistance, and Littlefinger had once been as close as a brother to Catelyn. It marked the first time Ned had to forge an alliance with a man he despised.