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Chapter 21 Clashes in the Small Council

As soon as Eddard Stark and his two companions entered the Small Council Chamber, they saw four distinct figures already waiting inside."Lord Stark!"Varys, the Master of Whispers, was the first to react. He turned, bowed deeply, and extended his hands with an overly deferential smile—warm enough to disarm even the most wary soul."Lord Varys," Eddard replied, shaking Varys's hand briefly."I heard of the trouble you encountered on the Kingsroad. A great pity. We all pray for Prince Joffrey's swift recovery," Varys said, his tone earnest."Pity you didn't spare a prayer for the butcher's boy," Eddard said flatly. The faint goodwill he'd felt toward Varys vanished instantly.Varys's smile froze. He hadn't expected his attempt at flattery to backfire so badly.Eddard withdrew his hand and walked past Varys to the younger man behind him."Renly—you're looking well," Eddard said, smiling at Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws and Lord of Storm's End. He pulled the former squire into a firm hug, his mood lightening slightly."You look tired. I told them we could wait till tomorrow, but—" Renly shrugged, grinning."But the realm doesn't wait," a voice cut in.Eddard took the seat at the head of the table and turned to the speaker."Lord Stark, I've long wanted to meet you. I'm sure Lady Catelyn has mentioned me," said Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin."She has, Lord Baelish. You knew my brother Brandon, if I'm not mistaken," Eddard said."Knew him well. I still carry a souvenir—from collarbone to navel," Littlefinger said, tracing a line across his torso."Perhaps you chose the wrong man to duel," Eddard said with a faint smile."I didn't choose a duel, my lord. I chose Catelyn Tully. A woman worth fighting for—surely you'd agree," Baelish replied. His words dripped with nostalgia, but they left Eddard speechless—like a lump of food stuck in his throat.Eddard couldn't refute Baelish, but that didn't mean he accepted the remark. Owen, however, wasn't about to let his lord be outmaneuvered. A captain's duty sometimes meant stepping in to handle the "dirty work."Owen exchanged a glance with Vayon Poole, then the two moved toward Eddard—Vayon from Varys's side, Owen from Baelish's. As Owen passed Littlefinger, he made no attempt to avoid him. He slammed his shoulder into the smirking Master of Coin.The scrawny Baelish nearly fell flat on his face. Only the chair behind him kept him upright, but the impact still left him staggering. He straightened up, glaring at Owen in anger—until he met Owen's eyes.Owen stared back, cold and sharp, with a flicker of killing intent in his gaze. Baelish froze. He'd never seen such a menacing look—not even from Robert or Cersei."I take it this is Ser Owen Reed—the 'Northern Sword God' who single-handedly slew a hundred redcloaks in the Trident's woods?" Varys said, breaking the tension, his eyes fixed on Owen's blade-like stare."He is. And now he is a knight of the North, and a bannerman of House Stark," Eddard said, a faint smile playing on his lips—clearly amused by Owen's intervention.Baelish's anger vanished. The mere mention of Owen's reputation—his ability to defy all odds in battle—was enough to make Littlefinger's blood run cold.Silence settled over the chamber."Forgive the delay, Lord Stark," Grand Maester Pycelle said, finally breaking the hush."Grand Maester," Eddard acknowledged the old man beside him."How many years has it been? You were still a young man then," Pycelle said, gazing at Eddard's sturdy frame."A great many. Though back then, you served another king," Eddard replied. He had little desire to converse with Pycelle—a man who switched loyalties like a snake shedding its skin.Pycelle looked flustered, but the wily old maester brushed it off. He fumbled in his robes and pulled out the Hand of the King's chain."Ah, my poor memory! This belongs to you now," Pycelle said, pressing the chain into Eddard's hands.Eddard examined the chain briefly, then slipped it into his pocket."Shall we begin?" Pycelle said."Won't we wait for the king?" Eddard asked, glancing at the empty seats."Winter may be coming, but no one knows when my brother will arrive," Renly joked, sitting beside Eddard.Eddard knew Robert was likely drowning in wine and whores at the brothel, but he still looked taken aback."The king has many burdens," Varys said, addressing Eddard's surprise. "He has entrusted these... minor matters to us, to lighten his load.""Minor ministers for minor matters," Baelish mocked, his tone dry.Renly handed Eddard a letter. "My brother has ordered a tournament to celebrate your appointment as Hand.""How much will this cost?" Baelish asked, eyeing Eddard as he read."Forty thousand gold dragons for the champion, twenty thousand for the runner-up, and twenty thousand for the archery winner," Eddard said, looking up from the letter."Can the treasury afford this?" Pycelle asked, turning to Baelish."I'll have to borrow. The Lannisters will oblige, I'm sure. We already owe Lord Tywin three hundred thousand—what's another eight thousand?" Baelish said, indifferent."You mean the crown's debts amount to over three hundred thousand?" Eddard asked, his voice sharp with shock."No—over six hundred thousand. Half of it is owed to the Iron Bank," Baelish corrected.Eddard's shock turned to fury. He slammed his fist on the table, glaring at the council. "How could you let this happen?""The Master of Coin only finds gold for the king. The king and the Hand spend it," Baelish replied quickly, eager to avoid blame. If Eddard pinned the debt on him, his future schemes would crumble."Jon Arryn would never have let Robert waste money like this!" Eddard snapped, his temper fraying. The formal titles were gone now."Lord Arryn gave wise counsel," Pycelle said gently, "but His Grace did not always listen.""Our king calls such things 'counting coppers,'" Renly added, oblivious to the tension—only making it worse."I'll speak to him tomorrow. We cannot afford such excess," Eddard said, his fists clenched, struggling to keep his anger in check."You have that right, my lord. But perhaps we should begin planning anyway?" Baelish prodded, his voice soft but provocative."There will be no planning until I speak to Robert!" Eddard roared.The chamber fell silent. Except for Renly, the others stared at Eddard with odd expressions. He suddenly realized he'd let his anger get the better of him—he'd overstepped."My lords, forgive me. I... I am weary from the journey," Eddard said, massaging his temples."You are the Hand of the King, Lord Stark. We are at your command," Varys said, his tone once again warm and sincere."Very well. This meeting is adjourned," Eddard said, standing up.Owen and Vayon followed closely as he left the chamber and walked toward the Red Keep's exit."My lord, they set a trap for you," Owen said once they were outside the Red Keep and entering the Hand's Tower—now guarded by Stark men."What do you mean?" Eddard asked, frowning.Owen said nothing, just met Eddard's eyes."Come to my chambers. We'll speak there," Eddard said, understanding. He turned to Vayon. "Vayon, guard the door. No one enters—no one.""Yes, my lord," Vayon replied, bowing.The three climbed the stairs to the top floor of the Hand's Tower. Eddard and Owen went inside; Vayon closed the door behind them and stood guard outside, sword in hand.