The city had become noticeably busier in anticipation for the tourney in honour of the new Hand of the King.
At present, the members of the Small Council were gathered, listening to the commander of the City Watch, Janos Slynt.
"It's the Hand's tournament that's causing all this trouble, my Lords."
"The King's tournament. I assure you the Hand wants no part of it." Ned corrected.
"Call it what you will, Lord Stark Ser, the city is packed with people and more flooding in every day. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brоthеl fire, three stabbings and a drunken horse race down the Street of Sisters." Slynt told them.
"Dreadful." Varys commented.
"If you can't keep the King's peace, perhaps the City Watch should be commanded by someone who can." Renly said.
"I need more men."
"You'll get 50. Lord Baelish will see it paid for." Ned commanded.
"I will?"
"You found money for a champion's purse, you can find money to keep the peace." He told the Master of Coin before turning to Slynt. "I'll also give you 20 of my household guards till the crowds have left."
"Thank you, my Lord Hand Ser. They will be put to good use."
"The sooner this is over, the better." Lord Stark grumbled.
"The realm prospers from such events, my Lord. They give the great a chance at glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes." Varys remarked.
"And every inn in the city is full and the whοres are walking bow-legged." Baelish chimed in, earning eye rolls.
"I'm sure the tourney puts coins in many a pocket. Now... If there's nothing else, my Lords?" Ned asked.
"There is one, Lord Stark, completely unrelated to the tournament. I assume you know who Lord Hersham Groatworth is?" Varys brought up.
"Yes."
Eyron Morvayn, the former Master of Laws, now advisor to the Small Council, rolled his eyes. "Oh, lord...not him again..."
"My predecessor as Master of Coin; specifically, the Mad King's Master of Coin. Apparently he has a proposition for the Crown." Littlefinger added.
"Oh, really? Given me one good reason why I should entertain any proposal from Hersham Groatworth." Ned questioned.
"Well, it's a rather interesting proposal." Renly quipped. "Lord Groatworth has requested that a new Small Council office be created: the Master of Trade. He requests that he be named to this position."
"And what would this entail?" Ned asked.
"According to Lord Groatworth, the Master of Trade would control the regulation of merchant goods within the kingdoms. Regulate sales, establish trade routes, keep the farmers in line....things of that nature. He'd work closely with the Master of Coin in those regards." Littlefinger informed them.
"Lord Groatworth has been annoying the Crown with this silly proposal for years." Eyron said.
"No." Ned told Varys.
"Shouldn't you give this more thought, my lord?" Varys asked.
"I'm not letting Hersham Groatworth anywhere near the Small Council. Robert dismissed him from the council for a good reason: he is untrustworthy when it comes to power." Ned announced.
Littlefinger had a look on his face that clearly said, 'Well, so am I, but here I am.'
"Lord Groatworth has petitioned for the creation of this position for years, even when Jon Arryn was Hand. It could be helpful in the management of the kingdoms." Pycelle interjected.
"And Jon Arryn turned him down too, clearly because he also didn't trust him. I will not let that man anywhere near the Small Council. My decision is final."
"I have to agree with Lord Stark on this matter. This Master of Trade position is unnecessary for the management of the kingdoms. Lord Baelish can easily shoulder all of those responsibilities as Master of Coin. Plus, I agree that Lord Groatworth shouldn't be allowed back on the Small Council. I don't trust him either." Eyron added.
There was a brief pause.
"Now, if there is nothing else, this meeting is concluded." Lord Stark said.
All of them left, but considering his age, it was taking Pycelle considerably longer.
"This heat. On days like this, I envy you northerners your summer snows. Until tomorrow my Lord." He said.
"I've been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn."
"Lord Arryn? His death was a great sadness to all of us. I took personal charge of his care, but I could not save him. His sickness struck him very hard and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before he passed. Lord Jon often came to me for counsel."
"Why?"
"I have been Grand Maester for many years. Kings and Hands have come to me for advice since..."
"What did Jon want the night before he died?"
"He came inquiring after a book."
"A book? What book?"
"I fear it would be of little interest to you, my Lord. A ponderous tome."
"I'd like to read it."
"The lineages and histories of the great houses of the Seven Kingdoms, with descriptions of many high lords and noble ladies and their children." He said, pulling out a large book handing it to Lord Stark, who opened it.
"Harkon Umber, first of his name, born to lord Hother Umber and lady Amaryllis Umber in the 183rd year after Aegon's landing, at the last hearth. Blue of eye, brown of hair and fair complected, died in his 14th year of a wound sustained in a bear hunt."
"As I said, my Lord, a ponderous read."
"Did Jon Arryn tell you what he wanted with it?"
"He did not, my Lord. And I did not presume to ask."
"Jon's death..."
"Such a tragedy."
"Did he say anything to you during his final hours?"
"Nothing of import, my Lord. There was one phrase he kept repeating: "The seed is strong," I think it was. Followed by 'Only one'."
" 'The seed is strong'? What does that mean?"
"The dying mind is a demented mind, Lord Stark. For all the weight they're given, last words are usually as significant as first words."
"And you're quite certain he died of a natural illness?"
"What else could it be?"
"Poison."
"A disturbing thought. I don't think it likely. The Hand was loved by all. What sort of man would dare..."
"I've heard it said that poison is a woman's weapon."
"Yes. Women, cravens... and eunuchs. Did you know that lord Varys is a eunuch?"
"Everybody knows that." Lord Stark replied, silently wondering why the man was quick to throw his fellow advisor to the wolves. No pun intended.
"Of course. How that sort of person found himself on the King's Council, I will nevr know."
"I've taken enough of your time."
"No trouble at all, my Lord. It's a great honor..."
"Thank you. I'll find my own way out." Ned said as Pycelle moved to stand.
On his way to the Tower of the Hand, he stumbled upon his youngest daughter, balancing at the to of the stairs on one leg.
"Syrio says every hurt is a lesson and every lesson makes you better. Tomorrow I'm going to be chasing cats."
"Cats? Syrio says..."
"He says every swordsman should study cats. They're quiet as shadows and as light as feathers. You have to be quick to catch them."
"He's right about that."
"Now that Bran's awake will he come live with us?
"He needs to get his strength back first."
"He wants to be a knight of the King's Guard. He can't be one now, can he?"
"No. But someday he could be Lord of a holdfast or sit on the King's Council. Or he might raise castles like Brandon the Builder."
"Can I be Lord of a holdfast?"
"You will marry a high Lord and rule his castle. And your sons shall be knights and princes and lords." Her father informed her, knowing it was not the answer she wanted to hear.
Arya Stark: No. That's not me.
Later that day, Lord Stark found himself strolling in the Gardens alongside Littlefinger.
"I hear you're reading a boring book."
"Pycelle talks too much. " Lord Stark remarked.
"He nevr stops. Do you know Ser Hugh of the Vale? Not surprising. Until recently, he was only a squire... Jon Arryn's squire. He was knighted almost immediately after his master's untimely death."
"Knighted for what? Why are you telling me this?"
"I promised Cat that I'd help you."
"Where is Ser Hugh? I'll speak to him."
"A singularly bad idea. Do you see that boy there? One of Varys's little birds. The Spider has taken a great interest in your comings and goings. Now look there. That one belongs to the Queen. And do you see that Septa pretending to read her book?"
"Varys or the Queen?"
"No. She's one of mine. Is there someone in your service whom you trust completely?"
"Yes."
"The wiser answer was no, my Lord. Get a message to this paragon of yours... Discreetly. Send him to question Ser Hugh. After that, you might want him to visit a certain armorer in the city. He lives in a large house at the top of the street of Steel."
"Why?"
"I have my observers, as I said, and it's possible that they saw Lord Arryn visit this armorer several times in the weeks before his death."
"Lord Baelish, perhaps I was wrong to distrust you."
"Distrusting me was the wisest thing you've done since you climbed off your horse."
Unfortunately Lord Stark did not yet know the severity of truthfulness in those words.
Meanwhile, on the tourney grounds Jory approached a man who appeared to be practicing.
"Ser Hugh?" The man waved him away. "Ser Hugh!" He repeated.
"As you can see, I'm busy."
"I'm here on behalf of Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the king. I'm the captain of his guard."
This finally caught the attention, if only a little, of Ser Hugh.
"I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name, Ser..."
"No "ser." I'm not a knight." Jory corrected.
"I see. Well, it just so happens that I am." Ser Hugh said before returning to ignoring the young man.
Later that day, Ser Jory and Ned Stark were on horseback, riding along the Street of Steel.
"He said he'd be glad to talk to the Hand himself. He's a knight, you see." Jory informed his liege lord.
"A knight. They strut around like roosters down here. Even the ones who've nevr seen an arrow coming their way."
"You shouldn't be out here, my Lord. There's no telling who has eyes where."
"Let them look." Thue duo made their way to the blacksmith Lord Baelish had spoken of. Tobho Mott was his name.
"The former Hand did call on me, my Lord, several times. I regret to say he did not honor me with his patronage."
"What did Lord Arryn want?" Lord Stark asked.
"He alwys came to see the boy."
"I'd like to see him as well."
"As you wish, my Lord. Gendry!" He called to a young man. "Here he is. Strong for his age. He works hard. Show the Hand the helmet you made, lad."
The boy had dark hair and blue eyes. Lord Stark would dare say he resembled a young Robert Baratheon, before he had began drinking himself half to death.
"This is fine work." He said, inspecting the bull shaped helmet.
"It's not for sale." Gendry interrupted.
"Boy, this is the King's Hand! If his lordship wants the helmet..."
"I made it for me."
"Forgive him, my Lord." Mott apologized.
"There's nothing to forgive. When Lord Arryn came to visit you, what would you talk about?" Ned asked Gendry.
"He just asked me questions is all, my Lord."
"What kind of questions?"
"About my work at first, if I was being treated well, if I liked it here. But then he started asking me about my mother."
"Your mother?" Ned asked.
"Who she was, what she looked like."
"What did you tell him?"
"She died when I was little. She had yellow hair. She'd sing to me sometimes." He said, his head dropping at the memory of his late mother.
"Look at me." Ned ordered, causing Gendry to meet his eye. "Get back to work, lad." He sent Gendry off, before turning to Torbo Mott. "If the day ever comes when that boy'd rather wield a sword than forge one, you send him to me."
Ned rejoined Jory by their horses.
"Find anything?" Jory asked.
"King Robert's bastard son."
As they left to return to the Red Keep, they happened upon Princess Aelinor, her sworn knight and a few guards, as well as the Lady's closest friend, Lady Eleanor Whent.
"Ah, Lord Stark, Ser Jory..."
"I'm no Ser."
"Ah yes, there are no knights in the North. Forgive me." She leaned closer. "You're probably better for it. Here in the South there are men who bare the title, but not the morals."
There was an awkward silence.
"Princess, what are you doing this far from the Keep?" Lord Stark asked.
"Oh, I was just bringing a few things to the orphanage. Some clothes, toys, as well as food from yesterday. Better than letting it go to waste, right?"
"Ah, yes. Your Uncle Renly informed me of your work with the smallfolk. Very noble."
"I suppose it is. I would have brought my younger siblings, but my mother says their too small. I disagree, but what is my word against the Queen's. No matter, I'm sure you have important matters to deal with, especially with the upcoming tourney. I will not keep you any longer. I bid you good day.
With that, she and her envoy continued to their destination.
Upon his return to the Red Keep, Lord Stark ventured to the kitchens.
"Sarina doesn't often get many visitors. Now she's been visited by two Hands - both you and Lord Arryn. Any particular reason you want to see her, Lord Stark?" The kitchen steward inquired.
"It's a personal matter."
"Is Sarina available? She has a visitor." The steward asked a passing servant.
"Let me go find her."
The servant ran off, but returned a few moments later being followed by Sarina, a beautiful young woman with dark hair, who appeared to be in her late teens or early twenties.
"Are you Sarina?" Ned asked.
"Yes, my lord. Why are you here?"
"Jon Arryn spoke with you several times before he died, did he not?"
"He did."
"What did he talk to you about?"
"He asked me about my parents for some reason."
"Your parents?"
"He seemed interested in my mother in particular."
"Really?"
"She was a handmaiden for Queen Cersei, back when she was still at Casterly Rock, and still after she got married to King Robert. She died of a fever when I was about seven years old."
"Did she? I'm sorry to hear that."
Sarina appeared solemn, while Lord Stark appeared contemplative.
"What's your last name, if you have one?
"My last name, my lord?" She asked, looking around to be sure no one was listening. "It's....Waters." She whispered. "None of the others know - at least I don't think they do. But you seem more trustworthy than any of them."
"So then how were you able to work here?"
"Lord Varys, of all people, managed to get me this job, my lord. He told me I was being compensated for the death of my mother."
"Interesting..."
"I'm sorry, but why is that interesting?"
"And your mother was one of the Queen's handmaidens? What did you say she died of?"
"It was a fever."
Under his breath he said something that sounded remarkably like "poison".
"I'm sorry, my lord?"
"Sarina! We need you over here!" Another servant shouted.
"I'm coming!" She replied to her fellow servant. "I've taken up too much of your time, Lord Stark.
"It's quite all right, child. You focus on your work."
Sarina bowed before leaving, Ned lead not long after.
"Two of Robert's bastard children. What were you looking for, Jon...?" Ned whispered to himself.
Later, Jory had been sent to deliver a message to the King from Lord Stark. When he arrived, he saw Jaime Lannister guarding the King's chambers.
"This is for the King from Lord Stark." He told the knight, holding up a sealed piece of parchment.
Jaime held up a finger. "Listen. Do you hear them? How many do you think are in there with him? Guess."
Giggles and squeals could be heard emanating from the King's chambers.
"Three? Four?" Jory tossed out a number, absentmindedly, wanted to get on with the reason he'd been sent.
Jaime shook his head. "He likes to do this when I'm on duty... He makes me listen as he insults my sister."
The door opened suddenly as a dark haired woman exited, trying her best to avoid their gazes.
"Forgive me, my Lord..." Jory started after the woman had fled.
"Why do I have to forgive you? Have you wronged me?"
"We've met before, you know." Jory told him.
"Have we? Strange, I've forgotten."
"The siege of Pyke. We fought side by side one afternoon."
"That's where you got your scar?"
"Aye. One of the Greyjoys nearly took my eye."
"Vicious sons of whοres."
"They like their bloodshed."
"They stopped liking it at the end. That was a proper battle. D'you remember Thoros of Myr charging through the breach?
"With his burning sword? I'll remember that till the day I die."
"I saw the youngest of the Greyjoy lads at Winterfell. It was like seeing a shark on a mountaintop."
"Theon? He's a good lad."
"I doubt it."
"I'll bet you smell of blackberry jam! Let me smell it. Come here." King Robert could be heard as another two women exited his chambers.
Jaime closed the door as they fled.
Growing uncomfortable, Jory again held up the sealed piece of parchment. "Can I leave this with you? The message from Lord Stark."
"I don't serve Lord Stark."
Having had enough of both the King and the obnoxious knight, Jory walked away.