The grey light of dawn was streaming through his window when the thunder of hoofbeats awoke Eddardxy Starkxyxy from his brief, exhausted sleep. He lifted his head from the table to look down into the yard. Below, men in mail and leather and crimson cloaks were making the morning ring to the sound of swords, and riding down mock warriors stuffed with straw. Nedxy watched Sandorxy Cleganexyxy gallop across the hard-packed ground to drive an iron-tipped lance through a dummy’s head. Canvas ripped and straw exploded as Lannisterxy guardsmen joked and cursed.
Is this brave show for my benefit, he wondered. If so, Cerseixy was a greater fool than he’d imagined. Damn her, he thought, why is the woman not fled? I have given her chance after chance …
The morning was overcast and grim. Nedxy broke his fast with his daughters and Septa Mordanexy. Sansaxy, still disconsolate, stared sullenly at her food and refused to eat, but Aryaxy wolfed down everything that was set in front of her. “Syrioxy says we have time for one last lesson before we take ship this evening,” she said. “Can I, Fatherxy? All my things are packed.”
“A short lesson, and make certain you leave yourself time to bathe and change. I want you ready to leave by midday, is that understood?”
“By midday,” Aryaxy said.
Sansaxy looked up from her food. “If she can have a dancing lesson, why won’t you let me say farewell to Princexy Joffreyxy?”
“I would gladly go with her, Lordxy Eddardxy,” Septa Mordanexy offered. “There would be no question of her missing the ship.”
“It would not be wise for you to go to Joffreyxy right now, Sansaxy. I’m sorry.”
Sansaxy’s eyes filled with tears. “But why?”
“Sansaxy, your lord father knows best,” Septa Mordanexy said. “You are not to question his decisions.”
“It’s not fair!” Sansaxy pushed back from her table, knocked over her chair, and ran weeping from the solar.
Septa Mordanexy rose, but Nedxy gestured her back to her seat. “Let her go, Septa. I will try to make her understand when we are all safely back in Winterfellxy.” The septa bowed her head and sat down to finish her breakfast.
It was an hour later when Grand Maesterxy Pycellexyxy came to Eddardxy Starkxyxy in his solar. His shoulders slumped, as if the weight of the great maester’s chain around his neck had become too great to bear. “My lord,” he said, “Kingxy Robertxyxy is gone. The gods give him rest.”
“No,” Nedxy answered. “He hated rest. The gods give him love and laughter, and the joy of righteous battle.” It was strange how empty he felt. He had been expecting the visit, and yet with those words, something died within him. He would have given all his titles for the freedom to weep … but he was Robertxy’s Handxy, and the hour he dreaded had come. “Be so good as to summon the members of the council here to my solar,” he told Pycellexy. The Tower of the Handxyxy was as secure as he and Tomardxy could make it; he could not say the same for the council chambers.
“My lord?” Pycellexy blinked. “Surely the affairs of the kingdom will keep till the morrow, when our grief is not so fresh.”
Nedxy was quiet but firm. “I fear we must convene at once.”
Pycellexy bowed. “As the Handxy commands.” He called his servants and sent them running, then gratefully accepted Nedxy’s offer of a chair and a cup of sweet beer.
Ser Barristanxy Selmyxyxy was the first to answer the summons, immaculate in white cloak and enameled scales. “My lords,” he said, “my place is beside the young king now. Pray give me leave to attend him.”
“Your place is here, Ser Barristanxy,” Nedxy told him.
Littlefingerxy came next, still garbed in the blue velvets and silver mockingbird cape he had worn the night previous, his boots dusty from riding. “My lords,” he said, smiling at nothing in particular before he turned to Nedxy. “That little task you set me is accomplished, Lordxy Eddardxy.”
Varysxy entered in a wash of lavender, pink from his bath, his plump face scrubbed and freshly powdered, his soft slippers all but soundless. “The little birds sing a grievous song today,” he said as he seated himself. “The realm weeps. Shall we begin?”
“When Lordxy Renlyxyxy arrives,” Nedxy said.
Varysxy gave him a sorrowful look. “I fear Lordxy Renlyxyxy has left the city.”
“Left the city?” Nedxy had counted on Renlyxy’s support.
“He took his leave through a postern gate an hour before dawn, accompanied by Ser Lorasxy Tyrellxyxy and some fifty retainers,” Varysxy told them. “When last seen, they were galloping south in some haste, no doubt bound for Storm’s End or Highgardenxy.”
So much for Renlyxy and his hundred swords. Nedxy did not like the smell of that, but there was nothing to be done for it. He drew out Robertxy’s last letter. “The king called me to his side last night and commanded me to record his final words. Lordxy Renlyxyxy and Grand Maesterxy Pycellexyxy stood witness as Robertxy sealed the letter, to be opened by the council after his death. Ser Barristanxy, if you would be so kind?”
The Lordxy Commanderxy of the Kingsguardxyxy examined the paper. “Kingxy Robertxyxy’s seal, and unbroken.” He opened the letter and read. “Lordxy Eddardxy Starkxyxy is herein named Protector of the Realmxy, to rule as regent until the heir comes of age.”
And as it happens, he is of age, Nedxy reflected, but he did not give voice to the thought. He trusted neither Pycellexy nor Varysxy, and Ser Barristanxy was honor-bound to protect and defend the boy he thought his new king. The old knight would not abandon Joffreyxy easily. The need for deceit was a bitter taste in his mouth, but Nedxy knew he must tread softly here, must keep his counsel and play the game until he was firmly established as regent. There would be time enough to deal with the succession when Aryaxy and Sansaxy were safely back in Winterfellxy, and Lordxy Stannisxy had returned to Kingxy’s Landingxy with all his power.
“I would ask this council to confirm me as Lordxy Protectorxy, as Robertxy wished,” Nedxy said, watching their faces, wondering what thoughts hid behind Pycellexy’s half-closed eyes, Littlefingerxy’s lazy half-smile, and the nervous flutter of Varysxy’s fingers.
The door opened. Fat Tomxy stepped into the solar. “Pardon, my lords, the king’s steward insists …”
The royal steward entered and bowed. “Esteemed lords, the king demands the immediate presence of his small council in the throne room.”
Nedxy had expected Cerseixy to strike quickly; the summons came as no surprise. “The king is dead,” he said, “but we shall go with you nonetheless. Tom, assemble an escort, if you would.”
Littlefingerxy gave Nedxy his arm to help him down the steps. Varysxy, Pycellexy, and Ser Barristanxy followed close behind. A double column of men-at-arms in chainmail and steel helms was waiting outside the tower, eight strong. Grey cloaksxy snapped in the wind as the guardsmen marched them across the yard. There was no Lannisterxy crimson to be seen, but Nedxy was reassured by the number of gold cloaks visible on the ramparts and at the gates.
Janosxy Slyntxyxy met them at the door to the throne room, armored in ornate black-and-gold plate, with a high-crested helm under one arm. The Commander bowed stiffly. His men pushed open the great oaken doors, twenty feet tall and banded with bronze.
The royal steward led them in. “All hail His Grace, Joffreyxy of the Houses Baratheonxy and Lannisterxy, the First of his Name, Kingxy of the Andalsxyxy and the Rhoynarxy and the First Menxyxy, Lordxy of the Seven Kingdomsxyxy and Protector of the Realmxy,” he sang out.
It was a long walk to the far end of the hall, where Joffreyxy waited atop the Iron Thronexy. Supported by Littlefingerxy, Nedxy Starkxyxy slowly limped and hopped toward the boy who called himself king. The others followed. The first time he had come this way, he had been on horseback, sword in hand, and the Targaryenxy dragons had watched from the walls as he forced Jaimexy Lannisterxyxy down from the throne. He wondered if Joffreyxy would step down quite so easily.
Five knights of the Kingsguardxy—all but Ser Jaimexy and Ser Barristanxy—were arrayed in a crescent around the base of the throne. They were in full armor, enameled steel from helm to heel, long pale cloaks over their shoulders, shining white shields strapped to their left arms. Cerseixy Lannisterxyxy and her two younger children stood behind Ser Boros and Ser Merynxy. The queen wore a gown of sea-green silk, trimmed with Myrish lace as pale as foam. On her finger was a golden ring with an emerald the size of a pigeon’s egg, on her head a matching tiara.
Above them, Princexy Joffreyxy sat amidst the barbs and spikes in a cloth-of-gold doublet and a red satin cape. Sandorxy Cleganexyxy was stationed at the foot of the throne’s steep narrow stair. He wore mail and soot-grey plate and his snarling dog’s-head helm.
Behind the throne, twenty Lannisterxy guardsmen waited with longswords hanging from their belts. Crimson cloaks draped their shoulders and steel lions crested their helms. But Littlefingerxy had kept his promise; all along the walls, in front of Robertxy’s tapestries with their scenes of hunt and battle, the gold-cloaked ranks of the City Watchxy stood stiffly to attention, each man’s hand clasped around the haft of an eight-foot-long spear tipped in black iron. They outnumbered the Lannistersxy five to one.
Nedxy’s leg was a blaze of pain by the time he stopped. He kept a hand on Littlefingerxy’s shoulder to help support his weight.
Joffreyxy stood. His red satin cape was patterned in gold thread; fifty roaring lions to one side, fifty prancing stags to the other. “I command the council to make all the necessary arrangements for my coronation,” the boy proclaimed. “I wish to be crowned within the fortnight. Today I shall accept oaths of fealty from my loyal councillors.”
Nedxy produced Robertxy’s letter. “Lordxy Varysxy, be so kind as to show this to my lady of Lannisterxy.”
The eunuch carried the letter to Cerseixy. The queen glanced at the words. “Protector of the Realmxy,” she read. “Is this meant to be your shield, my lord? A piece of paper?” She ripped the letter in half, ripped the halves in quarters, and let the pieces flutter to the floor.
“Those were the king’s words,” Ser Barristanxy said, shocked.
“We have a new king now,” Cerseixy Lannisterxyxy replied. “Lordxy Eddardxy, when last we spoke, you gave me some counsel. Allow me to return the courtesy. Bend the knee, my lord. Bend the knee and swear fealty to my son, and we shall allow you to step down as Handxy and live out your days in the grey waste you call home.”
“Would that I could,” Nedxy said grimly. If she was so determined to force the issue here and now, she left him no choice. “Your son has no claim to the throne he sits. Lordxy Stannisxy is Robertxy’s true heir.”
“Liar!” Joffreyxy screamed, his face reddening.
“Motherxy, what does he mean?” Princess Myrcellaxyxy asked the queen plaintively. “Isn’t Joff the king now?”
“You condemn yourself with your own mouth, Lordxy Starkxy,” said Cerseixy Lannisterxyxy. “Ser Barristanxy, seize this traitor.”
The Lordxy Commanderxy of the Kingsguardxyxy hesitated. In the blink of an eye he was surrounded by Starkxy guardsmen, bare steel in their mailed fists.
“And now the treason moves from words to deeds,” Cerseixy said. “Do you think Ser Barristanxy stands alone, my lord?” With an ominous rasp of metal on metal, the Houndxy drew his longsword. The knights of the Kingsguardxy and twenty Lannisterxy guardsmen in crimson cloaks moved to support him.
“Kill him!” the boy king screamed down from the Iron Thronexy. “Kill all of them, I command it!”
“You leave me no choice,” Nedxy told Cerseixy Lannisterxyxy. He called out to Janosxy Slyntxyxy. “Commander, take the queen and her children into custody. Do them no harm, but escort them back to the royal apartments and keep them there, under guard.”
“Men of the Watch!” Janosxy Slyntxyxy shouted, donning his helm. A hundred gold cloaks leveled their spears and closed.
“I want no bloodshed,” Nedxy told the queen. “Tell your men to lay down their swords, and no one need—”
With a single sharp thrust, the nearest gold cloak drove his spear into Tomardxy’s back. Fat Tomxy’s blade dropped from nerveless fingers as the wet red point burst out through his ribs, piercing leather and mail. He was dead before his sword hit the floor.
Nedxy’s shout came far too late. Janosxy Slyntxyxy himself slashed open Varlyxy’s throat. Caynxy whirled, steel flashing, drove back the nearest spearman with a flurry of blows; for an instant it looked as though he might cut his way free. Then the Houndxy was on him. Sandorxy Cleganexyxy’s first cut took off Caynxy’s sword hand at the wrist; his second drove him to his knees and opened him from shoulder to breastbone.
As his men died around him, Littlefingerxy slid Nedxy’s dagger from its sheath and shoved it up under his chin. His smile was apologetic. “I did warn you not to trust me, you know.”