Chapter 14: The Wolf and the Lion
Character Ages:
- Lucius Blackmyre: 62
At the Red Keep…
Daveth had been prepping himself all day; he had already spoken with Varys earlier this morning about reports from Essos. When approached on the subject, Varys confirmed to Daveth what his 'little birds' informed him.
'Father is going to lose his collective mind once word of this reaches him,' Daveth mused. 'Best to inform Lord Stark about it before someone else does…'
He had already gathered some important documents for this upcoming Small Council meeting. Upon arriving at the Tower of the Hand, Daveth had already passed by Jory and Arya Stark.
"My lord," Jory greeted.
"Ser Jory," Daveth acknowledged. "Arya."
"What can I do for you?"
"I'm here to speak with the Hand of the King. Is your lord available?"
Jory nodded. "He's in his chamber with Ser Yoren of the Night's Watch, my lord, but we've been told to leave them in privacy."
"A Wandering Crow?" Daveth implored. "I take that this Yoren fellow came this far south seeking out recruits for the Watch…?"
"I believe so," Jory said.
'Then why have a private discussion with Lord Stark?' Daveth pondered. 'It doesn't make sense…'
Regardless, Daveth nodded. "I see. Well in that case, I suppose I could come back later. Good day you two."
Jory and Arya bowed their heads and made their way down the stairs, possibly exiting the Tower of the Hand. Daveth waited patiently for them to leave; now curious, the Crown Prince slowly crept forward and pressed his ear against the door, hoping to listen in to what was going on inside.
"It's about your wife, my lord," someone said. That voice probably belonged to Yoren.
Daveth continued to listen closely; then the ultimate bombshell was dropped.
"She's taken the Imp."
Daveth's eyes widened in surprise before giving way to anger.
'Uncle Tyrion!' Daveth gritted his teeth. 'Damn it, Cat. What have you done?'
Stepping away from the door, Daveth made his way down the steps and back onto the streets. His choice of destination was the White Sword Tower. Daveth knew trouble was coming; conflict inevitable, but the Crown Prince could only afford to bring someone he could trust other than his uncle Jaime Lannister because the youth knew exactly how the infamous Kingslayer would react.
Before he could even approach the front gates, Daveth was spotted by the first Kingsguard knight he could see.
"My Prince," Ser Lucius Blackmyre greeted.
Tall and muscular with greyish-blue eyes and white hair and lined features, Ser Lucius Blackmyre of the Dornish Marches is a grizzled old knight the smallfolk called "the Old Bull" for wearing a bull's-shaped helmet into battle. A formidable warrior, seasoned war veteran with more than 40 years of combat experience and one of the most brilliant military strategists in the Seven Kingdoms, Lucius fought alongside his good friend Ser Barristan Selmy in the War of the Ninepenny Kings against the last of the Blackfyre pretenders, Maelys the Monstrous, on the Stepstones. For his bravery and executing the plan to snuff out Maelys, Lucius was appointed to the Kingsguard by King Aegon V Targaryen.
Lucius went on to serve King Aerys II Targaryen and fought alongside Barristan, Lewin Martell and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen during the rebellion before being defeated by Robert Baratheon at the Battle of the Trident. Impressed with his battle plans and superb prowess on the field, Robert pardoned him upon assuming the throne. Despite his advanced age, Lucius remains surprisingly strong, cunning and graceful and every bit the skilled knight he was in his youth.
"Ser Lucius," Daveth acknowledged.
"What brings you here, my boy?" the old knight asked, noticing the seriousness in the Crown Prince's stance and the hint of steel in his voice.
"There will be a Small Council meeting going on soon, but once that's done I need you and some of the City Watch to accompany me."
Lucius raised his wrinkled eyebrow. "You suspect trouble?"
Daveth nodded. "Much. Best not to tell anyone; just get ready to move on my signal."
Before walking away to return to the Red Keep, Daveth turned his gaze to the old knight.
"Keep this between us. And whatever you do, do not breathe a word of this to anyone. Not to Lord Stark, not Mother and especially not Uncle Jaime."
At the Small Council chambers…
" The whore is pregnant ! " King Robert growled at Eddard Stark.
Each of the Small Council members was in attendance, including Daveth himself. As expected, Robert was livid when word of Daenerys Targaryen's pregnancy reached his ears. To say he was furious and loud would be considered a vast understatement; Robert was fueled by his own petty hatred for the Targaryens, it still remained as fresh and vicious as it was during the rebellion.
"You're speaking of murdering a child," Eddard pleaded.
Robert, in his fury, refused to hear it. "I warned you this would happen. Back in the North, I warned you, but you didn't care to hear. Well, hear it now. I want 'em dead, mother and child both. And that fool, Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them both dead ."
Daveth and the other Small Council members were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else. No doubt they were wiser than Robert was.
"You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this."
"Honor?!" Robert slammed his fist down on the council table as loud as a thunderclap. "I've got Seven Kingdoms to rule! One King, Seven Kingdoms! Do you think honor keeps them in line? Do you think it's honor that's keeping the peace? It's fear! Fear and blood!"
Eddard gave Robert a long cool look, having heard quite enough. "Then we're no better than the Mad King."
Robert's face purpled. "Careful, Ned," he warned, pointing. "Careful now."
"You want to assassinate a girl…" Eddard spoke, glancing at Varys. "Because the Spider heard a rumor?"
"My lord, you wrong me," Varys spoke softly, wringing powdered hands together. "I promise you it is no rumor. The princess is with child."
"Based on who's information?"
Daveth chimed in. "Ser Jorah Mormont, formerly the Lord of Bear Island. He is currently serving as an advisor to the Targaryens."
"Mormont?" Eddard looked at the Crown Prince. "The eunuch brings us whispers of a traitor half a world away and you call it fact?"
Daveth shook his head. "Lord Varys may be many things, Lord Stark, but he's damned good at his duties as Master of Whisperers. I assure you the information that was provided to us is legitimate. I'd recommend you listen rather closely before simply dismissing him out of turn."
"So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear."
"But if it is a boy?" Robert insisted. "If he lives?"
Daveth felt a headache coming on and raised his hands to massage his temple in a circular motion. He knew this Small Council meeting would be rather hectic, especially with both his father and Eddard Stark in the same room arguing back and forth on how to deal with Daenerys Targaryen and her unborn child.
"Jorah Mormont's a slaver, not a traitor," Petyr Baelish spoke up. "Small difference, I know, to an honorable man."
"He broke the law, betrayed his family, fled our land," Eddard pointed out. "We commit murder on the word of this man?"
Daveth sighed wearily. "I understand your qualms, Lord Stark. Really, I do. Yet we who presume to rule often must do vile things for the good of the realm, however much it pains us."
"And you did such things, Oathkeeper?" Eddard pressed.
"I didn't get to where I am now in order to be called that without getting my hands bloody," Daveth retorted. "Call it what you will, but the things we do is so that good men, honorable men such as yourself and Jon Arryn wouldn't have to."
Renly shrugged. "The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn."
"Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly," Eddard replied. He knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he couldn't keep silent. "Daveth, Jon Arryn fostered your father and I at the Vale. He thought of you as his own grandson, taught you everything you needed to know."
Daveth frowned. "I haven't forgotten."
"What if Varys is right?" Robert growled interruptedly. "If she has a son? A Targaryen at the head of a Dothraki army… What then?"
"The Narrow Sea still lies between us," Eddard said. "I'll fear the Dothraki the day teach their horses to run on water."
"Do nothing? That's your wise advice? Do nothing 'til our enemies are on our shores?" Robert bellowed, looking at the Small Council for support. "You're my council? Counsel! Speak sense to this honorable fool. Have you forgotten who is King here?"
"No, Father," Daveth replied. "I would, however, advise you to lower your tone of voice… and calm yourself. Wisdom often comes when the mind is settled and clear, not disturbed by meaningless obsessions and past grudges."
" Quiet, boy! " Robert bellowed, slamming his fist again. "I'm sick of talk. I'll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all?"
Varys gave Robert an unctuous smile. "I understand your misgivings, my lord. Truly, I do. It is a terrible thing we must consider, a vile thing. Yet, we who presume to rule must sometimes do vile things for the good of the realm. Should the gods grant Daenerys a son, the realm will bleed."
"I bear this girl no ill will," Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes, "but should the Dothraki invade, how many innocents will die? How many towns will burn? Is it not wiser, kinder even, that she should die now so that tens of thousands might live?"
"We should have had them both killed years ago," Renly declared.
Petyr stifled a yawn. "When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, best close your eyes, get it over with. Cut her throat. Be done with it."
Daveth was the last. As Eddard looked to him, Daveth shook his head and shrugged.
"I'm not in favor of acting recklessly nor will I approve any motion put forward that might overextend our hand and jeopardize plans that'll affect us in the long run. However, I'm also not in favor of simply standing around doing nothing either. Both ideas presented to this council have demonstrated the lack of such necessary precautions we need to ensure what must be done for the good of the realm," Daveth spoke, his stance clearly indicating his neutrality.
" This is what needs to be done, boy! " Robert roared.
"You asked for advice, Father, and I've given it!" Daveth shouted back. "We all have!"
Robert turned to face his Hand. "Well, there it is, Ned. You and Daveth stand alone on this matter."
'Did you not hear a word I just said?! My words did not indicate which side I'm on and you know it, you drunken fat fuck!' Daveth thought bitterly.
"I'm out of wine and out of patience," Robert continued. "Enough of this. Just have it done."
Eddard said nothing, but leaned forward against the table. He was coldly staring at Robert in the eyes.
"I followed you into war - twice, without doubts, without second thoughts. But I will not follow you now. I will not be part of murder," he said. "Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal for it. The Robert I grew up with didn't tremble at the shadow of an unborn child."
"She dies."
"I will have no part in it."
For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. His eyes narrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. He pointed an angry finger at Eddard.
"You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You'll do as I command or I'll find me a Hand who will."
That was the last straw. Knowing that Robert will not back down or reconsider his decision, Eddard unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate gold hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of Robert, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the childhood friend he had considered a brother.
"And good luck to him. I thought you were a better man."
Robert's face was purple. " Out! " he croaked, choking on his rage. "Out, damn you! I'm done with you! Go! Run back to Winterfell! I'll have your head on a spike! I'll put it there myself, you fool! You think you're too good for this? Too proud and honorable? This is a war!"
By then, Eddard had already turned on his heel without another word. He could feel Robert's eyes on his back. As he strode from the council chambers, the discussion resumed with scarcely a pause. The closing of the door behind him silenced the voices.
But little did he know… a certain Prince had followed him.
At the Tower of the Hand…
The day felt heavy and oppressive as he crossed the bailey back to the Tower of the Hand. He could feel the threat of rain in the air. Eddard would have welcomed it. It might have made him feel a trifle less unclean. Whilst packing his belongings, Eddard summoned Jory.
"I'll go ahead with my daughters," he told his captain of the guard. "Get them ready. Do it yourself. Don't ask anyone for help."
"Right away, my lord," Jory replied.
"We may not have a fortnight. We may not have a day. The king mentioned something about seeing my head on a spike." Ned frowned. He did not truly believe the king would harm him, not Robert. He was angry now, but once Ned was safely out of sight, his rage would cool as it always did.
Suddenly, uncomfortably, he found himself recalling Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. Seventeen years dead, yet Robert hated him as much as ever. It was a disturbing notion… and there was the other matter, the business with Catelyn and the dwarf that Yoren had warned him of last night. That would come to light soon, as sure as sunrise, and with the king in such a black fury… Robert might not care a fig for Tyrion Lannister, but it would touch on his pride, and there was no telling what Queen Cersei might do; or his soon-to-be son-in-law Prince Daveth… provided that the betrothal were allowed to be resumed.
When he had gone, Eddard Stark went to the window and sat brooding. Robert had left him no choice that he could see. He ought to thank him. It would be good to return to Winterfell. He ought never have left. His sons were waiting there. Perhaps he and Catelyn would make a new son together when he returned, they were not so old yet. And of late he had often found himself dreaming of snow, of the deep quiet of the wolfswood at night. And yet, the thought of leaving angered him as well. So much was still undone. Robert and his council of cravens and flatterers would beggar the realm if left unchecked or, worse, sell it to the Lannisters in payment of their loans.
And the truth of Jon Arryn's death still eluded him even with Daveth's aid. Oh, he had found a few pieces, enough to convince him that Jon had indeed been murdered, but that was no more than the spoor of an animal on the forest floor. He had not sighted the beast itself yet, though he sensed it was there, lurking, hidden, and treacherous.
Jory had no sooner taken his leave when his steward announced a visitor. "Lord Baelish is here for you, m'lord."
Littlefinger sauntered into the solar as if nothing had gone amiss that morning. He wore a slashed velvet doublet in cream-and-silver, a grey silk cloak trimmed with black fox, and his customary mocking smile.
"His Grace went on about you at some length after you took your leave," he said. "The word 'treason' was mentioned."
Eddard greeted him coldly. "What can I do for you?"
"When do you return to Winterfell?" he asked.
"Why? What do you care?"
"Your daughters might," Petyr suggested. "Your soon-to-be son-in-law might… if the match is to continue. If you're still here come nightfall, I'll take you to see the last person Jon Arryn spoke with before falling ill. If that sort of thing still interests you."
Eddard shook his head. "I don't have the time."
"It won't take more than an hour. But as you please."
As soon as Baelish exits Eddard's chambers, the Stark patriarch turns to Jory briefly.
"Round up all the men we have and station them outside the girls' chambers. Who are your best two swords?"
"Heward and Wyl," Jory answers.
Eddard nods. "Find them and meet me at the stables."
At one of Littlefinger's brothels…
Petyr had taken Eddard to see the sleeping infant Barra, King Robert's bastard daughter sired with the prostitute Mhaegen. She told him everything she knew about Jon Arryn, how he was always checking on her daughter to be sure she was happy and healthy. Mhaegen also asked Eddard to see if Robert was available; she wasn't seeing anyone and was always his favorite. Petyr told Eddard of how many bastards Robert sired in King's Landing and yet somehow Jon Arryn managed to track them all down.
Eddard and Jory soon leave the brothel with a few of the Stark household guards. But before they could leave, they find themselves suddenly surrounded by Jaime Lannister and his men. Somehow word of Tyrion's capture reached him and judging by his posture as well as seeing his sword in hand, Jaime was furious. He came seeking blood.
"Such a small pack of wolves," Jaime said.
"Stay back, ser!" Jory warns. "This is the Hand of the King!"
" Was the Hand of the King," Jaime corrected. On a golden breastplate, the lion of House Lannister roared its defiance. "Now I'm not sure what he is… Lord of somewhere very far away."
Petyr walked outside, step by careful step. "What's the meaning of this, Lannister?"
"Get back inside where it's safe."
"Lannister, this is madness," Petyr said. "We're expected back at the castle. Do you have any notion as to what the King or the Crown Prince would say? What do you think you're doing?"
"He knows what he's doing," Eddard said calmly.
Jaime Lannister smirked. "I'm looking for my brother. You remember my brother, don't you, Lord Stark? Blonde hair, sharp tongue… short man."
"I remember him well," he replied.
"It seems he had some trouble on the road. My lord father is quite vexed. I'm sure the same could be said for my nephew. You wouldn't know what happened to him, don't you?"
"He was taken at my command to answer for his crimes."
His grin quickly replaced with fury, Jaime ripped his longsword from its sheath, causing both Lannister and Stark soldiers to draw their swords as well, except for Eddard. The Stark household guards were outnumbered four to fifteen.
"My lords!" Petyr did not need to be urged, making his way inside to send word. "I'll bring the City Watch!"
Jaime stepped forward, sword at the ready. "Come, Stark," he coolly challenged. "I'd rather you die sword in hand."
Jory stepped in front of Jaime. "If you threaten my lord again…"
"Threaten?" the Kingslayer mocked. "As in, 'I'm going to open your lord from balls to brains and see what Starks are made of'?"
Eddard calmly stood his ground. "You kill me, your brother's a dead man."
Jaime grinned. "You're right," he said as he glanced back at his soldiers. "Take him alive! Kill his men!"
The first of Jaime's men threw their spears straight into the chests of two of Eddard's men.
SLASH!
SWING!
CLASH!
SWISH!
PIERCE!
SWISH!
THRUST!
CLANG!
SLASH!
Eddard draws his sword and moves towards Jaime, fending off several guards in the process. Jory gets to Jaime first. However, Jaime deflects Jory's thrust and fatally stabs him through his eye with a dagger. The fighting ceases and Eddard moves forward to Jaime, Jaime's men all stop to watch the fight.
CLASH!
SLASH!
SWING!
THRUST!
CLANG!
SWISH!
SLASH!
THRUST!
The two fend each other off, as they break. Before either Jaime Lannister or Eddard Stark could make another move, the fight was quick to an abrupt when by a thundering shout.
"STOP THIS MADNESS IN THE NAME OF MY FATHER THE KING!"
Both Stark and Lannister turned to see Prince Daveth Baratheon charging into view with Ser Lucius Blackmyre alongside, both men were on their horses and had their swords drawn as two Kingsguard knights and a dozen City Watchmen began to flood the streets.
"Daveth?" Eddard exclaims in surprise.
"Get back to the Red Keep, nephew," Jaime frowns. "This doesn't concern you."
"Speak when spoken to, boy!" hollered Luicius. "Remember you're a Kingsguard, no longer a Lannister; even if you pretend to act as one."
"Now," Daveth spoke calmly yet coolly. "Both of you lay down your arms and back away. I won't say it again."
Now both Eddard Stark and Jaime Lannister came to the conclusion that Daveth had come prepared in case if something like this were to happen. Surrounded on all sides, Eddard and Jaime threw down their swords as the City Watchmen took them away.
"Orders, my lord?" one of them asked.
Lucius looked at Daveth. The Prince composed himself before speaking.
"Take Lord Eddard Stark and my Uncle Jaime Lannister into custody. The rest of you, get these bodies off the street!"
The Kingsguard knights and City Watchmen were quick to obey, and soon had both Eddard and Jaime arrested.
"Have them brought to the Red Keep," Daveth ordered. "Ser Lucius, send word to both my Father the King and my Mother the Queen. Tell them everything that's happened here."
"At once, my lord," Lucius complied and rode off to the Red Keep as the crowds began to disperse.
Daveth took a moment to look at the dead Stark and Lannister bodies that littered the streets.
'So it's come to this… I fear it will only get worse,' Daveth thought before an idea popped into his head. 'I need to act first and move swiftly before grandfather does…'
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