(Winterfell, The North, Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Westeros, Planetos)
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(Prince Joffrey Baratheon POV)
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It wasn't fair!
Why was Lyonel constantly getting praised, lauded, and favored. It should be him who should be Crown Prince! He was smarter, more handsome, and more cunning than Lyonel.
So what if he'd killed two great beasts!? His brother lacked ambition, whereas he had it in abundance.
So why couldn't everyone who mattered understand that?
It infuriated him not knowing.
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(POV Shift: Queen Cersei Lannister)
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As proud as she was of Lyonel, she knew when something was amiss. One didn't have to be smart to see that. The Elk was no great mystery, the Goldenheart arrows still in the beast, the bear was another matter. But she wouldn't confront them about the truth until they were on the Kingsroad.
That said, she'd let them know - subtly - that she didn't believe their tale all that much. For the moment, though, she could allow herself to enjoy yet another feast. They did grow tiresome, but if it got them back to King's Landing all the sooner, then so be it.
She also needed to speak to the Maester. There was a distinct possibility that Tommen would be an older brother and she would like to confirm that ideally before the feast. There was no need to risk the child by drinking wine during the pregnancy.
If she was pregnant again.
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(POV Shift: Crown Prince Lyonel Baratheon)
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Wylla was keeping her distance from him.
That was alright, it gave him a chance to think. The Northerners were celebrating his achievement, and while he appreciated the praise, his mind was elsewhere. At the first opportunity, he'd left. He was leaning up against the Tower Bran was supposed to find when he was interrupted.
''I would have words with you.'' Opening his eyes, he's greeted by a girl in Manderly colors, not Wylla, but not far from her. Wynafryd, he guessed.
''And what can I do for you, Lady Wynafryd Manderly?'' She stills at his question.
''What are your intentions towards my sister? Wylla?'' Asked Wynafryd.
''Nothing. She and I simply had a bit of fun together. If she wants something more than that, she must negotiate it with both Margaery Tyrell and Daeneria Velayron.'' Says Lyonel.
''You took her maidenhead!'' Wynafryd accused. ''What if she's with child?'' She demands.
''She isn't, I don't finish inside women who aren't my betrothed, and in the rare case I do, moon tea is provided. Your sister and I merely had a bit of fun, I gave her every opportunity to back out, and if she had I'd have respected her decision and left it at that.'' Says Lyonel strongly.
''Hmph.'' Wynafryd turns on her heels and walks away.
Lyonel turns to his left and grunts in pain.
''Sorry, my prince, but I was paid handsomely for your life.'' The man says, twisting the dagger in Lyonel's gut.
''Joffrey?'' He asked.
''Silence was part of my fee.'' Says the cutthroat.
''So it is.'' Lyonel says, drawing his own dagger and jamming it in between the man's ribs before drawing one of the many Myrish Stilettos he carried at any time and stabbing directly under the jaw. Looking at the blade in his gut, Lyonel is less than amused.
''I'm going to kill you Joffrey.'' He said, recognizing the blade as one belonging to the royal armory, which only members of House Baratheon have access to. As for how he recognized the blade? The blade's hilt was a piece of Stag Antler carved into a grip, and the blade had the typical pattern of Stormlands forged crucible steel.
He staggers back towards the feast, at the very least he'd wait to accuse Joffrey. But he needed a fucking Maester.
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(POV Shift: Lady Catelyn Tully)
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Of all the rooms in Winterfell's Great Keep, Catelyn's bedchambers were the hottest. She seldom had any need to light a fire. The castle had been built over natural hot springs, and the scalding waters rushed through its walls and chambers like blood through a man's body, driving the chill from the stone halls, filling the glass gardens with a moist warmth, keeping the earth from freezing. Open pools smoked day and night in a dozen small courtyards. That was a little thing, in summer; in winter, it was the difference between life and death.
Catelyn's bath was always hot and steaming, and her walls warm to the touch. The warmth reminded her of Riverrun, of days in the sun with Lysa and Edmure, but Ned could never abide the heat. The Starks were made for the cold, he would tell her, and she would laugh and tell him in that case they had certainly built their castle in the wrong place.
So when they had finished, Ned rolled off and climbed from her bed, as he had a thousand times before. He crossed the room, pulled back the heavy tapestries, and threw open the high narrow windows one by one, letting the night air into the chamber.
The wind swirled around him as he stood facing the dark, naked and empty-handed. Catelyn pulled the furs to her chin and watched him. He looked somehow smaller and more vulnerable, like the youth she had wed in the sept at Riverrun, fifteen long years gone. Her loins still ached from the urgency of his lovemaking. It was a good ache. She could feel his seed within her. She prayed that it might quicken there. It had been three years since Rickon. She was not too old. She could give him another son or another daughter.
''I will refuse him.'' Ned said as he turned back to her. His eyes were haunted, his voice thick with doubt.
Catelyn sat up in the bed. ''You cannot. You must not.''
''My duties are here in the north. I have no wish to be Robert's Hand.''
''He will not understand that. He is a king now, and kings are not like other men. If you refuse to serve him, he will wonder why, and sooner or later he will begin to suspect that you oppose him. Can't you see the danger that would put us in?''
Ned shook his head, refusing to believe. ''Robert would never harm me or any of mine. We were closer than brothers. He loves me. If I refuse him, he will roar and curse and bluster, and in a week we will laugh about it together. I know the man!'' He sounded so sure of himself, but the tales her father told her as a girl echoed in her mind.
''You knew the man.'' She said, stressing the difference. ''The king is a stranger to you.'' Catelyn remembered the Direwolf dead in the snow, the broken antler lodged deep in her throat. She had to make him see. ''Pride is everything to a king, Ned. Robert came all this way to see you, to bring you these great honors, you cannot throw them back in his face.''
''Honors?'' Ned laughed bitterly.
''In his eyes, yes.'' She said.
''And what are they in yours?''
''They are honors in mine.'' She blazed, angry now. Why couldn't he see? ''He offers his own son in marriage to our daughter, what else would you call that? Sansa might someday be queen, if Prince Lyonel dies without an heir of his own. Her sons could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne. What is so wrong with dreaming that?''
''Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven,'' Ned said. ''And Joffrey . . . Joffrey is . . .''
She finished for him. '' . . . not the crown prince or heir to the Iron Throne, but he is a prince nonetheless and a better match for Sansa than anyone else in Westeros bar his older brother. And I was only twelve when my father promised me to your brother Brandon.''
That brought a bitter twist to Ned's mouth. ''Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King's Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me.'' She understood the bitterness, the grief, that was the first bit of common ground in their marriage, and a foundation for love to grow.
''Perhaps not, but Brandon is dead, and the cup has passed, and you must drink from it, like it or not.''
Ned turned away from her, back to the night. He stood staring out in the darkness, watching the moon and the stars perhaps, or perhaps the sentries on the wall.
Catelyn softened then, to see his pain. Eddard Stark had married her in Brandon's place, as custom decreed, but the shadow of his dead brother still lay between them, as did the other, the shadow of the woman he would not name, the woman who had borne him his bastard son.
She was about to go to him when the knock came at the door, loud and unexpected. Ned turned, frowning. ''What is it?''
Desmond's voice came through the door. ''My lord, Maester Luwin is without and begs an urgent audience.''
''You told him I had left orders not to be disturbed?''
''Yes, my lord. But he insists.''
''Very well. Send him in.''
Ned crossed to the wardrobe and slipped on a heavy robe. Catelyn realized suddenly how cold it had become. She sat up in bed and pulled the furs to her chin. ''Perhaps we should close the windows?'' She suggested.
Ned nodded absently. Maester Luwin was shown in.
The maester was a small grey man. His eyes were grey, and quick, and saw much. His hair was grey, what little the years had left him. His robe was grey wool, trimmed with white fur, the Stark colors. Its great floppy sleeves had pockets hidden inside. Luwin was always tucking things into those sleeves and producing other things from them: books, messages, strange artifacts, toys for the children. With all he kept hidden in his sleeves, Catelyn was surprised that Maester Luwin could lift his arms at all.
The maester waited until the door had closed behind him before he spoke. ''My lord.'' He said to Ned. ''Pardon for disturbing your rest. I have been left a message. And there is another matter.''
Ned looked irritated. ''Been left? By whom? Has there been a rider? I was not told.''
''There was no rider, my lord. Only a carved wooden box, it was left on a table in my observatory while I napped. My servants saw no one, but it must have been brought by someone in the king's party. We have had no other visitors from the south.''
''A wooden box, you say?'' Catelyn said.
''Inside was a fine new lens for the observatory, from Myr by the look of it. The lenscrafters of Myr are without equal.''
Ned frowned. He had little patience for this sort of thing, Catelyn knew. ''A lens?'' He said. ''What has that to do with me?''
''I asked myself the same question.'' Maester Luwin said. ''Clearly, there was more to this than the seeming.''
Under the heavy weight of her furs, Catelyn shivered. ''A lens is an instrument to help us see.''
''Indeed it is.'' He fingered the collar of his order; a heavy chain worn tight around the neck beneath his robe, each link forged from a different metal.
Catelyn could feel dread stirring inside her once again. ''What is it that they would have us see more clearly?''
''As I said, that was the very thing I asked myself.'' Maester Luwin drew a tightly rolled paper out of his sleeve. ''I found the true message concealed within a false bottom when I dismantled the box the lens had come in, but it is not for my eyes.''
Ned held out his hand. ''Let me have it, then.''
Luwin did not stir. ''Pardons, my lord. The message is not for you either. It is marked for the eyes of the Lady Catelyn, and her alone. May I approach?''
Catelyn nodded, not trusting to speak. The maester placed the paper on the table beside the bed. It was sealed with a small blob of blue wax. Luwin bowed and began to retreat.
''Stay.'' Ned commanded him. His voice was grave. He looked at Catelyn. ''What is it? My lady, you're shaking.''
''I'm afraid.'' She admitted. She reached out and took the letter in trembling hands. The furs dropped away from her nakedness, forgotten. In the blue wax was the moon-and-falcon seal of House Arryn. ''It's from Lysa.'' Catelyn looked at her husband. ''It will not make us glad.'' She told him. ''There is grief in this message, Ned. I can feel it.''
Ned frowned, his face darkening. ''Open it.''
Catelyn broke the seal.
Her eyes moved over the words. At first, they made no sense to her. Then she remembered. ''Lysa took no chances. When we were girls together, we had a private language, she and I.''
''Can you read it?''
''Yes.'' Catelyn admitted.
''Then tell us.''
''Perhaps I should withdraw?'' Maester Luwin said.
''No.'' Catelyn said. ''We will need your counsel.'' She threw back the furs and climbed from the bed. The night air was as cold as the grave on her bare skin as she padded across the room.
Maester Luwin averted his eyes. Even Ned looked shocked. ''What are you doing?'' He asked.
''Lighting a fire.'' Catelyn told him. She found a dressing gown and shrugged into it, then knelt over the cold hearth.
''Maester Luwin—'' Ned began.
''Maester Luwin has delivered all my children.'' Catelyn said. ''This is no time for false modesty.'' She slid the paper in among the kindling and placed the heavier logs on top of it.
Ned crossed the room, took her by the arm, and pulled her to her feet. He held her there, his face inches from her. ''My lady, tell me! What was this message?''
Catelyn stiffened in his grasp. ''A warning.'' She said softly. ''If we have the wits to hear.''
His eyes searched her face. ''Go on.''
''Lysa says Jon Arryn was murdered.''
His fingers tightened on her arm. ''By whom?''
''The Lannisters.'' She told him, before clarifying. ''The queen.''
Ned released his hold on her arm. There were deep red marks on her skin. ''Gods'' He whispered. His voice was hoarse. ''Your sister is sick with grief. She cannot know what she is saying.''
''She knows.'' Catelyn said solemnly. ''Lysa is impulsive, yes, but this message was carefully planned, cleverly hidden. She knew it meant death if her letter fell into the wrong hands. To risk so much, she must have had more than mere suspicion.'' Catelyn looked at her husband. ''Now we truly have no choice. You must be Robert's Hand. You must go south with him and learn the truth.''
She saw at once that Ned had reached a very different conclusion. ''The only truths I know are here. The south is a nest of adders I would do better to avoid.''
Luwin plucked at his chain collar where it had chafed the soft skin of his throat. ''The Hand of the King has great power, my lord. Power to find the truth of Lord Arryn's death, to bring his killers to the king's justice. Power to protect Lady Arryn and her son, if the worst be true.''
Ned glanced helplessly around the bedchamber. Catelyn's heart went out to him, but she knew she could not take him in her arms just then. First the victory must be won, for her children's sake. ''You say you love Robert like a brother. Would you leave your brother surrounded by Lannisters?''
''The Others take both of you.'' Ned muttered darkly. He turned away from them and went to the window. She did not speak, nor did the maester. They waited, quiet, while Eddard Stark said a silent farewell to the home he loved. When he turned away from the window at last, his voice was tired and full of melancholy, and moisture glittered faintly in the corners of his eyes. ''My father went south once, to answer the summons of a king. He never came home again.''
''A different time.'' Maester Luwin said. ''A different king.''
''Yes.'' Ned said dully. He seated himself in a chair by the hearth. ''Catelyn, you shall stay here in Winterfell.''
His words were like an icy draft through her heart. ''No.'' She said, suddenly afraid. Was this to be her punishment? Never to see his face again, nor to feel his arms around her?
''Yes.'' Ned said, in words that would brook no argument. ''You must govern the north in my stead, while I run Robert's errands. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. Robb is fourteen. Soon enough, he will be a man grown. He must learn to rule, and I will not be here for him. Make him part of your councils. He must be ready when his time comes.''
''Gods willing, not for many years.'' Maester Luwin murmured.
''Maester Luwin, I trust you as I would my own blood. Give my wife your voice in all things great and small. Teach my son the things he needs to know. Winter is coming.''
Maester Luwin nodded gravely. Then silence fell until Catelyn found her courage and asked the question whose answer she most dreaded. ''What of the other children?''
Ned stood up and took her into his arms, and held her face close to his. ''Rickon is very young.'' He said gently. ''He should stay here with you and Robb. The others I would take with me.''
''I could not bear it.'' Catelyn said, trembling.
''You must.'' He said. ''Sansa must wed Joffrey, that is clear now, we must give them no grounds to suspect our devotion. And it is past time that Arya learned the ways of a Southron court. In a few years, she will be of an age to marry too.''
Sansa would shine in the south, Catelyn thought to herself, and the gods knew that Arya needed refinement. Reluctantly, she let go of them in her heart. But not Bran. Never Bran. ''Yes.'' She said. ''But please, Ned, for the love you bear me, let Bran remain here at Winterfell. He is only seven.''
''I was eight when my father sent me to foster at the Eyrie.'' Ned said. ''Ser Rodrik tells me there is bad feelings between not only Robb and Prince Joffrey, but a clear division between the Prince and the Crown Prince as well. That is not healthy. Bran can bridge that distance. He is a sweet boy, quick to laugh, easy to love. Let him grow up with the young princes, let him become their friend as Robert became mine. Our House will be the safer for it.''
He was right; Catelyn knew it. It did not make the pain any easier to bear. She would lose all four of them, then: Ned, and both girls and her sweet, loving Bran. Only Robb and little Rickon would be left to her. She felt lonely already. Winterfell was such a vast place. ''Keep him off the walls, then.'' She said bravely. ''You know how Bran loves to climb.''
Ned kissed the tears from her eyes before they could fall. ''Thank you, my lady.'' he whispered. ''This is hard, I know.''
''You said there was another matter?'' She turned to the maester and he turned grave.
''Someone tried to kill the crown prince tonight.'' There were no words, just sheer shock.
''What?'' Asks Ned, his face darkening.
''A cutthroat stabbed Crown Prince Lyonel in the gut after he went to get some fresh air, the Crown Prince managed to kill his attacker with two well-placed daggers, before staggering back into the feast hall.''
''And you didn't think to lead with that? How bad is it?'' Asks Ned.
''He's stable, as a precaution he's been provided herbs to purge his system of any poison that may have been on the blade, and he'll survive.'' Says Luwin.
''Why weren't we informed?'' She demanded.
''Prince Lyonel insisted you both be allowed a night of rest before being informed, King Robert was hesitant, but he agreed. Had it not been for the secret message, you'd have been informed tomorrow.'' Luwin informs.
''Southerners.'' Ned muttered.
''Take me to Robert.'' Ned instructs as he moves to begin dressing.
A plot to murder Jon Arryn, Lysa blaming the Lannisters, and now an attempt on the life of the Crown Prince, who was half-Lannister himself? She began to doubt Lysa, if the Lannisters were behind Jon Arryn's death, why murder their own kin? Tywin Lannister would have never allowed that to even be considered.
Was someone manipulating Lysa and now them? Whatever it was, she knew it could cost her Ned his life, and god's be good, she hoped that didn't cascade into also costing her children their lives. No mother should bury her children.
No mother, not even Queen Cersei Lannister, it was a pain no one deserved….
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(Author's Note:)
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Whatever I planned for this chapter sort of went out the window when I realized I'd slightly bungled the timeline. That's what I get for relying on Books and Show with the Show more than the books and when I finally get back to the books I realize I'd fucked up a bit. At least I was able to figure out a way to cover it. I'm not too happy switching the events in the timeline around so early, but I figured that having someone make an attempt on Lyonel's life was a good way to complicate the brewing conflict between Houses Stark and Lannister, best-laid plans and all.
It also serves to help me set up a more shall we say definitive conflict with Joffrey. Now to clarify, Lyonel won't expose the fact he suspects Joffrey did it, I'll explain more in the next chapter, but it also allows me to expand the POV scenes of both Cersei and eventually Jaime as well.
Also, to those he noticed, yes, the end POV of Catelyn was largely taken from one of her POV chapters in the first book. I honestly got the point where if I hadn't closed with a large pov scene I would have just ended up doing a bunch of short POV's and I don't really want to fall into so many POV changes with each scene being less than one or two paragraphs. Having said that neither do I want to take too much from the books in terms of content, but I find the former more offensive than the latter. Nothing worse than one chapter amounting to at most three paragraphs for one POV.
Anway, I'm way over my typical Chapter size, and I've ranted long enough, see you lot next chapter!
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