The mournful procession set forth at last.
At its head traveled King Robert's coffin, borne with solemn dignity and flanked by Ser Jaime Lannister and Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard.
The hastily crowned King Joffrey the First, Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King, Ser Barristan Selmy, and the assembled courtiers followed in their wake.
Supply wagons, women, children, and guards brought up the rear, a serpentine column of grief winding its way down the Kingsroad.
When the procession made its first camp, the Hand of the King could scarce wait to seek audience in the royal pavilion.
Eddard Stark had many questions that demanded answers.
"Your Grace, what knowledge do you possess of Bloodraven? Where does he conceal himself? The Night's Watch must be able to locate him!"
Joffrey, already garbed in a deep black robe of mourning, regarded him steadily. "Lord Eddard, I beg you calm yourself. Bloodraven is not to be underestimated; his elimination will prove no simple task. We must cultivate patience."
Joffrey wove a tapestry of half-truths and fabrications.
"Most of what I know of him comes from the Children of the Forest. He hides in the depths of the haunted forest beyond the Wall, employing only weirwood trees and the eyes of animals to spy upon the Seven Kingdoms, never revealing himself. All this was contained in the letter you received."
Joffrey fixed Eddard with a penetrating stare. "Moreover, Bloodraven has long plotted against King's Landing and the Red Keep. Certain individuals maintain clandestine and unseemly connections with him."
"I presume you remain ignorant of recent events in King's Landing?"
Eddard offered a respectful bow. "I would be grateful for your enlightenment, Your Grace."
Joffrey did not speak aloud, but instead employed magic to transmit his voice directly into Eddard's mind: "I must entreat you to keep what follows in absolute confidence. Do not be alarmed; it is I who address you thus."
Discomfited by this strange manner of communication, Eddard struggled to maintain his composure. Was this the magic that Catelyn had mentioned in her missive?
"I received a prophetic dream. The Seven Kingdoms—indeed, the world entire—faces a cataclysm of unprecedented scale. After the Others breach our defenses, the Long Night shall descend once more. The gods have bestowed upon me these divine powers, commanding me to stand against the darkness and the cold monsters that threaten all life."
"The prophecy revealed Bloodraven's shadow. He has many confederates in King's Landing, including Lord Varys and Lord Baelish."
Eddard could but listen in silence, uncertain how to question such assertions.
"From that moment, I observed these two councillors with particular vigilance. With Father absent from the Red Keep, they might seize the opportunity for mischief, so I made secret preparations. Through the blessing of the gods, I transformed Sandor into a warrior capable of facing a hundred men, thus ensuring King's Landing's security."
Eddard realized with a start: something had indeed transpired in King's Landing!
"You perceive correctly. Bloodraven appears to have conspired with Varys and others. By chance, I received word from Sandor but two days past that Varys and Baelish had launched their assault, and nearly the entire City Watch had turned traitor. By good fortune, Sandor subdued them."
"Then Father was slain by Bloodraven's machinations immediately thereafter. This cannot be mere coincidence!"
Eddard could almost envision Bloodraven's countenance—insidious, cunning, and wholly inhuman, as if Littlefinger and Varys had somehow been melded into a single monstrous being.
Joffrey's telepathic voice brimmed with anguish and remorse. "The prophecy contained no warning of Father's demise. How could events have unfolded thus? I was criminally negligent! The gods shall not forgive my failure!"
Eddard felt a kinship in this grief. Having witnessed Robert's death with his own eyes, he too struggled to forgive himself.
"Yet hope remained."
Joffrey continued his mental communication: "When we parted at Winterfell, I presented Arya with a sliver of enchanted steel that enables communication across vast distances. Both Bran and she have employed it to converse with Jon. Thus it serves as a conduit for urgent tidings."
Eddard recalled the unremarkable steel fragment that Arya had guarded so jealously. So it was an object of magical provenance!
"A sennight past, the Children of the Forest warned me of Bloodraven's conspiracy. I thought at once of the steel shard, but it suddenly ceased to function. This must have been Bloodraven's doing!"
"Thereafter, we could only travel with all haste and bid Lady Catelyn dispatch ravens. Alas, we remained one step behind our foe."
Eddard shook his head, recognizing that blame served no purpose here. So long as Bloodraven could observe their movements, he could act at will. No matter their speed, they could not have preserved Robert's life.
Robert had loved the hunt too well; he had exposed himself to Bloodraven's beasts nearly every day.
Eddard smiled sadly; in the end, it seemed Robert had been the architect of his own downfall.
"What remains within our power is to eliminate Bloodraven's eyes wherever possible, denying him unfettered access to the Seven Kingdoms."
Joffrey regarded Eddard with grim determination. "When sufficient strength has been amassed, even should Bloodraven flee to the Land of Always Winter, we shall extinguish his threat forever!"
Eddard glanced toward the Children of the Forest who waited outside the pavilion, drawing the attention of all who passed. "Yes, Your Grace."
He took his leave, moving toward the diminutive, enigmatic beings.
Joffrey watched in silence as Leaf recounted information about Bloodraven to the Hand of the King.
The revelations he had shared would prove difficult to refute. The prophetic content was true, the magic was genuine, Bloodraven's abilities were accurately described, and the events in King's Landing had indeed occurred.
Without assuming Joffrey as the perpetrator, Bloodraven remained the sole plausible culprit.
That sufficed.
Every monarch accumulated suspicious circumstances and blemishes upon their record. In the absence of incontrovertible evidence, such matters remained mere conjecture—slander and rumor spread by enemies and malcontents.
Even Eddard, who prized honor above all, could not oppose his king based on suspicion alone.
Queen Cersei entered the pavilion and dismissed the servants with a gesture. The Queen Mother's steward was last to depart, drawing the tent flap closed behind him.
The interior immediately grew dim and hushed.
Cersei seated herself beside her son. "My sweet Joffrey, what possesses you to name Eddard Stark as regent? Allowing him to retain the Hand's position already constitutes excessive generosity!"
Joffrey observed his mother's lips continue to move, though she spoke no further words aloud.
The unspoken second half of her thought surely remained: "Why involve your grandfather as well? I fear Lord Tywin prefers Casterly Rock and Lannisport; he harbors little desire to journey to King's Landing."
Joffrey offered reassurance. "Mother, set your mind at ease. I have considered matters with utmost care. Our position remains precarious. Even setting aside the question of my true parentage, can we be certain the great lords will offer wholehearted fealty?"
Cersei snorted derisively. "Who would dare cause discord?"
Joffrey persisted in his argument. "Lord Eddard delivers to us the support of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale. Combined with the Crownlands and Grandfather's Westerlands, our rule stands secure."
"Besides," Joffrey took his mother's hand in his own, "do I not recognize that Mother loves me best of all? Lord Eddard's regency amounts to mere ceremony. Grandfather Tywin retains responsibility for the entire Westerlands. In the final reckoning, governance rests with us alone."
Cersei's expression softened marginally.
Joffrey added, "We must not forget Uncle Renly. He will not submit without struggle. The lords of the Stormlands answer to him, and he maintains cordial relations with Highgarden. The greater our strength, the more assured our safety."
Cersei suddenly grasped the full extent of the danger. "Renly means to rebel?!"
This development seemed inevitable.
Joffrey reached his decision.
From yesternight to this day—the brief span of his kingship—people's attitudes and inquiries had made his true position painfully clear.
Noble in title, yet bereft of authority.
According to established custom, he could not independently manage state affairs before reaching sixteen years of age. The regents and the Hand would exercise royal power in his stead.
How could he accept such constraints?
Four years must pass before he attained majority. By then, the Others would have already breached the Seven Kingdoms, and the Long Night might have descended in full—and only then would he begin to rule in truth?
This diverged entirely from Joffrey's design. In four years' time, he aspired not merely to wield a king's authority, but to stand as a supreme emperor—a hero-king who had preserved the world from annihilation.
To acquire such paramount power within so brief an interval, only one path presented itself: war, bloodshed, violence, and the utter subversion of the existing order.
Let war come, then—let it rage with unprecedented fury.
The throne would grow mighty by drinking deep of blood.
With unwavering resolve, Joffrey issued instructions to Hanna and the Hound in the Red Keep.
"Allow Renly to depart the city."
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