A Game of Thrones Chapter Twenty-seven

EddardIts the hands tourney thats the cause of on the whole the trouble, my ennobles, the com gayder of the city watch complained to the kings council.The kings tourney, Ned corrected, wincing. I assure you, the go wants no part of it.Call it what you ordain, my professional. K nights wear been arriving from all oer the realm, and for incessantlyy knight we wee two free riders, three crafts hands, six men-at-arms, a dozen merchants, two dozen whores, and more thieves than I dare guess. This cursed heat had half(a) the city in a fever to start, and now with all these visitors . . . ratiocination night we had a dr rescue goting, a tavern riot, three knife fights, a rape, two fires, robberies beyond count, and a d wearken horse race crop up the Street of the Sisters. The night before a womans head was found in the Great Sept, floating in the rainbow pool. No one realisems to jazz how it got at that place or who it belongs to.How dreadful, Varys verbalise with a shudder. sea police chief Renly Baratheon was less sympathetic. If you evoke non remain the kings peace, Janos, mayhap the City Watch should be commanded by someone who can.St kayoed, jowly Janos Slynt smoke himself up corresponding an angry frog, his bald pate departuredening. Aegon the Dragon himself could non keep the peace, cleric Renly. I imp all overishment more men.How umteen? Ned asked, propensity forward. As ever, Robert had not troubled himself to attend the council session, so it fell to his go across to speak for him.As many as can be gotten, noble Hand.Hire fifty unseasoned men, Ned told him. noble Baelish ordain follow out that you get the coin.I will? Littlefinger express.You will. You found forty thousand golden dragons for a champions purse, surely you can scrape together a few coppers to keep the kings peace. Ned turned confirm to Janos Slynt. I will also give you twenty dollar bill good swords from my avow household guard, to serve with the Watch unti l the crowds have left. all in all thanks, victor Hand, Slynt said, bowing. I promise you, they shall be put to good use.When the air force withdrawicer had stimulaten his leave, Eddard Stark turned to the rest of the council. The sooner this folly is do with, the better I shall ilk it. As if the expense and trouble were not irksome ample, all and sundry insisted on salting Neds wound by squalling it the Hands tourney, as if he were the cause of it. And Robert honestly nailmed to think he should feel honoredThe realm prospers from such neverthelessts, my captain, Grand Maester Pycelle said. They bring the keen the chance of glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes.And put coins in many a pocket, Littlefinger added. Every inn in the city is full, and the whores are walk bowlegged and jingling with individually step. nobleman Renly laughed. Were fortunate my buddy Stannis is not with us. Remember the time he proposed to outlaw bagnios? The king asked him if perha ps hed akin to outlaw eating, shitting, and breathing small-arm he was at it. If truth be told, I ofttimes wonder how Stannis ever got that ugly daughter of his. He goes to his marriage bed handle a man marching to a battlefield, with a muddied manifestation in his eyeball and a inclination to do his duty.Ned had not joined the laughter. I wonder about your brother Stannis as tumesce. I wonder when he intends to end his visit to Dragon fossa and take up his seat on this council.No doubt as soon as weve scourged all those whores into the sea, Littlefinger replied, provoking more laughter.I have heard quite an enough about whores for one mean solar twenty-four hours, Ned said, rising. Until the morrow.Harwin had the door when Ned returned to the Tower of the Hand. Summon Jory to my domiciliate and tell your father to saddle my horse, Ned told him, too bruskly.As you say, my lord.The Red handgrip and the Hands tourney were chafing him raw, Ned reflected as he climbed. He yearned for the comfort of Catelyns arms, for the sounds of Robb and Jon crossing swords in the practice yard, for the cool days and cold nights of the north.In his chambers he stripped off his council silks and sat for a moment with the book while he waited for Jory to arrive. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, With Descliptions of Many High superiors and Noble Ladies and Their Children, by Grand Maester Malleon. Pycelle had spoken truly it make for ponderous reading. Yet Jon Arryn had asked for it, and Ned matt-up certain he had reasons. Thither was something here, some truth buried in these brittle yellow pages, if except he could see it. But what? The tome was over a century old. Scarcely a man now springy had yet been born when Malleon had compiled his dusty lists of weddings, births, and deaths.He open to the section on House Lannister once more, and turned the pages slowly, hoping against hope that something would leap out at him. The L annisters were an old family, tracing their descent dressing to Lann the Clever, a trickster from the senesce of Heroes who was no doubt as legendary as Bran the Builder, though uttermost more beloved of singers and taletellers. In the songs, Lann was the fellow who winkled the Casterlys out of Casterly Rock with no weapon just now his wits, and stole gold from the sun to brighten his wavy pilus. Ned wished he were here now, to winkle the truth out of this damnable book.A sharp rap on the door heralded Jory Cassel. Ned closed Malleons tome and ring him enter. Ive promised the City Watch twenty of my guard until the tourney is done, he told him. I rely on you to make the choice. Give Alyn the command, and make certain the men understand that they are needed to stop fights, not start them. Rising, Ned opened a cedar chest and removed a light linen undertunic. Did you find the stable boy?The watchman, my lord, Jory said. He vows hell never touch another horse.What did he have t o say?He claims he knew ennoble Arryn well. Fast friends, they were. Jory snorted. The Hand al expressive styles gave the lads a copper on their name days, he says. Had a way with horses. Never rode his mounts too hard, and brought them carrots and apples, so they were always pleased to see him.Carrots and apples, Ned repeated. It sounded as if this boy would be even less use than the others. And he was the last of the four Littlefinger had turned up. Jory had spoken to each of them in turn. Ser Hugh had been brusque and uninformative, and arrogant as only a new-made knight can be. If the Hand wished to talk to him, he should be pleased to receive him, tho he would not be questioned by a mere captain of guards . . . even if said captain was ten years erstwhile(a) and a hundred times the swordsman. The serving missfriend had at least been pleasant. She said overlord Jon had been reading more than was good for him, that he was troubled and sober over his young sons frailty, and gruff with his lady wife. The potman, now cordwainer, had never interchange so much as a word with Lord Jon, just he was full of oddments of kitchen gossip the lord had been quarreling with the king, the lord only picked at his food, the lord was pass arounding his boy to be fostered on Dragonstone, the lord had taken a great interest in the breeding of search hounds, the lord had visited a master artificer to commission a new suit of plate, wrought all in pale smooth-spoken with a blue jasper falcon and a mother-of-pearl moon on the breast. The kings own brother had gone with him to help choose the design, the potboy said. No, not Lord Renly, the other one, Lord Stannis.Did our watchman re diagnose anything else of abide by?The lad s weakens Lord Jon was as gruelling as a man half his age. oftentimes went riding with Lord Stannis, he says.Stannis again, Ned thought. He found that curious. Jon Arryn and he had been cordial, scarcely never friendly. And while Robert had bee n riding north to Winterfell, Stannis had removed himself to Dragonstone, the Targaryen island fastness he had conquered in his brothers name. He had given no word as to when he qualification return. Where did they go on these rides? Ned asked.The boy says that they visited a brothel.A brothel? Ned said. The Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King visited a brothel with Stannis Baratheon? He shook his head, incredulous, wondering what Lord Renly would make of this tidbit. Roberts lusts were the subject of ribald alcoholism songs finishedout the realm, but Stannis was a different sort of man a bare year younger than the king, yet utterly un same him, stern, humorless, unforgiving, grim in his sense of duty.The boy insists its true. The Hand took three guardsmen with him, and the boy says they were joke of it when he took their horses afterward.Which brothel? Ned asked.The boy did not contend. The guards would.A pity Lysa carried them off to the Vale, Ned said dryly. The gods are doing their best(p) to vex us. Lady Lysa, Maester Colemon, Lord Stannis . . . everyone who might actually survive the truth of what happened to Jon Arryn is a thousand leagues away.Will you arraign Lord Stannis sand from Dragonstone?Not yet, Ned said. Not until I have a better notion of what this is all about and where he stands. The matter nagged at him. Why did Stannis leave? Had he played some part in Jon Arryns murder? Or was he afraid? Ned found it hard to recall what could frighten Stannis Baratheon, who had once held Storms End through a year of siege, hold out on rats and boot leather while the Lords Tyrell and Redwyne sat outside with their hosts, feasting in sight of his walls.Bring me my doublet, if you would. The grey, with the direwolf sigil. I want this armorer to know who I am. It might make him more forthcoming.Jory went to the wardrobe. Lord Renly is brother to Lord Stannis as well as the king.Yet it seems that he was not invited on these rides. Ned was not su re what to make of Renly, with all his friendly ways and flabby smiles. A few days past, he had taken Ned deviation to coming into court him an exquisite rose gold locklet. Inside was a miniature assorted in the vivid Myrish style, of a lovely young girl with does eye and a cascade of soft brown hair. Renly had seemed anxious to know if the girl reminded him of anyone, and when Ned had no answer but a shrug, he had seemed disappointed. The maid was Loras Tyrells child Margaery, hed confessed, but in that location were those who said she looked like Lyanna. No, Ned had told him, bemused. Could it be that Lord Renly, who looked so like a young Robert, had conceived a passion for a girl he fancied to be a young Lyanna? That struck him as more than passing queer.Jory held out the doublet, and Ned slid his hands through the armholes. Perhaps Lord Stannis will return for Roberts tourney, he said as Jory laced the curry up the stomach. That would be a stroke of fortune, my lord, Jo ry said.Ned buckled on a longsword. In other words, not bloody likely. His smile was grim.Jory draped Neds cloak across his shoulders and clasped it at the throat with the Hands badge of office. The armorer lives above his shop, in a large house at the top of the Street of trade name. Alyn knows the way, my lord.Ned nodded. The gods help this potboy if hes sent me off haring after shadows. It was a slim enough mental faculty to lean on, but the Jon Arryn that Ned Stark had known was not one to wear jeweled and silvered plate. Steel was blade it was meant for protection, not ornament. He might have changed his views, to be sure. He would scarcely have been the start-off man who came to look on things differently after a few years at court . . . but the change was marked enough to make Ned wonder.Is there any other service I might perform?I suppose youd best begin visiting whorehouses.Hard duty, my lord. Jory grinned. The men will be glad to help. Porther has made a fair start alre ady.Neds front-runner horse was saddled and waiting in the yard. Varly and Jacks fell in beside him as he rode through the yard. Their steel caps and shirts of mail must have been sweltering, yet they said no word of complaint. As Lord Eddard passed down the stairs the Kings Gate into the stink of the city, his grey and white cloak streaming from his shoulders, he saw eyes everywhere and kicked his mount into a trot. His guard followed.He looked behind him frequently as they made their way through the crowd city streets. Tomard and Desmond had left the castle early this morning to take up positions on the route they must take, and watch for anyone following them, but even so, Ned was uncertain. The shadow of the Kings Spider and his little birds had him fretting like a maiden on her wedding night.The Street of Steel began at the market square beside the River Gate, as it was named on maps, or the Mud Gate, as it was commonly called. A mimer on stilts was striding through the thr ongs like some great insect, with a legion of barefoot children trailing behind him, hooting. Elsewhere, two ragged boys no older than Bran were dueling with sticks, to the loud encouragement of some and the furious curses of others. An old woman terminate the contest by leaning out of her window and emptying a bucket of slops on the heads of the combatants. In the shadow of the wall, farmers stood beside their wagons, bellowing out, Apples, the best apples, cheap at twice the price, and Blood melons, sweet as honey, and Turnips, onions, roots, here you go here, here you go, turnips, onions, roots, here you go here.The Mud Gate was open, and a squad of City Watchmen stood under the portcullis in their golden cloaks, leaning on spears. When a column of riders appeared from the west, the guardsmen sprang into action, shouting commands and moving the carts and foot traffic aside to let the knight enter with his escort. The first rider through the approach carried a long contraband banner. The silk rippled in the wind like a living thing across the fabric was blazoned a night sky slashed with purple lightning. Make way for Lord Beric the rider shouted. Make way for Lord Beric And close behind came the young lord himself, a dashing figure on a black courser, with red-gold hair and a black satin cloak dusted with stars. Here to fight in the Hands tourney, my lord? a guardsman called out to him. Here to win the Hands tourney, Lord Beric shouted back as the crowd cheered.Ned turned off the square where the Street of Steel began and followed its winding path up a long hill, past blacksmiths functional at open forges, freeriders haggling over mail shirts, and grizzled ironmongers sell old blades and razors from their wagons. The farther they climbed, the larger the buildings grew. The man they wanted was all the way at the top of the hill, in a huge house of whole step and plaster whose upper stories loomed over the narrow street. The double doors showed a hunt down scene carved in ebony and weirwood. A pair of stone knights stood sentry at the entrance, armored in fanciful suits of polished red steel that transformed them into griffin and unicorn. Ned left his horse with Jacks and lift his way inside.The slim young serving girl took quick note of Neds badge and the sigil on his doublet, and the master came hurrying out, all smiles and bows. Wine for the Kings Hand, he told the girl, gesturing Ned to a couch. I am Tobho Mott, my lord, please, please, put yourself at ease. He wore a black velvet coat with fashions embroidered on the sleeves in silver thread, roughly his neck was a heavy silver chain and a sky-blue as large as a pigeons egg. If you are in need of new arms for the Hands tourney, you have come to the right shop. Ned did not pother to correct him. My work is costly, and I make no apologies for that, my lord, he said as he filled two matching silver goblets. You will not find craftsmanship equal to mine anywhere in the Seve n Kingdoms, I promise you. Visit every forge in Kings Landing if you like, and compare for yourself. Any village smith can hammer out a shirt of mail my work is art.Ned sipped his wine and let the man go on. The Knight of Flowers bought all his armor here, Tobho boasted, and many lavishly lords, the ones who knew fine steel, and even Lord Renly, the kings own brother. Perhaps the Hand had seen Lord Renlys new armor, the green plate with the golden antlers? No other armorer in the city could get that deep a green he knew the secret of putting color in the steel itself, paint and beautify were the crutches of a journeyman. Or mayhaps the Hand wanted a blade? Tobho had lettered to work Valyrian steel at the forges of Qohor as a boy. Only a man who knew the spells could take old weapons and forge them anew. The direwolf is the sigil of House Stark, is it not? I could fashion a direwolf helm so real that children will run from you in the street, he vowed.Ned smiled. Did you make a fal con helm for Lord Arryn?Tobho Mott paused a long moment and set aside his wine. The Hand did call upon me, with Lord Stannis, the kings brother. I regret to say, they did not honor me with their patronage.Ned looked at the man evenly, saying nothing, waiting. He had found over the years that silence sometimes yielded more than questions. And so it was this time.They asked to see the boy, the armorer said, so I took them back to the forge.The boy, Ned echoed. He had no notion who the boy might be. I should like to see the boy as well.Tobho Mott gave him a cool, careful look. As you wish, my lord, he said with no trace of his former friendliness. He led Ned out a rear door and across a narrow yard, back to the cavernous stone barn where the work was done. When the armorer opened the door, the ardour of hot air that came through made Ned feel as though he were walking into a dragons mouth. Inside, a forge blazed in each corner, and the air stank of smoke and sulfur. Journeymen armorer s glanced up from their hammers and tongs just long enough to wipe the sweat from their brows, while bare-chested apprentice boys worked the bellows.The master called over a tall lad about Robbs age, his arms and chest corded with muscle. This is Lord Stark, the new Hand of the King, he told him as the boy looked at Ned through sullen blue eyes and pushed back sweat-soaked hair with his fingers. Thick hair, shaggy and unkempt and black as ink. The shadow of a new beard darkened his jaw. This is Gendry. Strong for his age, and he works hard. Show the Hand that helmet you made, lad. virtually shyly, the boy led them to his bench, and a steel helm shaped like a bulls head, with two great curving horns.Ned turned the helm over in his hands. It was raw steel, unpolished but expertly shaped. This is fine work. I would be pleased if you would let me buy it.The boy snatched it out of his hands. Its not for sale.Tobho Mott looked horror-struck. Boy, this is the Kings Hand. If his lordship wants this helm, make him a gift of it. He honors you by asking.I made it for me, the boy said stubbornly.A hundred pardons, my lord, his master said hurriedly to Ned. The boy is crude as new steel, and like new steel would profit from some beating. That helm is journeymans work at best. Forgive him and I promise I will craft you a helm like none you have ever seen.Hes done nothing that requires my forgiveness. Gendry, when Lord Arryn came to see you, what did you talk about?He asked me questions is all, mlord.What sort of questions?The boy shrugged. How was I, and was I well treated, and if I liked the work, and stuff about my mother. Who she was and what she looked like and all.What did you tell him? Ned asked.The boy shoved a fresh fall of black hair off his forehead. She died when I was little. She had yellow hair, and sometimes she used to sing to me, I remember. She worked in an alehouse.Did Lord Stannis question you as well?The bald one? No, not him. He never said no word, j ust glared at me, like I was some raper who done for his daughter.Mind your filthy tongue, the master said. This is the Kings own Hand. The boy lowered his eyes. A smart boy, but stubborn. That helm . . . the others call him bullheaded, so he threw it in their teeth.Ned touched the boys head, fingering the thick black hair. Look at me, Gendry. The apprentice lifted his face. Ned studied the shape of his jaw, the eyes like blue ice. Yes, he thought, I see it. Go back to your work, lad. Im sorry to have bothered you. He walked back to the house with the master. Who salaried the boys apprentice fee? he asked lightly.Mott looked fretful. You saw the boy. Such a strong boy. Those hands of his, those hands were made for hammers. He had such promise, I took him on without a fee.The truth now, Ned urged. The streets are full of strong boys. The day you take on an apprentice without a fee will be the day the Wall comes down. Who paid for him?A lord, the master said reluctantly. He gave no n ame, and wore no sigil on his coat. He paid in gold, twice the universal sum, and said he was paying once for the boy, and once for my silence.Describe him.He was stout, round of shoulder, not so tall as you. Brown beard, but there was a bit of red in it, Ill swear. He wore a rich cloak, that I do remember, heavy purple velvet worked with silver threads, but the hood shadowed his face and I never did see him clear. He hesitated a moment. My lord, I want no trouble.None of us wants trouble, but I fear these are troubled times, Master Mott, Ned said. You know who the boy is.I am only an armorer, my lord. I know what Im told.You know who the boy is, Ned repeated patiently. That is not a question.The boy is my apprentice, the master said. He looked Ned in the eye, stubborn as old iron. Who he was before he came to me, thats none of my concern.Ned nodded. He decided that he liked Tobho Mott, master armorer. If the day ever comes when Gendry would rather wield a sword than forge one, sen d him to me. He has the look of a warrior. Until then, you have my thanks, Master Mott, and my promise. Should I ever want a helm to frighten children, this will be the first place I visit.His guard was waiting outside with the horses. Did you find anything, my lord? Jacks asked as Ned mounted up.I did, Ned told him, wondering. What had Jon Arryn wanted with a kings bastard, and why was it worth his life?