Chapter 12
Catelyn
“We’ll make King’s Landing within the hour.”
Cat turned away from the rail and forced herself to smile. “Your oarmen have done well by us, Captain. Each one of them shall have a silver stag, as a token of my gratitude. They’ve certainly earned it.”
The Captain favoured her with a half bow. “You are far too generous, Lady Stark. The payment you have given is enough.” The price he had demanded had certainly been hefty, Cat supposed that was the price of demanding secrecy, she had payed it in full, thankfully she had money to spare.
“I imagine they’ll still happily take the silver.” Cat chuckled.
“As you say.” The Captain smiled. He spoke the Common Tongue fluently, in spite of being from Essos. He had been plying the narrow sea for thirty years, he’d told her, as oarman, quartermaster, and finally a captain of his own trading galley. The Storm Dancer was his forth ship, and his fastest, a two-masted galley of sixty oars.
She had certainly been the fastest of the ships available in White Harbour when Cat, Elia and Ranger Rodrik had arrived after their headlong gallop downriver. They had left early in the morning, though not before telling their children where they were going.
They have Ash, and all of Winterfell around them, Cat told herself. They’re safe.
The old Ranger had insisted that he accompanied Elia and herself, she hadn’t felt the need to argue with him, especially after her attack. Redmane had closely followed them almost the whole way to White Harbour, but Cat had to bid an almost teary farewell to her direwolf as they approached the white port city. Her wolf would easily make it back home, there were few creatures in the North that could even fight a direwolf, let alone kill them.
Rodrik had argued for hiring a fishing sloop out of the Three Sisters, but Cat and Elia had insisted on the galley. It was good that they had. The winds had been against them much of the voyage, and without the galley’s oars they’d still be beating their way past the Fingers, instead of skimming toward King’s Landing and their journey’s end.
So close, she thought.
Rodrik and Elia chose that moment to appear on deck. “My good friend,” said the Captain. “It is good to see you looking better.”
“Yes,” Rodrik agreed. “I haven’t wanted to die for almost two days now.” He bowed to Cat as Elia walked to her side and clasped her hand. “Princess.”
He was looking better. Perhaps a shade thinner than he had been when they set out from White Harbor, but almost himself again. The strong winds in the Bite and the roughness of the Narrow sea had not agreed with him, and he’d almost gone over the side when the storm seized them unexpectedly off Dragonstone, yet somehow he had clung to a rope until three crewmen could rescue him and carry him safely below decks.
“The captain was just telling me that our voyage is almost at an end,” she said.
“Good.” Elia responded, looking out over the sea as a hand ghosted over the small bump in her belly. They were both starting to show now, Cat imagined Ash was probably beginning to show as well, back in Winterfell. Ned was certain to be surprised when they told him he’d gotten all three of them pregnant.
Rodrik managed a wry smile. “So soon?” He’d had his great white whiskers as long as Cat had known him, he looked unfamiliar without them; smaller somehow, less fierce, and ten years older. Yet back on the Bite it had seemed prudent to submit to a crewman’s razor, after his whiskers had become hopelessly befouled for the third time while he leaned over the rail and retched into the swirling winds.
“I will leave you to discuss your business,” The captain said. He bowed and took his leave of them.
The galley skimmed the water like a pond skipper, her oars rising and falling in perfect time. Rodrik held the rail and looked out over the passing shore. “I have not been the most valiant of protectors.”
Elia touched his arm. “We are here, Ranger Rodrik, and safely. That is all that truly matters.”
Cat’s hand groped beneath her cloak. The dagger was still at her side. She found she had to touch it now and then, to reassure herself. “Now we must reach the king’s master-at-arms, and pray that he can be trusted.”
“Ser Aron Santagar is a vain man, but an honest one.” Rodrik’s hand went to his face to stroke his whiskers and discovered once again that they were gone. He looked nonplussed. “He may know the blade, yes ... but, Princesses, the moment we go ashore we are at risk. And there are those at court who will know you both on sight.”
Cat’s mouth grew tight. “Littlefinger,” she murmured. His face swam up before her; a boy’s face, though he was a boy no longer. His father had died several years ago, making Lord Baelish now, yet still they called him Littlefinger.
Ranger Rodrik cleared his throat. “Lord Baelish once, ah ...” His thought trailed off uncertainly in search of the polite word.
Cat was past delicacy. “He was my father’s ward. We grew up together in Riverrun. I thought of him as a brother, but his feelings for me were... more than brotherly.”
“A Targaryen brother perhaps…” Elia snarked, Cat gave her a stern look, then continued.
“When it was announced that I was to wed Brandon, Petyr challenged for the right to my hand. It was madness. Brandon was twenty and built like a bear, Petyr scarcely fifteen, more a boy than a man. I asked Brandon to spare Petyr’s life. He let him off with a scar. Afterward my father sent him away. I have not seen him since.” She lifted her face to the spray, as if the brisk wind could blow the memories away. “He wrote to me at Riverrun after Brandon was murdered, but I burned the letter unread. By then I knew that Ned would marry me in his brother’s place.”
Rodrik’s fingers fumbled once again for nonexistent whiskers. “Littlefinger sits on the small council now.”
“I knew he would rise high,” Cat said. “He was always clever, even as a boy, but it is one thing to be clever and another to be wise.” While Petyr was certainly witty, wisdom had always seemed to allude him. “I wonder what the years have done to him.”
High overhead, the far-eyes sang out from the rigging. The captain came scrambling across the deck, giving orders, and all around them the Storm Dancer burst into frenetic activity as King’s Landing slid into view atop its three high hills.
The city covered the shore as far as Cat could see, it was the same size as the Winter city, though more populous; manses and arbors and granaries, brick storehouses and timbered inns and merchant’s stalls, taverns and graveyards and brothels, all piled one on another. Cat felt a great swell of pity to all the people that had to practically live on top of each other. Even from this distance, she could see there was little space in the city to breath. The Winter City was always built with much space to expand, though land was always vast and cheap in the North.
She could hear the clamor of the fish market even at this distance. Between the buildings were roads lined with trees, wandering crookback streets, and alleys so narrow that two men could not walk abreast. Visenya’s hill was crowned by the Great Sept of Baelor with its seven crystal towers. Across the city on the hill of Rhaenys stood the blackened walls of the Dragonpit, where the royal dragons resided, its huge dome having been rebuilt after the Dance of Dragons. The Street of the Sisters ran between them, straight as an arrow. The city walls rose in the distance, high and strong.
A hundred quays lined the waterfront, and the harbor was crowded with ships. Deepwater fishing boats and river runners came and went, ferrymen poled back and forth across the Blackwater Rush, trading galleys unloaded goods from Braavos and Pentos and Lys. Cat spied the queen’s ornate barge, tied up beside a fat-bellied whaler from the Port of Ibben, its hull black with tar, while upriver a dozen lean golden warships rested in their cribs, sails furled and cruel iron rams lapping at the water.
And above it all, frowning down from Aegon’s high hill, was the Red Keep; seven huge drum-towers crowned with iron ramparts, an immense grim barbican, vaulted halls and covered bridges, barracks and dungeons and granaries, massive curtain walls studded with archers’ nests, all fashioned of pale red stone. Aegon the Conqueror had commanded it built. His son Maegor the Cruel had seen it completed. Afterward he had taken the heads of every stonemason, woodworker, and builder who had labored on it. Only the blood of the dragon would ever know the secrets of the fortress the Dragonlords had built, he vowed.
All that blood and death, and Winterfell is still the grander castle by far.
“It has been many years since I have seen King’s Landing.” Elia said, sombrely. Cat’s heart went out to her lover of two decades, mourning Elia’s murdered son. Tywin Lannister will answer for that, one day…
Elia had been there in the days when the red Targaryen dragon on black was seen on every wall, yet now the banners that flew from its battlements were golden, not black, and where the three-headed dragon had once breathed fire, now pranced the crowned stag of House Baratheon.
A high-masted swan ship from the Summer Isles was beating out from port, it’s white sails huge with wind. The Storm Dancer moved past it, pulling steadily for shore.
“Princesses,” Rodrik said, “I have thought on how best to proceed while I lay abed. You must not enter the castle. I will go in your stead and bring Ser Aron to you in some safe place.”
Elia studied the old Ranger as the galley drew near to a pier. The captain was shouting in the vulgar Valyrian of the Free Cities. “You would be as much at risk as we would.”
The Ranger smiled. “I think not. I looked at my reflection in the water earlier and scarcely recognized myself. My mother was the last person to see me without whiskers, and she is forty years dead. I believe I am safe enough, my lady.”
The captain bellowed a command. As one, sixty oars lifted from the river, then reversed and backed water. The galley slowed. Another shout. The oars slid back inside the hull. As they thumped against the dock, seamen leapt down to tie up. The captain came bustling up, all smiles. “King’s Landing, princesses, as you did command, and never has a ship made a swifter or surer passage. Will you be needing assistance to carry your things to the castle?”
“We shall not be going to the castle. Perhaps you can suggest an inn, someplace clean and comfortable and not too far from the river.” Elia told him.
The stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Just so. I know of several establishments that might suit your needs. Yet first, if I may be so bold, there is the matter of the second half of the payment we agreed upon. And of course the extra silver you were so kind as to promise. Sixty stags, I believe it was.”
“For the oarmen,” Cat reminded him.
“Oh, of a certainty,” said the captain. “Though perhaps I should hold it for them until we return home. For the sake of their wives and children. If you give them the silver here, my lady, they will dice it away or spend it all for a night’s pleasure.”
“There are worse things to spend money on,” Elia put in. “Winter is coming.”
“A man must make his own choices,” Cat said. “They earned the silver. How they spend it is no concern of ours.”
“As you say, my lady,” the captain replied, bowing and smiling.
Just to be sure, Cat paid the oarmen herself, a stag to each man, and a copper to the two men who carried their chests halfway up Visenya’s hill to the inn that the captain had suggested. It was a rambling old place on Eel Alley. The woman who owned it was a sour crone with a wandering eye who looked them over suspiciously and bit the coin that Cat offered her to make sure it was real. Their rooms were large and airy, though, and the captain swore that her fish stew was the most savory in all the Seven Kingdoms. Best of all, she had no interest in their names.
“I think it best if you stay away from the common room,” Rodrik said, after they had settled in. “Even in a place like this, one never knows who may be watching.” He wore ringmail, dagger, and longsword under a dark cloak with a hood he could pull up over his head. “I will be back before nightfall, with Ser Aron,” he promised. “Rest now, princesses.”
Cat and Elia were tired. The voyage had been long and fatiguing, and they were no longer as young as they had been. Their windows opened on the alley and rooftops, with a view of the Blackwater beyond. The distinct aroma of shit clung to the air like a malignant perfume. Cat closed her eyes and tried to imagine she was back in the Winter city, the smell of pine and woodsmoke in the air.
Home.
Cat watched their Ranger set off, striding briskly through the busy streets until he was lost in the crowds, then decided to take his advice. Cat and Elia settled down together on the bed. The bedding was stuffed with straw instead of feathers, but they had no trouble falling asleep.
They woke to a pounding on her door.
“Wha-?” Elia mumbled as Cat sat up sharply. Outside the window, the rooftops of King’s Landing were red in the light of the setting sun. They had slept longer than intended. A fist hammered at their door again, and a voice called out, “Open, in the name of the king.”
“A moment,” Cat called out. She wrapped herself in her cloak and Elia did the same. The dagger was on the bedside table. She snatched it up before she unlatched the heavy wooden door.
The men who pushed into the room wore the black ringmail and golden cloaks of the City Watch. Their leader smiled at the dagger in her hand and said, “No need for that, m’lady. We’re to escort you to the castle.”
“By whose authority?” Cat demanded.
He showed her a ribbon. Cat felt her breath catch in her throat. The seal was a mockingbird, in grey wax. “Petyr,” she said. So soon. Something must have happened to Rodrik. She looked at the head guardsman. “Do you know who I am?”
“No, m’lady,” he said. “M’lord Littlefinger said only to bring you both to him, and see that you were not mistreated.”
Cat nodded. “You may wait outside while we dress.”
“Seems your Littlefinger lacks common curtesy.” Elia said as she shrugged out of her cloak and went to the chest of their clothes. “How did he know we were here?”
“That damned captain.” Cat seethed, pulling on her bodice. “I hope he at least got a good price for selling our secrets.”
They had brought horses for the two of them. The lamps were being lit along the streets as they set out, and Cat felt the eyes of the city on them as she and Elia rode side by side, surrounded by the guards in their golden cloaks.
Elia tensed beside her when they both laid eyes on the Red Keep, Cat tried to place a comforting hand on Elia’s shoulder. She knew Elia probably wanted to run for the hills, but she was facing the monsters of her past. Cat was proud of her, she remembered when Elia would wake in the night, weeping at the loss of her son as the rest of them tried to comfort her. She still woke in the night, though those nights were few and far between. When Ned had built them a small sept in Winterfell, Cat had taken Elia there to pray for her son together. They had grown close in that time, something Cat was eternally grateful for.
When they reached the Red Keep, the portcullis was down and the great gates sealed for the night, but the castle windows were alive with flickering lights. The guardsmen left their mounts outside the walls and escorted them through a narrow postern door, then up endless steps to a tower.
Petyr was alone in the room, seated at a heavy wooden table, an oil lamp beside him as he wrote. When they ushered them inside, he set down his pen and looked at her. “Cat,” he said quietly.
“Why have we been brought here in this fashion?” She demanded.
He rose and gestured brusquely to the guards. “Leave us.” The men departed. “You and your… friend… were not mistreated, I trust,” he said after they had gone. “I gave firm instructions.”
“Princess Elia Martell.” Cat scolded him, anger bubbling within her at how they had been treated. “A woman who has been a part of my marriage for nearly twenty years. She is as much my wife as Ashara is and you will treat her with respect.”
“My apologies, Princess.” Petyr bowed his head slightly.
“We are not accustomed to being summoned like wenches,” Elia said icily.
“As a boy, you still knew the meaning of courtesy.” Cat added.
“I’ve angered you, princesses. That was never my intent.” He looked contrite. The look brought back vivid memories for Cat. He had been a sly child, but after his mischiefs he always looked contrite; it was a gift he had. The years had not changed him much. Petyr had been a small boy, and he had grown into a small man, a few inches shorter than Cat, maybe a little taller than Elia, slender and quick, with the sharp features she remembered and the same laughing grey-green eyes. He had a little pointed chin beard now, and threads of silver in his dark hair, though he was still shy of thirty. They went well with the silver mockingbird that fastened his cloak. Even as a child, he had always loved his silver.
“How did you know we were in the city?” Cat asked him.
“Lord Varys knows all,” Petyr said with a sly smile. “He will be joining us shortly, but I wanted to see you alone first. It has been too long, Cat. How many years?”
Cat ignored his familiarity. There were more important questions. “So it was the King’s Spider who found us.”
Littlefinger winced. “You don’t want to call him that. He’s very sensitive. Comes of being an eunuch, I imagine. Nothing happens in this city without Varys knowing.”
“Oh, I remember.” Elia scoffed. “A cat could kill a rat in Gin alley and lord Varys would know within the hour.”
“Quite.” Littfinger said, before continuing. “Ofttimes he knows about it before it happens. He has informants everywhere. His little birds, he calls them. One of his little birds heard about your visit. Thankfully, Varys came to me first.”
“Why you?” Cat asked him.
He shrugged. “Why not me? I am master of coin, the king’s own councillor. Selmy and Lord Renly rode north to meet Robert, and Lord Stannis is gone to Dragonstone, leaving only Maester Pycelle and me. I was the obvious choice. I was ever a friend to your sister Lysa, Varys knows that.”
“Does Varys know about ...”
“Lord Varys knows everything ... except why you are here.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Why are you here?”
“Are we not allowed to yearn for our Ned?” Elia said, it was an easy lie. They both did yearn for Ned, but they had other reasons to come South. Cat hoped the truth could be used to form a convincing lie.
Littlefinger laughed. “Oh, very good, princess, if it were you only, I might believe it, though I would doubt you’d enjoy returning to the Red Keep, for obvious reasons.”
“Petyr…” Cat warned.
“You, Cat, I know too well. You would not leave your children, not just to sooth your aching loins.”
Cat heard the slap before she realised she’d done it. A loud clap echoing through the room as Littlefinger’s head snapped to the side.
“I have offended you, forgive me…” he said, contrite again. There was a soft knock on the door. “Enter,” he called out.
The man who stepped through the door was plump, perfumed, powdered, and as hairless as an egg. He wore a vest of woven gold thread over a loose gown of purple silk, and on his feet were pointed slippers of soft velvet. “Princess Stark,” he said, taking her hand in both of his, “to see you again after so many years is such a joy.” His flesh was soft and moist, and his breath smelled of lilacs. “And you too Princess Elia.” He said, stepping away from Cat. “Why, King’s Landing is made brighter by the light of your presence again.
“I care, not a whit for this stinking slum masquerading as a city.” Elia fixed Varys with a stern gaze. “May it crumble and fall into the sea.”
“Lord Baelish tells me that I have you to thank for bringing us here.” Cat changed the subject, bringing the focus away from Elia. She trusted Littlefinger only a little, and Varys not at all, the less they said in this meeting, the better.
Varys giggled like a little girl. “Oh, yes. I suppose I am guilty. I hope you forgive me, kind princess.” He eased himself down into a seat and put his hands together. “I wonder if we might trouble you to show us the dagger?”
Cat stared at the eunuch in stunned disbelief. He is a spider, she thought wildly, an enchanter or worse. He knew things no one could possibly know, unless ... “What have you done to Ranger Rodrik?” she demanded.
Littlefinger was lost. “I feel rather like the knight who arrives at the battle without his lance. What dagger are we talking about? Who is Ranger Rodrik?”
“Ranger Rodrik Cassel is a master-at-arms at Winterfell,” Varys informed him. “I assure you, Princess Stark, nothing at all has been done to the good Ranger. He did call here early this afternoon. He visited with Ser Aron Santagar in the armory, and they talked of a certain dagger. About sunset, they left the castle together and walked to that dreadful hovel where you were staying. They are still there, drinking in the common room, waiting for your return. Rodrik was very distressed to find you gone.”
“How could you know all that?”
“The whisperings of little birds,” Varys said, smiling. “I know things, sweet lady. That is the nature of my service.” He shrugged. “You do have the dagger with you, yes?”
Cat pulled it out from beneath her cloak and threw it down on the table in front of him. “Here. Perhaps your little birds will whisper the name of the man it belongs to.”
Varys lifted the knife with exaggerated delicacy and ran a thumb along its edge. Blood welled, and he let out a squeal and dropped the dagger back on the table.
“Careful,” Cat told him, “it’s sharp.”
“Nothing holds an edge like Valyrian steel,” Littlefinger said as Varys sucked at his bleeding thumb and looked at Cat with sullen admonition. Littlefinger hefted the knife lightly in his hand, testing the grip. He flipped it in the air, caught it again with his other hand. “Such sweet balance. You want to find the owner, is that the reason for this visit? You have no need of Ser Aron for that, my lady. You should have come to me.”
“And if we had,” Elia said, “what would you have told us?”
“I would have told you that there was only one knife like this in King’s Landing.” He grasped the blade between thumb and forenger, drew it back over his shoulder, and threw it across the room with a practiced flick of his wrist. It struck the door and buried itself deep in the oak, quivering. “It’s mine.”
“Yours?” It made no sense. Petyr had not been at Winterfell.
“Until the tourney on Prince Joffrey’s name day,” he said, crossing the room to wrench the dagger from the wood. “I backed Ser Jaime in the jousting, along with half the court.” Petyr’s sheepish grin made him look half a boy again. “When Loras Tyrell unhorsed him, many of us became a trifle poorer. Ser Jaime lost a hundred golden dragons, the queen lost an emerald pendant, and I lost my knife. Her Grace got the emerald back, but the winner kept the rest.”
“Who?” Cat demanded, her mouth dry with fear.
“The Imp,” said Littlefinger as Lord Varys watched her face. “Tyrion Lannister.”
Ned
Eddard Stark rode through the towering bronze doors of the Red Keep sore, tired, hungry, and irritable. They had spied King’s Landing early in the morning, Snowsong had raced ahead, wanting to see Stormbreaker after so many years apart no doubt. Ned could hear the dragons singing together in the Dragonpit even as far away as the Red Keep. He was still mounted on his horse, dreaming of a long hot soak and his wives waiting for him in a featherbed, when the king’s steward told him that Grand Maester Pycelle had convened an urgent meeting of the Small council. The honor of the Hand’s presence was requested as soon as it was convenient.
He could’ve at least waited until I dismounted.
“It’ll be convenient tomorrow,” Ned snapped as he dismounted.
The steward bowed very low. “I shall give the councillors your regrets, Prince Stark.”
“No…” Ned sighed. Offending the Small council was unlikely to be the best first move he could make as Hand of the King. “I’ll see them. Though, I must have time to change into something more presentable.”
“Yes, Prince Stark,” the steward said. “We have given you Lord Arryn’s former chambers in the Tower of the Hand, if it please you. I shall have your things taken there.”
“Thank you,” Ned said as he ripped off his riding gloves and tucked them into his belt. The rest of his household was coming through the gate behind him. Ned saw Vayon Poole and called out. “It seems the council has urgent need of me. See that my daughters find their bedchambers, and tell Harper to keep them there. Arya is not to go exploring,” Poole bowed. Ned turned back to the royal steward. “My wagons are still straggling through the city. I shall need appropriate garments.”
“It will be my great pleasure,” the steward said.
Ned had come striding into the council chambers, bone-tired and dressed in borrowed clothing, to find four members of the small council waiting for him.
The chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summer Isles. From the walls hung tapestries from the free cities, and a pair of Valyrian sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering in black marble faces.
The councillor Ned liked least, the eunuch Varys, accosted him the moment he entered. “Lord Stark, I was grieved to hear about your troubles on the kingsroad. We have all been visiting the sept to light candles for Prince Joffrey. I pray for his recovery.” His hand left powder stains on Ned’s sleeve, and he smelled as foul and sweet as flowers on a grave.
“Then your gods have heard you,” Ned replied, cool yet polite. “The prince grows stronger every day.” He disentangled himself from the eunuch’s grip and crossed the room to where Lord Renly stood by the screen, talking quietly with a short man who could only be Littlefinger. Renly had been a boy of eight when Robert won the throne, but he had grown into a man so like his brother that Ned found it disconcerting.
“I see you have arrived safely, Prince Stark,” Renly said.
“And you as well,” Ned replied.
Littlefinger eyed Ned with a smile on his lips that bordered on insolence. “I have hoped to meet you for some years, Lord Stark. No doubt Lady Cat has mentioned me to you.”
“Princess Catelyn has,” Ned replied with a chill in his voice. Littlefinger’s sly arrogance causing a flare of cold anger to rise within him. “I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”
Renly laughed. Varys shuffled over to listen.
“Rather too well,” Littlenger said. “I still carry a token of his esteem. Did Brandon speak of me too?”
“He didn’t mention you once.” Ned said, hoping that would end it. He had no patience for men like Littlefinger, or their words.
“I must say I’m surprised to see you here, Prince Stark.” Littlenger said. “Here in the south, they say you Starks are all made of ice, and melt when you ride below the Neck.”
“I don’t plan on melting soon, Lord Baelish. You may count on that.” Ned moved to the council table and said, “Maester Pycelle, I trust you are well.”
The Grand Maester smiled gently from his tall chair at the foot of the table. “Well enough for a man of my years, my lord,” he replied, “yet I do tire easily, I fear.” Wispy strands of white hair fringed the broad bald dome of his forehead above a wrinkled face. His maester’s collar was no simple metal choker, but two dozen heavy chains wound together into a ponderous metal necklace that covered him from throat to breast. The links were forged of every metal known to man: black iron and red gold, bright copper and dull lead, steel and tin and pale silver, brass and bronze and platinum. Garnets and amethysts and black pearls adorned the metal-work, and here and there an emerald or ruby. “Perhaps we might begin soon,” the Grand Maester said, hands knitting together atop his broad stomach. “I fear I shall fall asleep if we wait much longer.”
“As you will.” The king’s seat sat empty at the head of the table, the crowned stag of Baratheon embroidered in gold thread on its pillows. Ned took the chair beside it, as the right hand of his king. “My lords,” he said formally, “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“You are the King’s Hand,” Varys said. “We serve at your pleasure, Prince Stark.”
As the others took their accustomed seats, Ned could not shake the feeling that he did not belong there. He remembered what Robert had told him in the crypts below Winterfell. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools, the king had insisted. Ned looked down the council table and wondered which were the flatterers and which the fools. He thought he knew already. “Where is Stannis?” he asked, knowing that Robert and Barristan were still making their way through the city.
“Lord Stannis took himself to Dragonstone not long after the king went north,” Varys said.
“Perhaps we had best wait for Ser Barristan and the king to join us,” Ned suggested.
Renly laughed aloud. “If we wait for my brother to grace us with his royal presence, we’d be here till winter came.”
“Our good King Robert has many cares,” Varys said. “He entrusts some small matters to us, to lighten his load.”
“We are the lords of small matters here.” Littlefinger quipped.
Renly drew a tightly rolled paper from his sleeve and laid it on the table. “This morning my brother commanded me to ride ahead with all haste and ask Grand Maester Pycelle to convene this council at once. He has an urgent task for us.”
Littlenger smiled and handed the paper to Ned. It bore the royal seal. Ned broke the wax with his thumb and read Robert’s urgent command, reading the words with mounting disbelief. “Gods be good,” he swore.
“What Prince Eddard means to say,” Lord Renly announced, “is that His Grace instructs us to stage a great tournament in honor of his appointment as the Hand of the King.”
“How much?” asked Littlenger, mildly.
Ned read the answer from the letter. “Forty thousand golden dragons to the champion. Twenty thousand to the man who comes second, another twenty to the winner of the melee, and ten thousand to the victor of the archery competition.”
“Ninety thousand gold pieces,” Littlenger sighed. “And we must not neglect the other costs. Robert will want a prodigious feast. That means cooks, carpenters, serving girls, singers, jugglers, fools...”
“Fools we have in plenty,” Lord Renly said.
Grand Maester Pycelle looked to Littlenger and asked, “Can the treasury bear the expense?”
“What treasury is that?” Littlenger replied with a twist of his mouth. “Spare me the foolishness, Maester. You know as well as I that the treasury has been empty for years. I shall have to borrow the money. No doubt the Lannisters will be accommodating. We owe Lord Tywin some three million dragons at present, what’s another hundred thousand?”
Ned was stunned. “Are you claiming that the Crown is three million gold pieces in debt?”
“The Crown is more than six million gold pieces in debt, Lord Stark. The Lannisters are the biggest part of it, but we have also borrowed from Lord Tyrell, the Iron Bank of Braavos, and several Tyroshi trading cartels. Of late I’ve had to turn to the Faith. The High Septon haggles worse than a Dornish fishmonger.”
Curious that he seems to have borrowed from everyone except the Starks. Ned thought. It might not be common knowledge, but surely Littlefinger should have known that the Starks had a treasury overflowing with wealth, from mines in the vast mountain ranges of the North and the Great Canal, that provided many lucrative trading opportunities for the west coast of Westeros. Ned would even go so far as to say that house Stark was probably the second or third richest house in Westeros, behind only the Lannisters and the Tyrells.
“Aerys Targaryen left a treasury flowing with gold. How could you let this happen?” Ned asked.
Littlenger gave a shrug. “The master of coin finds the money. The king and the Hand spend it.”
“I will not believe that Jon Arryn allowed Robert to beggar the realm,” Ned said hotly. He contemplated paying off some of the crown’s debts with his house’s coffers. Better for Robert to owe me rather than lord Tywin or the Iron Bank. It was likely they didn’t have enough to pay off all of the debts completely, but it was something Ned would have to think about later.
Grand Maester Pycelle shook his great bald head, his chains clinking softly. “Lord Arryn was a prudent man, but I fear that His Grace does not always listen to wise counsel.”
“My royal brother loves tournaments and feasts,” Renly Baratheon said, “and he loathes what he calls ‘counting coppers.’ ”
“I will speak with His Grace,” Ned said. “This tourney is an extravagance the realm cannot afford.”
“Speak to him as you will,” Lord Renly said, “we had still best make our plans.”
“Another day,” Ned said. Perhaps too sharply, from the looks they gave him. He would have to remember that he was no longer in Winterfell, where only the king stood higher; here, he was but first among equals. “Forgive me, my lords,” he said in a softer tone. “I am tired. Let us call a halt for today and resume when we are fresher.” He did not ask for their consent, but stood abruptly, nodded at them all, and made for the door.
Outside, wagons and riders were still pouring through the castle gates, and the yard was a chaos of mud and horseflesh and shouting men. The king had not yet arrived, he was told. Since the ugliness on the Trident, the Starks and their household had ridden well ahead of the main column, the better to separate themselves from the Lannisters and the growing tension. Robert had hardly been seen; the talk was he was traveling in the huge wheelhouse, drunk as often as not. Robert might be hours behind, but he would still be here too soon for Ned’s liking.
He had only to look at Sansa’s and Arya’s faces to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been unhappy, to say the least. Sansa blamed herself for not speaking up more before the king, Arya was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher’s boy. Both were sullen at the loss of their wolves, and Ned was certainly missing Fang. He had tried to tell his daughters that the direwolves were happier back in the North, the South was too warm for them. It was better for them to be far away and alive, rather than dead.
Ned crossed the outer yard, passed under a portcullis into the inner bailey, and was walking toward what he thought was the Tower of the Hand when Littlenger appeared in front of him. “You’re going the wrong way, Stark. Come with me.”
Hesitantly, Ned followed. Littlenger led him into a tower, down a stair, across a small sunken courtyard, and along a deserted corridor where empty suits of armor stood sentinel along the walls.
They were relics of the Targaryens, black steel with dragon scales cresting their helms, now dusty and forgotten. “This is not the way to my chambers,” Ned said.
“Did I say it was? I’m leading you to the dungeons to slit your throat and seal your corpse up behind a wall,” Littlenger replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We have no time for this, Stark. Cat awaits.”
“What game are you playing, Littlenger? She’s in Winterfell, hundreds of leagues from here.”
“Oh?” Littlenger’s grey-green eyes glittered with amusement. “Then it appears someone has managed an astonishing impersonation. For the last time, come. Or don’t come, and I’ll keep her for myself.” He hurried down the steps, out of direct reach. If he had been in reach, Ned would have made him regret those words.
Ned followed him warily, wondering if this day would ever end. He had no taste for these intrigues, but he was beginning to realize that they were meat and mead to a man like Littlenger.
At the foot of the steps was a heavy door of oak and iron. Petyr Baelish lifted the crossbar and gestured Ned through. They stepped out into the ruddy glow of dusk, on a rocky bluff high above the river. “We’re outside the castle,” Ned said.
“You’re a hard man to fool, Stark,” Littlenger said with a smirk. “Was it the sun that gave it away, or the sky? Follow me. There are niches cut in the rock. Try not to fall to your death, Cat would never understand.” With that, he was over the side of the cliff, descending as quick as a monkey.
Ned studied the rocky face of the bluff for a moment, then followed more slowly. Littlefinger was a much smaller man, making climbing down cliffs easier for him. Ned however, was far from small, he needed to take more care lest he slip and fall. The niches were there, as Littlefinger had promised, shallow cuts that would be invisible from below, unless you knew just where to look for them. The river was a long, dizzying distance below. Ned kept his face pressed to the rock and tried not to look down any more often than he had to.
When at last he reached the bottom, a narrow, muddy trail along the water’s edge, Littlefinger was lazing against a rock and eating an apple. He was almost down to the core. “You are growing old and slow, Stark,” he said, flipping the apple casually into the rushing water. “No matter, we ride the rest of the way.” He had two horses waiting. Ned mounted up and trotted behind him, down the trail and into the city.
Finally Baelish drew reins in front of a freshly painted building, three stories, timbered, it’s windows bright with lamplight in the gathering dusk. The sounds of music and raucous laughter drifted out and floated over the water. Beside the door swung an ornate oil lamp on a heavy chain, with a globe of leaded red glass.
Ned Stark dismounted in a fury. “A brothel,” he said as he seized Littlefinger by the shoulder and spun him around. “You’ve brought me all this way to take me to a brothel.”
“Your wife is inside,” Littlefinger said.
It was the final insult. “Oh, you’re a funny man.” Ned growled as he clasped a hand around the much smaller man’s throat and lifted him into the air with one hand. “A very funny man…”
“My Prince,” an urgent voice called out. “He speaks the truth.” There were footsteps behind him.
Ned spun around, still holding a struggling Littlefinger by the throat, his feet kicking clear off the ground. Ned saw an old white-haired man hurry toward them. He was dressed in brown roughspun, and the soft flesh under his chin wobbled as he ran. “This is no business of yours,” Ned began; then, suddenly, the recognition came. “Rodrik?”
Rodrik nodded. “Your ladies awaits you upstairs.”
Ned was lost. “My ladies? Who else is here? This is not some strange jape of Littlefinger’s?” He relaxed his grip on Littlefinger, but did not drop him.
“Would that it were, Stark.” Littlefinger choked out. Ned released him properly. Littlefinger fell to his knees on the ground, then stood, trying to regain some dignity. “Follow me, and try to look a shade more lecherous and a shade less like the King’s Hand. It would not do to have you recognized. Perhaps you could fondle a breast or two, just in passing.”
They went inside, through a crowded common room where a fat woman was singing bawdy songs while pretty young women in linen shifts and wisps of colored silk pressed themselves against their lovers and dandled on their laps. No one paid Ned the least bit of attention. Rodrik waited below while Littlefinger led him up to the third floor, along a corridor, and through another door.
Inside, Cat and Elia were waiting. They both cried out when they saw him enter, ran to him, and embraced him fiercely.
“My ladies,” Ned whispered in wonderment as he clasped his women close to him.
“Oh, very good,” said Littlefinger, closing the door. “You recognized your wife.”
“We feared you might never come.” Elia whispered against his chest.
“Petyr has been bringing us reports.” Cat informed him. “He told us of your troubles with Arya and the young prince. How are the girls?”
“Sad and angry, I fear.” he told them. “I-I do not understand. What are you doing in King’s Landing? What’s happened?” Ned asked.
“We have news for you.” Cat said.
Ned was lost. “What is it? Why are you here? Where is Ash? What is this place?”
“Just what it appears,” Littlefinger said, easing himself onto a window seat. “A brothel. Can you think of a less likely place to find Princesses?” He smiled. “As it chances, I own this particular establishment, so arrangements were easily made. I am most anxious to keep the Lannisters from learning that Cat and princess Martell are here in King’s Landing.”
“Why?” Ned asked.
Cat put a finger to his lips. “Let us tell it all, my love. It will go faster that way. Listen.”
So he listened, and they told it all, from Cat’s attack in the godswood to Varys and the guardsmen and Littlefinger. And when they were done, Ned sat dazed beside the table, the dagger in his hand. He thanked the gods for the direwolves and that every member of house Stark had their own guardian wolf. But you sent Fang, Lady and Nymeria away… His father’s voice whispered through his head. Ned had led his children and household into a den of vipers without their protectors.
Painfully, Ned forced his thoughts back to the dagger and what it meant. “The Imp’s dagger,” he repeated. It made no sense. His hand curled around the smooth dragonbone hilt, and he slammed the blade into the table, felt it bite into the wood. It stood mocking him. “Why should Tyrion Lannister want my wives dead?”
“Do you Starks have nought but snow between your ears?” Littlefinger asked. “The Imp would never have acted alone.”
“The Lannisters are more than capable of monstrous acts…” Elia said, looking away from them.
Ned rose and paced the length of the room. “If the queen had a role in this or, gods forbid, the king himself ... no, I will not believe that.” Yet even as he said the words, he remembered that chilled morning on the barrowlands, and Robert’s talk of sending hired knives after the Targaryen princess. He remembered Elia’s infant son, the red ruin of what had been his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darry’s audience hall not so long ago.
“Most likely the king did not know,” Littlefinger said. “It would not be the first time. Our good Robert is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see.”
Ned had no reply for that. The face of the butcher’s boy swam up before his eyes, cloven almost in two, and afterward the king had said not a word. His head was pounding.
Littlefinger sauntered over to the table, wrenched the knife from the wood. “The accusation is treason either way. Accuse the king and you will dance with Ilyn Payne before the words are out of your mouth. The queen ... if you can find proof, and if you can make Robert listen, then perhaps ...”
“We have proof,” Ned said. “We have the word of the Catspaw…” Though as he said the words, Ned knew there were none who would take the word of a common criminal over the word of Cersei Lannister, even if the man were still alive to talk. “We have the dagger...”
“This?” Littlefinger flipped the knife casually end over end. “A sweet piece of steel, but it cuts two ways, my lord. The Imp will no doubt swear the blade was lost or stolen while he was at Winterfell, and with his hireling dead, who is there to give him the lie?” He tossed the knife lightly to Ned. “My counsel is to drop that in the river and forget that it was ever forged.”
Ned regarded him coldly. “Lord Baelish, I am a Stark of Winterfell. Someone hired a man to rape and murder my wives. If you truly believe I could forget that, you are as big a fool now as when you took up sword against my brother.”
“A fool I may be, Stark... yet I’m still here, while your brother has been moldering in his frozen grave for some years now. If you are so eager to molder beside him, far be it from me to dissuade you, but I would rather not be included in the party, thank you very much.”
“You would be the last man I would willingly include in any party, Lord Baelish.”
“You wound me deeply.” Littlefinger placed a hand over his heart. “For my part, I always found you Starks a tiresome lot, but Cat seems to have become infatuated with you, for reasons I cannot comprehend. I shall try to keep you alive for her sake. A fool’s task, admittedly, but I could never refuse your wife anything.”
“I told Petyr our suspicions about Jon Arryn’s death,” Cat said. “He has promised to help you find the truth.”
That was not news that Eddard Stark welcomed, but it was true enough that they needed help, and Littlefinger had been almost a brother to Cat once. It would not be the first time that Ned had been forced to make common cause with a man he despised. “Very well,” he said, thrusting the dagger into his belt. “You spoke of Varys. Does the eunuch know all of it?”
“Not from our lips,” Elia said. “You do not bring fools into your bed, Eddard Stark. But Varys has ways of learning things that no man could know. He has some dark art, Ned, I swear it.”
“He has spies, that is well known,” Ned said, dismissive.
“You do not know him as I do.” Elia insisted. “Rodrik spoke to Ser Aron Santagar in all secrecy, yet somehow the Spider knew of their conversation. That eunuch survived the Mad King… there is a foulness behind his eyes.”
Littlefinger smiled. “Leave Lord Varys to me, princess. If you will permit me a small obscenity—and where better for it than here —I hold the man’s balls in the palm of my hand.” He cupped his fingers, smiling. “Or would, if he were a man, or had any balls. You see, if the pie is opened, the birds begin to sing, and Varys would not like that. Were I you, I would worry more about the Lannisters and less about the eunuch.”
“I assure you, I have enough worry in me for all my enemies, Littlefinger.” Elia frowned.
“Elia, Cat,” he said, turning to his women, “there is nothing more you can do here. I want you both to return to Winterfell at once. It is not safe in King’s Landing for you.”
“We had hoped to see the girls ...” Cat said.
“That would be most unwise,” Littlefinger put in. “The Red Keep is full of curious eyes, and children talk.”
“He speaks truly, my love,” Ned told her. He embraced Cat and Elia. “Take Rodrik and ride for Winterfell. I will watch over the girls. Go home to Ash and our children and keep them safe.”
“As you wish.” Cat lifted her face, and Ned kissed her, then Elia. All three held each other in tight embrace.
“Would you like to make use of a bedchamber?” asked Littlefinger. “I should warn you, Stark, we usually charge for that sort of thing around here.”
“A moment alone, that’s all I ask,” Cat said.
“Very well.” Littlefinger strolled to the door. “Don’t be too long. It is past time the Hand and I returned to the castle, before our absence is noted.”
Ned kept his voice polite as he said, “You have my thanks, Lord Baelish.”
“Oh, now there’s a treasure,” Littlefinger said, exiting.
When the door had closed behind him, Ned turned back to his women. “Once you are home, inform lord Martark that he is to fortify Moat Cailin. And send a raven to lord Howland, tell him make preparations to seal the Neck against invaders. Instruct Lords Manderly and Ryder that they are to strengthen and repair all the defences at both ends of the Great Canal, and see that they are well manned. Tell them to double their sea patrols as well. I also want eighty new war galleys to be built, half for each coast. It’ll be expensive, but not so dear. If there is war, we shall need all the preparations we can make.”
“War?” The fear was plain on Elia’s face, as she put a hand on her stomach.
“It will not come to that,” Ned promised her, praying it was true. He took them both in his arms again. “The Lannisters are merciless in the face of weakness, but they would not dare attack the north without all the power of the realm behind them, and that they shall not have. I must play out this fool’s masquerade as if nothing is amiss. Remember why I came here. If I find proof that the Lannisters murdered Jon Arryn ...”
He felt Cat tremble in his arms. She clung to him. “If,” she said, “what then, my love?”
That was the most dangerous part, Ned knew. “All justice flows from the king,” he told her. “When I know the truth, I must go to Robert.” And pray that he is the man I think he is, he finished silently, and not the man I fear he has become.
“Ned…” Cat said, tentatively. “There is something else you should know…”
“What is it?” Ned looked into the two big pairs of eyes gazing up at him.
“Your wives and I are…” Elia paused, her eyes glassy with un-fallen tears.
“It seems we’ll be having a few new pups to add to our pack soon.” Cat smiled as she bit her lip. Just the way Arya did.
Ned sat down, stunned. A swirling vortex of euphoria and dread washed over him. On the one hand, he was the happiest man in the world, again.
On the other, these were more burdens to add on the already mountainous pile. His throat felt drier than the sands of Dorne.
Ned knew he should say something.
“Truly?” Was all he managed to get out as he got back to his feet, unable to control the grin that was starting to take over his face. “That’s wonderful!” He took them in his arms again and held them close. “How do you feel? Ash too, truly?” Ned asked them.
“I’ve been pregnant many times before, bringing more of our children into the world comes naturally to me.” Cat tried to stifle a happy giggle. “Ash is just as content, she gets hot baths every night and our soft feather bed to sleep in.” Then they both looked to Elia.
“I can’t say i’m not surprised by the news from Cat and Ash,” Ned said to Elia. “I thought-“
“So did I.” Elia interrupted him. “I guess i’m not too old to bear children and I should have kept drinking Moontea...”
“How do you feel about it?” Ned asked again as all three of them sat on the bed in the room.
“…Scared.” Elia uttered after a long pause, her fingers intertwined in her lap.
Rhaegar forcing Elia to birth children had nearly killed her, Ned was scared for her too. Especially after her son had been cruelly murdered in front of her. Sometimes Ned had dreams of when he came into Elia’s chambers and saw what was happening. Sometimes he saved Aegon too, killing the Mountain before he could reach them, sometimes he would walk in to find him standing over Elia’s mangled corpse as well, but mostly it was the Mountain holding the broken body of Elia’s son in his hands.
One death was not enough for him.
“We will all be with you, darling.” Cat placed a comforting hand on Elia’s shoulder. “Luwin knows all that there is to about helping a mother give birth.”
“Not that you’ve ever needed his help.” Elia japed, making both Ned and Cat laugh softly.
“Cat’s right.” Ned added. “We will all be with you on this journey… and i’m looking forward to meeting our child.”
Elia looked at him with her big, beautiful eyes. “There’s something else too…” Elia nearly sobbed into his shoulder.
“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to all three of you being pregnant.” Ned tried to lighten the mood, making her laugh. When Elia did not talk, Ned urged her. “What is it?”
“Aegon was your son.” Elia said quickly.
The world froze, words failed him, his heart stopped, Ned felt his chest tighten as his ears began to ring.
My Son?
Ned went over the timeline in his head, due to the travel times to and from Harrenhal he’d never been quite sure when Aegon had been conceived, only that Aegon was not even a year old when the rebellion ended.
Elia would not lie to him, Aegon was his son.
Ned was stunned as he got to his feet, the world began to spin.
My Son?
The words kept repeating in his head. Now the weight of his failure was unimaginably heavier on his conscience. Ned had failed as a man in not protecting Elia, now he had failed as a father too… He needed something to kill. Rhaegar, the Mad King, the Mountain, anyone he could get his hands on.
My Son?
Ned only had a peripheral awareness of Cat talking to Elia, her words muffled, as if strayed into a dream.
My Son?
Or a nightmare.
What are you doing? Is this how a worthy Stark acts? His father’s voice asked him. A mother of your children needs you.
Ned gritted his teeth as he smothered the growing storm of rage and grief inside him, even as he felt the tears run down his cheeks.
It took less than a second for Ned to cross the room and take Elia back into his arms.
“You did not need to bear this burden alone.” He managed to croak out.
“Are you not angry?” Elia asked, her voice muffled against his chest.
The last thing you need is for me to thunder and rage at you.
“There’s no anger here.” Ned said instead. “Just grief.”
It was mostly the truth.
“You could have told us.” Cat said softly as she stroked Elia’s curly, jet black hair.
“It was so horrible…” Elia said, mournfully.
“A burden shared is a burden lessened.” Ned responded. He thought back to all the times they had stood by Aegon’s grave in Winterfell with Elia. All those years and Ned hadn’t known he was mourning his own son.
Elia turned up to him with tearful eyes and kissing him gently, then deeply. Ned felt the rest of the world slip away as they kissed, tenderly.
“Thank you for telling me.” Ned said.
“I feel there is something we need to do before we return to Winterfell then.” Ned heard Cat say as he and Elia separated.
“It’s been a long time coming.” Ned agreed. “Elia, you have been my wife in all but name these past years, will you do me the honour of marr-?” Ned could barely get the words out before Elia crashed her lips to his again.
“Of course i’ll marry you, you big dumb dog.”
“Then as the Stark of Winterfell, I pronounce you to be my wife.” Ned declared. “We can have a ceremony when we are all in Winterfell.”
“I think we should consummate our marriage.” Cat giggled. Ned and Elia agreed. All three kissed each other, celebrating the news. Eventually, their kisses got more fervent and they made their way back to the bed.
Ned fell to the mattress with a dull thump as Cat and Elia pushed him down. He could do naught but gaze up in wonder at the beautiful women taking their dresses off in front of him. Their bodies had both changed since he had seen them last. Their curves had gained more abundance, the once flat expanses of their stomachs now showed the little bumps of the children they both carried.
Ned held the firm belief that his women never looked more beautiful than when they were pregnant, they were both practically glowing in the light of the oil lamps. He cursed the absence of Ashara, wishing she was here to celebrate with them. Cat seemed to share his opinion.
“A pity Ash isn’t here with us.” She said as she looked down at Ned, running her hands over her curvy body.
“When we’re all home together, we’re going to lock you in our chambers for a week.” Elia giggled.
“It seems you are somewhat overdressed, my love.” Cat’s eyes roamed his body, noticing the straining of his breeches.
“You have my sincere apologies, my ladies.” Ned responded as he ripped his clothes off, feeling the cool air against his skin. Both Cat and Elia stared lovingly at his cock as it throbbed, hard as iron. As they hadn’t fucked in a while, they chose to forgo the foreplay and move straight to the sex.
That’s how Ned found himself looking down at Elia and Cat as they lay on their backs on the bed as he stood above them, taking the time to marvel at the women before him. Where Elia was dark, Cat was light, Elia’s bronzed skin meeting Cat’s pale freckled flesh, their plump curves pressed together as their tongues danced. As Elia was likely more in need of some release after confessing the truth after so many years, Ned decided he was going to fill her cunt first.
Taking a firm grip of his throbbing member, Ned dragged his cock head along Elia’s silky, hairless slit. Darnish women had a habit of shaving all the hair from their nether regions, a habit Cat had been quick to adopt as well, much to Ned’s approval. The last thing someone wanted as they orally pleasured their lover was to find hair in their mouth. Elia let out a very unladylike moan as Ned slipped his cock inside her wet tunnel.
After months away, it was good to be home.
“Should we try for twins?” Ned joked as he set a languid pace, slowly thrusting all the way up to the hilt, then drawing back so only his cock head remained.
“I don’t - uuhhh - know what they teach you in the North - yes! - but it doesn’t quite work like that.” Elia bit her lower lip and moaned in response as Cat giggled, stroking her dainty hands along Elia’s sides, making her shiver.
“Are you sure?” Ned grinned down at her. Elia’s head was tilted back, her eyes rolling in pleasure.
“Yes!” She cried in ecstasy as Ned thrust particularly deep inside her.
“Well I don’t see any harm in trying… Do you?” Ned began to quicken his pace, moving his hips back and forth with purpose, feeling his throbbing shaft enveloped in Elia’s molten heat again and again.
“Yes! Yes! Fuck me, Ned! Fuck your Dornish whore!” Elia quivered around him.
“His Dornish wife now!” Cat laughed as she clasped Elia’s hand. “And mine too.”
“The gods have certainly been generous to us.” Ned chuckled as he held Elia by her ankles, ploughing her for all her worth. The wet slaps of his balls clapping against her thick arse echoing around the room. “Giving us not just one Dornish wife, but two!”
“Let’s see if these things have their milk yet!” Cat took Elia’s massive, bouncing tits in one hand, then latched her lips around the coal-black nipple, sucking eagerly, her teeth, tugging on Elia’s nipple piercing.
“You’d drain every drop before the babe ever got a mouthful.” Elia moaned as Cat pleasured her.
Cat lifted her mouth from Elia’s tit. “You’ve drunk the milk from my teats often enough, seems only fair I get to enjoy it from you.”
She was not wrong, Cat’s breasts had been the target of much attention from her lovers. Ned had lost count of the number of times he had filled Cat with his seed, watching Ash and Elia sucking on Cat’s nipples.
Feeling the Elia’s cunt clenching around him, Ned could tell that she was close to finishing, and with a few well-aimed thrusts, Elia came to an explosive end. The bedding beneath them was soaked, yet that did not deter them, Ned fucked Elia through every musical tone of her operatic orgasm.
It was some time before she recovered, she clasped one of her small hands around Cat’s throat and stuffed three of her fingers into Cat’s cunt. She tried to play Ash’s part of being more dominant, somewhat unsuccessfully.
“Are you enjoying this, Tully whore?” Elia tried to sound stern as she fingered Cat. A difficult task as her voice was skipping up and down multiple octaves as Ned ravaged her. He could see that Cat was humouring Elia, she was always the most conciliatory in bed. “Do you like watching me fuck your husband?” Elia carried on.
“I think it’s our husband now, my love.” Cat gave Elia a dazzling smile as her bright blue eyes shone with lust. “And I’d say that he’s doing the majority of the fucking.” They both broke down into fits of giggles together. “I’m close…” Cat said as she placed a hand on Elia’s wrist, holding her there.
“Me too.” Elia said. “And from how our dear husband hasn’t been saying much, i’d say he’s close as well.”
“I can hold as long as you want.” Ned panted. That was mostly true, he’d already fucked Elia through her third orgasm, so he was ready to fill her cunt then give Cat a good seeing to.
“Then let’s all finish together.” Elia smirked. “All of us!”
Not too long after Elia’s words they all came to an ecstatic end together. Ned filling Elia with his seed and feeling his thighs being sprayed by Cat’s and Elia’s juices. He continued to plough Elia through their climaxes. As he pulled out of her, a deluge of his seed flowed from her well-used cunt.
“I believe it’s your turn now, my dear.” Ned smirked at Cat with a toothy grin.
Before Ned knew it, he was lying back on the bed as Cat rode him. Her feet were planted on either side of his hips, hands on her knees as she gracefully bounced on the entire length of his achingly hard manhood. Elia was lying at the head of the bed, lavishing Ned’s balls with her tongue.
Currently, Ned’s attention was fixed on Cat’s massive, perfect breasts as they swayed on her chest, in time with her bounces, her piercing’s twinkling in the moonlight that streamed through the open window.
“I swear they keep getting bigger.” Ned reached up to cup the soft mounds of flesh in his hands.
“I don’t think they’ve stopped growing since my first moonblood” Cat moaned as she gyrated her hips on his pelvis. She was alternating between bouncing up and down on his cock, and sitting down on him hard, taking Ned’s shaft as deep as he would go, then gyrating her hips in circles. It turned her cunt into a fountain as it clenched tightly around him.
“Fuck me, Ned! Fuck me!” Cat cried as she placed her hands on his chest, bouncing up and down with urgency, chasing her end.
“As you wish.” Ned took firm handfuls of her wide hips and began to thrust up into her cunt at a quick pace.
“Ahhh! Ah!! YES!!!” Cat screamed as she lost her footing and sat heavily on Ned, not that he minded as it meant her was buried up to the hilt inside her.
As this was going on, Elia was happily sucking away on Ned’s ballsack, lavishing it with her lips. Every now and then. Her tongue would find it’s way to Ned’s arsehole, licking it pleasantly. It seemed that Elia had developed a fetish for sticking her tongue up his arse, not something that Ned was inclined to deny her.
One of the most powerful climaxes of his life had been when Ash had taken his member all the way down her throat, with Cat sucking his balls and Elia with her tongue in his arsehole. Ned chuckled at the memory of Ash nearly choking on all the seed he had sprayed forth.
With one hand pinching Cat’s nipple and the other on her hip, Ned felt Cat come undone around him, again. Her breath became short as she panted like a bitch in heat, she started to quiver and shake as if she had just been pulled out of an icy lake.
“AHH! AHHHHH!! AHHHHHH FUCK!!!!” Cat’s head tilted back, her eyes rolling as her back arched, giving Ned a spectacular view of her godly breasts. Ned was certain Cat’s voice could be heard throughout the brothel, probably even the entire street of silk. Though they were several floors up, but the big open window meant that people on the street would almost certainly hear her.
It was that moment when the door to their room swung open. Ned tilted his head back, to see who had come in. As his head was upside down, it took him a moment to make sense of what he was seeing. In the doorway stood two tanned men with brightly coloured hair and beards, with whores on their arms.
Judging by their hair, Ned guessed they were Tyroshi sailors coming to the brothel to enjoy a woman’s touch after a long voyage. For a moment, they stood, stunned, looking at Cat riding Ned without restraint.
“Argh, fuck off! We’re using this room!” Cat shouted angrily at them. They still stood, watching Cat writhing on Ned’s cock, not even slowing down. “Go!” She said again. This time they seemed to understand and beat a hasty retreat, closing the door behind them.
“You’re not usually one to turn down an audience.” Elia giggled, after she pulled away from Ned’s balls.
“We are supposed to be keeping our presence her a secret,” Cat responded, still riding Ned’s cock, languidly. “we should at least try to remain incognito.”
“You make a fair point, my love.” Ned told her.
“I’d have thought after all these years you’d have worked out that i’m always right.” Cat giggled.
They carried on their lovemaking for a number of hours, Ned was taking Elia up the arse, raining down blow after blow on the fleshy globes as she lay on top of Cat when the door to the room burst open again.
“Cat!” The trio heard a cry from behind them. They looked to the doorway to see Littlefinger standing there.
“Get out! What are you doing here?” Cat shrieked, covering herself with a blanket from the bed. Ned thought it was curious that she suddenly felt a need to cover herself. The small man pointed an accusatory finger in Ned’s direction.
“I saw HIM fucking your mother at Riverrun before you were married!”
Ned froze.
Shit.
“What?” Cat was clearly shocked and angry, she looked to Ned. “Is this true?” Ned knew he could not lie to his wife, Cat always knew when he lied.
“Cat…” Ned started, unsure how best to word his relationship with Cat’s mother. Elia burst into laughter on the bed, perhaps too tired to get up after being taken up the arse.
“See?” Littlefinger stated, closing the door behind him. “He cannot lie. He’s a degenerate. Come with me, we can runaway together. I know you truly love me, you said so when I took your maidenhead.”
“WHAT?!?” For some reason, Cat seemed angrier at that than finding out Ned had fucked her mother. “You never took my maidenhead.” She got up from the bed, the blanket still wrapped around her and pointed at Littlefinger crossly.
“Yes I did.” Littlefinger insisted. Gone was the witty, sly man Ned had seen earlier. Before him stood a man who was nearer to a boy. A boy who thought Cat loved him. “You came to me after I tried to win your hand from Brandon-“
“That was Lysa! I never went to you after that duel!” Cat thundered. “Gods! Did you really think I bedded you, for all these years?”
“But-“
“Wait a second.” Ned said evenly. “If you knew the truth all these years, why wait until now to say?”
“I didn’t see your face at Riverrun, but I saw your cock. When I saw you and Cat together I recognised it instantly.”
“You were watching us?!?” Cat fumed. Littlefinger took a few steps back until Ned used his ice magic to freeze Littlefinger’s feet to the ground.
“I-I“ Littlefinger stammered. “You don’t seem angry that your husband fucked your own mother and kept it from you. I told you as soon as I knew!”
Cat paused for a moment, then slowly turned to back to Ned, he looked her squarely in the eye and braced himself for his Tully wife’s fury, Elia was still panting on the bed, looking at the three of them. In a surprising turn of events, Cat let go of the blanket, letting it fall to the floor, revealing her naked body again, a thin sheen of sweat making her skin glow in ethereal light.
Taking slow steps, she padded over to Ned, he grunted as he felt her hand wrap around his cock and began to rub along it’s length. Ned was unsure if it was a dream.
“When?” Was all she said.
“Harrenhal, she’s the one who convinced me to ask Ash for a dance.”
“But again at Riverrun?”
“…My father and brother had just died, she offered comfort that I did not deny, though I should have.”
“So you fucked my mother in my father’s castle?”
“Yes…”
She paused for a moment. “Have you ever thought of taking us together?”
“You utter whore.” Elia laughed from the bed.
“You fucked your niece.” Cat shot back.
“So did you. Besides, I was fucked with her, by our lusty tomcat of a husband.”
“Did you ever think about taking me and my mother together?” Cat reiterated, her jerking beginning to get faster.
“Yes.” Ned finally gasped out.
“You’re a whore as well, Ned.” Elia called out.
It was true. He’d found himself dreaming of taking Cat and Minisa together in the godswood, rubbing their massive breasts on his cock, filling them with his seed, making them scream his name at the top of their lungs.
“Gods…” Cat moaned, arousal flushing her face and chest as red as her hair. Ned’s hands found their way to her massive breasts and arse, squeezing them with his fingers.
“I did not think this would arouse you so.” Ned chuckled, snaking a finger into her tight, wet cunt, making Cat moan even more.
“What have you done to me, Ned Stark…” Cat looked up at him with clear blue eyes. Ned only laughed and leaned down to kiss her, taking her lips with his own.
“Cat!” Littlefinger shouted from his position, rooted to the ground.
“That’s enough from you.” Ned responded, flicking a bolt of ice into Littlefinger’s mouth to freeze it shut and prevent him from talking. Cat giggled as they both walked to Littlefinger.
“I have an idea…” Cat smiled up at him, almost evilly.
Soon enough, Littlefinger was stripped naked with his hands and knees on the floor. Ned had frozen them in place so he could not move, nor could he talk.
“You tried to ruin my marriage.” Cat said as she lay down on Littlefinger’s back. He whimpered beneath her, with Elia pleasuring herself as she watched them. “How many did you tell you fucked me? How many times do I have to tell you I DO. NOT. WANT. YOU.” With her back resting on Littlefinger’s, she spread her thighs and looked up at Ned, bitting her bottom lip. “He’s always wanted to fuck me,” Cat said, “this is the closest he’s ever going to get”
Ned knelt down and plunged his cock all the way up to Cat’s womb.
“I think even this is too much for him.” Ned grunted down at Cat as she moaned at the filling sensation.
“Believe me,” Cat giggled. “He hates this more than he likes it.” Ned began to thrust in earnest again, fucking Cat without restraint as she lay atop Littlefinger. “GODS! FUCK!! YOU’RE SOOO GOOD!!” Cat wailed. “YOU OWN MY CUNT, NED! MY BODY IS YOURS!!”
Ned knew she was always a vocal lover, but it was likely she was giving it even more so that Littlefinger would remember it. Littlefinger tried to struggle beneath them as Cat’s thick red hair fell around his face. Cat’s legs were resting on Ned’s shoulders as he ploughed her to within an inch of her life.
Her massive breasts bounced wildly on her chest as Ned plundered her cunt. He was glad they were in a brothel, as it would mean Cat’s cries would only join the chorus of whores earning their pay. Cat squirted within minutes, bathing Ned, herself and Littlefinger in her juices.
Then a second time, and a third time.
On the fourth time, her tight silky cunt became too much for Ned. With a resounding roar, Ned filled Cat with his seed. Drawing Cat to his lips, Ned kept thrusting his throbbing manhood deep in to her molten depths, drawing out their shared pleasure.
Cat slid off Littlefinger’s back and on to the floor with a soft thud, Ned took Cat by her hair and walked her to a chair in front of Littlefinger.
Cat was crawling on all fours beside him. Ned imagined from his position, Littlefinger had an excellent view of her cunt, and the river seed leaking from it. Elia got up from the bed and joined Cat at his feet as they both knelt in front of his cock.
“Petyr, this is a man’s cock.” Cat said between laying kisses along Ned’s still-hard shaft. “Whereas you… Little by name, little by nature…” she giggled.
“You’ll never be able to compare to our husband.” Elia added, giggling as she licked his balls.
Ned saw that Littlefinger could only sob as he watched. He almost felt a pang of pity for the man, then remembered that he had tried to ruin his marriage earlier that night and had been telling people that he had fucked Cat. By the law of the land, Ned had every right to kill him for the insult.
Ned decided he would need help, so he warged into a passing bird and flew off to inform the Chosen Men.
By the time, they and Rodrik came to their room Ned was still sat in the chair, Cat was happily riding his cock again, facing Littlefinger as Elia licked Ned’s arsehole.
Ned looked up at the door and saw the light die in Harper’s eyes. “Did you really come South just to do this?” He asked forlornly.
“No, it’s just a happy coincidence.” Ned chuckled.
“Boys!” Cat exclaimed happily, only now noticing the Chosen Men had arrived. Both she and Elia got up from Ned and padded over to them, Cat on slightly unsteady legs.
“It’s been too long.” Elia added as they both hugged each of the men, as if they hadn’t just spent most of the night getting fucked in a brothel.
“Ramona sends her love, Harper.” Cat said as she hugged him. Rodrik and the Chosen men dragged their eyes away from the naked women, to a naked Ned, then to Littlefinger, who was still struggling on the floor, also naked.
“What you do in your own bedchambers is your businesses.” Harper said slowly, “I wished to the gods you actually thought that.” He added quietly.
“This is the Master of Coin.” Ned stated, then explained what had happened, to the shock and fury of his men.
“Permission to go ahead and murder him, sir?” Harper asked after Ned had finished, pulling a knife out. Littlefinger’s muffled cries could be heard even through the ice.
“Later.” Ned told him. “Hagman, Cooper, you will escort Cat, Elia and Rodrik out of the city, make sure they are not seen.”
“We should probably get dressed then.” Cat giggled as she and Elia picked up their dresses.
“Perkins” Ned turned to the youngest and smallest of the Chosen Men. “You look similar enough to lord Baelish, so you will wear his clothes and leave this establishment. Wear a cloak to cover your face. It’s dark, you’ll be difficult to see.”
“Where shall I go?” Perkins asked.
“To Fleebottom.” Ned told him. “I imagine you’ll find no lack of corpses there, find one of an appropriate size, dress him and bash his head until the face is unrecognisable. Make it look like a robbery gone wrong. Do not resort to murder.” Perkins nodded and began to take off his clothes.
Everyone’s getting dressed and undressed, Ned mentally chuckled to himself.
“The rest of you, stay here.” Ned ordered the remainder of the men. Cat and Elia were fully dressed now, and wearing their cloaks. “Remember what I told you, my loves.” Ned told them, before giving both a deep kiss.
“Be careful Ned.” Cat said.
“Make sure these children do not grow up without their father.” Elia added, placing a hand on her belly.
Cat went to a struggling Littlefinger. “You cannot be trusted and are therefore of no use to Ned.” She told him. “I will not mourn you.”
Not many other words were said Cat and Elia left.
Only Harper, Harris and Isiah remained with Ned and Littlefinger. Ned allowed all the ice, but the ice gagging Littlfinger to melt. He got up to his feet stiffly as he had been on the floor for hours. Littlefinger tried to run but Ned caught him by the throat easily.
“You could have lived, had you not thought that Cat belonged to you.” Was all Ned said as he choked the life from Petyr Baelish. It didn’t take long for his feet to stop twitching. When it was over, Ned let go of the body as it flopped to the floor.
“So, how do we get rid of this?” Isiah asked.
“I suppose chopping it into pieces would make it easier to move,” Harris suggested. “But it would be messy.”
“Not if I freeze him solid first.” Ned said as his eyes glowed blue and ice began to form on Littlefinger’s body. When he was fully frozen, Ned broke the body into smaller shards and chunks, enough for all four of them to easily carry in small bags. “He showed me a secret path out of the Red Keep that took us by a river.” Ned said as they finished putting Littlefinger’s remains into bags. “We’ll dump the shards there and they’ll wash out to see.”
“Then what?” Harper asked as they walked through the door.
“There is a war going on under our noses. One the Lannisters started.” Ned said. He thought of Jon Arryn, Lysa’s letter and the murderer sent after his wives. The crown’s empty treasury that he was certain could be blamed on Littlefinger. Finally of Cersei Lannister’s satisfied smirk. “Not of swords, spears and shields but of lies and deception. But it is no less dangerous.”
Don’t ever start fights. His father’s words ran through his head, a distant memory of times gone by.
But it you have to fight.
Win.