Seeing Tyrion sink once more into melancholy, Kal could only sigh helplessly and clink bottles with him again.
Only after a long while did Tyrion swallow down his bitterness along with the wine.
"All right then, Lord Kal. What would you have your humble servant do next?"
The little dwarf, seated on the stool, adjusted his mood in an instant.
That question, however, caught Kal off guard.
"Perhaps you could help me come up with a suitable surname?"
Tyrion's face darkened. "Don't tell me that's all you wanted me to do."
"So what's your suggestion?"
Kal seemed utterly oblivious to the dwarf's exasperation and instead asked with great enthusiasm.
"You're the only one who'd know. But if I'm not mistaken, we talked about this before heading north."
"What you said then about house words—I found that rather interesting."
Tyrion, too, seemed to recall something.
At that time, Kal's offhand reply had made his eyes light up.
But now Kal didn't follow up. Instead, he rubbed his chin in thought.
After a long pause, he clapped his hands.
"What do you think of the surname 'El'? Kal, of the House of El!"
"El?"
"What does that mean? Why that name?"
The dwarf looked utterly puzzled, unable even to recall hearing such a word before. He strongly suspected he had never once seen a name like it in any book.
Kal, however, had no intention of explaining what "El" meant. He simply leaned back in his chair, speaking lazily.
"It doesn't mean anything. It just sounds good and is easy to remember."
"And it gives off a sense of strength, handsomeness, and invincibility!"
At that, Tyrion could only tilt his head slightly. He felt that this name, like the red wine before him, carried a certain mysterious charm.
So he lifted his head and, no longer dwelling on it, said, "Very well then, Lord Kal El—so long as you like it. And what of your house sigil, my lord?"
Kal, of course, would not tell Tyrion that this was Superman's name.
It just so happened that in this life, he was also called Kal, so he simply couldn't be bothered to think up another and decided to call himself Kal El.
After all, he wanted to be a happy Superman too.
When happy, he was Superman; when unhappy, he was still Superman.
Hmm, quite good.
As for the family sigil Tyrion had asked about, Kal thought he'd need to give it some thought.
"I plan to have the blacksmith craft me a new suit of armor tomorrow, for the tourney events at the festival. I'll think of it before then."
...
Working hours always passed quickly. After sending off the king's elder brother, who harbored ulterior motives, he lowered his head while it was still bright day, yet when he raised his eyes again, the sun had already set.
The conversation with Stannis Baratheon had only worsened the already weary mood of Eddard Stark.
But he had to admit that Stannis's reminder had been necessary—at least it had made him realize that some matters did not cease to exist simply because one chose not to see them.
"Robert's curses weren't wrong. As a king, he's now more like a breeding stallion."
Closing the freshly handled document, Eddard Stark rubbed at his brow, unable to keep from thinking again of that vexing matter.
Only after a long while did he open his eyes once more.
They were filled with exhaustion.
Lifting the cup of Summerwine left unfinished on the table, Eddard drained it in one gulp, feeling slightly better at last.
Just then, after a light knock on the door, Jory Cassel entered without waiting for the Hand's reply.
He wore a cloak over leather armor, a sword at his waist.
But that thick new grey wool cloak, trimmed with white satin, was travel-worn, as though he had just returned from outside.
Upon the cloak was embroidered a silver hand, marking its wearer as one of the Hand's personal guards.
"My lord."
Jory looked toward the Hand within the room and called softly.
Seeing it was Jory, Eddard recalled the matter he had instructed him to see to earlier when he learned that Stannis had come seeking him.
"How did it go?" Eddard asked gravely.
But Jory shook his head. "Nothing out of the ordinary."
"I specifically had men inquire—Princess Arianne Martell of Dorne and her brother Quentyn Martell came to King's Landing together with Lord Stannis Baratheon. Since then, they haven't had further contact."
"And during this period, Princess Arianne Martell has only been socializing with various lords from different regions, rarely leaving her own estate."
"Seems to be by order of Prince Doran—he appears to be troubled over his daughter's marriage."
"As for Prince Oberyn Martell, he's been spending all his time with his lover in brothels or taverns. However, his three bastard daughters have gone to see Jon Snow quite a few times lately."
Jory recited in one breath all that Eddard Stark had sent him to investigate today—mainly concerning Dorne's House Martell, with special focus on their dealings with Stannis Baratheon.
Hearing this, Eddard Stark frowned slightly, but soon relaxed again.
He seemed to have eased a little, yet still let out a faint sigh.
"All right, I understand. Go down and rest early."
"But during this period, assign a few men to keep an eye on them."
"Yes, my lord."
At those words, Jory's eyes flickered slightly, but he asked no further questions. He turned and left, closing the door behind him.
Yet as Jory departed, the candlelight that had long since been lit with the coming of night flickered upon Lord Stark's face, casting alternating light and shadow across one side of his cheek.
His worry did not melt from his expression.
Before long, Harwin came to knock on the door again.
With his lord's permission granted, Harwin stepped into the study. "My lord, the banquet you instructed is about to begin."
He had come this time to remind Eddard Stark that the family dinner he had ordered prepared earlier that day was nearly ready to start.
The steward who had come along from Winterfell had been busy for the entire day. This was not like Winterfell; here they all had to relearn how to live in the heat of the South.
At Harwin's reminder, Eddard finally came back to his senses from his thoughts.
"I need to change my clothes. Bring me something lighter, and take out the vest as well," Eddard instructed.
King's Landing was truly hot. Even without leaving the Hand's Tower, the stifling heat trapped within its walls had already soaked through his clothes.
Perhaps he ought to go cool himself by the river like the commonfolk of King's Landing—but that would require setting aside some time, so that when the chance came, he could bring Catelyn and his children along.
They could roast meat by the riverside and hold a bonfire gathering.
Hearing Eddard's order, Harwin went to the wardrobe, rummaged briefly, and took out the clothes the Hand had requested; the vest bore a grey direwolf emblem.
Placing the finished documents away, Eddard rose to his feet.
Harwin brought the clothes over and laid them across the back of a chair before helping Eddard undo and change out of what he was wearing.
Once he had put on a dry set of clothes again, the Hand felt much better.
Harwin tied the garment's strap into a knot at the small of his back.
Looking down at the Hand's badge in his hand, Eddard Stark hesitated for a moment, then set it on his desk.
At a family banquet of his own, he had no need of such a thing.
As for the outfit bearing the Stark family sigil he had deliberately chosen to wear tonight, that was because he had also specially invited another guest to the feast.
Not long after, accompanied by Harwin and two other guards, Eddard walked a short distance to the room prepared for the dinner.
Seeing Eddard arrive, Catelyn, who was already seated with the children gathered around the long table, quickly stood up to welcome her husband.
At the sight of his family, Eddard instantly felt all his exhaustion melt away. The stern, careworn expression on his face eased into a faint smile.
"Sit down. Affairs in King's Landing are truly many—thank you all for waiting."
The first dish served at the Stark family's dinner that evening was a thick pumpkin soup.
Sweetened with honey and specially chilled with ice, the pumpkin soup was the perfect first course to refresh and whet the appetite before dinner.
As soon as the Hand sat down, a servant presented him with a bowl of the cool pumpkin soup.
Seeing their father arrive as promised, Sansa, Arya, and Bran all beamed with joy.
Even Rickon, not yet four years old and sitting beside his mother, looked at Eddard with a cheerful smile.
Though they had only been in King's Landing a few days, during that time they had hardly any chance to spend time with their father—indeed, the number of times they had even seen him could be counted on one hand.
Today's banquet was the most complete gathering they'd had so far.
Bran was simply happy that his father could be with him.
Sansa and Arya, meanwhile, were glad that Septa Mordane would not be attending such a private family dinner, and also delighted to dine with their father.
Since the king's visit to Winterfell, more than half a year had passed without the family sitting down together for a proper meal. As for Lady Catelyn Stark, she was pleased simply that the family could be reunited.
If only the bastard sitting diagonally opposite her were not there.
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