The mountain path was rugged and difficult to traverse; the cold wind and falling rocks filled people with dread, not to mention those despicable Hill Tribesmen.
Catelyn felt her journey was perilous and arduous, but there was nothing she could do; this was all she did for her House.
"Damn the Hill Tribesmen," Catelyn thought angrily. If not for those Hill Tribesmen disrupting things, The Imp should have been in her hands now, on their way together to the distant The Eyrie.
It wasn't until she saw the blue flag with a white crescent moon and falcon that Catelyn felt a sense of relief. This meant the knights of House Arryn had arrived.
"My Lady, you should have sent word," Ser Donnel said to Catelyn. "That way, we could have sent people to escort you. The mountain roads aren't what they used to be, and besides, you truly don't have many people with you."
"The Hill Tribesmen caused us considerable losses; three people died on the first encounter." Ser Donnel's words poked at Catelyn's wound; she had already learned a painful lesson. Several brave men had died on the way, and the Hill Tribesmen harassed them day and night.
"Since Lord Jon's death, these Hill Tribesmen have become increasingly lawless," Ser Donnel said, then led the way to The Bloody Gate, guiding Catelyn. "If it were up to me, I'd take a hundred cavalrymen and teach these bastards a good lesson. But your sister isn't willing. Lady Lysa won't even allow her knights to participate in the hand of the king's Tourney. She says all forces must remain here to guard the Vale. But who exactly they are guarding against, no one can say clearly."
Catelyn sighed, wondering if she had been too rash. Several people had already died for this journey. But she hadn't yet stated her purpose. If she were to reveal that House Lannister had already been offended because of her, these knights might not be so carefree… The council chamber was exquisitely furnished. On either side of the door stood a pair of Valyrian sphinx statues, their round garnet eyes gleaming brightly on their black marble faces.
The council chamber floor was covered with Myr carpets, not rush mats. In one corner of the room stood a wooden screen from the Summer Isles, carved with hundreds of lifelike, colorful rare birds and exotic beasts. The walls were hung with exquisite tapestries from Norvos, Qohor, and Lys.
It was rare for His Majesty the King to attend the Small Council today, but Eddard felt no joy.
"My Lord, is this your brilliant idea?" Eddard looked at the fat Varys and said angrily.
"I am not for the welfare of one person, but for thousands, Lord Hand," Varys spread his hands, and the cloying scent of perfume wafted over.
"Blame me as much as you want, as long as things get done. I'm not so blind that I can't see the axe's shadow dangling over my neck."
"There's no immediate situation; it's merely an old matter from many years ago, and what might happen is still unknown," Eddard advised.
"Still unknown?" Varys asked softly, wringing his perfumed hands. "My Lord, you misunderstand me. Would I fabricate false information to deceive His Majesty the King and the Lords?"
Eddard looked coldly at Varys. This was Varys's capital for survival in King's Landing: intelligence and clues. Only he possessed information on the Targaryen siblings, and now, additionally, His Majesty the King's bastard. "My Lord, your information comes from traitors thousands of miles away. Perhaps it's mistaken, perhaps he's lying."
"My informants surely wouldn't dare to deceive me," Varys showed a cunning smile, "Rest assured, My Lord, the princess's pregnancy is no mistake."
"That's what you say. If you are mistaken, we have nothing to fear; if the girl miscarries, we have nothing to fear; if she bears a daughter, not a son, we have nothing to fear; if the Child dies in infancy before growing up, we also have nothing to fear."
"But what if it truly is a son?" His Majesty the King insisted, "What if he survives?"
"Lord Eddard," Varys continued. "You seem to have forgotten something even more important: Daenerys's husband is equally ambitious. The fires of the East will eventually return to the West. The fleet of the Triarchy has already controlled Myr, Tyrosh, and the Stepstones. These warships can't just be for show, can they? Just like in the Dance of the Dragons, the fleet of the Three Daughters blocked the Gullet."
"Indeed," His Majesty the King said bitterly, then drank a large cup of wine. "Why hasn't Stannis returned yet? He needs to take charge of the Royal Fleet."
Eddard frowned. Stannis probably didn't want to return. "If we act this way, it might backfire. The kings of the Alliance of the Twin Cities will count their fleets and armies and seek revenge against us."
"Revenge? He is a traitor," His Majesty the King shouted.
"Your Majesty, you share a blood relation and should not be so cold. Moreover, the old gods and new gods would all despise kinslaying," Eddard couldn't help but say. "Perhaps envoys are better than swords."
"That is precisely why we need you," Varys said. "Give the order, Lord Hand."
"I truly cannot give such an order," Eddard sighed. "If it were a direct confrontation, letting knights and fleets clash, I would not refuse."
"Gods above! Stark, you always have this stubborn temper!" His Majesty the King looked around the council table. "What, are you all mute? Who will reason with this frozen fool?"
Varys gave His Majesty the King a fawning smile, then reached out and placed his hand on Eddard's sleeve. "Lord Stark, you are a good man. But we must make a choice."
Lord Renly shrugged: "To me, this is simple. Viserys and his sister should have been killed long ago. It's only because His Majesty my brother mistakenly believed Jon Arryn's words back then."
"Lord Renly, mercy is never a mistake," Eddard replied. Eddard then pointed out a vivid example: Ser Barristan, the Old Knight, today. Ser Barristan had cut down a dozen excellent warriors on the Trident River, inflicting heavy losses on the rebel army. The Old Knight himself was covered in wounds, and Roose Bolton suggested slitting the Old Knight's throat. But His Majesty the King pardoned him and had the Old Maester treat his wounds.
But His Majesty the King did not yield in the slightest; His Majesty the King's face was red with anger. He had indeed been magnanimous back then, but pardoning the White Knight did not mean pardoning the remnants of House Targaryen.
"We are to kill everyone from House Targaryen!" His Majesty the King roared.
"Your Majesty, I remember even Rhaegar couldn't scare you before," Eddard struggled to control the contempt in his tone, but failed. "Has your courage become so small after all these years that even the shadow of an unborn Child makes you tremble?"
His Majesty the King and Eddard's argument was very fierce, and Eddard felt he was the isolated one. Because the courtiers began to express their opinions with their words, unfortunately, except for the Old Knight, no one agreed with him.
His Majesty the King's opinion was assassination, and everyone began to agree with His Majesty the King's opinion. Varys, Lord Renly, not to mention Littlefinger.
Eddard scanned the faces of the crowd, feeling a deep sense of loneliness. Only the Old Knight was like Eddard, but they were outnumbered.
Ser Barristan raised his pale blue eyes from the table, "Your Majesty, it is glorious to face an enemy on the battlefield, but it is not honorable to act before a person is even born. Please forgive me, I must stand with Lord Eddard."
The Old Maester, however, did not agree with his colleague's opinion, but instead spoke some broad principles for the welfare of the entire kingdom. The remnants of the Dragon King would bring war. "If the death of one Daenerys could save thousands of lives, would that not be a wiser, or even more merciful, course of action?"
His Majesty the King looked at Eddard. On this matter, he had a satisfactory answer; everyone except Eddard and Barristan nodded in agreement. "You see, Eddard, that's how it is."
The words that followed were even more biting. Once His Majesty the King's opinion was set, it would not change. The only concern was how to assassinate. Everyone discussed, and the methods of assassination were varied. In the end, Varys still suggested using poison, the tears of lys.
Everyone's eyes were on Eddard. This matter had reached its most crucial step; they needed the hand of the king to stamp the decree.
Eddard met those gazes. He should obey His Majesty the King, but he had to adhere to his principles; he was a Stark of Winterfell. "Robert, I absolutely cannot be an accomplice to murder. His Majesty the King can do as he pleases, but I will absolutely not affix my seal."
Eddard watched His Majesty the King's face slowly turn red. Eddard understood why His Majesty the King had so many sycophants and idiots around him: because His Majesty the King never liked to be refused; he liked obedient people, even if they were a bunch of clowns.
His Majesty the King, red-faced, stood up like a towering small mountain. His Majesty the King's voice was as loud as thunder, and His Majesty the King angrily pointed at Eddard. "Lord Stark, you are the hand of the king. You will do as I say, or I will find someone more competent."
"Then I hope you find a new hand of the king who is fit for this office," Eddard felt a pang of pain, then unfastened the clasp of his cloak, taking off the carved silver hand badge symbolizing the hand of the king, and threw it on the table in front of His Majesty the King. This man was once his friend, but he had changed so much that Eddard no longer recognized him. That throne seemed to have changed too much. His beloved friend, Eddard began to feel sad. "Robert, I thought you weren't this kind of person. I thought we had crowned a nobler king."
"Get out!" His Majesty the King roared, his face purple. His Majesty the King's curses grew more hysterical. "…Get out, get back to Winterfell. You had better never let me see your face again in this life, or I swear I'll cut off your head and hang it on the wall."
Eddard bowed, then left without a word, as if nothing had happened, letting these people find a way to assassinate.
Eddard left the hall, the door closing behind him. Ser Boros, the White Knight, stood guard outside. He cast a quick, suspicious glance at Eddard from the corner of his eye. The hand of the king left without a word, but he did not ask further.
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