Lord Stark sat in the hand's chair with the small council around him. He was massaging his brow, not enjoying his new position in the slightest.
Lord Janos Slynt, captain of the gold cloaks, stood proudly before them. "It's the hand's tournament that's causing all this trouble, my lords."
Slynt dared not move an inch. The growling black beast that was Vera was waiting for the slightest of chances to rip at his throat as she laid down at Lord Starks feet under the table.
"The kings tournament," corrected Lord Stark, "I assure you, the hand wants no part of it."
"Call it what you will, Lord Stark, sir. The city is packed with more people, and people are flooding in every day. Last night we had a tavern riot, a brothel fire, three stabbings, and a drunken horse race down the street of sisters."
Lord Varys shook his head. He wasn't really a lord, but they called him one anyway. "Dreadful."
"If you can't keep the king's peace," said Renly, raising a grape to his mouth, "Perhaps the city watch should be commanded by someone who can."
*WOOF!*
Vera barked eagerly at the suggestion. Out of all the small council, she seemed to like Renly the most.
Slynt hesitated after hearing Vera, answering softly and carefully, "I. . . I need more men."
"You'll get 50." Lord Stark said, "Lord Baelish will see it paid for."
"I will?" asked Littlefinger.
*GRRRRRRRR!*
Vera began to snarl, but Lord Stark reached below the table and scratched at her head, calming her, "You found money for a champion's purse. You'll find money to keep the peace."
He then faced Janos Slynt, "I'll also give you 20 of my household guard."
At those words, Vera got up and barked ferociously at Slynt, *WOOF WOOF WOOF!!!*, before turning defiantly to Lord Stark.
*WOOF!*, the bark almost pleads with him, *WOOF! WOOF!*
"Hmm? What's wrong, girl?"
*WOOF! WOOF!*
"You don't think I should use the guard?"
Vera's tail wagged at that, *WOOF!*
Lord Vary's wanted to smile, but he dared not show it. It was nice to see at least *someone* on Lord Stark's side who practised some common sense.
The rest of the small council exchanged awkward glances. Things had been different since Lord Stark arrived with this damned bloodhound. It was like she could sniff the odor of lies.
". . . Very well. You'll have to accept my apologies, my lord. Vera here fancies herself as head of my security. 50 men are all I can give you."
"Thank you, my lord hand, sir. They will be put to good use."
With those words, Janos Slynt hastily bowed. He didn't dare to glance at Vera. He left the council chambers, happy to have survived.
Vera, pleased with herself, happily took her position at Lord Starks feet once again.
The weight of the day was growing tiresome for Lord Stark. The blasted tourney had caused more strife than good, "The sooner this is over, the better." He said, taking a needed swig of wine.
"The realm prospers from such events, my lord," Lord Varys said, "They give the great a chance at glory and the lowly a respite from their woes."
Littlefinger chimed in with a thin smile, "And every inn in the city is full, and the whores are walking bow-legged."
*GRRRR…* the rumble of Vera vibrated below.
"I'm sure the tourney puts coins in many-a-pocket. Now, if there's nothing else, my lords. . ."
Lord Stark stood, and the council followed suit. Renly burst out immediately. Vary's gave Lord Stark a mummer's grin. Littlefinger's smile was equally as ominious. . .
Looking around, Lord Stark felt lonely. Fakes and vultures surrounded him. Vera seemed to be the only one that told him the truth. The only one that shared with him that pureness of the north.
Grand maester Pycelle was slow to leave. He lumbered around his old bones as if the chains around his neck were weighing him down. "Oh, this heat. On days like this, I envy you northerners." He said, trying his best to ignore Vera's snarls, "Your summer snows. . . Till tomorrow, my lord-"
"I'd been hoping to talk to you about Jon Arryn," said Lord Stark, leaning over the small council table with CEO-like authority.
Pycelle turned, "Lord Arryn? Oof, his death was a great sadness to all of us. I took personal charge of his care but I could not save him."
Vera got up and poised herself to leap at Pycelle as if his words spurred her action, but Lord Stark stopped her.
"Heel, girl. It's alright."
Lord Stark then gave Pycelle a reassuring nod, "Continue."
Pycelle hesitated for a moment before continuing, ". . . His sickness struck him very hard and very fast. I saw him in my chambers just the night before. Lord Jon often came to me for council."
Vera had received her orders, but that didn't stop her from doing her menacing growl.
Vera's attitude against Pycelle was not lost on Lord Stark. He pretended he didn't know why Vera had a problem with his fellow small council, recalling his secret meeting with his wife, who had recently visited the capital to warn him of danger.
He could play the northern fool quite well if need be.
"Why?" Lord Stark asked, ignoring Pycelle's obvious concern for his safety.
Pycelle straightened his back at the question; his pride showed itself, "I have been grand maester for many years. Kings and hands have come to me for advice since-"
"What did Jon want the night before he died?"
Lord Stark had not been in Kings Landing long, but even this brief time was enough for him to be impatient with the long-winded way Pycelle talked.
It was the like the old blubbering codger enjoyed the sound of his own voice too much. Either that, or he just wanted to be listened to.
Pycelle shook his head, "Oh, he came inquiring after a book."
"A book? What book?"
The grand maester scoffed, "I fear it would be of little interest to you, my lord. A ponderous tomb."
*WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!*
The puzzle was starting to reveal itself. "No," said Lord Stark,
"I'd like to read it."