The North, Winterfell.
Lady Catelyn Tully barely had time to register the news brought by her maid before rushing up the tower steps, nearly stumbling in her haste to reach her son, Bran Stark's, room.
And there, to her astonishment, she found her son—who had been unconscious for nearly a month—miraculously awake.
"Bran…" Catelyn managed to utter his name before tears welled up and overflowed.
"Mother," Bran said weakly, looking toward the door. His young direwolf, crowded onto the bed beside him, enthusiastically licked his cheek with its warm tongue.
The sensation stirred something in Bran. "I've thought of a name for him," he said. "I'll call him… Summer."
Catelyn fell to her knees beside him, sobbing openly.
After a long while, she composed herself. At that moment, her eldest son, Robb Stark, came rushing in to see his awakened brother.
"How did you fall, Bran?" Robb asked.
"I don't know… I can't remember anything…"
"Bran, try to think," Catelyn urged as she gently wiped her son's face. "You've never slipped before."
"I…" Bran's brow furrowed deeply as he strained to recall. After a long moment, he managed to whisper a single word, "Gold."
"Gold?" Robb leaned in closer. "Brother, what gold?"
"I don't know. I just remember… I think I saw gold."
Seeing Bran's exhaustion, Catelyn said softly, "That's enough, Bran. If you can't remember, don't force it. Just rest."
Bran nodded, and Catelyn carefully tucked the blanket around him. Then, taking Robb by the arm, she led him out of the room.
Once outside, Robb hesitated before saying, "Mother, do you think Bran didn't fall by accident?"
"Bran's never slipped before," Catelyn repeated firmly.
"So someone… pushed him? But what does 'gold' mean?"
A troubled look crossed Catelyn's face. "Afterward, I looked into it. The day Bran fell from the tower, your father was out hunting in the Wolfswood with the king. The queen did not accompany them."
Robb's eyes widened in shock as he blurted out, "The queen is golden-haired! Could that be what Bran meant by 'gold'?"
Catelyn's hands trembled slightly, her mind racing.
"But why would the queen push Bran?" Robb asked, bewildered. "He's just a child. He hasn't wronged her in any way."
"She must have feared Bran overheard something he wasn't supposed to," Catelyn said, nearly grinding her teeth in anger.
She forced herself to calm down after a long silence. "I must go to King's Landing and tell your father about this."
"Mother, you don't need to go yourself. I'll send someone—"
"No." Catelyn interrupted him. "This is too important; I can't trust anyone else. And as Winterfell's steward in your father's absence, you cannot leave either. I must be the one to go."
Robb hesitated, then relented. "Very well. I'll send a guard to accompany you."
"No need. A large escort would attract unnecessary attention. I'll slip away quietly, with only Ser Rodrik by my side."
"Then, please be careful on your journey, Mother."
---
King's Landing
The king's procession finally arrived in King's Landing, though it was greeted by nothing but a torrential downpour, making any formal welcome impossible. The drenched nobles hurried straight to the Red Keep, looking rather bedraggled.
After considerable effort calming his two wailing daughters, Lord Eddard Stark hoped for nothing more than a quiet, solitary bath. But to his dismay, he was soon interrupted by the steward of the royal court.
"Lord Eddard, the Small Council is meeting now. When they heard of your arrival, they sent me to ask for your presence."
Eddard dearly wanted to refuse, but he swallowed his reluctance and said, "Very well. Please allow me a few minutes to change."
"Of course, my lord."
Once he had freshened up, Eddard dragged his weary body to the council chamber, where the last person he wished to see, the Master of Whisper Varys, came to greet him with a smile.
"Lord Eddard, welcome to King's Landing!"
The rich scent of Varys's perfume made Eddard wince slightly. "Lord Varys."
As he passed a screen, Eddard noticed the other council members: the Master of Coin, Petyr "Littlefinger" Baelish, and the Grand Maester, Pycelle.
After exchanging formalities with each, Eddard took a seat to the right of the head of the table, where the high-backed chair bore the golden crowned stag of House Baratheon—the king's seat. Yet it was clear from its pristine condition that Robert scarcely sat there himself.
"My apologies for keeping you waiting," Eddard said, settling in.
Looking around, he saw that only four of the eight council seats were occupied.
He knew that Lord Renly, the Master of Laws, had gone to the Eyrie to fetch Lady Lysa and her son, so he could hardly be expected. But as for the others…
"Shouldn't we wait for His Grace and Ser Barristan before we begin?" Eddard suggested.
"Who knows how long that would take," Petyr replied, his tone carrying a hint of mockery.
"Our esteemed king has many matters to attend to, so he leaves these trivialities to us," Varys explained with a syrupy smile.
Eddard shook his head, though he kept his thoughts to himself. "What of Lord Stannis, the Master of Ships?"
Varys chuckled softly. "Lord Stannis left for Dragonstone as soon as he heard you'd be named Hand of the King."
Eddard frowned, puzzled as to why he might have offended the king's elder brother.
Varys continued, sensing Eddard's confusion. "Don't take it personally, my lord. Stannis simply would not be content with anyone as Hand but himself."
Eddard realized then that Lord Stannis had coveted the position of Hand of the King.
So, he had barely arrived in King's Landing, done nothing, and already managed to offend two powerful figures.
Oh, and let's not forget the queen…
"In that case, let's begin," Eddard announced, steeling himself for the session.
"As you wish." Varys smiled slyly, withdrawing a parchment from the folds of his sleeve and handing it to Eddard. "Lord Eddard, this is a matter of urgency sent by the king himself on his journey here. He asked that we see it swiftly carried out."
Eddard took the parchment, first verifying the king's seal and Robert's signature, before he began to read.
The further he read, the deeper his frown.
The king had ordered a grand tourney to celebrate the appointment of his new Hand.
Eddard quickly deduced that the order must have been sent after his clash with the queen—Robert's way of attempting to make amends with his old friend.
But Eddard wanted no part of such an "amendment."
He stared in disbelief at the prize amounts listed for the tourney's champions:
Forty thousand gold dragons for the joust champion, twenty thousand for the runner-up, twenty thousand for the melee champion, and ten thousand for the archery champion…
And those were only the prize amounts. The overall expenses would be astronomical.
"How much remains in the treasury?" Eddard asked.
"What treasury?" Petyr replied, spreading his hands. "The royal coffers have been empty for years, Lord Eddard."
"Then how does the crown meet its daily expenses…"
"We borrow." Petyr shrugged. "The tourney funds will have to come from loans as well. We already owe Lord Tywin over three million gold dragons—what's a few more?"
"Three million?" Eddard's voice was heavy with disbelief. "Are you telling me the crown owes House Lannister three million gold dragons?"
"Three million is just the debt to the Lannisters," Petyr said, smirking. "We also owe the Tyrells, the Faith of the Seven, the Iron Bank of Braavos, the Tyroshi merchant guilds… Altogether, about six million gold dragons."
Eddard's mouth fell open. He had no words.
After a long silence, he managed to ask, "How could it come to this?"
"We have a generous king," Petyr replied with a knowing chuckle.
"Have none of you tried to reason with him?" Eddard demanded.
Pycelle shook his head. "Even Lord Jon could not sway him."
"Indeed," Varys chimed in. "Our king loves his tourneys, his hunts, fine food, good wine… But what he hates most is 'counting coppers.'"
"I see. I'll speak with him." Eddard's voice was grim, the weight of his responsibility settling heavily upon him.
"That would be ideal," Petyr agreed. "But in the meantime, let's proceed with planning the tourney."
"We'll wait until I've spoken with His Grace," Eddard declared, effectively ending the discussion.
Petyr's face betrayed a hint of amusement. He seemed to find Eddard's resolve to dissuade Robert hopelessly naive.
The council members then moved on to discuss other matters.
When the meeting adjourned, Petyr left the chamber only to find Varys trailing after him.
"Lord Varys, is there something you need?" Petyr asked.
Varys's expression was one of barely concealed amusement. "Lord Baelish, my little birds have recently picked up some interesting rumors about you."
Petyr suppressed a flicker of irritation, keeping his composure. "What rumors?"
"Rumors about you and Lady Lysa Arryn," Varys replied, his tone delighted, as if savoring every word.
Petyr felt his muscles tense, but he forced himself to remain calm. "And what nonsense has someone been spreading about me and Lady Lysa?"
"Yes, it does sound a bit far-fetched, doesn't it? But they say you have long held feelings for Lady Lysa, feelings you had to restrain when she married Lord Jon Arryn. Now that Lord Jon has passed, they say you plan to propose to her…"
"Ridiculous!" Petyr said, his tone cracking as he struggled to control his irritation. "This is baseless slander!"
"Perhaps," Varys said with a shrug. "Thankfully, this rumor only began circulating within the last fortnight, so it hasn't spread far. But if you're concerned about the reputations of both you and Lady Lysa, I would suggest addressing it promptly."
"Can we trace the source of this rumor?" Petyr asked through gritted teeth.
"Alas, no," Varys replied, feigning regret. "There are simply too many people in King's Landing—even my little birds cannot always pinpoint the origin of something so minor. And truly, does it matter? Every noble has some gossip swirling around them. The smallfolk love to speculate."
With that, Varys gave him a sly smile and drifted away, leaving Petyr standing alone, deep in thought.
(End of Chapter)