(Kingsroad, The North, Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, Westeros, Planetos)
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(Crown Prince Lyonel Baratheon POV)
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They'd departed Winterfell, and Lyonel - like usual - had been riding near his father. They had camped for the night, and the sun was just beginning to rise when Uncle Jaime had strode in informing him his father had told him to get Lyonel ready. Apparently father wanted to go riding and was dragging him and Lord Stark along with him.
He hadn't even fucking eaten breakfast yet, and he was being dragged off on a hunt. Ah well, if nothing else he'd take his bow with him, and maybe he'd have an opportunity to take down a fox or two.
This of course meant that Aurane and Lyle would ride with him, but they'd be a few feet away with twelve Baratheon Guards. Uncle Jaime and Ser Barristan would be riding with him, Father, and Lord Stark as was their duty as Kingsguard.
Which was how it came to be he was riding with Lord Eddard a fee paves behind father.
''Are your injuries healed, Prince Lyonel?'' Lord Eddard asked.
''Partially, I occasionally get a small burst of pain. But it's far and in between. Never should have been alone but with the Kingsguard down three members and Ser Mandon and Ser Arys remaining at court while Uncle Stannis and Uncle Renly act as regents.'' Says Lyonel.
''What do you know of the three Kingsguard who died?'' Lord Eddard asked.
''I'm not one to speak ill of the dead, Lord Stark.'' His words have quite an effect with not only the Lord of Winterfell pulling up short, but also Ser Barristan and his father.
''Speak ill of the dead.'' His father orders.
''I asked Lord Varys to look into a couple of matters for me. Amongst them, were a few suspicions I had regarding a handful of people. What I got back was that Ser Preston and Meryn regularly broke their vows of Chastity, with Ser Preston being the most prolific, but Ser Meryn being the worst. Ser Boros was allegedly involved in a back alley melee, regularly betting and taking part in it. That and Ser Meryn's interests were all apparently fed by Janos Slynt.'' Lyonel spoke honestly.
''When you say interests?'' Lord Eddard asks carefully choosing his words.
''Girls who when the younger they were and the more he could beat them, the more his cock was raised up. He apparently had a thing for girls with blonde hair and blue eyes, and who were around the age of Myrcella. If you understand what I mean by that, you'll understand why I say that if whoever did kill him hadn't done so, I probably would have.'' Lyonel makes the steel in his voice as he informs them of Meryn's interest in girls younger than the age of puberty perfectly clear.
''Jon mentioned something about corruption in the City Watch once.'' His father idly recalls. ''Was this what he meant?''
''Is any of this confirmed?'' Ser Barristan asked, and Lyonel noted the hardness of his tone.
''Multiple eyewitnesses in the cases of Blount, Greenfield, and Slynt. Less reliable witnesses in the case of Trant, but honestly the sheer number of reports Varys gave me and the feeling I got from him around Myrcella make it pretty concrete.'' Lyonel admits.
''We need to call a meeting at the Tower.'' Says Barristan, more to Uncle Jaime than anybody else, who nods merely wordlessly.
''I'll need to have words with the spider.'' His father grumbles.
''I'd like to speak more later, my prince.'' Says Lord Eddard as they came across a long plain.
''This'll do. Have some chairs and a table laid out. And pour us some wine damn it.'' His father commands.
''Father I'm going to ride these plains a bit. I'll be back soon.'' Lyonel informed, not discounting his horse.
''Take your uncle with you.'' His father commands.
''Aye, father.'' Lyonel responded.
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(POV Shift: Eddard ''Ned'' Stark)
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Watching Lyonel ride out into the distance with Ser Lyle Crakehall, Ser Jaime Lannister, and Aurane Waters, Ned turned to Robert.
''What do you make of his words? Regarding the City Watch Commander and Kingsguard.'' He asked Robert.
''Jon Arryn came to me once. Mentioning corruption in the City Guard. But then Greyjoy's Rebellion happened, and when we got back I was in no mood to follow up on it. Renly was appointed shortly thereafter, as Master of Laws, but clearly he never followed up on it. And if Lyonel is correct in what he told me before we arrived, my brother was too busy sucking cock to do his job.'' Says Robert.
''Be very careful when accusing a man of that Robert. The High Septon will likely campaign hard for Renly to be removed from the Small Council and it will tarnish House Baratheon for years.'' Says Ned, sternly.
''I've ordered Lyonel to prepare a list of suitable brides. It's high time he sired an heir anyway. If he refuses, well maybe he and Stannis need to exchange titles.'' Says Robert, and he's not sure his friend is joking.
Robert took a deep breath before exhaling.
''It felt good to get out and ride the way a man was meant to ride! I swear, Ned, this Creeping along is enough to drive a man mad.'' Robert shows his impatient nature, seemingly never having lost it from their youth. ''That Damnable Wheelhouse, the way it creaks and groans, climbing every bump as if it were a mountain… I promise you, if ths4 wretched thing breaks another axle, I'm going to burn it and Cersei and Joffrey can walk.''
Ned laughed, knowing Robert was venting. ''I will gladly light the torch for you.'' He replied.
''Good man!'' Robert said clapping him on the shoulder. ''I've half a mind to leave them all and just keep going.''
A small smile touched his lips. ''I do believe you mean it.''
''I do, believe me, I do.'' Robert said tiredly. ''What do you say, Ned? Just you and me, two vagabond knights on the Kingsroad, our swords at our sides, and the gods knows what's in front of us. Maybe a farmer's daughter or a tavern wench to warm our beds tonight.'' Robert said, tiredness giving way to slight eagerness.
''Would that we could.'' Ned said. ''But we have duties now, my liege . . . to the realm, to our children, I to my lady wife, and you to your queen. We are not the boys we were.''
''You were never the boy you were.'' Robert grumbled. ''More's the pity. And yet there was that one time . . . what was her name, that common girl of yours? Becca? No, she was one of mine, gods I loved her, black hair and these sweet big eyes, you could drown in them. Yours was . . . Aleena? No, no. You told me once. Was it Merryl? You know the one I mean, your bastard's mother?''
''Her name was Wylla.'' Ned replied with cool courtesy, "And I would sooner not speak of her.''
''Wylla. Yes.'' The king grinned. ''She must have been a rare wench if she could make Lord Eddard Stark forget his honor, even for an hour. You never told me what she looked like . . . ''
Ned's mouth tightened in anger. ''Nor will I. Leave it be, Robert, for the love you say you bear me. I dishonored myself and I dishonored Catelyn, in the sight of gods and men.''
''Gods have mercy, we were at war and besides, you scarcely knew Catelyn.''
''I had taken her to wife. She was carrying my child.''
''You are too hard on yourself, Ned. You always were. Damn it, no woman wants Baelor the Blessed in her bed.'' He slapped a hand on his knee. ''Well, I'll not press you if you feel so strong about it, though I swear, at times you're so prickly you ought to take the hedgehog as your sigil.''
The rising sun sent fingers of light through the pale white mists of dawn. A wide plain spread out beneath them, bare and brown, its flatness here and there relieved by long, low hummocks. Ned pointed them out to his king. ''The Barrows of the First Men.''
Robert frowned. ''Have we ridden onto a graveyard?''
''There are barrows everywhere in the north, Your Grace.'' Ned told him. ''This land is old and it's customs older still.''
''And cold.'' Robert grumbled, pulling his cloak more tightly around himself. The guards were a few feet away at the bottom of the small hill they were sat upon overlooking the plains. ''Well, I did not bring you out here to talk of graves or bicker about your bastard. There was a rider in the night, from Lord Varys in King's Landing. Here.'' The king pulled a paper from his belt and handed it to Ned.
Varys the eunuch was the king's master of whisperers. He served Robert now as he had once served Aerys Targaryen. Ned unrolled the paper with trepidation, thinking of Lysa and her terrible accusation, but the message did not concern Lady Arryn. ''What is the source for this information?''
''Do you remember Ser Jorah Mormont?''
''Would that I might forget him.'' Ned said bluntly. The Mormonts of Bear Island were an old house, proud and honorable, but their lands were cold and distant and poor. Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king's justice. Five years had passed since then.
''Ser Jorah is now in Pentos, anxious to earn a royal pardon that would allow him to return from exile.'' Robert explained. ''Lord Varys makes good use of him.''
''So the slaver has become a spy.'' Ned said with distaste. He handed the letter back. ''I would rather he become a corpse.''
''Varys tells me that spies are more useful than corpses.'' Robert said. ''Jorah aside, what do you make of his report?''
''Daenerys Targaryen has wed some Dothraki horselord. What of it? Shall we send her a wedding gift?''
The king frowned. ''A knife, perhaps. A good sharp one, and a bold man to wield it.''
Ned did not feign surprise; Robert's hatred of the Targaryens was a madness in him. He remembered the angry words they had exchanged when Tywin Lannister had presented Robert with the corpses of Rhaegar's wife and children as a token of fealty. Ned had named that murder; Robert called it war. When he had protested that the young prince and princess were no more than babes, his new-made king had replied, ''I see no babes. Only dragonspawn.'' Not even Jon Arryn had been able to calm that storm. Eddard Stark had ridden out that very day in a cold rage, to fight the last battles of the war alone in the south. It had taken another death to reconcile them; Lyanna's death, and the grief they had shared over her passing.
This time, Ned resolved to keep his temper. ''Your Grace, the girl is scarcely more than a child. You are no Tywin Lannister, to slaughter innocents.'' It was said that Rhaegar's little girl had cried as they dragged her from beneath her bed to face the swords. The boy had been no more than a babe in arms, yet Lord Tywin's soldiers had torn him from his mother's breast and dashed his head against a wall.
''And how long will this one remain innocent?'' Robert's mouth grew hard. ''This child will soon enough spread her legs and start breeding more dragonspawn to plague me, and if not me then Lyonel and his sons.''
''Nonetheless.'' Ned said, ''The murder of children . . . it would be vile . . . unspeakable . . . ''
''Unspeakable?'' The king roared. ''What Aerys did to your brother Brandon was unspeakable. The way your lord father died, was unspeakable. And Rhaegar . . . how many times do you think he raped your sister? How many hundreds of times?'' His voice had grown so loud that his horse whinnied nervously beside him. The king placed a quieting pat on the horse's side and pointed an angry finger at Ned. ''I will kill every Targaryen I can get my hands on until they are as dead as their dragons, and then I will piss on their graves.''
Ned knew better than to defy him when the wrath was on him. If the years had not quenched Robert's thirst for revenge, no words of his would help. ''You can't get your hands on this one, can you?'' he said quietly.
The king's mouth twisted in a bitter grimace. ''No, gods be cursed. Some pox-ridden Pentoshi cheesemonger had her brother and her walled up on his estate with pointy-hatted eunuchs all around them, and now he's handed them over to the Dothraki. I should have had them both killed years ago when it was easy to get at them, but Jon was as bad as you. More fool I, I listened to him.''
''Jon Arryn was a wise man and a good Hand.''
Robert snorted. The anger was leaving him as suddenly as it had come. ''This Khal Drogo is said to have a hundred thousand men in his horde. What would Jon say to that?''
''He would say that even a million Dothraki are no threat to the realm, so long as they remain on the other side of the narrow sea.'' Ned replied calmly. ''The barbarians have no ships. They hate and fear the open sea.''
The king shifted uncomfortably in his saddle. ''Perhaps. There are ships to be had in the Free Cities, though. I tell you, Ned, I do not like this marriage. There are still those in the Seven Kingdoms who call me Usurper. Do you forget how many houses fought for Targaryen in the war? They bide their time for now, but give them half a chance, they will murder me in my bed, and my sons with me. If the beggar king crosses with a Dothraki horde at his back, the traitors will join him.''
''He will not cross.'' Ned promised. ''And if by some mischance he does, we will throw him back into the sea. Once you choose a new Warden of the East—''
The king groaned. ''For the last time, I will not name the Arryn boy Warden. I know the boy is your nephew, but with Targaryens climbing in bed with Dothraki, I would be mad to rest one-quarter of the realm on the shoulders of a sickly child.''
Ned was ready for that. ''Yet we still must have a Warden of the East. If Robert Arryn will not do, then name one of your brothers. Stannis proved himself at the siege of Storm's End, surely.''
He let the name hang there for a moment. The king frowned and said nothing. He looked uncomfortable.
''That is…'' Ned finished quietly, watching. ''...unless you have already promised the honor to another.''
For a moment Robert had the grace to look startled. Just as quickly, the look became an annoyance. ''What if I have?''
''It's Jaime Lannister, is it not?''
Robert laughed. ''I'd tried to, but Lyonel offered me and the Vale an acceptable alternative.'' He said at last. ''He suggested, we appoint Yohn Royce as the Warden of the East until Robin Arryn is of age and proves he can handle that weight.'' Robert reveals.
''Sounds as though your son is more of a King than you are.'' He japes.
''Tywin's influence that, Lyonel fostered with Tywin for a period of six years and if you recall, he was two years in when the Greyjoys rebelled, and after that, he served as Ser Barristan's squire, I had him knighted after he dealt with a band of fools who thought reviving the Kingswood Brotherhood was a good idea.'' Robert reveals.
''And this business with the Tyrell's who's idea was it?'' Asks Ned.
''Jon Arryn, he came to me… gods must have been three years ago now, he unsubtly hinted that it was time to begin looking for a future queen for Lyonel. I naturally went to suggest your girl Sansa, but Jon had already received Lyonel's thoughts, and he eventually won me over. I'll never really forgive them for the tactics at Storm's End, nor will Stannis, but Lyonel's arguments were sound. It's why he's been sitting in on the Small Council meetings for the last two years. He's served Stannis and Renly as a Page for a year respectively.'' Says Robert.
''And Joffrey?'' Asks Ned.
''Let's not speak of our children, let us speak of old times.'' Robert says, avoiding the topic, but Ned decides to let him this day.
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(POV Shift: Crown Prince Lyonel Baratheon)
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His small hunts had served him well, he'd bagged three foxes and a Doe. He hadn't expected to find a doe on the plains, but he had. And he'd felled it before it had time to realize it was time to flee.
So after meeting back up with Father and Lord Stark, they returned to the Royal caravan. He intended to have a good stew tonight. He had packed some thyme, rosemary, sage, dragon peppers, and onions for just such a meal.
He offered silent thanks to Myrcella for her garden. Much of the herbs came from it.
He'd maintained it with her for years, and Joffrey knew better than to mess with it. Because every time something had been done to it that was clearly intentional and destructive or just something Joffrey would do, Joffrey would get punched in the face.
It was always satisfying to punch the little inbred shit in his face. Therapeutic even.
Myrcella was his precious sister, and Tommen his beloved brother, which meant that if Joffrey ever bullied or abused them, he'd know that Lyoenl would come for him, and pay him back for every ounce of suffering he caused their siblings.
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