The Tower of the Hand.
Duke Eddard had entrusted the matter of his squire Heward to Ser Gawen, while he himself investigated the kitchen maid, the stablehand, and the serving boy Varys had spoken of.
He waited in his solar for Captain Jory Cassel's report, idly leafing through a book Grand Maester Pycelle's servant had delivered:
The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms, written by Maester Malleon.
The tome was more than a century old. For once, Pycelle had shown some rare honesty—this was indeed a tedious work.
Eddard forced himself to endure the boredom, thinking: if Jon Arryn had read this book in his final days, there must have been a reason. Somewhere in these brittle, yellowing pages a secret lay buried. The question was whether he could uncover it quickly enough.
What could it be? His brow furrowed as he turned to the section on House Lannister.
House Lannister was of ancient lineage, tracing its descent back to the Age of Heroes and to Lann the Clever, trickster and rogue. Like Bran the Builder of House Stark, his tale was wrapped in legend, yet he was far more beloved of singers and storytellers.
In the songs, Lann had driven the Casterlys from Casterly Rock without drawing a blade, relying only on his wits. He stole gold from the sun to gild his curly hair, birthing a golden-haired dynasty.
It was said Lann had lived for 312 years, siring a hundred bold sons and a hundred fair daughters. His descendants were handsome and strong, their hair shining like sunlight.
But Casterly Rock grew too crowded, forcing cadet branches to settle nearby villages, which grew into a town, and then into Lannisport.
Eddard wished, not for the first time, that Lann the Clever might appear before him now and point to the secret hidden in these cursed pages.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
Closing the book, he knew it must be his captain with news.
"Enter."
Jory strode in, bowed, and said, "My lord."
Eddard inclined his head. "Well?"
"I spoke with each of them," Jory began. "First was the stablehand, who has since joined the Goldcloaks. He claimed he and Lord Arryn got on well… said the Hand would often slip the lads a few coins on their namedays. He praised Lord Arryn's care for the horses—never overworking them, always bringing carrots and apples. The beasts loved him for it."
"Carrots and apples," Eddard repeated dryly. That was little help. "And the others?"
"The second was a kitchen girl. She said Lord Arryn read late into the night, fretted over his sickly young son, and…" Jory hesitated. "And that he was rough with Lady Lysa."
Eddard's grey eyes flicked back to the book on his desk. "She said Jon was rough with Lysa?"
"I swear it, my lord," Jory said firmly.
After a pause, Eddard gestured. "Go on."
"The third was the serving boy, now earning coin as a carter. He'd never spoken with Lord Arryn, but he'd heard much gossip. That the Hand quarreled often with the king. That he complained of the food. That he planned to foster his son on Dragonstone. That he suddenly grew fond of hounds. That he went to the Street of Steel to commission a new suit of armor, plated all in silver, with a falcon of blue sapphire upon the breast, and a crescent moon of mother-of-pearl."
Jory paused. "He also said Lord Arryn was riding out often."
Eddard leaned forward. "Did he say where?"
"The boy swore he heard from Arryn's guards that he visited… a brothel."
"A brothel?" Eddard frowned deeply. Too many whispers of brothels this day.
"He swore it true, my lord. He said the guards joked of it while he held their horses."
Eddard found it hard to believe. The man who had raised him, a father in all but name, would never dishonor himself so. Not unless… unless he had some dire need.
And Jon Arryn, of all men, would never don silvered armor studded with jewels. He had taught Robert and Ned alike that armor was for protection, not adornment.
Perhaps years in the Red Keep had changed him, but the change seemed too great. Something was wrong. The truth might lie with Arryn's household guard—yet Lysa had taken them all to the Vale. Seven hells.
Eddard resolved to go to the Street of Steel himself. As for the brothel, he glanced at his captain.
"Jory, that will be your charge."
Jory grinned. "A hard duty, my lord."
As he descended, he found Petyr Baelish at the window. The man turned gracefully, bowing with practiced ease.
"My lord Hand," Baelish rasped, smiling, "off somewhere?"
Eddard dismissed his men, then faced him. "Why seek me out?"
Baelish spread his hands. "The matter of brothels at the council table still weighs on you, I see."
"That was a council, not a winesink."
Baelish shrugged, feigning helplessness. "The council is too grave a place, and someone must play the fool."
Eddard held his gaze. "You know well I do not like you, Petyr."
Baelish's smile turned bitter. "Because I am a sentimental fool myself. I feared Lady Catelyn might despise me for not aiding her husband. Better that all think me cruel and corrupt than to see me for what I am."
Eddard did not believe a word. Yet Lord Gawen's counsel rang in his ears: anyone could be the hunter who slew Jon Arryn. Wolves had patience enough to wait.
"I do not trust you," he said flatly.
"Good," said Baelish. "Trust no one in the Red Keep. Not even your own eyes."
Petyr pointed from the window. "See there—the boy sharpening a dagger outside the armory? He is Varys's man. And on the wall, above the stables? That guard belongs to Cersei. They watch every door, every step. The Red Keep has no secrets."
Eddard's anger flared. "Then the whole castle is spies?"
"Indeed. You, your children, your guards, your servants—anyone you touch."
"By the gods, I will cleanse this place."
Baelish smiled thinly. "Easier to make the Others dance. Here, everyone has a price. This morning, a boy picked my purse and sold word of your visit to Pycelle and Varys. Your movements are worth almost as much as the king's."
"Seven hells!" Ned cursed.
"That is the game here, my lord. Learn it quickly."
"I will never bend to it," Eddard growled.
Baelish shrugged. "Starks are stubborn. One day, you will fall, and the sound of your breaking will not be long in coming."
Petyr smirked, then added, "But I will help you. My men will take yours to the brothel Jon Arryn visited."
Eddard studied him. "Perhaps I should trust you."
"No. Never trust anyone in the Red Keep," Baelish murmured smoothly. "Now, forgive me. I must to supper with Lady Tanda. She would wed me to her daughter. I would sooner marry a pig… though her eel pie is quite delicious."
With a bow, Littlefinger departed.
.
.
.
🔥 The Throne's Last Flame — A Song Forged in Ice and Wrath 🔥
📯 Lords and Ladies of the Realm, heed the call! 📯
The saga burns ever brighter—30 chapters ahead now await, available only to those who swear their loyalty on Patreon. 🐉❄️🔥
Walk among dragons, defy the cold, and stake your claim in a world where crowns are won with fire and fury.
🔗 Claim your place: www.patreon.com/DrManhattanEN
👤 Known on Patreon as: DrManhattanEN
Your loyalty feeds the flame. And fire remembers.