King's Landing.
The weather was damp and stifling.
As Ned walked through the outer courtyard of the Red Keep, it felt as if the entire city were wrapped in a wet towel.
By the time he reached the Maester's Tower, his silk outer robe was soaked through with sweat, clinging tightly to his chest.
Maester Pycelle, bent with age, was standing in the shade at the base of the tower, craning his neck as he waited.
Ned let out a light breath and quickened his pace toward him.
Looking at Pycelle, he exchanged a brief greeting. "Maester, the weather in King's Landing is unbearably hot."
Pycelle nodded in agreement. "Indeed. Though after staying here long enough, one eventually grows used to it."
He stepped aside to clear the doorway and added, "Lord Hand, please come in."
Ned inclined his head and followed Pycelle into the tower.
The moment he entered, the air felt noticeably cooler.
Led by Pycelle, Ned followed him up to a shaded viewing terrace on the second floor.
He glanced around. Aside from a table and chairs set beneath an open sunshade, there was nothing else on the terrace.
Standing there and looking southeast, Ned could even see the blue surface of the sea.
A light breeze passed by, and he could not help letting out a comfortable breath.
At that moment, a slender maid approached, carrying a wooden tray with two cups of chilled milk.
Pycelle glanced at her and instructed, "Good child, place them on the table."
The maid set the milk on the round table and quietly withdrew.
"Lord Hand, please sit."
Ned did not stand on ceremony. He followed Pycelle under the sunshade, pulled out a chair, and sat down.
He picked up the chilled milk in front of him and took a small sip.
An overly sweet, icy taste bloomed on his tongue.
Ned frowned slightly. He did not care much for the flavor.
Pycelle, on the other hand, seemed to enjoy it greatly. He also took a sip, his eyes narrowing in contentment.
After a moment, he set the cup down and moved to the main topic.
"Lord Hand, I thought it would be a few more days before you came to see me. After all, preparing for a tourney is no small matter."
Ned agreed deeply. "Yes. The king is far too willful."
Since the last small council meeting, he had tried to find Robert and persuade him to abandon the idea of holding a grand tourney.
But to his surprise, Robert had already ordered the announcement made.
From the Crownlands nearby to distant Dorne and the Riverlands, knights had begun flooding into King's Landing without pause.
These past few days, simply arranging accommodations for those troublemaking knights had left Ned exhausted.
That was not to mention finding a way to raise the prize money for the tourney.
Fortunately, Littlefinger's silver tongue had worked wonders. He had somehow wrung a sum of gold dragons out of the High Septon, barely enough to keep things going.
At the same time, faced with the massive deficit in the royal treasury, Ned had no choice but to grit his teeth and follow Littlefinger's suggestion to borrow from the Lannisters once more.
The matter of the wildlings beyond the Wall was pressing. Supplies and troops had to be prepared and sent to Castle Black as soon as possible.
Ned had originally thought that Tywin would refuse.
Instead, Tywin's reply agreed to another loan to the Iron Throne, but with one condition.
Robert was to grant a royal pardon allowing Jaime to leave the Kingsguard.
"One million gold dragons, just to let the Kingslayer return to House Lannister?"
"What a bargain that would be."
When Robert heard this, he rejected it outright.
He handed the matter to Ned and privately told him that at the very least, Tywin would have to forgive all the Crown's debts to the Lannisters before he would agree to Jaime leaving the Kingsguard.
Otherwise, there would be no discussion.
This suited Ned perfectly.
Ever since Catelyn had told him that Joffrey was also one of the conspirators behind the attempt on Bran's life, Ned had become convinced that Jaime and Cersei were at the center of it all.
If Jaime were allowed to leave the Kingsguard, he would once again become the heir to Casterly Rock.
To Ned, that would be like letting a tiger return to the mountains.
Pycelle, of course, knew nothing of these details, but he had his own considerations.
He had been operating in King's Landing for many years, and no one knew that he was Tywin's man, always placing Tywin's interests first.
So he looked at Ned with a probing gaze and spoke with ulterior motives.
"In truth, allowing Ser Jaime to leave the Kingsguard is not entirely unreasonable.
The Crown's debts are simply too great.
If exchanging Ser Jaime could reduce part of that burden, it would surely help Your Lordship govern the realm."
Ned's eyes flickered as he countered with a test of his own.
"Maester, did Lord Tywin write to you?
Asking you to persuade the king to allow Jaime to return to House Lannister?"
Pycelle's heart skipped a beat, but his expression remained steady.
"Heh, of course not.
It is only that there have been rumors lately that Your Lordship intends to reform the City Watch. That, too, requires gold.
That is why I raised the matter."
Ned sighed. "King's Landing truly is a city without secrets. I have not even begun, yet the rumors are already everywhere."
Pycelle chuckled in agreement.
Seeing this, Ned did not pursue the matter further. After all, that was not the purpose of his visit today.
He set aside the previous topic and asked directly, "Maester, I wish to ask you this. What illness did Lord Arryn truly die of?"
Pycelle took another sip of milk and recalled the past.
"It was rather strange. One day, he came to me asking for a book, and his health seemed as robust as ever.
Yet I could tell there was something weighing on his mind.
The very next day, his entire body was wracked with pain, and he could no longer rise from his bed."
As he spoke, he carefully observed Ned's expression.
"Maester Colemon believed it was merely a chill of the bowels, but over the following days, his condition worsened.
So I had no choice but to personally treat Lord Arryn. Alas, the gods did not grant me the power to save him."
When he finished, Pycelle let out a heavy sigh.
Ned found nothing amiss in his account and asked, "I heard that you dismissed Maester Colemon at the time?"
Pycelle nodded slowly and solemnly.
"Yes. I fear Lady Lysa will never forgive me for it.
I hold Maester Colemon's abilities in high regard, but he is young and does not understand how frail the bodies of men of Lord Arryn's age can be.
He gave Lord Arryn a purgative, intending to draw out poison, but perhaps his good intentions only made matters worse."
Ned could find no flaw in Pycelle's words.
"Did Lord Arryn say anything to you when he was close to death?"
Pycelle frowned deeply as he searched his memory.
"When Lord Arryn burned with fever, he repeatedly cried out Robert's name. I could not tell whether he was calling for his son or the king.
The king did come to see him.
After I fed him milk of the poppy, he once said to the king, 'The seed is strong,' and only then did he pass away."
Ned's brow furrowed. "The seed is strong?"
He looked to Pycelle for an explanation, but the maester shook his head as well, indicating he did not understand the meaning of Arryn's final words.
Ned lifted the cup of cloyingly sweet milk and took another sip. Then he asked his final question.
"I am curious about the book Lord Arryn borrowed from you before he fell ill. Might I take it back with me to read for a few days?"
Pycelle seemed to have anticipated this. He had someone fetch the book at once.
Ned took the volume, a record of the genealogies of the great houses, and then took his leave of Pycelle.
After Ned departed, Pycelle slowly rose to his feet and gazed out toward the distant sea.
"The winds are rising again…"
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