Chapter 147: Advice

"You're saying Petyr Baelish is the true culprit behind Jon Arryn's murder?"

In the Hand's Tower, Lord Eddard Stark regarded Prince Oberyn Martell, the "Red Viper," with a skeptical gaze.

"Yes," Oberyn replied evenly. "Otherwise, why would I have attacked him out of nowhere?"

Eddard nearly laughed in disbelief. "Petyr wasn't even at starfall when Jon died. How could he have possibly plotted his murder? Prince Oberyn, if you want to clear yourself, you'll need a better story than this."

"Petyr conspired with his secret lover, Lysa Tully, to poison Jon Arryn. That's why she's hiding in the Eyrie and won't come to King's Landing—she's wracked with guilt."

"That's your proof?"

"Then what proof do you have that I killed Jon Arryn?" Oberyn countered calmly.

Eddard paused, then replied, "That's why we're holding a trial. If we had solid evidence, you would've been sent to the gallows already."

"In that case, I demand that Petyr Baelish be tried alongside me," Oberyn said, his tone as even as before.

Eddard stared at the prince for a moment, then finally nodded. "Very well. You'll both appear as suspects in tomorrow's trial."

A smile crept over Oberyn's face. "I trust the gods will deliver a fair judgment."

Eddard gave a dry snort. "You still shouldn't have attacked Lord Baelish in the street."

"It was just a small lesson. He tried to frame me, after all."

"Your so-called framing is only your side of the story. Attacking the Master of Coin in broad daylight—Oberyn, you'll spend tonight reflecting on your actions in the black cells!" Eddard's distaste for the man was plain.

"Fine, it's just one night," Oberyn agreed casually. "But since I'm not the only suspect, I request that Petyr also be placed in the black cells alongside me."

"You're in no position to make demands." Eddard waved to the Gold Cloaks. "Take him away."

"Lord Stark," Oberyn called as the guards seized him, "tomorrow, you'll see my innocence."

"Innocence?" Eddard's eyes narrowed. "Even if you didn't kill Jon Arryn, you can hardly call yourself innocent, Red Viper. Not with all your past crimes!"

Oberyn laughed aloud. "Lord Stark, do you think yourself a paragon of virtue? Believe me—once you enter the Game of Thrones, there's no avoiding blood on your hands. Otherwise, your own blood will end up as someone else's trophy."

"Take him away!" Eddard ordered.

As Oberyn was led out, still laughing, Eddard settled back into his chair, rubbing his temples as a headache set in. After a moment, he turned to a nearby aide.

"What's Baelish's condition?"

"Grand Maester Pycelle has tended to his wound. He should survive."

"Good." Eddard nodded, but couldn't shake Oberyn's accusation. Could Baelish really have been behind Jon Arryn's death? Jon had been his liege lord, the man who'd first brought him to the Small Council. And Cat had assured him Petyr could be trusted…

But Lysa Tully…

Eddard felt a wave of nausea, his frustration boiling over. At last, he turned to his aide and ordered:

"Take Baelish to the black cells as well!"

"Yes, my lord."

After the aide left, Eddard stared out the window at the darkening sky, lost in thought. He remained like that until the steward came to announce supper, snapping him back to the present. He left the study, preoccupied, and made his way to the dining hall.

"Father."

"My lord."

Eddard nodded at Sansa and Septa Mordane, who were the only ones at the table. "Where's Arya?"

"Out playing, I suppose," Sansa replied. "I haven't seen her all day."

Septa Mordane added with a disapproving look, "My lord, lately Arya has been scrambling about the castle chasing cats, getting herself all dirty. Hardly proper behavior for a noble young lady. You really ought to rein her in."

Eddard's frown deepened, but at that moment Arya's voice called out from the doorway.

"Father!"

Turning, Eddard saw his youngest daughter, looking as scruffy as ever. Annoyed, he opened his mouth to scold her, but held his tongue when he saw who was with her.

"What have you done to yourself? Go clean up for supper."

"Okay." Arya stuck out her tongue, then darted off.

Eddard turned to Samwell and managed a tired smile. "Thank you for bringing Arya home."

"It was my pleasure." Samwell inclined his head, and then turned to leave.

"Lord Samwell," Eddard called after him. "If you wouldn't mind, would you join us for supper?"

Seeing the weariness and frustration etched on the Hand's face, Samwell nodded. "Certainly."

He greeted Sansa and Septa Mordane, then took a seat at the table. The servants brought in the meal: a venison stew with mushrooms, roasted lamb, carrot pie, vegetable salad, and a creamy onion soup.

Once Arya returned, scrubbed clean and in fresh clothes, Eddard signaled for them to begin.

Over the meal, Arya regaled them with tales of her latest cat-chasing adventure, mentioning the hidden tunnels and two mysterious men she had overheard. However, her jumbled account of their conversation failed to catch the attention of her distracted father.

After a quiet, somewhat somber supper, Eddard invited Samwell to join him on the balcony.

The night had fully fallen, with a thin crescent moon rising over the trees and dim stars scattered across the sky.

"Lord Samwell," Eddard began, "I hear you visited Lord Renly today?" Perhaps sensing his own brusque tone, he quickly added, "I mean no reproach."

Samwell smiled and answered openly. "Yes, Lord Stark. I did meet with Lord Renly, but as for what we discussed… I'm afraid I must keep that private out of respect for the other nobles involved. But I assure you, we have no intention of disturbing the realm's peace."

Eddard scrutinized Samwell's face, debating whether he could trust this young lord. Right now, he felt like he had no one to rely on.

The Red Keep was filled with spies, and all around him he saw treachery and deceit. He needed help from someone who didn't yet seem tainted by King's Landing's poisoned atmosphere.

Perhaps this outsider, this young man who had repeatedly shown kindess to the Starks, could be that person.

Eddard had faith that the gods wouldn't be so cruel as to betray him yet again.

"Lord Samwell," he said solemnly. "As King Robert's champion knight, you were honored with the victor's laurels. Do you know how best to repay the king's grace?"

Realizing where this was heading, Samwell set aside his usual easy smile, pressing a hand to his chest as he responded firmly.

"With loyalty beyond question, my lord."

"Good." Eddard finally smiled. "Now I must entrust you with a secret mission, one that concerns the king's honor and the stability of the realm. But it will be dangerous. Are you willing to accept it?"

Samwell guessed what Eddard's "secret mission" was, inwardly marveling at how the Hand of the King had come to entrust him with it.

"It would be my honor to serve the king in any way, my lord," he replied earnestly.

"Very well." Eddard patted his arm, lowering his voice. "Everything I tell you now must be kept in strictest confidence."

"Of course, my lord."

Eddard hesitated, then said, "I suspect the king's accident in the tournament was no accident at all—but a murder plot."

Samwell put on an expression of shock and anger, playing along as if he were hearing this for the first time.

Eddard outlined his suspicions, though Samwell was already well aware of them. He knew this line of thinking likely came from Petyr Baelish's manipulations, intended to sow conflict between the Lannisters and Starks.

Samwell feigned horror, as though struggling to take it all in. "Then… you believe it was the queen?"

"Yes." Eddard's tone hardened. "The queen, desperate to hide her affair with her brother, has schemed to kill the king. I have no proof yet, which is why I need you to help investigate quietly."

"I'll do my best, my lord, though I fear it may not be easy to find anything…"

"Don't worry," Eddard assured him. "I'll continue investigating openly. My presence may make some wary of speaking, but with you working in secret, we may have a chance to uncover the truth."

I already know the truth, Samwell thought. But he dared not reveal it to the Hand, who was too rigid and honorable to handle it wisely. A man like Eddard Stark would cause an uncontrollable uproar if he knew.

Some secrets were best kept in his own hands.

"I'll do my utmost, my lord."

"Good. Report to me if you find anything."

"I will."

As they walked back, Eddard called out once more, stopping Samwell in his tracks.

"Lord Samwell," he said, his voice edged with the weariness and fatigue that lingered in his eyes. "In light of all that's happening in King's Landing, have you any advice on how to handle the situation?"

Samwell hesitated, appearing thoughtful. "Well, my father once gave me advice before I set off for the battlefield. If it may help, I'd be honored to share it with you."

Eddard looked intrigued. "What advice was that?"

After a brief pause, Samwell replied, "Face only one enemy at a time."

With that, he bowed low, then took his leave, disappearing into the shadows of the Red Keep's corridors.

Eddard stood in silence on the balcony, the weight of Samwell's words lingering in his mind. The night air was cool, and the faint light of the crescent moon offered little comfort. Alone, he pondered the advice, understanding all too well that in King's Landing, friends and foes alike were tangled in a web of deceit and ambition, making it impossible to see who truly stood against him.

In this city, Eddard realized, he might already be facing more enemies than he knew.

(End of Chapter)