Chapter 8-Treason!

Chapter 8

TYRION LANNISTER

Tyrion smelt the capital before he even walked through its walls, and immediately began to think over his decision of coming to the wretched place. Though, as he thought of the wonders awaiting him in the North from the vaunted and histories castle of Winterfell to the enigmatic Wall and the fabled Night Watch with its twenty towers guarding the realm of men from dangers unknown, the doubts that had crept up vanished in a second.

And as he rode through the doors, there awaited him a slew of guards all wearing Red and Gold, led by one wearing an armor of sheer wight. Though much like their cloaks, his hair were golden much like his own, and his eyes green, as one of his own and all the shadows of doubt vanished.

"It is good to see you again, Jamie," he greeted his brother who seemed to have come welcome him, for they were the Queen's kin. Even though he would have much rather liked to be welcomed in some other ways.

"You as well, I came to welcome you lest you forget your way to the Red Keep, like the last time," Jamie chuckled, and so did he. Last time he had come to the capital, Tyrion had visited the castle only after sampling half the merchandise at the Chataya on the Street of Silk, much to their sister's anger and frustration.

Not that the King had minded, and had even asked him of any new women to recommend, an insult, but one understandable given who he was married to. Though he did wonder how he had survived this long.

"That is noble of you, perhaps I could tempt you into getting lost into the Street of Silk with me," he asked as his horse joined Jamie's as his brother shrugged and shook his head.

"I am afraid the Queen is wroth enough, already," and Tyrion sighed, though he knew of the reason very well.

"She is still mad that Robert plans to Eddard Stark his hand," and Jamie nodded, and it was a stupid choice angering the Queen and making a Stark his hand. It was well established through history that Starks did not do well in the South.

'Though not all Starks' his mind supplied quickly as he thought of a young boy he had befriended in the most unlikely of places for young boys—the library.

And that was another reason for his lack of excitement, at coming to the capital.

"Is it true that the Stark boy has departed already?" Tyrion asked, and Jamie raised a brow yet nodded confirming the news.

"Yes, he has. The boy left more than a moon ago, on a ship bound for White Harbor. He should be nearing his home by now," and it was such a shame, for Tyrion had hoped to at least have some intelligent company on the rather lengthy journey to the North.

"A shame, it would have been good to have him with us on the journey," he added as Jamie frowned.

"I thought I made good company," Jamie retorted as Tyrion shrugged for all he loved his brother and even his bitch of a sister, their interests hardly aligned with him.

"You do, but you still prefer the blade to the book. And the Stark boy is rather well read and has one of the most curious and wonderous mind I have come across," and he had come across many, but still the boy was filled with stories, and ideas that few could even imagine.

"I never knew you were such good friends," Jamie asked, and Tyrion shrugged as they neared the Red Keep.

"You never asked. Moreover, we are both challenged in certain ways, and you can say we bonded over our collective anomalies," for he was not deaf to the constant insults dolled onto the boy by his precocious nephew.

Cripple, and despite sharing blood with the boy he could not condone it. Not that Cersei or anyone else cared, and Joffrey was at least smart enough to curb his tongue infront of their father.

The first time he had witnessed it, he had been reminded of how he himself was called the Imp, the ugly dwarf behind his back, and had thought to give the boy some advise in dealing with this given their shared anomalies.

Only to find out that the boy had learnt the lesson on his own, and though one could sometimes glimpse the anger and rage in him at those insults, none would ever see him react. Not even him.

"Well then we are here," he said as they rode through the Walls of the Red Keep, and entered the castle, and as he had expected a feast had been prepared for him. For though his sister may loathe him, he was still kin, and a Lannister.

And that name meant something.

Painful as it was to dine with his sister, and Joffrey, Tyrion tolerated them for he did wish to see the little Myrcella and Tommen, Cersei's rather milder and sweeter children. They ere both happy to see him, as they all dined together, with the King absent from the feast, fucking a whore if Cersei's rage was anything to go by.

This excessive delay in the King's departure was her doing, buying time to change his mind. Though it seems to him that she would not succeed in that, given that they were set to depart in half a moon.

That was about just enough time to sample all the new merchandise in the Street of Silk.

"I don't know why we cannot leave earlier, I miss my lessons with Cregan," poor Myrcella's complaint, stilled the table as he found himself a companion in his thoughts.

"What do you mean by that?" Cersei asked sharply, and Myrcella knew she had made a mistake given how she flushed.

"He was to teach me the Northern Houses, he made them all much easier and more interesting than the master," she replied meekly, as Cersei's gaze narrowed.

"Is that so?"

"Of course he could, he comes from that wasteland afterall," he decided to come to little Myrcella's rescue.

"What even is there to learn about that wasteland," Joffrey claimed rudely, insulting the very Kingdom that had made Robert's usurpation possible.

"A lot, I would say," he intervened again as Cersei turned towards him, forgetting about little Myrcella.

"They are one of the oldest, and most mysterious part of the Seven Kingdoms," he replied, as Joffrey scoffed and walked off with an insult, and the dinner continued in his absence as Cersei suddenly questioned him out of nowhere.

"Jamie told me that you were friends with the Stark boy," and he looked towards his brother who did not meet his gaze, though should he have expected anything else out of him.

"We are on amicable terms, because of our shared love for history and books," he replied cryptically.

"Interesting, how both you and boy kept that hidden," and both Jamie and her exchanged glances with one another for some reason, before she continued.

"What do you think of the boy?" and he shrugged, not knowing how to respond to that.

"Do you think the boy is smart enough to keep a secret?" she asked more accurately. He stopped as he saw Jamie and Cersei looking at him with focus, and he found himself at odds with himself about how to answer the question.

"I believe so. The boy has a good head on his shoulders," he answered truthfully. He saw his sister's lips thin for a second before she gave him a bitter but crooked smile.

"Thank you. You have been of much help. " With that, she rose up and excused herself, though not before turning towards his companion.

"Jamie, come with me...." and with that, he was left alone with the young Tommen and Myrcella as he watched the retreating backs of his siblings while sipping his wine, trying to figure out the reasoning behind these questions.

If only he knew.

If only.

0000

EDDARD STARK

Eddard had been fostered once, sent away from his brothers and sisters to the Eyrie by his father to foster. And at that time he had been resentful as well, angry at his father for sending him away, and yet he had found a another kind of kin in the Vale.

He had found a brother in Robert and a father and mentor in Jon Arryn, two relationships that he cherished and loved to this day, though he doubted his son had had the same luck.

In his letters, the Prince—or even Jon, for that matter—had never been mentioned. The only person who had come up was the Princess, and even that was scarce and in a rather emotionless tone.

And as Cregan entered his solar, he was reminded of all the reasons he had chosen him for the fostering. When the offer had come, Eddard had four children, though Arya was too young to be considered. The main choice was between Cregan and Robb, and in the end he had chosen his second son, much like how he himself was chosen as the spare.

"Come sit," he said as Cregan walked in with his cane, grimacing slightly. He had been walking without it before, but it seemed that could last only for so long, and now he was in need of it once again, as he would be for all of his life.

And it was one of the reasons for sending him to the capital, apart from him being the spare. But they were not the most important reason.

It was that gaze, and even though it had been years and the boy had grown up as much as he had, that gaze was still there—that icy, chilling grey gaze that would be more suitable in a man his own age or even someone older.

Eddard was not oblivious to the capital's political games and ploys. He knew that whoever he sent would need to navigate them. Though he was proud of his eldest child, Robb, his instinct told him that he was not the most suited for this, and the choice was rather clear.

That if one of his children were to survive in that place, it was him. It was Cregan, and perhaps the boy understood it as well.

"Are you in pain?" he asked softly, as Cregan nodded, and the boy did indeed take after him quite a bit, with his brown hair and grey eyes.

"I am, but I won't be for long. I took some milk of poppy for it," he replied as he pointed towards the flask he had been carrying with him, and again, he lamented the Gods for cursing his son with such a tragedy.

And as he saw the boy's pain, he felt a bit guilty and thought of his wife's words.

"We can talk tomorrow if you wis..."

"No," the boy cut in coldly as he looked him in the eye.

"This has already been left on for too long," in a way, those words confirmed his earlier thoughts about the boy being the sharpest of his children.

"How was the capital?" he asked, and the boy sighed.

"Worse than I had expected. It smells even worse than the rumors and is filled with the most cunning, prideful, and twisted people," and those words were not suitable coming out of the mouth of a boy who had just become a man.

And yet they were said with such certainty that he could do little but believe them.

"What of Robert? How was he?" and Cregan raised a brow.

"You must have an idea," and indeed, the letters had not painted a pretty picture of his old friend, even though he knew that Cregan was being cautious in his letters.

"The King has gotten a stone or two heavier over the years and spends his days whoring, hunting, and feasting, and you sent me to foster with him," and he had feared as much.

"Jon was there as well, and so was your mother's sister, the lady Lysa," he added and scoffed.

"Lord Jon, for all his intelligence and love, was well into his years and could barely keep the realm together, and I mean that literally," he added.

"And the less I say about the Lady Lysa, the better. She did not bear me any love, at least no more than the Queen."

And as Eddard frowned, the boy raised a brow.

"The capital is a far more treacherous place than you think. Blood, family, and honor matter very little there," and this was all much worse than he had expected. Much worse, he began to doubt his decision to send Cregan to the capital.

"How did he pass?" he asked, and Cregan's lips thinned as the boy's eyes dulled.

"He passed quickly. One moment,t he was hale and hearty, and, in a day, he was burning down with a fever. By the third day, he was gone," and that was indeed quick, much too quick.

"You think it unnatural," he caught on to the hidden meaning, and for all his trust in Cregan, he was still a boy. And the boy did not answer immediately. He stared at him in the eyes rather intensely, and silence reigned over his solar.

"Cregan," he whispered, but the boy did not speak.

"You should not have sent me to the capital," the boy whispered as he grimaced at those words, doubting his decision more than he ever had,

"I know, but I had no choice," he responded.

"The King comes to take you there as well. King Robert plans to make you his hand, and perhaps even his kin through marriage," and that was a surprise to him, but it was just like him.

"Will you go?" Catelyn asked him the same thing.

"I wish not to, but it is not easy to refuse a King," he said, seeing the boy's lips thin at that answer before he turned his gaze away from him. The previous question remained unanswered until now.

"Promise me one thing, and I will forgive you for sending me to the capital," and that was a surprise to him. Eddard nodded and saw the boy look him in the eye as he spoke.

"I want you to promise me whether or not you accept the King's offer of becoming his Hand or not. You will not accept his offer to join out families," and he was taken aback by that request.

"You will not marry Sansa to Joffrey, no matter what," and there was both desperation and heat in that tone.

And Eddard was inclined to ignore the words, to dismiss them as anger or hatred born out of a boy's quarrel. But for some reason, he knew them not to be so simple.

And it was something that he felt awful about as well.

"Why?" he still asked.

"I could give you a hundred reasons, few that even I feel trouble in saying out loud," and just how damning were they.

"So, I will give you two," he raised two fingers at that.

"Firstly, the boy is perhaps the Mad King come again," and he stilled at those words and could understand why Cregan had been so hesitant in mentioning anything about the boy in his letters before.

"And the second reason is the very thing that may have possibly cost Lord Jon Arryn his life, the message that he gave me to pass onto you while on his deathbed," and he could take no more.

"And what is that?" he asked in a whisper.

"That the boy is more Lannister than one would assume. Lord Jon Arryn presumed that the boy had not an ounce of Baratheon blood in him," and that was a shocking accusation.

He frowned as he struggled to understand those words, and as he did, he found himself retorting with fury and surprise at them and, more so, at the insinuation behind them.

And as he was still thinking of that, Cregan rose from his chair and began to leave his solar.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked sharply as he saw his son standing up.

"You will understand it once you try and see it, but it was Lord Jon Arryn's suspicion, and he had much reason to believe it so, and he died before he could confirm it, but these were the man's dying words," the boy said.

"The seed is strong..." that was surprising, given how quick and abrupt Jon's death had been.

'No,' he thought as he tried to suppress the thought. But he could not. This was a grave accusation, one that could plunge the whole kingdom into war. Jon would not have spoken of it to Cregan without reason.

And if he had, it meant he had good reason to be suspicious.

He cursed as he sat there, trying to understand it all as Cregan stood there.

"Before he died, they found him reading a book, one named Lineages and Histories. It is all I know," Cregan finished as Eddard nodded, reminding himself to ask Luwin about the tomoe, and having his master bring it to him.

"Who else has heard this from your mouth?" he questioned quickly as the boy raised a brow.

"You may think me a child, but I am not. Not a single soul has heard of this from my mouth because I know what that could cause and turn into," and he sighed in relief.

"If that's the case, then keep it that way. Do not speak of this to anyone, not even your mother, not until I can be certain of this," he thundered with a heavy heart as his son nodded.

"As you say, but you won't have to wait for long. The two princes and princess shall ride with the King. You will have your answer upon seeing them," the boy said as he made to leave the room.

"And there was one more thing..." the boy began as he glanced back at him, and Eddard had yet even to begin making sense of it all as he looked up once more.

"It seems that our House words have come true again..."

"Winter is here, and the Maesters believe that this one will perhaps be the longest winter of our lives. So, I think it would be better if you would write to your lords to buy as much grain as they can, for once the winds turn cold, it will be too late..."

0000

And as soon as the Queen and her brother were behind the walls of her room, the Queen turned towards her brother in Kingsguard armor and spoke ominously the words she had been thinking over for days.

"He knows..."

0000

Read ahead and support me on Patre 0n. Help me write this and other such stories by becoming a Patr 0n. It would be pretty awesome of you and would mean a lot to me.

www.Patre 0n.com/Drkest

Have a nice day!