19

Chapter 19: Omen of the Bells- Ned VIII; Arya VI; Jon XVIII

Summary:

As the king lays dying, he and a conflicted Jon have one final talk. Arya enjoys her first dancing lesson as Ned closes in on a dangerous secret.

Notes:

Got this out just in time, yeah!

Not much to say about this chapter though; not particularly happy with it but I think it serves its purpose well enough. I am disappointed I had to cut a couple of sections out though... hopefully, they'll find they're way back in somehow.

The world is even crazier now than it was last month. It would be really nice to be in a coma right now... Hope everyone is doing the best they can.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Timeline

283 AC/4E 187: Robb Stark is born; (two months later) "Jon Snow" is born.286 AC/4E 190: Sansa Stark is born; RS-3, "JS"-3.289 AC/4E 193: Arya Stark is born; Theon Greyjoy (10) arrives at Winterfell; RS-6, "JS"-6, SS-3.290 AC/4E 194: Bran Stark is born; TG-11, RS-7, "JS"-7, SS-4, AS-1.295 AC/4E 199: Rickon Stark is born; TG-16, RS-12, "JS"-12, SS-9, AS-6, BS-5.296 AC/4E 200: Direwolves are found; TG-17, RS-13, "JS"-13, SS-10, AS-7, BS-6, RS-1.297 AC/4E 201: Robb Stark turns 14; (two months later) "Jon Snow" turns 14; (one month later) "Jon Snow" runs away from Winterfell/appears in Skyrim; TG-18, SS-11, AS-8, BS-7, RS-2.299 AC/4E 203: Jon Whitewolf sends a letter to Winterfell; TG-19, RS-16, JW-16, SS-13, AS-10, BS-9, RS-4.300 AC/4E 204: Lord Eddard Stark asks Jon to return to Winterfell; TG-20, RS-17, JW-17, SS-14, AS-11, BS-10, RS-5.302 AC/4E 206: Jon Whitewolf receives Arya's letter: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(two-and-a-half months later) Jon Whitewolf arrives at Winterfell: TG-22, RS-18, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(Four days later) Robb Stark turns 19: TG-22, RS-19, JW-18, SS-16, AS-13, BS-12, RS-7.(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18) leaves for KL with Enzo, Ned Stark, Sansa Stark, Arya Stark, and the royal party.(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party are attacked while at the Triton.(two weeks later) Jon Whitewolf (18), the Starks, and the royal party arrive at King's Landing. (three days later) the Tourney of the Hand begins.(five days later) Serena arrives at the Red Keep.

Ned VIII

It was strange how the smell of blood -the smell of  human blood, in particular- was something you never really got used to. 

Years of hunting, years of battle, years of bandaging the cuts and scraps of small children… it didn't matter, the hot red liquid would spill and that thick, metallic smell would fill the air, and Ned would have to fight the urge to wrench.

It certainly didn't help that it was soaked into his clothes. 

'Get it out, get it out, get it out.'  the mantra ran through his mind over and over again as Ned scrubbed a washcloth into his tunic, dismay creeping into him as all it accomplished was spreading the red smear further and further as his tunic grew wet and heavy. 

"Father?"

Ned turned to see Jon staring at him, concerning shining in his dark eyes. 

"What is going on? I heard that-"

He cleared the gap between them in two easy strides and wrapped his son in a warm embrace, squeezing hard. Ned let out a deep breath, "Thank the gods you're safe."

Jon stiffened at first, even wincing a little, but, after a moment, he tentatively returned the hug, staying in the embrace for a long moment before stepping back. "Why wouldn't I be? What is going on?"

"I- Robert… the king… he was hurt. We were…"

All of his words tumbled out at once, falling from his tongue in a jumbled tangle of nonsense as Ned tried to shake the ringing out of his head. Jon, the sweet boy he was, gave him a gentle look before taking him by shoulders and leading Ned over to sit down on a padded bench. 

"Here," Jon said, handing Ned the hip flask he always seemed to be carrying, "this will help; it is strong though."

It was. 

"Bwah," Ned coughed, whipping his mouth off on the back of his hand. "What is that stuff?"

"Flin Imperial Whiskey," Jon explained, taking the flask back. "Now, can you tell me what is going on?"

Ned sighed, pushing a hand through his hair. "We were out hunting, tracking boar… The king wondered off, got ahead of the rest of the party. I heard the screeching of a boar -the sound is so much like a woman being gutted, you know?- and then Robert yelling. By the time I got there, the animal was dead but Robert was… He has been injured, Jon; it is… bad, extremely so."

Jon gave a slow, quiet nod. "So you got him back to the castle? Is he… awake?"

"No," Ned shook his head, "but he is breathing, which is a blessing. Maester Pycelle is seeing to him now, he says that the next two days will be critical."

"What do you think the King's chances are?"

"Robert is stubborn," the Lord of Winterfell shrugged helplessly, "and is far from the type to go quietly into night… but he is also far from the robust young man he once was so, I don't know." 

Jon offered no hollow words of comfort -for which Ned was grateful- and only clasped his shoulder with a simple, "Time will tell. It always does."

He spoke those words like a man who'd seen too much for his years and that made Ned realized just how little of the past five years of his son's life he knew about, which, in turn, made him even more somber. Shaking that off, he stood, "I should find Queen Cersei and alert her of what has occurred; she'll want to be by her husband's side."

Though he turned his head to hide it, Ned caught the clear expression of 'Are you sure about that?' that flashed across Jon's face and it almost made him smile. Regaining his composure, his son glace to Ned's damp and blood-smeared tunic.

"You should wash up and change first," he suggested. "It wouldn't help anyone to see you like this."

At that, Ned's lips did twitch upward. "When did you get so wise?"

Jon only gave him a small grin.

A quick wash and change of clothes later, Ned stood in front of the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms and tried to read her painted face. 

"Only time will tell and I've seen Robert walk away from some truly awful injuries before," he explained cautiously, not wanting to upset the woman, "but Maester Pycelle says… says we should prepare for the worst."

Queen Cersei stared blankly at him, the only sign of emotion on her face being a slight purse to her lips. After a long moment of silence, she gave a terse nod. "Thank you for informing me of the situation, Lord Stark; you may go now."

She went to leave but Ned stepped in front of her, blocking the woman's way and earning an emerald-eyed glare for his action. "If you need me, Your Majesty, I am at your service. I-"

The woman gave a dry huff of laughter, "If you're expecting me to collapse into a sobbing fit than you're sure to be disappointed, Lord Stark; perhaps your own wife is prone to such hysterics but I assure you that I am not."

Ned felt his jaw twitch at the implied slight towards Catelyn. "Your husband of eighteen years may be on his death bed so forgive me for believing that you might be a touch more emotional and in need of support."

"You're forgiven," Cersei said coldly, "and rest assured, Lord Stark, that, should I find myself in need of comfort, it will be with my own family."

"Do you truly hate him that much?" he spat out, even though Ned knew well what the answer would be. 

But the Queen's response surprised him.

"Hated him?" she huffed, face twisting into a scowl. "I worshipped him! Every girl in the Seven Kingdoms dreamed of him, but he was  mine by oath. And when I finally saw him on our wedding day in the Sept of Baelor, lean and fierce and black-bearded, it was the happiest moment of my life. Oh, how I wanted to love him but that night, when he crawled on top of me, stinking of wine, and did what he did - what little he could do-, he whispered in my ear that accursed name - 'Lyanna.' HER name; the name of Robert's lost love who would forever haunt his bed-chamber. Perhaps it was wrong of me to resent him for mourning but the fact remains that your sister was a corpse while I was a living girl, and he still loved her more than me!"

Words were heavy on Ned's tongue but his shock froze them there. 

The Queen seemed surprised by her own outburst; she blinked, gave her head a little shake, and composed herself. "Forgive me, Lord Stark, but as you said, my husband of eighteen years may die and, though our marriage has not been a happy one, that is a long time; I'll thank you to allow me to deal with my own grief  my own way. Now, you'll have to excuse me, I must speak with my children."

At that, Ned could only step aside and watch her go. 

Supper that night was a quiet, subdued affair with only four courses and none royal family present. On a different day, Ned might have like it, might have even been grateful for it after weeks of feasting -and, no, he refused to dwell on the extra hole he had needed to add to his belt yesterday- and 'merriment,' but today it just left him feeling hollow, empty, and gray on the inside. 

Even the richly seasoned veal with potatoes and gravy, which should have, by all rights, tasted heavenly, instead seemed to turn to ash in his mouth. And it seemed as if Jon agreed with him on that sentiment. 

"Is the food not to your likely, Ser Jon?" Lord Baelish asked, having no problem tucking into his own supper with great relish.

Jon didn't answer, instead continuing to poke at his food with his fork with his head balanced in his hand and elbow on the table. There was have been a time Ned would have scolded him for this lack of etiquette but he said nothing, both because Jon was far too old for it and because he could be bothered to pretend to care. 

"Jon?" he called out, trying to get his son's attention. 

Still, there was no response from the dark-haired young man; however, Lady Serana -who'd also spent the meal in silence or making quiet conversation with either her mother or Arya- nudge him gently in the chest with her elbow. 

He was startled, turning to her with a surprised look on his face; the green-eyed woman nodded in his and Lord Baelish's direction. 

"Oh, my apologies," Jon said, giving his head a little shake. "You asked something?"

"I just noticed that you weren't eating," Lord Baelish responded, nodding towards his plate. "You know, if the food isn't to your liking, you can request something else from the kitchen." 

"No," Jon shook his head, " the food is fine. I'm afraid that I'm just nothing feeling all that well tonight."

Littlefinger gave a sympathetic nod, "Ah, yes, I should have realized that your injury would have dampened your appetite. You know, you really should have had that wound tended to professionally; one can never be too careful, after all."

"Injury?" Ned's head jerked up. "What injury?"

Jon shot the Master of Coin a nasty look before turning to Ned. "Someone tried to rob me while I was out in the city today. I was injured, but it was a small cut; the blood just ran into my tunic and made it look worse than it is. Lady Valerica got it patched up without a problem but she gave me something for that pain that has killed my appetite. I'll be fine in the morning."

Ned frowned, "You should have told me."

"You would have overreacted," Jon deflected. "And, besides, when you got back to the castle you had something bigger to worry about."

The Lord of Winterfell disliked that his son had grown old enough and distant enough to throw away his concerns like that. He turned to Lady Valerica, "Is he alright? Truly?"

Out of the corner of his eye, Ned saw Jon roll his eyes but kept his own fixed on the pale face of the strange woman. Eventually, she nodded. 

"All things considered, he is lucky," Lady Valerica said smoothly.

'Well that was vague,' Ned thought, but decided now was not the time to push the issue; especially since Littlefinger was watching it all play out like he was at the theater. So instead he turned back to his meal, idly wondering how much longer he'd be obligated to sit around engaging in forced socialization. 

"Okay, so how much longer are we going to ignore it?" Arya asked loudly, throwing her arms up and head back in exasperation. 

"Arya!" Ned began, only to be cut off.

"No, Father, I think we need to talk about this," Arya said, drawing herself up tall in her chair and staring her down. "The king is hurt, really badly, and we shouldn't pretend that he isn't. I mean, yes, I hope he gets better, but what if he doesn't? What happens to us? Do we go back to Winterfell? Do we stay until the funeral? If we have to stay longer than how long? I think Sansa and I deserve to know!"

Ned clenched his jaw; on one hand, Arya was right and he was proud of her for vocalizing it so well but, on the other… 

"This is neither the time nor place to discuss such things, Arya," he scowled. "But if, heaven forbid, Robert does...pass, then, yes, we will likely be extending our stay in King's Landing for some time. We'll discuss this more later… in private ."

That got a small grumble from his youngest daughter, but, for the most part, Arya seemed content with the answer. 

"What about you, Ser Jon? When will you be leaving us?" Lord Baelish asked, and Ned felt the deep, instinctive urge to punch the man in the throat. He had no business sticking his nose in Stark family business."

"The ship that will take my party and I back to Skyrim will be arriving in a week, if all goes well," Jon replied, still playing with his food. "So not much longer than that."

"What a shame you'll be leaving so soon," Littlefinger said in that smarmy voice of his as Arya pouted at the news. "I was hoping we'd have more of a chance to chat; I'm quite interested in this land of yours."

"I'll see if I can pencil you in," Jon replied with a half-grin. 

"Father," Sansa started, "if the king dies -not that I'm hoping that will happen, of course- that means Prince Joffrey will take the throne, correct?"

Fighting a rush of annoyance at the question, Ned gave his daughter a tight nod. "Aye, that seems likely."

"Well, that means he, Joffrey I mean, will be free to choose his own wife," Sansa continued slowly with a kind of dreamy hopefulness written across her face. "So I could be queen soon, right?"

"SILENCE!"

The Lord of Winterfell rarely raised his voice, rarely found it useful, and could count on one hand the number of times he'd do so directed at his children. At this moment though, he did. 

" Never  have I heard such blatant disrespectful and disrespectfulness for a dying man and his family," he thundered, "and from my own daughter , one top of it all!"

Sansa's face turned pale against her auburn hair; she was so rarely scowled growing up so to be dressed down now, especially in front of others, was inconceivable to her. She stammered out, "F-father, I-"

" You  will go straight to your room, young lady," Ned commanded, leveling a finger in her face, "where you will remain all of tomorrow, alone, so that you can think about your actions!"

"That is not fair! I'm going to tell Mother and… and she'll make you-"

The Lord of Winterfell cut his daughter off with an icy look. "You will, Sansa, that I am head of this household and your mother is not only not present but also had no say in this matter. Jory, please take Sansa up to her quarters and see that she stays there until I arrive."

Still gasping in indignation, Sansa was led away by a bemused Jory. When she was out of sight, Ned turned to see everyone else at the table was desperately trying to look as if they had not heard the family spat and just groaned.

"You were too hard on her."

"What do you mean?"

"Sansa, you were too harsh on her," Littlefinger said as the pair made their way through the dim, rarely-traveled corridors of the Red Keep. "She is just a girl, still believes in the fantasies of true love and happy endings and all that. To tell you the truth, I almost envy her; to have that innocence again, even for one day… it would be a wondrous thing."

"She spoke out of turn," Ned disagreed. "If she had said that in front of the wrong people, there might have been serious consequences."

"She is still young."

"Sansa is foolish," he admitted, half to himself and half to Littlefinger. "I take some of the responsibility for that. I wanted so badly to protect her from the harshness of reality that I allowed her to be raised on delusions. She wants the title of Queen, the glamor and the airs, but knows nothing of the responsibilities of the position."

Littlefinger gave a hum of consideration, "In my experience, life is often the best teacher… Though I don't begrudge you for wanting your daughter to learn more gently."

Ned paused in his step. "Daughters," he said with a quiet growl, pinning Baelish with a hard stare. "I want to protect my  daughters ." 

The other man went still for the briefest moment… then gave a genial smile. "Of course, I misspoke… but I will say that I doubt Lady Arya needs anyone to look after her, she is quite fiery."

"Fierce," he agreed, "but little. I worry about her differently."

Then Ned realized he was oversharing. "Anyway," he coughed, "where is the book I should look for?"

"Third floor, left side, and in a glass-case shelf with stags painted on the side; it is a large red tome, should be easy to spot," Baelish explained in a hushed voice. "The case will be locked but this-" he handed over a brass key, "-will get you into it. The library should be empty at this hour but if it is not don't worry, the main librarian is one of my men. Just be quick."

"Don't worry," Ned replied, "I want to get this done as soon as possible."

There was something innately eerie about being alone in a library at night. Every small sound -every creak of wood, the distance echoing of footsteps, the pattering of raindrops on the windows- resonated through the darkness, plucking at every nerve in Ned's mind. 

'Howland once told me books are all alive in their own way,' Ned thought, glancing around at the many shelves full of tomes that surrounded him. 'I hope that isn't true.'

He hoisted the lantern up higher, the small flame illuminating a ring around him and reflecting off the black stag painted on the side of a shelf.  'There it is.'

The brass key slide into the lock easily, tumblers clicking into place. Ned grabbed the book from its stand, nearly dropping it as he tried to support the large book in one hand. Dropping it on the nearby table, he pulled it open to a random page,

The ones she had lost and the ones she had found,

And the ones who had loved her the most.

The ones who'd been gone for so very long,

She couldn't remember their names.

They spun her around on the damp old stones.

"What?" 

Puzzlement creeping in, Ned flipped to another page.

The maid with honey,

Up in her hair.

From there to here,

From here to there.

All black and brown,

And covered in hair.

And, on the page next to it, 

But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,

and its kiss was a terrible thing.

The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,

in a voice that was sweet as a peach,

But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,

and a bite sharp and cold as a leech.

Completely confused now, Ned turned to the title page of the book -glancing back over his shoulder when he heard a door falling shut- and leaning down to make out the illustrated title. 

' THE GREAT SONGS OF THE SEVEN KINGDOMS'

By Maester Euterpen 

Heart thudding, Ned turned back to the shelf and started shuffling through the different tomes, no longer carrying about the sounds he was making. But there was nothing. Among the diary of Orys Baratheon -no surprise that Robert would choose to keep that on display while other important documents had been banished to one of the sub-libraries or basements; Jon hadn't let him burn them- and what looked to be an expertly illuminated copy of A Caution for Young Girls by Lady Coryanne Wylde (again, no surprise Robert would have that on display) the copy of The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms was nowhere to be found. 

'FUCK!'

"It wasn't there!"

"What do you mean?"

"The book," Ned hissed. "It wasn't there; someone took it and left a decoy in its place!"

"That's not good," Baelish groaned, rubbing his face. "Only three people have access to the items on that shelf; the king, Lord Arryn, and the head librarian-" he paused for a moment, which a small half-smirk, "or myself, I suppose. Others can request permission but if they went through proper channels there would be no need to hide the fact they have."

'That means whoever has it now took it without anyone else knowing,' Ned reasoned. 'That means they had access to it or, at least, ready access to one of those already have it...which means it is like a member of the royal family.'

Sleep did not come easily that night; restlessness kept Ned tossing and turning in his bed, with only brief reprieve offered by feverish dreams of dead children and murdered princesses and pleading sisters and little boys who grew up and ran away because he wasn't good enough until the bleak morning light greeted him in his tangle of sweat-dampened sheets.

Feeling drained and rung out but somewhat glad the night was over, he rolled from the bed and set to work preparing for the day. A quick, standing wash and change of clothing later, Ned found himself staring at a mirror to shave.

'I'm getting old,'  he admitted, scratching the graying stubble on his chin. His hair would be more silver than brown in a few short years -if he survived that long- and the color that was still there was far duller than it had been a decade ago. The lines in his face had grown deep and heavy; it was no wonder his own children said he looked, 'grumpy.'

'Politics are not a young man's game,'  he thought, 'but are not mine either.'

Well, at least he wasn't balding.

"Wow, you look  awful ," Arya said, looking up from her breakfast of porridge, bacon, sausages, and apple juice. 

"Thank you, sweetling. I love you too" Ned replied tiredly, taking a seat at the small table where three trays of food had already been laid out. Sansa stopped stirring her porridge with a spoon, looked at him, gave a 'hmmph,' picked up her breakfast tray, turned up her nose, and retreated to her bedroom.

Arya snickered.

"Arya," he warned, "Don't make fun of your sister."

His youngest daughter rolled her eyes, "What? Even when I'm the good, obedient daughter I still get in trouble?"

Ned didn't have anything to say to that but did give the girl a small half-smile and went to tuck into breakfast. He went for a sausage, spearing it with his fork, when he noticed something strange -a small piece of parchment sticking out from under the plate.

He pulled it free, Arya's chattering fading into the background -something about dancing lessons- and opened the small folded note, keeping it low to the table so his daughter wouldn't see. 

Lord Stark, meet me in the southernmost courtyard.

I have vital information for you.

Please, time is of the greatest importance. 

Ned crumpled the note and slipped it into a pocket,  'It might be a trap, but can I risk missing out on it?'

"Don't wander far today, Arya," he instructed firmly. "Do you understand?"

Arya hesitated, "But I have plans to go out with Jon today, can I still do that?"

'No,' was on the tip of his tongue but, eventually, Ned nodded. "I suppose that is alright… but you must stay with him at all times."

"Got it!"

The southernmost courtyard was the smallest of the Red Keep's many courtyards and by far the worst kept, just a handful near-dead alder trees and overgrown holly bushes that surrounded a moss-covered stone bench. Ned took a seat on it, hand casually resting on the concealed dagger he was carrying and waited. 

About an hour passed, the sun rose steadily higher into the sky behind a thick gray cloud cover, before…

"Lord Stark?"

The call came from a meek female voice; the owner of which was a frail-looking young woman, probably about twenty, who emerged from behind a wall and crept into the courtyard, sticking to the shadows offered by the trees and bushes. 

"Aye," he nodded, pulling the piece of parchment of his pocket. "Did you send me this note?"

"Yes," she whispered. "There is something I need to tell you but no one can know about it! If that happens, at best I'll lose my job and it'll be off to the brothels for me and at worst…"

She swallowed hard, face pale under two large bruises -one on her left cheek and the other above her right eyebrow- that made her look young and frail. This wasn't helped by how hard her thin body was trembling.

"I want to help," Ned assured in the gentle voice he used when one of his children had a nightmare. "Just tell me what you can and I'll see that you're protected."

The young woman took a breath, "I've been working at the castle since I flowered, m'lord, me and my little sister both -me in the kitchens and her as a serving girl. It's a hard life, the king is…  friendly and the queen harsh, but it kept us fed and together."

"Kept you?" Ned asked, "What do you mean it 'kept you'?"

The question got him a choked sob. "My sister, Inabell, is dead, Lord Stark! She and another girl, Keri, disappeared a few months ago; one of the senior servants, Leon Lannister, told me that they found a note that she ran off with a man but Inabell wouldn't do that, m'lord! She just wouldn't!"

"Are you absolutely sure?" Ned would have never thought that Jon would have run away either, but he did.

The young woman nodded furiously, "Absolutely! She didn't like… I mean, Inabell would have never left without telling me; we're all one another has! She and Keri were killed, m'lord; they were murdered by the prince!"

Ned went could, dread filling his gut; Jon had warned him there was something wrong with the boy, but full-on murder? "That is a very serious accusation."

"You think I don't know that?" she hissed. "My ma worked in the Red Keep during the reign of the Mad King; she lost a sister to the man's lust and brother when he tried to protect my auntie! Things can't go back to the way things were before the Rebellion, Lord Stark, and, believe me, they will if that beast takes the throne!"

The thought of that horrible time, of wildfire and screaming, was almost enough for Ned to gag. "Why didn't you go to King Robert or the Hand?"

"And expect that he'll believe me, a simple cook, over his own wife and son?" the woman huffed bitterly. "As for the Lord Hand? I did go to him… and now he's dying . He is a good man, Lord Arryn; always kind to us servants and never made us feel lesser for our stations in life. I hate to think I'm the reason he'll take to his grave."

Ned stepped forward and took the young woman by the shoulders, "None of this is your fault. I'm going to make things right; you're sister will have justice, I swear."

'Even if it shakes the Seven Kingdoms' to its core.'

Arya VI

"You know father said that I have to stay with you," Arya complained, slumping back against the cushioned seat of the carriage as one of the nicer neighborhoods of King'S Landing rolled by outside the window. 

"Well, I have to go take care of some final errands before I set sail back to Skyrim," Jon said, giving her ear a teasing tug. "Do you want to sit through me sighing a bunch of paperwork? No, I didn't think so! Besides, Serana is more than capable of protecting you for a few hours."

Arya looked over at the green-eyed young woman who smiled and gave her a sneaky wink. Alright, spreading time with Serana wouldn't be too bad -she did like her, after all- but that didn't change the fact she wanted to spend more time with her brother. 

"What about you two?" She asked Lady Valerica and Mister Enzo.

The elder woman gave her a stern look. "Unless you'd find the idea of a visit to the flower market to be particularly riveting, you'd have no interest accompanied either of us."

"You don't seem like the kind of lady to collect flowers."

To Arya's surprise, that actually got a quick laugh. 

"You're partly right, child. I'm interested in them for their…  medicinal properties that their appearance and scents," Lady Valerica explained.

'A likely enough explanation,' Arya though, even if she didn't entirely believe it. She turned to Mister Enzo, "What about you?"

The swordsman gave a wide grin, " You know, my mother has a saying about nosy children -they all get their eyes plucked out by Abecean Sea Sand Crabs."

"That doesn't answer my question… and what is an Abecean Sea Sand Crab?"

Mister Enzo just threw his head back and laughed.

"The is a nice house," Serana noted as they stepped out of the carriage, staring up at the two-story brick home with red shingles. "This Syrio Forel must have earned a tidy sum as the First Whatever of Wherever. Now, you're sure he knows we're coming?"

"Absolutely," Jon called as he fumbled around with something under his carriage seat. "I sent a courier this morning to confirm. Oh, and Arya?" he tossed her a knapsack- "You're welcome."

Then, with a wink and a wave, he and the carriage disappeared down the street.

"C'mon, c'mon," Arya urged, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "let's go!"

She grabbed Serana by the arm and drug her to the front do, banging on it urgently; Serana grabbed her by the wrist when she did it a bit long. "Calm yourself," her future Good Sister soothed. 

The door opened to the sight of a disgruntled -presumably because of the loud banging- dark-haired young woman. "Yes? How can I help you?"

Arya gave a sheepish smile, "Lady Arya Stark and Lady Serana Volkihar here to see Syrio Forel, please."

The woman still didn't look happy but a look of resignation flashed across her face. "Ah, yes, he master has been expecting you. Please, come in and make yourselves comfortable."

She stepped aside and waved them in, leading the pair to a comfortable sitting room full of wall tapestries, small stone sculptures, and potted plants. "I'll go get the master but, first, is there anything I can get you? Lemon water, tea, wine, something to eat? I have a seasoned chicken roasting in the oven if you don't mind waiting, or perhaps a raspberry tart?"

"Oh, I'll take a tart," Serana said as she settled into a plush armchair, "and a small glass of wine; red, if you have it."

"Of course," the maid nodded, before turning to Arya. "Lady Arya, I suggest you get changed for your lesson; Master Forel doesn't appreciate tardiness. Feel free to use that room over there to do so."

Arya gave a quick nod and scampered off, excited to begin. She opened the knapsack, smiling when she pulled out a pair of tan trousers, a dark blue tunic, and boots; also included were a sturdy but relatively leather chest piece and a pair of leather arm bracers. Putting them on the best she could, Arya felt herself smiling like a loon as she took in her reflection in the mirror. 

'I am no lady, I am a warrior,'  she declared mentally. 'I can use magic now, am getting better every day, and soon I will be able to wield a sword. If they ever sing songs about me, it'll be about how I was the one to do the saving.'

"You look nice," Serana compliment. "Good to see the clothes fit; Jon and I had to guess at the sizes."

"Not nice," Arya scowled, "fierce. I look fierce ."

"My apologies. Now, come closer so I can tighten those laces and fix your hair."

Arya did so, sucking in her gut slightly as Serana pulled at the laces on the sides of the chest pieces and pinned her hair up tightly.

"Ouch," she complained rubbing the side of her head. "Why did that hurt worse than it does whenever I have to get it all done up for parties and events?

Lady Serana chuckled, "If you're not careful than you your hair can be one of your biggest weaknesses in battle; it can be grabbed onto so easily or get into your eyes. That is part of the reason I keep mind cut short."

"My mother would have a field day if I cut my hair like that," Arya said, trying to picture what the expression the woman's face would be. Probably some combination of shock and horror... It would be funny to see, no doubt, but not worth the hassle. 

"It's not my place to tell you to disobey your mother," Serana shrugged, "but I will say that, if you wanted to do it, your mother wouldn't see it for a while. There is plenty of time for it to grow back out."

"Hmmm," she thought, poking at one of the pinned up locks of hair. "I guess-"

"Lady Arya?" The maid was back. "It is time to begin; please, follow me."

"Have fun," Serana said, pulling a book out of her own handbag. "I'll be waiting here; if this man turns out to be a creep than just scream and I'll come to save you."

Arya wasn't quite sure if that was a joke or not, but she smiled and nodded all the same before following the maid through the well-decorated hallways of the house; it wasn't necessarily a big building, but care had clearly be put into utilizing every bit of space possible.

"Here we are," the maid said after they arrived at a door that led out into an enclosed courtyard. "The master is waiting for you."

Arya reached for the door handle but hesitated. "Is... is he nice?"

The older woman smirked, "No... but he is excellent at what he knows; you're lucky to even be given the chance to study under him, best give it your all."

"I intended to," Arya declared, jutting her jaw out with a renewed rush of confidence. She squared her shoulders and marched right through the doorway out into the courtyard. 

"Hello?" she called out, startling a bird that had been roosting in the small maple that grew out of the rock dirt under her feet. "My name is Arya Stark and I am here for my sword lesson! I was told to wait here! I-  ouch! "

She rubbed the back of her head and looked down, a rock the size on an acorn had landed near her heel.

"That was your first lesson."

Arya's head jerked up; swaggering towards her was a bald older and with a slender build. "You always need to be aware of your surroundings; the easiest way to win a battle is to take out an opponent before they even know you are there."

"That isn't very honorable."

"Honor?" the man snorted. "You listen to me, Arya Child, and Syrio Forel will instruct you in your second lesson -Honor is well and good but it will rarely keep you alive. In a battle for your life, you should try to win as quickly as possible and if that means stabbing on man in the eye or the manhood, do so without mercy. Now, it is time to begin."

"I don't have a weapon," Arya explained. "Jon is having a sword made but it isn't ready yet; how can I learn to fight without a weapon?"

Syrio Forel shook his head and came closer, long staff clutched in her hand, "Lesson number three -Syrio Forel is not just teaching you how to fight, he is teaching you how to dance and, more importantly, he is teaching you how to survive. Syrio Forel is going to work you hard, Arya Child, and you will hurt for it; there will be times you hate him and wish him dead. But, if you obey and listen well, Syrio Forel will teach you to do things you could scarily imagine."

"I'll do it," she nodded eagerly. "I'll do anything you say."

"Truly," the man cocked his eyebrow at her, "so, if Syrio Forel says to jump..."

"I'll say how high."

Before Arya could react, Syrio swept her feet out from under her with the staff, causing her to fall back flat on her butt with a grunt.

"No," he said gravely, staring down at her, "you will just jump. On your feet, it is time to begin."

Arya pushed herself up. "How do I fight without a sword?"

"No, no, no, you must earn the sword, Arya Child," the swordsman said. 

"I can fight," she protests. "My brother taught me how to use a dagger; I've survived against men twice my size and three times my weight."

"And that is admirable in its own way," Syrio nodded, "but walking away from a fight isn't the same as winning one. Now if you listen then Syrio Forel will come to teach you how it is that the Braavosi dance... He will teach you the Water Dance. It is swift and sudden and deadly as a rushing river and will serve you, Arya Child, well; you are too small to wild heavy steel or a battle axe, but a small, thin blade? That can become part of you. All men are made of water, do you know this? If you pierce them, the water leaks out and they die; they become part of the cycle of rain and water once more.

I will teach you all of this but first, we most strengthen your body and your mind. If one trains right than a blade is the weakest weapon they have. A man with a sharp sword and a dull mind is a man with death hanging over his shoulder. Are you ready, Arya Child?"

The fervor in his voice had Arya's heart pounding and she could only nod excitedly. 

"Excellent, we shall work on honing your balance, speed, and agility first. So, you will have to catch-" Syrio went and pulled a small cage from the bushes. "-this!"

*

*

*

"A rooster?" she asked, confused and staring at the disgruntled fowl.

"Yes," he grinned viciously, opening the cage and waving the bird out into the courtyard, "and went you can catch him, you'll be able to move on to the next lesson."

Arya was starting to suspect this man was crazy but she shrugged and got to it anyway; after all, how hard could it be.

Jon XVIII

Jon's blunted sword clashed against Enzo, deflecting it and using all of his weight to push the much larger man away before jumping back to duck away from Ser Loras' attack. He lunged forward, aiming a blow at the young man's neck; it was unsuccessful, but it did knock the knight off balance which gave him another open to wack the man on the inner thigh, knocking him to his knees. 

He was gentler than he needed to be when tapping his bladed against the back of Ser Loras' helmet, but Jon was feeling mischievous. 

"Good to see you back to something resembling your normal self," Enzo congratulated even as he swung his sword like he was trying to take off Jon's head. "Now, watch your footwork!"

Like a well-practiced old couple, they danced back and forth with one another until sweat was pouring down their brows even in the chilly mid-morning weather. As a general rule, most swordfights ended very quickly, usually after only a handful of exchanges -especially without a shield- but Jon and Enzo, knowing one another's fighting styles so well meant that sparring matches could go on for hours. 

Sometimes, when it seemed like neither would win, it even could get a little boring. 

But today was not that day.

"Ugff," Jon gritted his teeth as he caught a blow to the stomach, which was still sore. That being said, it did give him the opening he needed.

Enzo had stepped forward to deliver the strike, which given his heavy armor, rendered him just off-balance enough that a hard kick to the ankle caused the older man to loosen his grip on his sword for half-a-moment. A half-a-moment that Jon immediately seized to knock the blade out of hand. 

"I win," he declared, out of breath but with a broad grin on his face.

"I let you will," the Ebony Warrior denied, but the smile he was wearing told Jon that he was pleased with the outcome as well. 

"That," Ser Loras announced, getting to his feet, "was the best practice battle I've had a long while, usually only my brother, Garlan, can trounce me like that. You two should spar one day; I'm sure it be quite the sight."

"Here's hoping," Jon replied jovially as he picked up his water skin.

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I was hoping I could have a moment with my future husband."

The trio turned to see Serana leaning against a pillar, an amused look on her face. 

"No problem, Lady Serana," Ser Loras said, pulling his helmet off to reveal his annoyingly perfect hair. "We were just finishing up anyway."

Enzo gave him a joking slap to the back of the head, "You heard the woman? She needs your attention and here you are playing around with swords! What a poor husband you will be."

Jon rolled his eyes, gave his friend a rude gesture, dropped his practice sword -loser cleans up the weapons, house rules- and headed over to Serana. "Something wrong?"

"Aside from everything? No, nothing terrible has happened today... so far, at least," Serana drawled, before leaning closer. "I just wanted to see if the king being gutted changes our plans?"

"Well, we're still leaving on that East Empire Company ship, if that is what your asking," Jon assured as the pair began walking towards the castle's gardens. "Hopefully the king survives and recovers but, in the meantime, we just need to speed up our investigation. Hells, if anything, this could help up; everyone will be so focused on King Robert and his injury that no one will be paying attention to our snooping."

"So now our deadline is harsher than ever?" Serana asked. "Wow, I feel like I'm a little girl writing an essay for my tutors all over again. Anyway, what is on the plan for today?"

"More of the same, honestly" he answered with shrug. "I'm going to go investigate the final name on the list while Enzo and your mother are going to revisit the homes of those children in Flea Bottom to see if they can actually talk to the mothers this time. If all goes well, we'll be able to get confirmation of what we already suspect."

Of the three children that Enzo had observed, all of them shared the coal-black hair of Robert Baratheon and two had the man's bold blue eyes with the outlier having brown eyes and a darker-skinned mother who Jon suspected she was a likely Dornish from the description his friend gave. He even reported that in the older boys he saw the king's jawline and eyebrows. Add that to Gendry and it equaled out to four children who looked like the King leagues more than any of the children believed to be his, which matched with the records Serana had poured over; while not always the case, generally speaking, children born of Baratheon blood had black hair and blue eyes. 

The appearance of this last child would be the final straw. 

"And I was hoping that you could-"

"Jon!"

Arya rounded the corner and ran up excitedly. "I spoke to Father and he says that I can still go out with you today so long as we stay together! That means I still get to go to my sword lesson, right?"

"Yes, of course," he smiled at her enthusiasm, "though we may need to tweak the plans just ever so slightly. I just need to wash off and change; can you be ready in one hour?"

"I can be ready in half that time!" she declared proudly before shooting forward and wrapping a tight hug around Jon's mid-section. "I'll see you then!"

She gave him one last squeeze -causing to fight the urge to flinch- before letting go and running off in the directions of the apartments. Once she disappeared from sight, Jon gave in to the urge and rubbed his recently healed stab wound with a pained grown. Unfortunately, neither restoration spells or healing potions could eliminate all the pain from an injury. 

"That is what you get for throwing yourself back into fighting after such a serious injury," Serana scowled gently as she gave them the side-eye. "Would it have killed you to wait a day or two?"

"It almost did kill me," he exclaimed. "Enzo was right; I'm getting complacent and too easily distracted."

Serana rolled her eyes, "Jon, it is not like you got poke by a dining fork. Mother says that the knife not only punctured your liver but also got an artery, most people would have died before they even got out of the alleyway. Don't look a gifted horse in the mouth."

"Doesn't change the fact that I shouldn't have let it happen."

"Mistakes do happen, you know?"

Jon shook his head, "They can't happen to me because, if they do, then people die and I'm responsible. So training it is."

The vampiress just rolled her eyes, "Men!"

"I administered the anti-poison to the Lord Hand while he slept," Lady Valerica explained as they bumped along the increasingly narrow streets of King's Landing. "He was less than thrilled at the start but I got him to relax quickly enough and I doubt he'll remember anything; I'm not sure how much good it will do, the poison is deep into his system now, but it may buy us some time to question him. My only fear is that Lord Arryn is so deeply poisoned that it may cause an adverse reaction."

"Would that be bad enough to kill him?"

The woman shrugged, "Perhaps, but the poison would have killed him anyway and it is not like he has that much life left yet so I believe it is worth the risk."

'That makes a dark amount of sense,' Jon thought, fighting the urge to chuckle. "Did your investigation of his quarters find anything?"

"Not much," Lady Valerica admitted. "I could smell tract amounts of the poison but not enough for the source to within the room itself which leads me to believe that the poison is being administered through his food."

"Which means the person doing it either has direct access to the Lord Hand's meals or has someone with access to do it for them," Jon reasoned. "And that means our list of suspects just shrunk; Jon Arryn is an important man, his meals are prepared and handled by only the most trusted members of the kitchen staff. Add that to Lord Stannis being the king's brother and we're talking about someone who either above suspicion or close enough to both that they can get to the food with an issue."

"The is the downfall of oral poisoning," Lady Valerica acknowledge. "If you're after a specific target then you need to be careful, direct, and close, otherwise plans can go awry. That is why I prefer poisons and toxins that can seep through the skin or be breathed in. Yes, it has more personal risk involved but also far more opportunity. Crush wolfsbane into a powder and cover some of your victims' sheets or a scarf or the inner-lining of a coat and within an hour there is tingling in the tongue and the mouth goes numb. Then they feel nausea and start vomiting right before breathing becomes harder. Their pulse and heartbeat become weak and irregular and the skin is cold and clammy. After that, convulsions and pain followed by the organs shutting down; by the end of the day, your victim is dead and, if they are old or sick, it just looks like their heart gave out on them. The same process also works if you're just interested in just causing discomfort; I recommend Hogwart for that, it can cause horrifically painful rashes and blisters but they are far from permanant."

Jon gave the woman an unnerved look that was mirrored by Enzo. "You know, I read when I'm bored."

The Pink Lantern was an older two-story tall building with a stone ground floor and a timber upper floor that, despite the oblivious age, was still in good condition. Many of its windows are leaded and care was obviously shown to them as they were clean and free of chips or cracks; the shades of windows were all drawn, leaving just a slender crack to reveal tantalizing glimpses of what lay inside to the crowds that walked the street. Over the thick wooden door swung an ornate lamp of gilded metal and scarlet glass that would surely cast a pink glow during the night. 

There was a small chime when opened the door and when Jon stepped inside he was hit by the aroma of exotic spices that tickled his sensitive nose. The entrance was dim but the what little light there was glinted off a mosaic floor display of two women entwined in the art of making love. The entrance area was quartered off by an ornate Myrish screen carved with flowers, fancies, and dreaming maidens. Jon pushed it aside to find a common room with a cushioned alcove and a colored glass window where the dim sunlight pours through and a set of pipes was set up in the corner. 

"Welcome," a tall Summer Islander woman with sandalwood eyes in a lavish emerald green dress and plenty of golden jewelry greeted him. Her voice was deep and smooth with an accent the made Jon's ears happy. "I am Chataya, the owner of this establishment. How many I help you? My girls are the best in all of King's Landing, you know? Worth every silver. Are there any particulars you're interested in? Blondes perhaps? Redheads? Or maybe you prefer something a little more...exotic?"

Jon was familiar with whores. He was friends with many, had helped several, and even hid under the bed of one when he was avoiding Markarth guards after cleaning out the safe at the Silver-Blood treasury house... for the third time. But he had never bedded one and didn't plan to start now. 

"Actually," he coughed, ignoring the burning at the tips of his ears, "an... acquaintance of mine suggested one of your workers to me. I believe her name is Mhaegen?" 

"Yes, one of my finest girls," Chataya nodded. "She is available right now if you'd like. I just need to get payment first; you understand, I'm sure."

"Of course, that isn't a problem at all," Jon nodded formally and paid without another word then going to take a seat while he waited, only to decide against it and remain standing. The furniture in the common room look and smelt clean enough, but you never knew... especially in a brothel.

Chataya returned in short order, leading him up a short set of stairs. On the way up, Jon caught a glimpse of a beautiful but solemn looking girl with porcelain skin, emerald eyes, and long golden blonde hair. 'Why does she look so familiar?'

But that pondering was shoved to the back of his mind when they reached their destination. "She is ready for you," the madame said, "If you would like anything to eat or drink or anything... else, please, feel free to ask. I always hate for my guests to leave less than satisfied." 

'And who doesn't appreciate good customer service?' Jon though, giving the woman a nod and entering. 

"Greetings," a sweet-voiced young woman in a lavender silk robe cinched at the waist with a blue beaded belt smiled at Jon, standing at attention as he closed the door behind him. She wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, with curly light red, pale born, and a light dusting of freckles across her face and collar bone, but her eyes were bright and warm and she was certainly appealing. 

"Hello," he replied, shifting from foot to foot. 'How am I going to bring up her daughter without sound like a pervert?'

The woman -Mhaegen, Jon reminded himself- seemed to pick up on his nervousness. "Why don't you have a seat, Ser, and let me pour a glass of wine? Can I interest you in a glass of Arbor Gold? We have an excellent vintage available."

"That would be nice," he admitted, taking a seat as Mhaegen pulled out a glass and bottle. "Thank you."

"There is no rush, Ser," she replied, passing him the wine glass and taking a seat across from him. "We don't have to do anything until you're relaxed and ready."

'There is no way to ever be ready for this conversation,' Jon thought before deciding to just go for it. "Look, I am not here to sleep with you; I just want to talk and will give you an extra twenty silver stag if you just hear me out."

To prove his point, Jon pulled to coins from his purse and stacked them on the table in between them. Mhaegen looked started by his proclamation but nodded cautiously, her fingers gently curly around the handle of a cheese knife that had been left nearby. 

"Now, there is no way for me to say this that doesn't sound bad so I'm just going to come right on out with it," Jon said, letting it all come out at once, not wanting the woman to cut in. "I know you have a daughter, Barra, and I am almost entirely sure she is the king's child. I swear that I am not here to hurt either of you but I need to know because there is a very real possibility that you both could be in danger, along with many others."

"I... I believe you," Mhaegen said, even as she sat stunned and pale under her freckles.

"You do? Really?" 

'Well, that was easier than I thought.'

"I do," she nodded. "You're not the first person to come asking after my Barra. The Hand came not too long ago and a fat, old woman before that. She is the King's daughter, Ser, but I never told anyone; I don't want money or riches or a title or anything like that. I was King Robert's favorite here and he was good to me, Ser; he gave me many gifts and made me laugh. Even though he's lost interest in me now, I don't wish him any ill-will but if you say my daughter could be in danger than I have to protect her. Tell me what I need to do?"

Jon, hesitantly, reached over and gave Mhaegen's hand a comforting squeeze, "For now? Nothing, just go about your business as usual but I do want you to pack a bag; if you have to run then you need to be able to do so at a moment's notice."

"Alright, I can do that."

"Also have you noticed anyone or anything strange recently?"

Mhaegen though for a moment before what little remaining color her face had vanished. "There is one thing, Ser. We've seen an uptick in Lannister men coming in. Usually, they keep to Littlefinger's brothels; Madame Chataya doesn't let them get away with hurting us like he does. But recently a lot have been in and they stay for a long time too, watching all the girls."

'Damnit!' Jon though, though he forced a small smile, "I understand that you have no reason to trust me but I swear that I'm going to do whatever it takes to keep you both safe."

Mhaegen had a pained look on her face but gave another nod, "I... thank you, Ser."

"Not a problem, have a good day," he answered smoothly, standing up and heading for the door. 

"Wait!"

Jon turned back, "Yes?"

A small blush bloomed over the apples of Mhaegen's cheeks. "You said that I should go about my business as usual right? Well, it'll look awfully odd if a customer left after only a few minutes so..."

Jon's eyebrows shot up, "Uh, you can just tell everyone that I particularly unimpressive."

Mhaegen laughed but gave him a look like she was studying from the pages of a book. "You have someone, don't you?"

"What do you mean?"

"Ser, I may be a whore but I'm an expensive one and that means having skills outside the bedroom," she explained, teasing smirk playing on her face. "People think less of us for what we do but Marei has probably read more books than most lords, Dacey can do sums faster than a banker, and you should see Alayaya pick apart a contract. As for me, I can read people, and, in you, I see someone how has a lot of love to give but are too afraid to give."

Jon blinked in surprise, "You're good."

She shrugged, "You'd be surprised how much of my job is just listening to men talk about their problems; after the physical release comes the emotion one. I need to know how to listen and say the right things back."

"That makes sense, I suppose," Jon said, "and you're right, there is someone."

"Have you told her?"

"No," he shook his head. "She one of my closest friends in the entire world and I trust her completely but she's told me that, after all the indignities she's been through, she could never get married."

"So you don't want to hurt her or ruin the friendship?" Mhaegen asked.

"Absolutely, I couldn't live with myself if I did that."

Mhaegen gave him a soft look, "That is sweet... but, if you ask me, she deserves the option to at least try loving you back."

"Perhaps," Jon said quietly. "Perhaps."

"Give it some thought," she advised, picking up the bottle. "Now, how about we enjoy a nice meal together and talk some more?"

It was dusk by the time Jon finally made it back to the Red Keep with Lady Valerica, Serana, Enzo, and a very tired, very sore Arya in the toe. After bidding goodbye to the first two and entrusting Serana to cart his little shirt off to her bedroom, Jon returned to his quarters to try and get his thoughts together, only for a knock at the door to immediately disrupt those plans. 

"Jon," Uncle Ned said, "Robert has asked to see you."

He was taken back by his uncle's appearance; it wasn't so much that the man looked haggard or dirty, but rather it looked like every ounce of life had been wrung out of him and his eyes, though dry, were red and empty looking.

"I-"

"Please, Jon," the older man cut him off with a pleading voice, "just do it. Robert... he doesn't have much time left."

"Alright," he agreed quietly, "just give me a moment."

His uncle nodded and Jon closed the door; going over to his alchemy trunk, he opened it and stared down at the lines of bottles before solemnly choosing one and sliding it into his pocket.

"I know, I know. I look like shit," the king said, a weak attempt at humor even if it was an accurate description. 

The man was sprawl out on his bed, propped up by a mountain of pillows, and ripped open gut covered by layers of sheets. He was in a dreadful state, glassy-eyed and pale with a thin layer of sweat covering a body that somehow looked small despite its massive girth. 

It also smelt horrible in the room, despite the valiant efforts of the burning incense, and it was only years of practice tending to wounds that kept Jon from gagging.

"You wanted to see me, Your Majesty."

"Yes, I wanted.." he trailed off, seeming to lose focus before blinking hard and shaking his head. "I wanted to thank you for being so good to Tommen and Myrcella these past weeks, even I can tell they've grown fond of you, and I wanted to ask... to ask that you look after your father when I'm gone. He'll be hurting, especially since Jon will being following me soon, and he needs someone to support him. Do you think you can do that for me?"

Jon was surprised by the earnestness of the request and gave a gentle, "I'll do my best, your grace."

"Of course you will; you're a good boy," the man said tiredly. "You should have been mine, you know? My son. Mine and Lyanna's. Had things been different, you could have been the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and I could die knowing the country would be in good hands."

"Do you think you could have been happy with her?" Jon asked quietly, crouching down at the man's bedside. "Could you have been happy with Lyanna?"

"I hope so, otherwise I wasted an entire lifetime mourning an impossibility," Robert coughed, blood mixing with spittle. "But who knows? She is more fantasy than girl at this point; somedays I struggle to remember if she was real or not."

It was hard to hate a man so sad and yet...

"I brought something for you, my king," he said, pulling the small bottle of blue liquid out of his pocket and holding it up. "Its called Juniper Juice but the name is somewhat misleading. It is actually an extremely powerful painkiller; the problem is that it tastes sweet so people tend to drink too much and, if you not careful, it can be extremely toxic. I've seen a man take to much and be dead in less than an hour if that gives you an idea of its power. Still, I thought it might make you more comfortable."

He set the bottle down on Robert's bedside table, placing a small spoon next to it. "Now remember, take no more than a spoonful a day, Your Majesty, otherwise it could kill you. Do you understand?"

"Yes, yes," the king nodded sluggishly, "thank you. Now run along, lad; they say men shit when they die and doubt you want to see that."

"By your leave then," Jon said, padding silently to the door as he listened to the king's labored breathing. "Goodbye."

Later that night, just as he was about to fall asleep, Jon could hear the sound of bells echoing ominously across King's Landing.

Next Chapter: Secrets are let out, a library burns, and blood begins to spill.

Notes:

So this chapter is basically all the BS before things blow and, starting next chapter the blood starts to flow. I'm not sure if it'll be two chapters or one really long one, but the Escape from King's Landing its coming.

Maester Euterpen is a reference to Euterpe, the Muse of Music. I am a mythology nerd.