A Game of Thrones Chapter Twenty-five

Eddard gentle Arryns death was a enceinte sadness for entirely of us, my lord, meretricious Maester Pycelle said. I would be much than than happy to tell you what I gouge of the manner of his passing. Do be seated. Would you c ar for refreshments? Some dates, perhaps? I entertain some truly o.k. persimmons as well. Wine no retentiveer agrees with my digestion, I fear, neertheless I can offer you a cup of iced milk, sweetened with h 1y. I date it most refreshing in this waken.Thither was no denying the heat Ned could feel the silk tunic clinging to his chest. Thick, moist air coered the city similar a damp woolen blanket, and the riverside had gr witness unruly as the poor fled their hot, airless warrens to jostle for calming places near the water, where the lone(prenominal) breathing space of attaind was to be found. That would be most kind, Ned said, seating himself.Pycelle get up a tiny silver bell with thumb and forefinger and tinkled it gently. A lissom young serving miss hurried into the solar. Iced milk for the Kings Hand and myself, if you would be so kind, child. Well sweetened.As the girl went to fetch their drinks, the heroic Maester snarled his fingers together and rested his workforce on his stomach. The smallfolk say that the last yr of summer is al styluss the hottest. It is non so, to date ofttimes it feels that way, does it not? On sidereal days care this, I envy you northerners your summer s at presents. The heavy jewelled chain around the elderly mans neck chinked softly as he shifted in his seat. To be sure, King Maekars summer was hotter than this one, and near as colossal. There were fools, so far in the Citadel, who took that to mean that the Great Summer had cause at last, the summer that never ends, but in the seventh grade it broke explosively, and we had a short autumn and a terrible long winter. Still, the heat was fierce while it lasted. Oldtown steamed and sweltered by day and came animate only by night. We would walk in the gardens by the river and argue virtually the gods. I remember the smells of those nights, my lordperfume and sweat, melons ripe to bursting, peaches and pomegranates, nightshade and moonbloom. I was a young man then, still forging my chain. The heat did not tick me as it does now. Pycelles look were so heavily lidded he looked half-asleep. My pardons, cleric Eddard. You did not go in to hear foolish meanderings of a summer forget before your father was born. Forgive an old man his wanderings, if you would. Minds are alike(p) swords, I do fear. The old ones go to rust. Ah, and here is our milk. The serving girl placed the tray between them, and Pycelle gave her a smile. Sweet child. He lifted a cup, tasted, nodded. Thank you. You may go.When the girl had taken her leave, Pycelle peered at Ned through pale, screaky eyes. Now where were we? Oh, yes. You asked slightly ecclesiastic Arryn . . . I did. Ned sipped politely at the iced milk. It was cheerily cold, but oversweet to his taste.If truth be told, the Hand had not seemed quite himself for some time, Pycelle said. We had sat together on council many a year, he and I, and the signs were at that place to read, but I put them down to the corking burdens he had borne so faithfully for so long. Those broad shoulders were weighed down by all the cares of the realm, and more besides. His son was ever sickly, and his lady wife so anxious that she would precisely let the boy out of her sight. It was enough to weary even a strong man, and the schoolmaster Jon was not young. Small wonder if he seemed mourning and tired. Or so I mentation at the time. Yet now I am less certain. He gave a ponderous get of his detail.What can you tell me of his lowest illness?The gilt Maester spread his hands in a gesture of helpless sorrow. He came to me one day as pansy mole rat after a certain book, as hale and sound as ever, though it did seem to me that something was troubling him deeply. The next morning he was twisted over in pain, too sick to rise from bed. Maester Colemon thought it was a chill on the stomach. The weather had been hot, and the Hand ofttimes iced his wine, which can upset the digestion. When victor Jon continued to weaken, I went to him myself, but the gods did not dispense me the power to save him.I pick out heard that you sent Maester Colemon apart.The Grand Maesters nod was as slow and deliberate as a glacier. I did, and I fear the wench Lysa will never forgive me that. perchance I was wrong, but at the time I thought it best. Maester Colemon is like a son to me, and I yield to none in my admire for his abilities, but he is young, and the young ofttimes do not hatch the frailty of an older body. He was purging victor Arryn with wasting potions and spice up juice, and I feared he might kill him.Did churchman Arryn say anything to you during his final hours?Pycelle wrinkled his brow. In the last stage of his fever, the Hand cal led out the bid Robert several times, but whether he was as fagonet for his son or for the king I could not say. Lady Lysa would not permit the boy to fall down in the sickroom, for fear that he too might be taken ill. The king did come, and he sat beside the bed for hours, talking and joking of times long past in hopes of raising Lord Jons spirits. His love was fierce to see.Was thither nothing else? No final words?When I saw that all hope had fled, I gave the Hand the milk of the poppy, so he should not suffer. Just before he closed his eyes for the last time, he whispered something to the king and his lady wife, a blessing for his son. The seed is strong, he said. At the end, his speech was too slurred to comprehend. Death did not come until the next morning, but Lord Jon was at peace after that. He never spoke again.Ned took an different swallow of milk, trying not to jocularity on the sweetness of it. Did it seem to you that at that place was anything unnatural about Lord Arryns death?Unnatural? The aged maesters voice was thin as a whisper. No, I could not say so. Sad, for a certainty. Yet in its own way, death is the most natural thing of all, Lord Eddard. Jon Arryn rests easy now, his burdens lifted at last.This illness that took him, said Ned. Had you ever seen its like before, in other men?Near forty years I have been Grand Maester of the Seven Kingdoms, Pycelle rep trickeryd. Under our good King Robert, and Aerys Targaryen before him, and his father Jaehaerys the moment before him, and even for a few short months under Jaehaeryss father, Aegon the Fortunate, the fifth part of His Name. I have seen more of illness than I care to remember, my lord. I will tell you this Every case is different, and every(prenominal) case is alike. Lord Jons death was no stranger than any other.His wife thought otherwise.The Grand Maester nodded. I recall now, the widow is sister to your own formal wife. If an old man may be forgiven his blunt speech, let me s ay that wo can derange even the strongest and most disciplined of minds, and the Lady Lysa was never that. Since her last stillbirth, she has seen enemies in every shadow, and the death of her lord husband remaining(p) her shattered and lost.So you are quite certain that Jon Arryn died of a fulminant illness?I am, Pycelle replied gravely. If not illness, my good lord, what else could it be?Poison, Ned suggested quietly.Pycelles sleepy eyes flicked open. The aged maester shifted uncomfortably in his seat. A disturbing thought. We are not the Free Cities, where such things are rough-cut. Grand Maester Aethelmure wrote that all men read murder in their hearts, yet even so, the poisoner is beneath contempt. He ferocious si change for a moment, his eyes lost in thought. What you suggest is possible, my lord, yet I do not think it likely. Every hedge maester knows the common poisons, and Lord Arryn displayed none of the signs. And the Hand was loved by all. What sort of titan in m ans flesh would dare to murder such a noble lord?I have heard it said that poison is a womans weapon.Pycelle stroked his beard thoughtfully. It is said. Women, cravens . . . and eunuchs. He cleared his throat and spat a rich glob of phelm onto the rushes. Above them, a raven cawed loudly in the rookery. The Lord Varys was born a slave in Lys, did you know? Put not your pull in spiders, my lord.That was scarcely anything Ned needed to be told there was something about Varys that made his flesh crawl. I will remember that, Maester. And I thank you for your help. I have taken enough of your time. He stood.Grand Maester Pycelle pushed himself up from his chair slowly and escorted Ned to the door. I hope I have helped in some small way to put your mind at ease. If there is any other service I might perform, you need only ask.One thing, Ned told him. I should be curious to examine the book that you lent Jon the day before he fell ill.I fear you would find it of little interest, Pycelle said. It was a ponderous tome by Grand Maester Malleon on the lineages of the great houses.Still, I should like to see it.The old man opened the door. As you wish. I have it here somewhere. When I find it, I shall have it sent to your chambers straightaway.You have been most courteous, Ned told him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, One last question, if you would be so kind. You mentioned that the king was at Lord Arryns bedside when he died. I wonder, was the queen with him?why, no, Pycelle said. She and the children were making the journey to Casterly Rock, in ships company with her father. Lord Tywin had brought a retinue to the city for the tourney on Prince Joffreys disclose day, no doubt hoping to see his son Jaime win the champions crown. In that he was sadly disappointed. It fell to me to send the queen word of Lord Arryns sudden death. Never have I sent off a snort with a heavier heart.Dark wings, dark words, Ned murmured. It was a proverb Old granny knot had t aught him as a boy.So the fishwives say, Grand Maester Pycelle agreed, but we know it is not always so. When Maester Luwins hushing brought the word about your Bran, the message lifted every true heart in the castle, did it not?As you say, Maester.The gods are merciful. Pycelle motion his head. Come to me as often as you like, Lord Eddard. I am here to serve. Yes, Ned thought as the door swung shut, but whom?On the way back to his chambers, he came upon his daughter Arya on the winding steps of the mainstay of the Hand, windmilling her arms as she struggled to balance on one leg. The rough tilt had scuffed her bare feet. Ned stopped and looked at her. Arya, what are you doing?Syrio says a water professional dancer can stand on one toe for hours. Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself.Ned had to smile. Which toe? he teased.Any toe, Arya said, exasperated with the question. She hopped from her repair leg to her left, swaying dangerously before she regained her balance.Mus t you do your standing here? he asked. Its a long hard fall down these steps.Syrio says a water dancer never falls. She lowered her leg to stand on two feet. Father, will Bran come and live with us now? non for a long time, sweet one, he told her. He needs to win his strength back.Arya bit her lip. What will Bran do when hes of age?Ned knelt beside her. He has years to find that answer, Arya. For now, it is enough to know that he will live. The night the bird had come from Winterfell, Eddard crude(a) had taken the girls to the castle godswood, an acre of elm and alder and scurrilous cottonwood overlooking the river. The heart tree there was a great oak, its ancient limbs overgrown with smokeberry vines they knelt before it to offer their thanksgiving, as if it had been a weirwood. Sansa drifted to sleep as the moon rose, Arya several hours later, curling up in the git under Neds cloak. wholly through the dark hours he kept his lookout man alone. When dawn broke over the city, t he dark red blooms of dragons breath skirt the girls where they lay. I dreamed of Bran, Sansa had whispered to him. I saw him smiling.He was sacking to be a knight, Arya was saying now. A knight of the Kingsguard. Can he still be a knight?No, Ned said. He saw no use in lying to her. Yet someday he may be the lord of a great holdfast and sit on the kings council. He might raise castles like Brandon the Builder, or sail a ship across the SunsetSea, or enter your mothers Faith and become the spirited Septon. But he will never run beside his wolf again, he thought with a sadness too deep for words, or lie with a woman, or hold his own son in his arms.Arya cocked her head to one side. Can I be a kings councillor and skeleton castles and become the High Septon?You, Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, will unite a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon.Arya screwed up her face. No, she said, thats Sans a. She folded up her right leg and resumed her balancing. Ned sighed and left her there.Inside his chambers, he stripped off his sweat-stained silks and sluiced cold water over his head from the basin beside the bed. Alyn entered as he was drying his face. My lord, he said, Lord Baelish is without and begs audience. musical accompaniment him to my solar, Ned said, reaching for a fresh tunic, the lightest linen he could find. Ill see him at once.Littlefinger was perched on the window seat when Ned entered, catching the knights of the Kingsguard practice at swords in the yard below. If only old Selmys mind were as nimble as his blade, he said wistfully, our council meetings would be a good deal livelier.Ser Barristan is as valiant and honorable as any man in Kings Landing. Ned had come to have a deep respect for the aged, white-haired Lord commanding officer of the Kingsguard.And as tiresome, Littlefinger added, though I daresay he should do well in the tourney. Last year he unhors ed the Hound, and it was only four years ago that he was champion.The question of who might win the tourney interested Eddard Stark not in the least. Is there a reason for this visit, Lord Petyr, or are you here simply to enjoy the view from my window?Littlefinger smiled. I promised Cat I would help you in your inquiries, and so I have.That took Ned aback. expect or no promise, he could not find it in him to trust Lord Petyr Baelish, who struck him as too clever by half. You have something for me?Someone, Littlefinger corrected. Four someones, if truth be told. Had you thought to question the Hands servants?Ned frowned. Would that I could. Lady Arryn took her household back to the Eyrie. Lysa had done him no favor in that regard. All those who had stood closest to her husband had gone with her when she fled Jons maester, his steward, the captain of his guard, his knights and retainers.Most of her household, Littlefinger said, not all. A few remain. A pregnant kitchen girl hastily w ed to one of Lord Renlys grooms, a stablehand who joined the City Watch, a potboy fulfil from service for theft, and Lord Arryns squire.His squire? Ned was pleasantly surprised. A mans squire often knew a great deal of his comings and goings.Ser Hugh of the Vale, Littlefinger named him. The king knighted the boy after Lord Arryns death.I shall send for him, Ned said. And the others.Littlefinger winced. My lord, step over here to the window, if you would be so kind.Why?Come, and Ill show you, my lord.Frowning, Ned crossed to the window. Petyr Baelish made a casual gesture. There, across the yard, at the door of the armory, do you see the boy squatting by the steps honing a sword with an oilstone?What of him?He reports to Varys. The Spider has taken a great interest in you and all your doings. He shifted in the window seat. Now glance at the wall. Farther west, above the stables. The guardsman leaning on the ramparts?Ned saw the man. Another of the eunuchs whisperers?No, this one bel ongs to the queen. Notice that he enjoys a fine view of the door to this tower, the better to note who calls on you. There are others, many unknown even to me. The Red Keep is full of eyes. Why do you think I hid Cat in a bagnio?Eddard Stark had no taste for these intrigues. Seven hells, he swore. It did seem as though the man on the walls was watching him. Suddenly uncomfortable, Ned moved away from the window. Is everyone someones informer in this cursed city?Scarcely, said Littlefinger. He counted on the fingers on his hand. Why, theres me, you, the king . . . although, come to think on it, the king tells the queen much too much, and Im less than certain about you. He stood up. Is there a man in your service that you trust utterly and exclusively?Yes, said Ned.In that case, I have a delightful castle in Valyria that I would dearly love to sell you, Littlefinger said with a mocking smile. The wiser answer was no, my lord, but be that as it may. Send this beau ideal of yours to Ser Hugh and the others. Your own comings and goings will be noted, but even Varys the Spider cannot watch every man in your service every hour of the day. He started for the door.Lord Petyr, Ned called after him. I . . . am grateful for your help. Perhaps I was wrong to distrust you.Littlefinger fingered his small pointed beard. You are slow to learn, Lord Eddard. Distrusting me was the wisest thing youve done since you climbed down off your horse.