When Renly stepped into the Council Chamber in the Red Keep, where the atmosphere was heavy, he had put on his mask of elegant composure once more.
At the council table, King Robert Baratheon's massive body was crammed into his chair, his expression exceptionally grim.
Grand Maester Pycelle was drowsy.
Mace Tyrell, the Master of Ships, had lowered his head and was pretending to sleep.
Varys, the Master of Whisperers, wore a calm expression as he silently studied the intelligence documents on the table.
Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, wore a trace of his signature smile, his eyes stealing almost imperceptible glances at everyone's faces.
The newly appointed Hand of the King, Lord Eddard Stark, sat to Robert's right, his back perfectly straight and his expression composed, though an inescapable weariness and worry lingered in the depths of his gray-blue eyes.
Seeing that everyone had arrived, Robert slammed the table, sending cups and plates rattling. His drunken voice was full of brutality. "Varys has brought word that the two Targaryen remnants are still running about in Tyrosh across the Narrow Sea. They must be eliminated.
"Send assassins! I want their heads! Right now! Immediately!"
Eddard Stark's heart sank.
He remembered the terrified Silver-haired Girl and the arrogant yet equally vulnerable Boy he had seen in Tyrosh.
His sense of honor surged within his chest.
He raised his head and objected in a clear, firm voice. "Your Grace, with all due respect, this will anger that Easterner. It will bring needless and terrible retaliation upon the Seven Kingdoms. Besides, hunting down two children to kill them is not honorable."
"Honor?!"
Robert's fury erupted in full. His face flushed red, and he glared at Eddard like an enraged stag, roaring, "Ned! You speak to me of honor? Have you forgotten what