Game of Thrones: The Stag's Storm

Gendry rose as well, exchanging pleasantries with the bankers crowding around him.

"Lord Archon, our colleagues in Tyrosh and we have a small proposal," a banker from Myr said quietly.

Intrigued, Gendry invited them to continue.

"No one has ever truly controlled both cities before. Now you rule the Twin Cities Alliance, and you also hold the Stepstones and the Disputed Lands. You have the power to merge the banks of Myr and Tyrosh," said an olive-skinned banker from Myr.

"One bank? So this is what your banking community wants?" Gendry surveyed the bankers before him.

"Yes, my lord. If you are to become a king, there ought to be one unified bank and one unified currency," the Myrish banker said, summoning his courage.

"If the Archon would consider the needs of our banking community, we will give our full support to your new policies, your army, and even the crown you desire," a red-haired banker from Tyrosh added from beside him.

The Three Daughters had once united as the Triarchy, but its High Council of thirty-three governors had made the whole state bloated, sluggish, and divided. Now, however, the Twin Cities Alliance had only one ruler and one army, giving it the potential to become a true nation.

They're trying to hold my feet to the fire, Gendry thought. For now, Braavos was a friend whose intentions remained uncertain. If he hastily consolidated the banks and established a unified institution to steal business from the Iron Bank, the consequences could be more than he could bear.

"We will discuss this another day. I will give your suggestions careful consideration." Gendry thanked the bankers. At present, such a proposal was far too risky. Many years ago, only the Rogare bank had briefly managed to surpass the Iron Bank in influence, but the price had come swiftly: the sudden death of the tyrant Lysandro and the decline of House Rogare.

The bankers looked delighted. If he was willing to consider it, there was at least a chance of a merger. The two cities now possessed vast territories, and might one day gain a foothold in Westeros. These bankers aspired to build a magnificent bank spanning two continents.

Fortunes were made by taking risks, and the prospect of profit filled the bankers with greed.

"My lord, to these glorious years."

"To your great endeavors," the bankers said in praise.

Gendry watched them as they all raised their cups together. Since the Triarchy had broken apart, the Three Daughters had come to hate one another. Seeing these bankers gathered together was rare indeed.

While everyone was exchanging pleasantries, a sudden commotion broke out in the hall.

"You are drunk, Prince." Ser Jorah rose and regarded Viserys coldly.

"I'm not drunk," Viserys muttered. "When is your king going to send his troops? Must we wait until he's bedded my sister and she's borne the bastard's little brat?"

"I've already been generous enough. I let that bastard bed my sister. All I ask is that he send an army to take me back to Westeros."

Daenerys stood on the dais, watching her brother with tears gathering in her eyes.

"It seems you really are drunk." Grey Wolf was also beside Viserys. He poured a full cup of wine into Viserys's cup, then forced it against his mouth.

"I am the king! How dare you treat a king this way?" Viserys shouted in furious outrage.

Viserys choked on the wine. His nose stung, and tears nearly spilled from his eyes. Wine stained his splendid black clothes.

"You damned eunuch! I am the king! How dare you treat a king this way?" Viserys shouted.

The Unsullied regarded Viserys impassively, refilled his cup, and poured it into his mouth again.

"No! I won't drink!" Viserys fell to the floor as he struggled. Suddenly, an even more terrifying thought seized him: perhaps the wine was poisoned. He let out incoherent cries, like a pitiful fish stranded on shore.

"Grey Wolf believes you ought to give him a few slaps to sober him up," Maester Qyburn said softly.

"I don't want him hurt." Daenerys hurried down from the dais and looked at Viserys's flushed face.

"Enough! Ser Jorah, Grey Wolf."

They stopped. Viserys lay on the floor, gasping loudly, utterly wretched. Every guest had witnessed the scene. They wanted to laugh, but dared not.

He's so pitiful. A sudden compassion stirred in Daenerys. He had always been a wretch, but only now did she realize it. Her nightmare seemed to dissolve into nothing.

"You must be drunk." Gendry walked over to Viserys and pulled the pitiful man to his feet. Viserys cradled his head as though afraid of being struck. He saw Gendry's smile. Gentle though it was, that smile frightened him.

"It's you! It's all your fault!" Viserys shrieked. "Will no one help the poor king? Hit him! Hit these lackeys of his!"

"I think you've simply had too much to drink. If you don't go back to bed, you'll soon become a real beggar," Gendry said quietly.

Viserys gave him a humiliated look, then glanced at Daenerys. He wanted to fight back, but he saw the men watching him like predators, the powerful guards, the Unsullied as unyielding as steel.

Viserys stumbled out of the banquet hall. At last, he had lost everything.

He is no true dragon, Daenerys thought. He feared fire, and he feared steel.

Chapter 90: Two Secret Letters

The North was harsh and cold, but Winterfell was different. The castle stood atop natural hot springs. Steaming water flowed through its walls and bedchambers, driving the chill from its stone halls and filling the glass gardens with warmth and moisture.

Lord Eddard's chambers were the warmest in Winterfell. Catelyn loved that warmth. It always brought back memories of Riverrun, of running and playing with Lysa and Edmure beneath the bright sun. Even here in the North, Catelyn always remembered the south, that beautiful land of green.

When Eddard and Catelyn had finished, he rose from the bed and drew aside the heavy tapestry curtains. One by one, he pushed open the high, narrow windows, letting the cold pour into the bedchamber.

Eddard may not be as handsome or as powerfully built as Brandon, but he is a good husband, Catelyn thought as she watched his back.

Fifteen years ago, Eddard and Catelyn had married in haste in the sept at Riverrun. The marriage had originally been arranged between Catelyn and Brandon, but Brandon's sudden death had changed everything. Still, Eddard had fulfilled his duty to the North and the Riverlands, and the couple had borne several children.

"I will simply refuse him." Eddard turned to face his wife, his eyes filled with a darkness that seemed impossible to dispel, his voice heavy with misgivings.

Catelyn sat up in bed. "No. You cannot refuse."

"My duty is here, in the North. I have no wish to become Robert's Hand," Eddard said pensively.

Others might prefer the warmth of the south, but the Starks were born to live with the cold. His father, Lord Rickard, had eagerly pursued his southern ambitions, only to bring about a tragedy.

"Robert won't understand that. He is king now. You cannot treat a king as an ordinary man... can't you see the danger your refusal might bring upon us?" Catelyn urged her husband.

The couple openly quarreled over going south. Catelyn did not know what her husband feared. The warm south was where she had grown up.

"The king has come to see you. That is the highest honor," Catelyn said, looking at her husband as anger suddenly rose within her.

Why couldn't Eddard understand? The king was willing to marry his eldest son to Sansa. What greater honor could there be? One day, Sansa would become queen, and her children would rule the vast lands from the Wall in the north to the Red Mountains of Dorne in the south. Was that not a good thing?

"In the past, it certainly would have been..." Eddard frowned deeply. "But these are troubled times. Once I go south, I may have to muster armies and wage war against the enemy across the Narrow Sea. Robert says he will not acknowledge a traitor, but a king cannot become a kinslayer."

Eddard hoped his wife would understand his predicament. Going south was no pleasant appointment. Their enemies across the Narrow Sea watched hungrily, but there was no peace within the Red Keep either.

He had not seen the king in nine years, while the Lannisters attended him day and night. The distance between the North and the south was indeed too great.

"Have you become afraid of war, my lord?" Catelyn asked. "Your enemies are only children. Even King Balon's rebellion was put down, wasn't it?"

"My lady, the battlefield makes no distinction for children. Only victory and defeat matter. That boy knows a thing or two about war. Myr and Tyrosh are both enormous port cities, which means vast amounts of money and manpower. Those fleets, slaves, and sellswords are willing to die for him, just as men were for Robert in his youth."

Eddard laid out his reasoning. Among the great powers of the Free Cities, Braavos, Volantis, and the former Three Daughters ranked foremost. Myr and Tyrosh were not foes who would easily yield. They were wealthy and powerful, unlike the barren Iron Islands. Besides, Stannis, now hiding on Dragonstone, might not be willing to emerge and command the royal fleet.

"But this is precisely when you ought to stand beside the king. He will be grateful for your support," Catelyn urged.

Eddard grew still more withdrawn. There were things he could not explain to his wife. The thought of going south always filled him with unease.

Above all, Eddard had received a secret letter from distant Dragonstone. Its contents had been so shocking that he had never shared them with anyone.

"Duke Jon was most likely killed by House Lannister, because he appears to have discovered a certain 'unusual' relationship between the queen and her brother." The contents of Stannis's letter were astonishing, but Eddard knew he was not a reckless man. He was as hard as steel.

Unusual? Eddard brooded. Stannis's letter seemed to contain a tremendous secret. His smuggler had hidden the letter in a wine cask and left it at White Harbor, without another word of explanation.

Stannis had not elaborated in his letter. Eddard had not yet dared to speculate about the king's children, nor had Stannis stated the matter so plainly. Even so, Eddard understood that the Red Keep was shrouded in suspicion.

"Gods, Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven," Eddard said. "And Joffrey... Joffrey is..."

Catelyn hastily interrupted. "He is the crown prince, the heir to the Iron Throne. I was only twelve when my father betrothed me to your brother Brandon."

Brandon's shadow seemed to fall between them. Hearing his name filled Eddard with bitterness. "Yes, Brandon knew everything. Brandon always knew what to do. Both you and Winterfell should have been his. Brandon was the one fit to be a lord and a queen's father."

"The dead are dead. Brandon is gone. Whether you like it or not, this bitter cup has now passed to you."

Catelyn's words struck Eddard hard. He turned away again, retreating into the darkness.

Seeing him like this, Catelyn dared say no more. She knew her husband was wounded, but this wound would not heal easily. His elder brother's shadow lay between them, just like the shadow of another woman, a woman whose name Eddard would not speak, yet who had borne him a "bastard."

A moment later, a knock broke the silence between them, stopping Catelyn just as she was about to comfort her husband. Then Maester Luwin of Winterfell entered.

The gift Maester Luwin brought was chilling: a box containing a Myrish lens.

The maester said to Eddard, "Forgive me for disturbing your rest. Someone has left me a letter."

Eddard and Catelyn both looked at the box containing the lens as they listened to what had happened.

Someone had placed an intricately carved wooden box on the desk in the Observatory while Maester Luwin was dozing. The servants said they had seen no one enter or leave, but it must have been left by someone traveling with the king. Winterfell had no other visitors from the south.

Eddard frowned again. Catelyn knew he had little patience for such trifles. "A lens?" Eddard said. "What has that to do with me?"

"I asked myself the same question at the time," Maester Luwin said. "Clearly, there was something hidden within."

Beneath the heavy furs, Catelyn trembled as she said, "A lens is used to see the truth clearly."

"Precisely," Maester Luwin replied, then drew a letter from his sleeve and handed it over.

Sadness stirred in Catelyn when she saw the moon-and-falcon sigil of House Arryn impressed in the blue sealing wax.

Eddard's brow remained furrowed, his expression growing darker. "Open it."

"This is a warning," Catelyn said. "I hope we are wise enough to heed it."

"Lysa says Jon Arryn was murdered."

"By whom?" Eddard asked. Perhaps he already had an answer, but he needed to confirm it once more.

"House Lannister," Catelyn said solemnly. "The queen herself."

Eddard released his grip, leaving vivid, dark red finger marks on her arm. "Gods," he whispered hoarsely. "Your sister is overcome with grief. She doesn't know what she's saying."

The stone weighing on Eddard's heart sank further. Lysa's letter said exactly what Stannis's had. Two secret letters, both pointing to House Lannister's ambitions.

Suddenly, Eddard understood why Stannis had written. Stannis was isolated and without support. Ambitious Lannisters held King's Landing, while across the Narrow Sea stood the bastard and the remnants of the true dragons.

"Lysa may be impulsive, but this letter was carefully planned and concealed. She must know that if it falls into the wrong hands, she will die. This cannot be a baseless rumor, or she would never have taken such a risk."

"Now we have no choice. You must become Hand so you can uncover the truth," Catelyn proposed first.

"Gods, the south is full of vipers and savage beasts. I think we would do better to stay clear." Eddard had already reached his conclusion: the south was far too treacherous.

Yet the maester's words were like a summons to his death, feeding the flames once more. The old maester spoke slowly. "My lord, the Hand of the King wields great power, enough for you to discover how old Duke Jon died and bring his killer to justice. Even should matters turn ill, it would be more than enough to protect Lady Lysa and her son."

Eddard felt a loneliness unlike any he had known. These two had sounded the horns and driven him toward the battlefield. Now he stood alone. His wife needed him to be brave so that he could better protect their family.

"You say you love Robert more than your own brother. Can you bear to watch your brother surrounded by Lannisters?"

Catelyn's words seemed to carry an immense weight, crushing every path by which Eddard might retreat. No matter what dangers lay ahead, he no longer had a choice.

"It seems I must leave Winterfell, leave my home." Eddard's voice changed, sounding utterly powerless.

His voice was weary and sorrowful, and his eyes grew slightly damp. "My father went south only once in his life, to answer a king's summons. He never returned."

Chapter 91: Jon Snow's Path