Arya stared at the empty dining table. Her father was absent, Jon was absent, and even the septa and Sansa had left. This was King's Landing, a place that always filled Arya with dread and fear.
Arya could only wish her father's plan success in her heart. Unlike Sansa, she had not been dazzled by the extravagance of King's Landing. She was a watchful she-wolf. "We only have a hundred men, but the Lannisters have far more."
"Is the king really dead?" Cersei asked Lancel in Maegor's Holdfast.
"The king suffered a tearing wound, from his groin to his chest. I've never seen such a terrible wound. I'm afraid he won't live much longer. He's lost too much blood," Lancel said, trembling all over.
"Didn't the old wolf go hunting that day?"
"No." Lancel shook his head. "When they were drinking in the tent, I watched how much they drank. Lord Eddard didn't get up the next day."
"Good, but Robert will certainly tell the old wolf something. I need to prepare early." Cersei considered it.
By the time Eddard returned to the River Gate with the bodies of the king and the boar, the atmosphere was already decidedly unusual. The pitifully small funeral escort seemed like a joke. Renly had fled ahead with his guards, and Barristan had already departed on his orders.
Fully armed Lannister guards in crimson cloaks waited at the River Gate. All of King's Landing could feel the murderous tension. To Eddard, the Crimson Lion Banners were as glaring as blood. In all this vast city, were there really so few signs of House Baratheon?
Eddard studied the welcoming party. Six men led it: the old maester Pycelle, the Hound, Varys, Janos, the Commander of the City Watch, in black-and-gold armor, the White Knight