King's Landing

While Clay sailed out of the mouth of the White Knife River into the Bite aboard the Old Man of White Harbor, riding the wind and waves south, the Warden of the North and current Hand of the King, Eddard Stark, had become mired in a quagmire in King's Landing.

Seated on the raised wooden platform, Hand of the King Eddard watched King Robert shouting in the largest tent on the platform, his expression cold enough to freeze the air around him.

This tournament, held in his name, had actually cost nearly a hundred thousand gold dragons. Though that was not a particularly large expense for such a vast kingdom, the problem was that the treasury was empty.

Not only was it empty, but the crown's outstanding debts had already exceeded two million gold dragons, including debts to the Iron Bank of Braavos and several hundred thousand gold dragons owed to Lord Tywin Lannister of the Westerlands.

Even the expenses and prize money for this tournament had been borrowed from the king's father-in-law, Lord Tywin. When Eddard Stark heard that news, he wanted to stop the tournament immediately!

But he had no choice. His former brother, now his king, had arranged it for him, and he could not stop it even if he wanted to.

In the arena, two heavily armored knights charged at one another, and both lances snapped on impact. These specially treated tournament lances broke easily and were relatively expensive to make.

Watching the two squires standing nearby hand their masters fresh lances, Hand of the King Eddard's heart bled...

How was he supposed to govern the kingdom as Hand without money? The crown's daily expenses, the upkeep of the Royal Fleet, and everything else required gleaming gold dragons. Where was he supposed to conjure up that money? He had no intention whatsoever of asking that old lion for it.

Sometimes, he rather admired the current Master of Coin, Petyr, for having managed to keep the crown's finances running for so many years without mishap despite such a huge deficit. That took some ability.

But Ned also knew perfectly well that Lord Tywin was not supporting his royal son-in-law for nothing. The Iron Throne owed Casterly Rock enormous debts, and Tywin had not pressed the matter, but in exchange, large numbers of Lannisters had entered the Red Keep over the years.

And Robert, as king, had paid no attention to these matters, even after repeated warnings from the former Hand of the King, Jon Arryn.

After Eddard Stark had spent some time in King's Landing, he discovered that the scent of the lion was far stronger than that of the stag within the Red Keep.

He had not wanted to attend this game of men thrusting lances at each other, which seemed utterly meaningless to him. True martial prowess was forged on the battlefield. What purpose did this game of make-believe serve beyond drawing screams from those lavishly dressed noblewomen?

But his daughter was also in the tournament stands. Thinking of his sister Lyanna made Eddard Stark think even less of tournaments, yet it also made him put aside his work and come to the grounds.

Robert had told him that his crown prince, Joffrey, and Sansa were betrothed.

But what he feared came to pass. When Loras Tyrell presented a flower to his daughter Sansa, Eddard's breathing stopped for an instant.

His expression was grim, but then Eddard Stark reconsidered. This Knight of Flowers did not seem to have any betrothal, and House Tyrell had no particularly close ties to him.

Staring at the young fellow in his gleaming armor, the battle-hardened Hand of the King Eddard could tell at a glance that the Tyrell boy was probably all show.

He had just heard the herald announce that the boy's opponent this round was the notorious Mountain. Hah, you overconfident Tyrell. Let the Lannisters' mad dog teach you a painful lesson.

With that thought, Duke Eddard, seated in a corner, straightened slightly and turned his attention to the lists.

The two contestants were on opposite sides of the field, just under two hundred meters apart. That was a fairly safe distance. No matter how fine the horse, it could not reach full speed over that stretch.

Without enough speed, the impact would not be as great. At least that offered some measure of protection to these southern lords when they fell from their horses.

Duke Eddard looked to the other side at Ser Clegane, who sat on his horse like a small mountain. His enormous body exuded an imposing presence.

Compared with Loras Tyrell's somewhat scrawny frame, Duke Eddard reckoned that this Knight of Flowers would be knocked from his horse in a single pass.

Once their equipment was adjusted and the squires had withdrawn, both men's warhorses began to accelerate, but the short distance could not possibly let their horses reach full speed, however skilled the two riders were.

The charging riders swiftly closed on each other, but to Duke Eddard's surprise, something seemed to have gone wrong with the Mountain's horse. It was not obeying him at all.

As they hurtled toward each other, Loras thrust his lance forward with his thin arm, and at that very moment, the Mountain's horse slipped completely out of his control.

Then, before Duke Eddard's eyes, a steel-wrapped mass of flesh crashed hard to the ground along with his horse, drawing gasps from the stands.

Duke Eddard frowned. He was actually quite happy to see the Mountain defeated. After all, he had no fondness whatsoever for this Lannister mad dog.

Leading Lannister troops in the slaughter of House Targaryen, raping and murdering Rhaegar Targaryen's wife Elia, Prince Oberyn's elder sister-the Mountain's atrocities during the fall of King's Landing filled Eddard Stark with profound contempt.

But Lord Tywin stood behind him. Eddard had no choice but to let the Mountain swagger around King's Landing, even now that he had become Hand.

As the victor, Loras raised his ornate longsword and basked in the cheers of the women around him. But the next moment, the Mountain rose from the ground, furiously snatched a longsword from a squire standing nearby, and roared.

The blade swept down, cutting clean through the neck of the warhorse that had cost him the match.

Dazzling scarlet blood spurted from the severed arteries, drenching the hoof-marked ground. The cheers throughout the arena stopped as though someone had pressed pause.

Everyone stared blankly at the defeated man, not knowing why he had suddenly flown into a rage. Soon, the first woman's scream rose from the stands, followed by a chorus of screams.

Eddard Stark did not like this situation at all, but not because of the blood. Why would he fear blood?

Ever since he had arrived in King's Landing, this city had surprised him in all manner of ways. For no apparent reason, the words that Hand of the King Jon Arryn had kept repeating before his death echoed through his mind:

"The seed is strong!"

He still could not fathom what those words referred to, but he knew very well that whatever a dying man kept repeating must be something of utmost importance to him.

The heavy stench of blood rushed into his nose, making him feel extremely uncomfortable.