In the council chambers of The Red Keep in King's Landing, everything was black, and everyone wore black.
The regent queen mother wore a high-necked black silk gown, its bodice adorned with hundreds of dark red gems, covering her from neck to chest.
The gems were cut into tear-drop shapes, and at a glance, the regent queen mother seemed to be weeping blood.
"Those damned traitors! They won't bow down just because of a letter," Cersei thought anxiously, her clear green eyes filled with worry.
The regent queen mother sat at the head of the long table, which was still piled high with papers, candles, and stacks of wax seals.
Now, only three important ministers remained in the council chambers.
With the former hand of the king, Eddard, imprisoned, the master of laws, Renly, and the master of ships, Stannis, having fled, and the lord commander of the kingsguard, Barristan, having journeyed across the Narrow Sea, the Small Council had suffered significant losses.
The master of coin, Lord Petyr Baelish, sat to the regent queen mother's left, Old Maester Pycelle on the other side of the table, and the master of whisperers, Lord Varys, smelling of flowers, drifted around them.
"Look at our council chambers, all the traitors are gone.
Now it feels pitifully deserted," the regent queen mother said with dissatisfaction.
"Though there are fewer people, these Lords are all loyal to the throne and have sworn allegiance to the new King, Your Grace," Littlefinger said playfully.
"Your words are indeed pleasant, but I would prefer to hear them from Eddard, or from those traitors, the three storms."
Varys shook his head, "Lord Eddard is truly as stubborn as a Stubborn Stone, unyielding."
He rubbed his soft hands together, making a gesture of helplessness and resignation.
"Even threatening him with the Child didn't work?" the Old Maester with a white beard asked.
"I went to see him, he's truly like a Stubborn Stone.
I brought the Child's personal plea for mercy, but it had no effect," the regent queen mother snorted softly.
"We must handle these matters ourselves," the Old Maester said.
"Although Lord Tywin has been appointed hand of the king, he is in the Riverlands, fighting House Tully."
"Damn it," Cersei recalled that stern, long face.
Eddard wore a white linen tunic, with the Direwolf sigil of House Stark embroidered on his chest, and a black wool cloak fastened at his neck with a silver hand badge, symbolizing his office.
Black, white, and gray—the three possibilities of truth.
"The crucial thing is that our narrative has already been spread by the birds: Eddard Stark, Stannis, and Renly are traitors," Old Maester Pycelle raised his aged head.
"We heard Lord Eddard swear to King Robert more than once that he would protect the young prince and treat him as his own son.
Who would have thought that as soon as the King died, he would immediately tamper with the will on the road, attempting to summon the Lords and conspire to steal the throne that rightfully belongs to Joffrey for someone else."
"That may be true, but I fear we won't convince many people."
"We have proof, Your Grace," the Old Maester said solemnly.
The Old Maester picked up a letter.
The letter paper was badly torn and stained with dried blood, but the broken wax seal was undoubtedly the Direwolf sigil of House Stark.
"This is what we found on the Captain of the Guard of House Stark.
Lord Eddard had prepared another letter, apparently fearing that his previous messenger might not be reliable enough.
The recipient was the King's brother, Stannis; the letter invited him to King's Landing to stabilize order, arrest the Queen and the heir, control King's Landing, and await the return of the new King."
"Lords, Lord Eddard is indeed a traitor, but Stark's soldiers are still somewhat useful to us," Varys said with a grin.
"What should I do?
The Old Wolf still refuses to yield.
Should Eddard die mysteriously in the Black Cells, or should his head be cut off?" Cersei said worriedly.
"Your Grace, even if Lord Eddard doesn't yield, the Stark hostages are still quite useful," Pycelle murmured.
"That little Stark girl has already written many letters, urging Lady Catelyn and Eddard's children to maintain peace in the realm.
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