"Come, Eddard."
Still heavy with sleep, Eddard was dragged into the bitter chill of early morning as his squire knocked on the Great Lord's door to announce that the king was waiting.
When Eddard reached the stables, his horse was already saddled, and the king was mounted. The king wore thick brown gloves and a heavy fur cloak, looking like an enormous bear astride a warhorse.
"Up, Stark!" the king roared. "Wake yourself. We have matters of state to discuss."
"As you command, Your Grace. Shall we go to the council chamber?" Eddard asked.
"Seven save me, no. I hate those chairs and that cursed long table. And the castle has too many ears." The king's breath steamed in the cold air. "Let's ride. I want to see your northern countryside. Though I'll say this plainly, it's bloody cold."
"This is the North," Eddard replied helplessly. Perhaps only the Starks could truly live with the long winter. Leading the people of the North through it was their duty.
The king spurred his black warhorse into a gallop. Eddard had no choice but to follow. Once he was fully awake, he noticed two Kingsguard and more than a dozen guards riding behind them. Ser Boros. Ser Meryn.
Eddard said nothing, keeping pace with the king, but he soon began to study the two white knights.
He did not know them well. The only Kingsguard he truly respected was Barristan the Bold, and he knew too well the Kingslayer Jaime, who had stained the honor of the white cloak. If he was to go south to King's Landing, however, these two would be his colleagues. It would be wise to understand them.
Ser Boros was broad-chested and ugly, with short bowlegs. His nose was flat, his cheeks slack, and his gray hair unkempt. He wore heavy white velvet and pale armor clasped with a golden lion brooch set with red gems.
Ser Meryn kept his eyes lowered, his beard the color of rust. His attire was even more ornate: finely crafted white scale armor threaded with gold, a tall golden sunburst helm, gleaming iron greaves, gorget, gauntlets, and boots, and a thick wool cloak fastened with golden lion clasps.
"Lions. All lions."
Eddard's gaze lingered on the golden lion sigils they bore. To call it coincidence would be too generous. Only House Lannister possessed such lavish wealth. A darker suspicion formed in his mind. These two might well owe their loyalty to House Lannister.
"Would Robert truly place so much trust in House Lannister?"
The thought unsettled him. Gold could sway far too many men. Counting the Kingslayer, three of the Kingsguard now leaned toward House Lannister. That was no small matter.
But Robert was not a man who welcomed advice, and Eddard held his tongue. Years ago, Ser Barristan had urged the king to strip Jaime of his white cloak. Robert had refused then, and he would refuse now.
They thundered through the gates of Winterfell and rode hard into the open land beyond. Soon the castle fell behind them, replaced by wide, rolling hills veiled in the cold northern air. Even when the guards lagged some distance back, the king did not slow.
At last they reached the crest of a low hill. The king reined in and waited for Eddard. His face was flushed red from the ride, his spirits high.
"Damn it, riding free out here like a man is a true pleasure. Creaking along like some old ox would drive anyone mad," Robert shouted. Patience had never been his strength. "Just look at Cersei's wheelhouse, groaning and rattling. If that cursed thing snaps another axle, I swear I'll burn it to the ground and make Cersei walk."
Eddard smiled faintly. "I would gladly light the fire for you."
"I still think about that life. The two of us as knights-errant, roaming the realm. Find some farmer's daughter or a tavern girl to warm our beds."
"That might have been pleasant," Eddard said. "But we have duties. The kingdom. Our children. Our Ladies."
"You were never young," the king muttered. "Though there was that one time. What was her name again?"
"Her name was Wylla." Eddard's brow tightened. "I would rather not speak of it."
They let the subject drift and rode on.
"Yesterday, Lord Varys sent a letter from King's Landing," the king said, pulling a folded parchment from his belt.
Even the name of that eunuch unsettled Eddard. Varys had once served the Mad King. Now he served Robert.
A knot formed in Eddard's chest. He feared the letter might concern the accusation, might carry word of Lady Lysa.
But when he read it, he let out a quiet breath. It was not about Lysa. It concerned Gendry and Daenerys.
"Daenerys is well protected by Gendry. They are not yet wed. Should we send gifts in advance?" Eddard asked.
"Gifts?" Robert frowned. "Did you miss the more troubling words? Warships. Longbowmen. Legions. Three legions ready to move. That is no child's game. That is a real army."
"It is troubling," Eddard replied carefully. Yet his thoughts strayed to Stannis's accusation, to the golden lions among the Kingsguard. Compared to enemies across the Narrow Sea, might those within the Red Keep be the greater threat?
"What if we send them a fine blade?" Robert said. "One man with courage can be worth more than ten thousand."
"Your Grace, they are still children. And one of them is your own blood. We cannot slaughter the innocent as Tywin Lannister did. They say when Rhaegar's young daughter was killed, she wept in terror. His son was only an infant, yet Tywin's men tore him from his mother's arms and dashed him against a wall."
"A child?" Robert's voice hardened. "He was no son of mine. He is a traitor. He has thrown in his lot with the remnants of that dragon brood to trouble me. But the name kinslayer carries a foul taste, so I will not do it myself. I will send men to deal with those so-called true dragons. I need you, my old friend."
"Even so," Eddard said, "I would rather we gather a fleet, as we did against King Balon, and face them openly."
"Openly?" Robert barked. "Think of what the Mad King did to your brother and your father. That was monstrous. And Rhaegar. How many times did he dishonor your sister? Once? A hundred times?" He jerked his reins, his horse tossing its head as he roared. "I will kill every Targaryen I can lay hands on. I will wipe them out. I will see them dead and piss on their graves."
Eddard fell silent. He knew better than to oppose Robert when his temper flared. Still, he forced himself to speak.
"You cannot kill them all. And I would prefer our victory to carry honor."
"Honor?" Robert snorted. "Fine words. You would even command the fleet for me. But tell me this, my old friend. Do you know how much coin sits in the treasury?"
"How much?" Eddard asked quietly, bracing himself.
"We owe three million golden dragons. Or five. Perhaps six. I forget the exact number. You know I never cared for counting coins." Robert spread his hands. "So I have no better choice. Assassins are cheaper. Raising armies, building warships, that would cost a mountain of golden dragons. How long would I have to wait?"
The wind seemed to freeze Eddard where he sat. Five million golden dragons. The number rang in his head like a hammer blow.
Had the mountains of gold the Mad King once hoarded truly vanished without a trace?