Eddard?

  Green. Everything was green. Green and black. Ned could hear himself barking orders at his men as they tried to contain it, but his mind was a world away.

  He could not even feel much relieved that it was only him in King's Landing, for it was his insisting that the Blackfish take Bran and leave that his son found himself suffering the hospitality of the mountain clans.

  Or perhaps he should call them wildlings, for they weren't cut from the same cloth as the mountain clans he knew, instead kin to the kidnappers and cutthroats that dwelled north of the Wall. And now…

  A house near them drew his eyes as it collapsed, quickly being devoured by the wildfire that had been lapping at it.

  He had worked tirelessly throughout the past moon to ensure that the Mad King's dying wish went unfulfilled, and just when it seemed that they were successful, fate had conspired to make a mockery of them all. He imagined he could even hear Aerys cackling as this madness continued to play out.

  While they had evacuated as many as they could, he knew that there were thousands of souls that had been trapped between the encroaching flames and the southerly walls, and the Mud Gate hardly offered an escape.

  They would call it the Black Gate now or the Slag Gate, if they called it anything at all after today.

  The only mercy was that it was not far from the water, and so if they could keep it from ascending the Street of Steel and Visenya's Hill, perhaps they might yet save the rest of the city.

  What would happen afterwards he could scarcely tell, for he had never seen anything in the flames as the Lady Melisandre claimed to. He knew a panic had already taken hold of King's Landing, every remaining gate swarmed with those trying to flee, but not much more.

  His eyes found the red priestess as she held out a hand again, her other touching the ruby at her neck. The wildfire around them suddenly shivered, and moved no more.

  Ned knew the spell she had placed would not last, but he was still grateful for her presence. Without her they would not be at the Mud Gate but at Eel Alley beneath Aegon's High Hill.

  He soon saw Jory making his way down from Muddy Way. "Good news, my lord. Lady Brienne and the sorcerer have been successful in stopping the wildfire at Visenya's Hill."

  He felt a tired sigh leave him. Perhaps this nightmare was almost over. If Renly was similarly successful further west on River Row…

  There was a crash as part of the walls outright collapsed, smothering some wildfire with it. It showed him the docks, most of it blackened to char. Stannis at least seemed to have spared the royal fleet from the worst of it, as he only spied a few black wrecks in the waters.

  With Lady Melisandre leading them, they were able to find a breach just as the sun dipped under the crownlands. As he stood on what was left of the docks, he turned east to the royal fleet, maybe seventy ships arranged around the mouth of the Blackwater. The rest he assumed were at Dragonstone.

  As night fell, the green that had stretched the length of the city weakened to a miasma in the sky. That was where Solomon had found him, too white teeth standing out even more through the soot.

  "We have Varys to thank for today," he said simply. "He's had years to spirit away enough wildfire for such a move."

  "Madness," Ned whispered hoarsely. "If we had been slower to act or the winds stronger, there might not have been a throne to place a Blackfyre upon."

  "And yet the winds today were as gentle as summer snow." Those dark eyes caught his. "Why here and not in the very heart of King's Landing, you might also ask. This was a calculated stroke, my lord, not the naked fumblings of a man lashing out spitefully."

  The bedamned whoremonger might have failed in King's Landing, but the same could not be said for the Vale. Even with Cat there, he struggled to make sense of it all.

  "And with the docks in such a state, I fear the city will find it harder to fill its belly, and grow more restless as a result."

  A chill settled in his own belly as he saw the truth of those words. Between the wildfire and hunger, they might see riots or worse.

  "Madness," he repeated. There weren't corpses left, but he could see blackened bones everywhere he looked. They were standing in a lichyard.

  "The Reach might be convinced to open their granaries at a price the smallfolk can still afford," Solomon commented as he looked out over moonlit waters, the green having gone out of them.

  "They will want concessions," Ned muttered.

  "Perhaps, but the Tyrells at least were content with things as they stood. They haven't much to gain from King's Landing descending into further bloodshed." The man laid a hand on his shoulder with a smile. "I do believe you have some experience in haggling over grain at any rate."

  He snorted softly. "As every Lord of Winterfell before me."

  They both turned to see Ser Barristan Selmy join them on the destrier he favored. "King Robert has called for a small council meeting, my lord Hand."

  The knight's blue eyes were haunted as he took in the desolation.

  "Have Lords Renly or Stannis returned to the Red Keep?" Ned asked.

  "No, my lord. You are the first I have found."

  The words surprised him, but then if anything would have Robert stir himself to action, it would be this. He might have hated Rhaegar first, but he had enough spite for every Targaryen.

  "Thank you, Ser Barristan. You will likely find Lord Renly in the west still, near the King's Gate. I shall inform Lord Stannis when he arrives." Already he could see Fury making its way here.

  Barristan nodded, inclining his head in their direction before traveling westward.

  "Her Grace had again suggested you for master of whisperers," Ned commented, glancing at Solomon.

  "I will not remain in King's Landing for much longer, my lord. I have some business in Volantis." Those dark eyes were on the sea. "I imagine you would prefer a master of whisperers with more longevity."

  Something to do with Maegon Laessaryon, perhaps? The man of Volantis was very careful in who he spoke to. If he was not at the side of the man in front of him then he was in the training yard with his Valyrian steel sword.

  Ned felt a tired sigh leave him. He did truly not know who he wanted to name to the position. Ser Wylis Manderly had some skill at gathering information, but the man was still a knight first and foremost. Wyman… he knew the lord would not refuse him, but another name came to him also.

  It did not take him long to shake his head of it. He would not take Howland from his wife and children to this cesspit of a city.

  The Fury soon docked as best as it could, Stannis joining them upon the blackened stones, a knight on his heels. Justin Massey, he assumed, seeing the spirals.

  Stannis's eyes weren't haunted, but hard. "This could have all been avoided," he voiced bitterly.

  "If he suspected you might get your way, he would have likely evaded you anyhow," Solomon mentioned softly.

  Stannis sent him a miserly look for it. "I have no need for your words of comfort."

  "His Grace has summoned us," Ned interrupted. The Lord of Dragonstone seemed similarly surprised.

  "So he has." There was a short pause. "Where is Lady Melisandre?"

  "Returned to preaching to her flock." It seemed mad to him, but she had been adamant. "I believe she mentioned it was never more important than now."

  Stannis nodded briskly. "We shan't keep my brother waiting then."

  Solomon departed after a bow, vanishing into the still smoking city as more of Stannis's men soon joined their lord, though not all of them followed them into the Red Keep.

  Robert was pacing the length of the small council chambers when they walked in, and his poor mood quickly showed with his banging a meaty fist on the table. "You said the wildfire had all been removed from the city, Ned! How could this have happened?"

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  He noticed Lord Selwyn Tarth already there as well, eyes as bright and blue as his daughter's meeting his a moment.

  "Varys." He would have to trust the only answer he had. "He's always known about the wildfire. He must have hid some away at some point."

  "Then we must make sure all the realm knows this was the work of the Mad King and the Spider," Lord Selwyn suggested.

  Robert banged on the table again. "What they need is to see Varys's soft head smashed by my hammer, not empty words!"

  "He isn't here, if you haven't noticed," Stannis sourly said.

  "And what have you been doing, my master of ships? Twiddling your thumbs? You mean to tell me after all this time you cannot find a whoremonger and a eunuch?"

  With how loudly Stannis was grinding his teeth, it was a wonder he had any left.

  "They could be anywhere in the known world," Ned tried to soothe. "I think it would be wise to wait for the rest of the small council to arrive before we continue."

  "Bah!" Robert fell into his seat so heavily the chair creaked unpleasantly.

  Fortunately, they did not have to wait so long that Robert's patience wore thin. The Grand Maester hobbled in first, shying away from the king's stormy eyes.

  "Terrible, terrible tragedy," he whispered.

  Renly and Ser Barristan arrived together, taking their respective seats. For once he spied no smile from Renly, his fine clothes blackened with soot.

  "A mob descended on their guildhall as soon as the fires died down. I decided it would be best not to involve the gold cloaks." The youngest Baratheon brother seemed to be staring at the wall opposite him. "I suspect the city will be rather short of pyromancers after tonight."

  There wasn't much sympathy around the table.

  "Now that we are all here," Ned followed more softly, "there are a few things to share."

  He still felt like half a fool parroting it all, but there was nothing for it. Varys was not here to defend himself.

  It was Ser Barristan that spoke first. "I had hoped the Blackfyre cause would die with Maelys the Monstrous when I cleaved both of his heads from his twisted shoulders."

  "You weren't wrong if they think they need to play at this charade," Renly opined, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips.

  "More dragonspawn," Robert grumbled.

  The words brought memories of the butchered Targaryen children, Ned's mood turning even poorer. It would be a poor time to reopen those wounds.

  "He could claim to be Aegon the Conqueror reborn for all I care," Stannis hissed. "Varys cannot have many more tricks left to play, and Pentos will soon be swarmed with Braavosi."

  "Braavosi?" Ned asked.

  The Lord of Dragonstone met his eyes. "They are rather determined to eradicate slavery root-and-stem from Pentos this time. They have sent two fleets. Near seven hundred warships in total, I have been told."

  He hadn't a crumb of sympathy for slavers, but seven hundred warships… that was more than three times as many ships as the royal fleet held.

  "Volantis will be forced to respond, my lords," Pycelle blustered nervously. "We may very well stand on the very precipice of another Century of Blood."

  "I don't give a rat's arse about Braavos or Volantis!" Robert stormed. "Send envoys. Put a price on their head so high they won't be able to take a piss in the bloody bushes!"

  "We might not have a city to rule if we can't feed it," Ned reminded quietly. "With the docks in such a state, we will no longer be able to accommodate more than a few ships at a time."

  Robert's eyes turned on him. "Then rebuild them! You are the Hand of the King!"

  "With what coin, Your Grace?" he asked cooly. "The Iron Bank is more likely to demand payments on the near two million dragons we owe them than lend us more if what Lord Stannis says is true."

  "Damn it all, Ned! Need I go begging at Lord Tywin's feet for coin?"

  "If it helps, Your Grace."

  Robert stared at him until his tempestuous mood turned the other way, leaving him laughing uproariously. "Gods, I should demand a million dragons for each year I've put up with Cersei. Our lord of Lannister might not leave the privy for weeks."

  "Your Grace—" Pycelle tried to protest.

  "Shut it. Lord Tywin should count his good graces that I allowed the Kingslayer to keep his head twice now. Heh. Perhaps he will even leave a golden bastard in a Braavosi whore while he's there. To see how the old lion's whiskers would tremble after…"

  Stannis looked uncomfortable as Robert chuckled under his breath. The Lord of Dragonstone soon turned elsewhere.

  "Perhaps you should ask your Tyrell wife to feed the city, Renly."

  The Lord of Storm's End returned his elder brother's glower with a mocking smile. "Will you command the ravens to carry it all here, brother? It will take some time for this news to even reach Highgarden, let alone for wagons to travel up the roseroad in any great number."

  Ned interrupted their bickering with a cough. For once in too many moons he felt no doubts as what to do or say, for such concerns were not new to him. "I do not think we have much choice here, my lords. We will have to approach the issue of rationing. The kingswood can be opened to the smallfolk for a time, and I will write to Hoster Tully also."

  "Even with the kingswood opened—" Renly began, but he was interrupted by a sharp knock at the doors. One of Stannis's knights.

  "Apologies, my lord, but it was urgent."

  Stannis swept to the door, the two exchanging some furious whispers as they watched. The knight soon fled the room, leaving Stannis to turn and stalk closer to them again.

  "The Lady Melisandre claims to have received a powerful vision," he informed them uncomfortably. Pycelle quickly made a dismissive sound under his breath, but Renly he saw leaning in curiously. "Relevant to us is that she claims to have seen our former master of coin in the company of two men, one with three black ravens bearing hearts and one with a burning tower."

  Houses Corbray and Grafton, Ned knew. As he should, having fostered in the Vale. It was not lost on his foster brother either.

  "Grafton," Robert rumbled, staring at his hands. "That peacock forced our hand once in defense of his precious Targaryens, and now he would…" His chair nearly went flying as he stood. "So be it! I will smash his treacherous house into rubble, and that murdering, thieving whoremonger also."

  Ned saw quickly that Robert only needed an excuse, one that Stannis had just provided him. The Lord of Dragonstone might have named a blind beggar instead of Lady Melisandre and he could imagine much the same reaction.

  "Robert," he tried, "it will take us at least—"

  "I'll take them by surprise, Ned! And I'll find that son of yours. Just keep this miserable city from eating itself alive."

  For a moment he saw the Robert he remembered, muscled like a maiden's fantasy, a warhammer in his hand and a wide smile shining down on them all. The vision died a miserable death as soon as he dared to blink.

  He knew he could have pushed that they should confirm this information first. Robert would have grumbled and complained but he would still have accepted the necessity.

  Yet the Lady Melisandre had been with him today, and it was not a mummer that he had seen. What if in convincing Robert to wait he would be allowing Littlefinger to slip the noose again?

  "Renly, Stannis, find me men and ships! We sail within the fortnight!"

  It would be war. Gulltown was one of the great cities of the realm, and Lord Grafton one of the great lords of the Vale.

  In the end, Ned only sagged in his seat and let out a soft sigh.

  He heard Robert laugh again as the room slowly emptied. "Gods, I missed this."