"Your Grace… I did not mishear you, did I?" Eddard asked again.
The North had always been poor and austere. Five or six million golden dragons was a sum so vast that even the Great Lord of Winterfell could scarcely comprehend it.
A fine suit of mail with gorget, greaves, and a full helm cost only a handful of golden dragons. Even a famed knight of noble birth could be ransomed for three hundred golden dragons, and that would be considered generous. With such coin, one could buy mountains of grain, fields of pumpkins and corn, endless stores of wheat.
"How could Jon have allowed such waste?" Eddard thought of Jon Arryn at once. Even he, it seemed, had not been able to restrain the king's excesses. The former Hand had been prudent and meticulous, yet Robert was not a man who listened long to wise counsel.
Eddard had long known the king loved his pleasures, but he had not realized matters had fallen this far. Women. Wine. Hunts. Tournaments. Laughter and spectacle were Robert's true passions.
"Do not look at me that way, Eddard. You know that talk of coin, harvests, and laws gives me a headache. I hate counting coppers," the king said. "I spend the money. Why the numbers have grown so monstrous, you would have to ask Littlefinger."
Eddard was stunned.
"Your Grace, forgive my bluntness. Aerys Targaryen left behind vaults overflowing with gold and silver. How did the treasury come to this?"
"Tournaments, hunts, feasts. Keeping the realm merry costs gold, Eddard," the king said without shame. "When you come to King's Landing, I will award the tourney champion tens of thousands of golden dragons. A king's honor must remain untarnished."
"Set the tournaments aside. Who has lent all this coin?" Eddard asked carefully, his head ringing.
"The largest creditor is my wife's family. The rest are a mixed lot. Littlefinger has a talent for finding new purses. House Tyrell, the Iron Bank of Braavos, several Tyroshi trading houses, even the Faith."
"What a disaster."
The more Eddard listened, the more certain he became that riding south had been a grave mistake. With the royal house deep in debt and the king sunk in indulgence, the Lannisters could stretch their influence as far as they pleased. Gold bought loyalty more easily than honor ever could. He might be the king's old friend, but northerners had never woven themselves into the intrigues of King's Landing.
Lysa's secret letter. Stannis's warning. They weighed on his mind like gathering storm clouds. Yet what frightened him more was Robert's careless attitude. Poor Robert. Day and night, wrapped in the embrace of lions.
Even the Kingsguard could not be trusted. The Kingslayer still wore the white cloak, its honor already stained. And who could say how many white knights truly served the queen?
"Your Grace, for the good of the realm, such extravagance cannot continue," Eddard said at last. He could not stay silent. To speak was his duty as a friend.
As for Stannis's accusations, Jon's death, the queen and her brother's unlawful intimacy, Eddard had resolved to confront House Lannister. But the truth would have to be uncovered slowly, step by step.
"Enough," the king snapped, waving a hand. "I did not bring you out here for a sermon. If you dislike assassins, then let us speak of fleets and war."
"We should have acted years ago. But Jon was as stubborn as you, would not let me move against them, and I was fool enough to agree. Then some blasted Pentoshi merchant hid the siblings behind his walls, set a pack of pointed-hat eunuchs to guard them, and now has sold them to a traitor."
"Lord Arryn was a wise Hand," Eddard said quietly.
"I hear this so-called Twin Cities Alliance has raised a hundred thousand men and three or four hundred warships," the king said uneasily. "If Jon were alive to hear it… hmph."
"We have fleets and armies of our own," Eddard replied. "And the slave masters of Lys and Volantis are unlikely to let them expand unchecked."
"Whatever the case, we must prepare. Eddard, the golden dragons, the fleet, intelligence, the army. I trust you with it."
"The North stands ready at your command," Eddard answered.
Yet in truth, his thoughts remained with the Lannisters. Perhaps the turmoil within the Red Keep should be dealt with first, before any war beyond the Narrow Sea. If he marched to command in the field, the king would be left alone, deeper than ever in the lion's den.
The king answered, clearly uneasy.
"It is not so simple, Eddard. The fleets of the Free Cities are no small matter. They have already taken the Stepstones. And that wretched marriage between that little traitor and the last of the dragon's brood… it is a cruel jest. Do not forget the traitors who once fought beneath the Targaryen banner. They still call me Usurper behind my back. They lie quiet for now, but if they see the slightest chance, they will not hesitate to take my life and my son's."
"Even if they come, we can drive them back into the sea," Eddard said firmly. "But you must name a new Warden of the East."
The king's tone hardened.
"I will say it again. The Arryn boy is a child. Six years old and still clinging to his mother. I know he is your nephew. But I hear the horns of war. Baratheon rebels, Targaryen remnants, sellswords from the Free Cities, slaves eager for plunder. I am not mad enough to place command of a quarter of the realm's armies in the hands of a sickly child."
Eddard sighed.
The Wardens commanded the armies of their regions. It was an honor long treated as hereditary. Now the king meant to grant it elsewhere. Jon Arryn had been beloved in the Vale. To the bannermen of House Arryn, this would feel like an insult.
"Still, someone must hold the title of Warden of the East," Eddard said. "If Robert Arryn is unfit, then one of your brothers should take it. Stannis proved his ability at the siege of Storm's End. I believe he would serve well."
At the mention of Stannis, the king frowned.
"Stannis has his own duties. If war comes, he must command the royal fleet."
"That need not conflict," Eddard replied carefully. He knew the brothers were not close, but Stannis was dependable.
The king's expression darkened.
"The post is already given."
"Jaime Lannister, then?" Eddard said the name with open dislike.
"Yes."
"The Kingslayer," Eddard said quietly. Lysa Tully's warning echoed in his mind. He must tread carefully. "In skill and courage, he may be fit. But Lord Tywin is already hereditary Warden of the West, and Ser Jaime will one day inherit Casterly Rock. The power of East and West should not rest in one house."
He could have said more. It meant control of half the realm's strength. And it was an affront to House Arryn.
"You worry too much," the king said stubbornly. "Lord Tywin is in good health. Jaime will not inherit Casterly Rock any time soon. The matter is settled."
He continued, "Let us speak of our dispositions. You will serve as Hand. Jaime holds the East. Stannis commands the fleet. Littlefinger manages the coin. Renly has ties with House Tyrell. Our ships, soldiers, and grain will all be accounted for."
"And the soldiers' pay?" Eddard asked, his face tightening. The king trusted House Lannister far too readily. "The treasury has no gold for war."
"Others may lack gold, but this war is for my wife and children. Tywin can provide more if needed. And the enemy across the sea will not land so easily. Your task is to oversee matters for me, as Jon once did. When blood and fire come, Lord Tywin will not hesitate to open his coffers."
He clapped Eddard on the shoulder.
"Your Grace, forgive my bluntness."
"You always speak it, whether I forgive you or not," Robert muttered as they rode through the brown grasslands.
"Do you not place too much trust in House Lannister?"
"Tywin is my goodfather. Jaime is my wife's twin and a sworn Kingsguard. His honor and fate are bound to mine."
Eddard looked at him, old memories cutting deep.
Ser Jaime had sworn to protect his king with his life, yet had slain him with his own sword.
When King's Landing fell, it was the roaring lion of House Lannister that flew above the walls, not the crowned stag. The city had been taken by Lannister deceit. And there was the slaughter of the children at Tywin's command. No honor lay in that.
"He sat upon the Iron Throne," Eddard said at last, gathering what courage remained. "The Mad King lay in his own blood. Dragon skulls stared down coldly from the walls. Lannister men filled the hall. Ser Jaime wore bright golden armor beneath the white cloak of the Kingsguard, a golden sword at his side. I can still see it. He sat high upon the Iron Throne, above the gathered knights, lion helm gleaming, proud as any conqueror."
"Everyone knows that," the king grumbled.
"And because of that you mistrust him? He was seventeen. A boy," Robert said with a laugh. "I will not condemn him for sitting a moment on the Iron Throne. Every task I have given him, he has done well. Without the Lannisters, our throne would not have come so easily."
He waved a hand.
"Enough, Eddard. When your daughter weds my son, we will be one family. Then all will be well. I doubt Lord Tywin will even remember the look on your face."
"As you command," Eddard said.
"Do not look so grim. When this war is done, I will ride out chasing women again, and you can mend the realm for me. Stannis watches the fleet. Jaime guards the East. Once our children are wed, everything will fall into place."
The king smiled.
But the smile only deepened Eddard's sense of foreboding.