A Game of Thrones Chapter Forty-seven

Eddard He was strolling through the sepulchers underneath Winterfell, as he had strolled a thousand times previously. The Kings of Winter watched him go with eyes of ice, and the direwolves at their feet turned their extraordinary stone heads and growled. Finally, he went to the tomb where his dad dozed, with Brandon and Lyanna adjacent to him. â€Å"Promise me, Ned,† Lyanna's sculpture murmured. She wore a laurel of light blue roses, and her eyes sobbed blood. Eddard Stark snapped upstanding, his heart hustling, the covers tangled around him. The room was dark as pitch, and somebody was pounding on the entryway. â€Å"Lord Eddard,† a voice called boisterously. â€Å"A moment.† Groggy and stripped, he staggered his way over the obscured chamber. At the point when he opened the entryway, he discovered Tomard with an upraised clench hand, and Cayn with a shape close by. Between them stood the ruler's own steward. The man's face may have been cut of stone, so little did it appear. â€Å"My master Hand,† he articulated. â€Å"His Grace the King orders your essence. At once.† So Robert had come back from his chase. It was long past time. â€Å"I will require a couple of seconds to dress.† Ned left the man holding up without. Cayn helped him with his garments; white material tunic and dim shroud, pants chop open down his mortar sheathed leg, his identification of office, and finally a belt of substantial silver connections. He sheathed the Valyrian blade at his abdomen. The Red Keep was dim and still as Cayn and Tomard accompanied him over the internal bailey. The moon balanced low over the dividers, aging toward full. On the bulwarks, a watchman in a gold shroud strolled his rounds. The illustrious condos were in Maegor's Holdfast, a monstrous square stronghold that settled in the core of the Red Keep behind dividers twelve feet thick and a dry canal fixed with iron spikes, a manor inside a-château. Ser Boros Blount protected the furthest finish of the scaffold, white steel defensive layer spooky in the twilight. Inside, Ned spent two different knights of the Kingsguard; Ser Preston Greenfield remained at the base of the means, and Ser Barristan Selmy held up at the entryway of the ruler's bedchamber. Three men in white shrouds, he thought, recalling, and an unusual chill experienced him. Ser Barristan's face was as pale as his protection. Ned had distinctly to see him to realize that something was terrifyingly off-base. The regal steward opened the entryway. â€Å"Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King,† he declared. â€Å"Bring him here,† Robert's voice called, abnormally thick. Flames blasted in the twin hearths at either end of the bedchamber, occupying the stay with a morose red glare. The warmth inside was choking. Robert lay over the canopied bed. At the bedside floated Grand Maester Pycelle, while Lord Renly paced anxiously before the covered windows. Workers moved to and fro, taking care of logs to the fire and bubbling wine. Cersei Lannister sat on the edge of the bed close to her better half. Her hair was tousled, as though from rest, however there was nothing tired in her eyes. They followed Ned as Tomard and Cayn helped him cross the room. He appeared to move gradually, as though he were all the while dreaming. The ruler despite everything wore his boots. Ned could see dried mud and pieces of turf sticking to the cowhide where Robert's feet stood out underneath the cover that secured him, A green doublet lay on the floor, sliced open and disposed of, the fabric crusted with red-earthy colored stains. The room possessed a scent like smoke and blood and passing. â€Å"Ned,† the ruler murmured when he saw him. His face was pale as milk. â€Å"Come . . . closer.† His men brought him close. Ned steadied himself with a hand on the bedpost. He had distinctly to look down at Robert to realize how awful it was. â€Å"What . . . ?† he started, his throat gripped. â€Å"A boar.† Lord Renly was still in his chasing greens, his shroud scattered with blood. â€Å"A devil,† the ruler husked. â€Å"My own issue. A lot of wine, damn me to hellfire. Missed my thrust.† â€Å"And where were the remainder of you?† Ned requested of Lord Renly. â€Å"Where was Ser Barristan and the Kingsguard?† Renly's mouth jerked. â€Å"My sibling directed us to stand aside and let him take the hog alone.† Eddard Stark lifted the cover. They had done what they could to shut him down, however it was not even close to enough. The hog more likely than not been a fearsome thing. It had torn the ruler from crotch to areola with its tusks. The wine-splashed swathes that Grand Maester Pycelle had applied were at that point dark with blood, and the smell off the injury was repulsive. Ned's stomach turned. He let the sweeping fall. â€Å"Stinks,† Robert said. â€Å"The smell of death, don't figure I can't smell it. Charlatan benefited me, eh? Yet, I . . . I took care of him in kind, Ned.† The ruler's grin was as awful as his injury, his teeth red. â€Å"Drove a blade directly through his eye. Inquire as to whether I didn't. Ask them.† â€Å"Truly,† Lord Renly mumbled. â€Å"We carried the body back with us, at my sibling's command.† â€Å"For the feast,† Robert murmured. â€Å"Now leave us. The parcel of you. I have to talk with Ned.† â€Å"Robert, my sweet master . . . † Cersei started. â€Å"I said leave,† Robert demanded with a trace of his old savagery. â€Å"What some portion of that don't you comprehend, woman?† Cersei got together her skirts and her poise and drove the route to the entryway. Ruler Renly and the others followed. Stupendous Maester Pycelle waited, his hands shaking as he offered the ruler a cup of thick white fluid. â€Å"The milk of the poppy, Your Grace,† he said. â€Å"Drink. For your pain.† Robert thumped the cup away with the rear of his hand. â€Å"Away with you. I'll rest soon enough, old dolt. Get out.† Excellent Maester Pycelle gave Ned a stricken look as he rearranged from the room. â€Å"Damn you, Robert,† Ned said when they were separated from everyone else. His leg was throbbing so gravely he was practically visually impaired with torment. Or on the other hand maybe it was anguish that hazed his eyes. He brought himself down to the bed, next to his companion. â€Å"Why do you generally need to be so headstrong?† â€Å"Ah, screw you, Ned,† the lord said dryly. â€Å"I murdered the jerk, didn't I?† A lock of tangled dark hair fell over his eyes as he glared up at Ned. â€Å"Ought to do likewise for you. Can't leave a man to chase in harmony. Ser Robar discovered me. Gregor's head. Terrible idea. Never told the Hound. Let Cersei shock him.† His snicker transformed into a snort as a fit of torment hit him. â€Å"Gods have mercy,† he murmured, gulping his distress. â€Å"The young lady. Daenerys. Just a youngster, you were correct . . . that is the reason, the young lady . . . the divine beings sent the hog . . . sent to rebuff me . . .† The ruler hacked, raising blood. â€Å"Wrong, it wasn't right, I . . . just a young lady . . . Varys, Littlefinger, even my sibling . . . useless . . . nobody to let me know no yet you, Ned . . . just you . . . † He lifted his hand, the signal tormented and weak. â€Å"Paper and ink. There, on the table. Compose what I t ell you.† Ned streamlined the paper over his knee and took up the plume. â€Å"At your order, Your Grace.† â€Å"This is the will and expression of Robert of House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and all the restâ€put in the damn titles, you know how it goes. I do therefore order Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King, to fill in as Lord Regent and Protector of the Realm upon my . . . upon my passing . . . to administer in my . . . in my stead, until my child Joffrey comes old enough . . . â€Å" â€Å"Robert . . . † Joffrey isn't your child, he needed to state, however the words would not come. The misery was composed too doubtlessly over Robert's face; he was unable to hurt him more. So Ned twisted his head and composed, however where the ruler had said â€Å"my child Joffrey,† he scribbled â€Å"my heir†. The misleading caused him to feel dirtied. The untruths we tell for affection, he thought. May the divine beings pardon me. â€Å"What else would you have me say?† â€Å"Say . . . whatever you have to. Secure and guard, divine beings old and new, you have the words. Compose. I'll sign it. You offer it to the chamber when I'm dead.† â€Å"Robert,† Ned said in a voice thick with sorrow, â€Å"you must not do this. Try not to kick the bucket on me. The domain needs you.† Robert grasped his hand, fingers crushing hard. â€Å"You are . . . such an awful liar, Ned Stark,† he said through his agony. â€Å"The domain . . . the domain knows . . . what a pathetic ruler I've been. Terrible as Aerys, the divine beings save me.† â€Å"No,† Ned told his withering companion, â€Å"not so terrible as Aerys, Your Grace. Not close so awful as Aerys.† Robert dealt with a frail red grin. â€Å"At the least, they will say . . . this last thing . . . this I did well. You won't bomb me. You'll lead now. You'll abhor it, more regrettable than I did . . . however, you'll progress admirably. Are you finished with the scribbling?† â€Å"Yes, Your Grace.† Ned offered Robert the paper. The ruler scribbled his mark indiscriminately, leaving a smear of blood over the letter. â€Å"The seal ought to be witnessed.† â€Å"Serve the hog at my memorial service feast,† Robert scratched. â€Å"Apple in its mouth, skin burned fresh. Eat the charlatan. Couldn't care less on the off chance that you stifle on him. Guarantee me, Ned.† â€Å"I promise.† Promise me, Ned, Lyanna's voice reverberated. â€Å"The girl,† the ruler said. â€Å"Daenerys. Allow her to live. In the event that you can, in the event that it . . . not very late . . . converse with them . . . Varys, Littlefinger . . . try not to let them execute her. Also, help my child, Ned. Cause him to be . . . better than me.† He jumped. â€Å"Gods have mercy.† â€Å"They will, my friend,† Ned said. â€Å"They will.† The lord shut his eyes and appeared to unwind. â€Å"Killed by a pig,† he murmured. â€Å"Ought to snicker, yet it hu