Meanwhile, Ser Waynwood slumped to the ground.
The arrogance on his face had long vanished, replaced by a deep-seated fear.
The mist in his mind that had made him excited and fearless was dissipating, and reality, like Robert's warhammer, slammed into his forehead.
What did he say?
What had he done?!
What the hell was he doing!?
He actually threatened His Majesty the King with the forces of the Vale in front of all the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms?
Morton looked up and saw the pile of remains that were indistinguishable between flesh and charcoal.
Those were Petyr Baelish's remains.
Just then, two Gold Cloaks stepped forward and roughly threw a heavy, blood-dripping cloth bag into his arms.
"Ser Waynwood,"
one of the Gold Cloaks said expressionlessly.
"This is His Majesty the King's explanation to Lady Lysa Arryn."
"His Majesty the King personally said that he wants you to personally deliver this generous gift to Lady Lysa!"
The weight of the head in the sack, and its warm, sticky feel, made Ser Morton let out a short cry of despair.
He knew this was not just Petyr's head.
It was also his own death warrant.
He would become the sinner of the entire Vale.
Ser Morton scrambled to his feet, using both hands and feet.
Clutching the head, he stumbled out of this living hell like a stray dog.
As he left, he didn't even dare to look back at King's Landing again.
With Ser Morton's departure, the last ripples of this farce gradually subsided.
Ned Stark slowly rose from the ground.
His face, always filled with integrity and resolve, was now only a deathly pale gray.
He didn't look at the bloody mess on the ground, nor did he pay attention to the complex gazes around him.
He simply walked to his two daughters, and with an almost numb calmness, picked up Sansa, who had fainted from fright.
"Arya, let's go home."
Ned's voice was very soft.
Arya looked at her father's slightly trembling back, at her pale-faced sister in his arms, and clenched her small fists tightly.
Arya said nothing, just silently followed behind her father.
Lynn watched House Stark's retreating figures.
The once unbreakable King in the North now resembled a gravely wounded lone Direwolf, clumsily licking his wounds... In the study of the Tower of the Hand.
The fire in the fireplace burned quietly, casting flickering light and shadows on the large map of Westeros on the wall.
Even though the climate of King's Landing was mild, Ned still lit it.
Only a bonfire could make Ned feel that he was not in King's Landing in the south, but in the familiar North.
This Direwolf was now homesick.
Ned Stark drained a glass of amber Dornish wine.
The spicy liquid burned his throat, but it couldn't dispel the chill in his heart.
Lynn sat opposite him, offering no dissuasion.
He simply quietly accompanied Ned, drinking glass after glass.
The study was quiet, with only the sound of wine pouring into glasses and the occasional crackle of wood in the fireplace.
"I was wrong, Lynn."
Finally, Ned spoke.
Ned didn't look up at Lynn, but stared intently at the wine glass in his hand.
"I was terribly wrong."
"I thought Robert was just... just drunk, and his temper had become a bit irritable."
Ned's lips twisted into a smile uglier than a cry.
"But today I realized, he is no longer Robert."
"The brother who grew up with me in The Eyrie, the one who would hand me a lance in a tourney, the one who would entrust his back to me on the battlefield... he is dead."
"Dead on that damn iron throne."
"The one standing there today is just a monster I don't recognize."
"A madman fed by suspicion and fear."
Ned took another large gulp of wine.
The wine overflowed from the corners of his mouth, trickling down his neatly trimmed beard, but he didn't care.
"He suspects me, Lynn."
"He actually suspects me!"
"Suspects Catelyn!"
"Suspects House Stark!"
"We... we were like brothers!"
"How did it... how did it come to this?"
Ned slammed the wine glass onto the table.
The glass shattered, and sharp fragments cut his palm, blood mixed with wine flowing down.
"How dare he?!"
Ned roared.
In those gray eyes, uncontrollable rage and heartbreak finally ignited.
"He publicly desecrated the master of coin in front of all his subjects!"
"For the threat of a madwoman, he would humiliate my wife!"
"Just because they are sisters?!"
"What the hell kind of logic is that!"
Lynn silently took out a piece of white cloth for stopping bleeding from a nearby cabinet and handed it to Ned, signaling him to wipe the blood from his hand.
Ned didn't take it; he just let the wound on his hand bleed.
The slight pain in his hand was nothing compared to the pain in his heart.
"I knelt today."
Ned's voice suddenly dropped, as if stating something unrelated to himself.
"In front of everyone, I knelt."
"I let him humiliate me, humiliate House Stark, humiliate the entire North."
Lynn looked at him, at the pain on the man's face, mixed with humiliation and struggle, and spoke calmly.
"You didn't kneel for him."
Ned's body trembled violently.
He slowly raised his head.
His swollen eyes met Lynn's.
"You're right."
Ned's voice held anger.
"Not for him."
"Nor for that damn kingdom's peace."
He extended his still-bleeding hand and gripped Lynn's arm tightly.
"I did it for Catelyn, for Sansa, for Arya, for Rickon and Bran!"
"I cannot let him harm them! Never!"
Ned's eyes flickered with a mad obsession.
"Honor..."
Ned chewed on the word he had believed in his whole life, his tone full of self-mockery.
"I once thought honor was everything to me."
"The cornerstone of House Stark."
"But King's Landing taught me that here, honor is a joke."
"It cannot protect my family, cannot save my daughters from fright, and cannot even earn a shred of trust from the King."
"It's just a fancy shackle, a shackle that makes me watch my friends turn into monsters because of power, watch my family in danger, yet be powerless to do anything!"
Ned released Lynn's arm.
He slowly stood up, walked to the window, and looked out at King's Landing, shrouded in night.
This city in darkness seemed ready to devour people at any moment.
"Bringing them to this hell was the most foolish decision I've ever made."
Ned's voice was full of regret.
"I won't make the same mistake again."
He turned and looked at Lynn.
In those gray eyes, all weakness and pain had faded, leaving only resolute determination.
That look, Lynn was very familiar with.
It was the light that ignited in Sandor Clegane's eyes before he stepped into the flames.
It was the look of a beast cornered, ready to fight to the death!
"Lynn."
Ned said in a tone of unprecedented solemnity.
"You're right, in this man-eating game, rules are for the dead."
"I don't want to die."
"And I certainly don't want my family to suffer any harm."
He walked up to Lynn, picked up the white cloth for stopping bleeding from the table, and silently wrapped the wound on his hand, circle after circle.
"Robert wants my wife to come to King's Landing and kneel."
Ned's voice was terrifyingly calm.
"He has crossed that line."
"King and Hand, friends and brothers... from today on, none of that exists anymore."
"I, Ned Stark, am first a husband, a father, and only then the Hand!"
Ned looked up, his gaze burning as he met Lynn's.
"I need your help."
Lynn looked at Ned Stark before him.
He knew that the sleeping Direwolf had finally been fully awakened.
He was no longer the Lord of Winterfell bound by honor.
He was a fierce beast who would tear everything apart to protect his loved ones.
And that was exactly what Lynn wanted.
"It is my honor, my Lord."
Lynn replied calmly.
Hearing Lynn's answer, Ned's body paused slightly.
He looked at Lynn, this young man who was about to become his daughter's husband, and a touch of warmth finally appeared in his pained eyes.
His future son-in-law was always trustworthy.
"I must send Sansa and Arya back to Winterfell."
Ned said in a deep voice.
"It's too dangerous here; they can't stay any longer."
"Good."
Lynn nodded.
"After Myrcella arrives, I will arrange the most reliable personnel to escort them to Winterfell together."
Lynn didn't tell Ned about Sansa's situation.
Ned's mental state was not good now, and telling him would only make him more worried.
It was better to plan for the long term.
"No."
Ned shook his head.
"You cannot go by land; it's too slow and too easy for Robert's men to discover you."
"I want them to go by sea."
Ned walked to the map, his finger pressing heavily on the harbor east of King's Landing.
"I will requisition the fastest ship in the name of the Hand."
"Your men will be responsible for safely getting them onto the ship."
"Understood."
Lynn had no objection.
Of course, sending Arya away was simple.
This little girl hadn't ridden a dragon yet, and this would be a perfect opportunity to let her experience flying into the clouds.
"There's one more thing."
Ned's gaze moved from the map and fell on Lynn again.
"Catelyn... she cannot come to King's Landing."
"Robert wants to humiliate her, humiliate House Stark, or even trick her into King's Landing to kill her, and I will never allow such a thing to happen."
"But the King's command cannot be openly defied."
A flicker of struggle crossed Ned's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by resolute determination.
"So, I need a reason."
"A reason that will leave Robert, and indeed everyone, speechless."
He looked at Lynn, speaking each word distinctly.
"I need the North... to have a 'rebellion,' neither too big nor too small."
Lynn nodded slightly, looking at the cold madness on Ned's face.
He actually wanted to use a fabricated rebellion to keep Catelyn from leaving, thereby defying the King's command.
This plan was bold, mad, and full of risks.
Once exposed, it would be high treason.
But it was also the only way for now.
"Rebellion?"
Lynn repeated.
"Exactly."
Ned's gaze deepened.
"For example... some unruly bandits, burning, killing, and looting in the villages of the North."
"Catelyn, as the acting Lord of Winterfell, must remain in the North, oversee the situation, stabilize the people, and thus be unable to leave for King's Landing."
"My Lord, that reason is quite sufficient."
Lynn smiled.
He admired Ned's transformation.
This wolf had finally learned to use its claws and teeth, rather than the so-called House Stark spirit.
"My Lord, I think I can help with this."
Lynn stood up and walked to Ned's side.
"Among my people, there are some... rather restless fellows."
"I think they would be very happy to take a trip to the northern countryside and help you put on this play."
Ned looked at the all-knowing smile on Lynn's face, and his tightly strung nerves finally relaxed a little.
This young man had given him too many surprises; he was right to seek his help.
"Thank you, Lynn."
"You're welcome. We will be family after I marry Arya."
Lynn responded with a smile.
"There's an old saying in the North: The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."
"Now, it's time for us to fight side by side."
Ned nodded heavily.
He looked at the sky outside the window, which was about to break dawn, and there was no longer any confusion in his gray eyes.
Robert, my brother.
You forced my hand.
I have no choice but to do this.
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