The Three Houses of Westeros: Chapter 12 (Patreon)

Chapter 12-

Dimitri:

The North was too cold. 

Even here, now, at the height of summer, it was still too cold, with brief dustings of snow lightly falling from the skies above like a sprinkling of powder.

He found however, that somehow the mornings; that brief interval between the rising daybreak and the actual rising sun- the cold wasn't so bad. 

The Kiss of a Winter's morning he heard some of the servants call it. On this particular morning he found himself walking atop the battlements, Oakheart trailing behind him.

Dimitri took the moment to appreciate the defenses of the structure.

After staying in Winterfell for just over three days now, it was the first time he could truly take the time to examine the place with an eye for the defenses rather than its 'aesthetics'.

Winterfell had two walls surrounding the keep, the outer wall was lower than the inner wall, allowing men to fire down on any would be attackers; the high, inner wall was also wide allowing for several men to stand atop it easily for at least three ranks deep, where the outer wall, was narrower, allowing only two men, if that, making it much harder to form a shield wall or other maneuver.

The buildings between the two walls were also made of stone, which would make it very difficult for sappers to weaken the inner wall with fires 

There was also the layout of the walls themselves, they were angled, which would provide overlapping fields of fire for those who manned them against those who tried to scale them, making them much much harder to simply brute force past without an overwhelming force. 

The only weakness he could spy was the Godswood, which was so large that it genuinely could be considered a tiny forest, much grander than the Godswoods he'd seen south of the neck of course.

But even that was cordoned off, its sector of wall easily capable of being isolated and sealed from the inside if need be; with various gated guard posts set between sections of wall to act as miniature gate houses. 

Add to all of that, the vastness of the Fortress should make it impractical to try and hold. Similar to Harrenhall.

Winterfell covered a space almost a tenth the size of King's landing. You would need at least four, or five thousand men to hold these walls properly, probably more. 

Briefly, a memory, a flash of madness ghosted across his mind; Byleth holding out a book towards him, her placid voice telling him firmly-

'Defenses are built out of either pragmatism or desperation. You'll learn both here.'

The madness faded, and Dimitri closed his eyes against the thing that had never happened

Still, madness or not- the statement was a valid one. 

And it made him wonder, what sort of enemy had Brandon the Builder felt he needed to contend with that he went to such great lengths as to build places like this?  

Winterfell, The Wall, Storm's End.

Was it pragmatism somehow? To build such things in his era?

Or was it desperation?

Either way- it painted a bleak picture, no matter how grand the structures seemed today. 

Out of the corner of his eye, in the courtyard below he caught the flash of pale blue hair, catching his attention as his eyes swiveled down towards it-

Marianne.

Marianne… Manderly. Yes. It was Manderly that was her house.

Dimitri scarcely had time to interact with her, or any of the northern bannermen present. Too busy putting out fires of both his father and mother,

There was, of course, Miss Marianne, but also the Starks themselves; and if he wasn't mistaken house Bolton was already present here, the Umbers, Glovers, Karstarks, Cassel's, Cerwyn, Greenwood and Tallheart would all be making their way here over the coming weeks while the Royal party remained. It might genuinely be the last time in a long while that he'd have the chance to acquaint himself with many of these northern houses. Dorne and the North were by far the most isolated of the Seven Kingdoms.

The Prince in him knew all of this, believed it. The madman in him could see the back of Marrianne's head, with her powder blue hair and remembered other half faded dreams. Smiles, love, bloodied battlefields… as enemies and allies. 

It was all madness, it was all impossible.

Why was this happening now? Now when He needed to be the prince and could not be the madman… the- 

Felix… Stark's face flashed before his eye, the word he was looking for coming with it.

The mad boar. 

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as he tried to suppress a shudder.

"Are you alright my prince?" Oakheart asked and Dimitri made himself nod.

"Yes." He answered as he settled the shaking of his hands; if anyone asked it was the cold, even if he knew otherwise.

He stared down at the courtyard, blinking as he found the lady Marianne hefting a sack of feed in her hands, tipping it over to pour into a bucket. 

Was there not a stable boy!?

"My lady-" He found himself calling before he could think better of it.

The Manderly girl jumped, clearly startled before her eyes darted upwards, finding him standing at the battlements above.

"Prince Dimitri." She curtsied as best she could with a sack in her hands. 

"I'm sorry for startling you." He felt the heat in his cheeks, embarrassed by his outburst. "But please, wait there, we'll help you."

He gestured for Aerys to follow him, only half hearing the young lady's protests as he made his way to the stairs, and joined her less than a minute later in the courtyard.

"Please my prince don't trouble yourself." She said in her soft voice, bowing at the waist as he took the sack from her.

"It is no trouble-" He promised. "Though I am curious, is there not a stablehand to help with these duties? Why is a Noble lady taking care of the horses?"

Was this perhaps disciplinary? Had the lady done something wrong before their arrival.

"There is- but…" She hesitated. "I… like horses. I pleaded with Lord Stark to let me tend to them alongside Wyll, the Stablemaster. It's just something I enjoy."

He should have been surprised. And yet he was not-

Because he knew this…

He forced a smile onto his face, something not quite fragile but not quite real either. "I see- you have a favorite horse do you not?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

Her eyes lit up and a barely there, ghost of a smile graced her lips. "Yes."

He felt as though he knew its name before she said it. And he had to wonder just how far his delusions could go. 

"Dorte."

—

He stayed with the lady Manderly for a time, the minutes ticking by as they conversed; he tended to his own horse, as she tended to the others, somehow giving each one of the beasts the same level of care as its fellows, even as her arms must have grown tired from the brush strokes and enthusiastic feedings left slobber on her hands were the horses nibbled at their oats and treats.

The act itself was not relaxing, it was work, work that needed doing. But somehow she was, her quiet voice and soft spoken nature seemingly so achingly familiar. Her and the lady Byleth both. Inexplicably so. Like meeting a long departed friend, now at your side once more 

Ser Oakheart guarded the stables, allowing them their privacy.

"How long have you been tending to them?" He asked out of genuine curiosity as she worked on the last horse. Dorte, her favorite. "You've quite the way with them."

"Years now." She answered. "When I first came to Winterfell it was… difficult. The Starks were wonderful- but.. I missed home."

He had no reason to doubt her, and yet he did. The whispers of madness tickling the back of his mind and thoughts. 

Homesickness was not the reason she'd been sad… or at least, not the only one.

"Lady Stark noticed that I spent much of my time with Dorte and the other horses whenever they were here… and so… she asked me- and then asked Lord Stark. I have tended to them every morning ever since."

"You don't like riding."

It should have been a question.

"No." She shrugged. "Just … being with them."

"I understand."

Horses were not like people.

They did not hate or fear like people. . 

That's what she didn't say. What he'd never heard, but his mind swore he had before.

He truly was going mad.

Even so, when he caught her gaze, he made himself smile, gentle and understanding, and was rewarded with a smile of her own.

"Almost done." She promised, Dimitri waited patiently for her.

—

By the time they left the stables, the sun had well and truly risen, the pale light of it breaking through the grey, cold skies as servants, guards and gentry began to fully rise for the day.

He parted from the lady Manderly when it was time for the morning meal, she heading to her rooms to clean herself from the morning's work, and he doing similarly. By the time they arrived at the Stark's hall, they were dressed in different clothes and joining their hosts to break their fasts. He noted the young Sansa had joined them this morning. Her absence after the announcement of her sister and Tommen's betrothal had not been commented on, but it had indubitably been noticed. 

Speaking of which he saw his brother, Tommen was already at the table, seated by the Starks, or more specifically, his bride to be. Dimitri caught sight of his uncle Jamie standing patiently behind his sibling; his uncle caught his eyes and gave him a knowing wink. Dimitri could guess where the idea for this had come from. His father never would have thought of it and his mother never would have abided by it without being talked into it. No doubt she'd see it as too demeaning for Tommen to join 'them' rather than the other way around.

But even so, his mother, and family seemed to be in a pleasant mood this morning; with Cersei even offering a publicly visible smile as she caught sight of him.

"My son." She said with a nod.

"Mother-" He smiled back, taking hold of her hand and leaning down to offer her a kiss on the cheek before taking his seat between her and father.

As he sat Robert pulled his attention away from his morning meal, reaching over with one meaty paw to slap the prince's back, his mouth stuffed full of various foods, eggs, sausage, bacon, bread and… everything else.

As one of the servants approached to ask him what he wished to eat Dimitri spied Bernadetta arriving with Ashe, and some Stark men as an escort. He wondered about that, if it was the lady Catelyn or Lord Stark who'd ordered that escort.

Either way he could find no fault in it; though he trusted Ashe completely, especially with Bernadetta, if they were alone people would talk.

Which is why, when he saw his sister with none other than Hubert Bolton entering the hall with the acidic Blount tailing after them his eyebrows hiked up into his hairline.

His father was… utterly oblivious, still eating and chatting with Ned Stark.

His mother wasn't quite so occupied and he could almost feel the temperature drop just from the iciness of her glare alone. 

"Ser Blount was with them." He whispered, hoping to head off any… unpleasant incidents. "Nothing more than a walk to the dining hall."

"He forgets his place, being so familiar." She sneered, her good mood evaporating. "He reaches too high from it."

In spite of himself, Dimitri did find himself partially agreeing with her. His sister was a sweet, kind girl, the thought of a Bolton trying to use her to climb the social ladder was… vexing; to say the least. 

Judging by how Myrcella blushed when she smiled at him and the Bolton heir played the galant escort with his own smile and elegant bow as he left her, he wondered how exactly he should deal with this, or if it was a problem that would solve itself once they left.

"And you-" His mother whispered. "Should also watch yourself."

"Me?" He blinked, surprised. 

"Do not play stupid." She snapped, her voice still quiet enough that it was only between the two of them. "I can see how you look at that mercenary harlot, and the Manderly girl both."

He could feel the heat crawling up his neck. "I am not." He protested.

His mother didn't look impressed. "You are The prince of the realm. Remember that!"

"I've not." He protested. "You're seeing things that aren't there." He assured.

She stared him down, disbelieving and unimpressed.

—

Jeralt:

After breaking their fast, it didn't take long for the castle to fully rise to meet the day, servants doing their duty, nobles making 'connections' and Winterfell guardsmen patrolling the walls.

However, it did leave one notable group of people without much to do.

The men at arms that came with the party. The Lannisters and Baratheon soldiers.

Even his own men. 

Some would find distractions of course. Gossip, card or dice games, whores in Wintertown

But by and large, there were still about a hundred armed men with nothing to do.

So of course this would be their brilliant idea.

"Oh don't look so down Jeralt! It's just a friendly contest!"

He answered Alois' enthusiasm with a flat stare.

That, he wasn't quite so sure about. "I can say quite a few things about Baratheon and Lannister men-" He noted drily rubbing at the hairs on his chin.. "Friendly wouldn't be the first to come to mind."

But even if he tried to stop this it was already too late, he doubted anyone but Ned or Robert could get them to. Knowing both of his old comrades, Ned would see no reason to intervene and Robert would want to join in. 

Already the men were gathering around the practice yard; Wooden swords, blunted tourney swords and eager grins all around. Alois at his side was hefting his training axe, similarly ready to join in, and though Shamir gave a good show of appearing aloof and uncaring, she too was eager to blow off some steam. It had been a while since she'd used her blades, even in practice. The road had been a long one.

"You think Byleth will join?" Shamir asked, the question almost transparently eager.

Jeralt offered a shrug. He loved his daughter, but he'd hardly claim that he understood her or could guess what she'd do on most days when the moods struck her. With her; it could vary. Sometimes he knew it was a calculated decision, and others it was mere whimsy and boredom.

Shamir rolled her eyes at his lack of answer and then, like him, settled herself in to enjoy the show. 

Lannister and Baratheon men made the bulk of the participants, but a few Stark men not on duty joined in as well. The bouts were best two of three. Soon enough his own mercenaries joined in on the 'fun' and all Jeralt could pray for was that no one would either get hurt or hurt a member of the royal party. Even by accident it was a headache he did not need, especially with everyone under guest rights.

Alois, oblivious to the tension, marched on in with an eagerness in his step. Plenty of guardsmen cheered, but a few, he noted, were laughing at Alois, rather than with him. Underestimating Jeralts old friend for his happy, kind demeanor, seemingly unsuited to fighting at all when you looked at him.

A single swing of that training axe splitting a shield right down the middle like an egg shell wiped those smiles off of several people's faces. 

The Baratheon man who'd taken the hit couldn't feel his arm. But it didn't seem broken.

Which was good. 

Even better, the man had the good sense to forfeit, letting the tension uncoil from Jeralts chest.

"Relax-" Shamir drawled. "You worry too much."

"That's why I'm in charge." He shot back. 

There was a sudden cheer in the yard, coming from the Stark men- and Jeralt turned his eyes in time to notice that Felix Stark, and Jon… Snow  were making their way into the yard.

Boys still. Green boys. But Jeralt could see that the enthusiasm and excitement from the Stark men wasn't at all faked, reading some lips he got the distinct feeling that they were in for something of a show. 

"Ser Jeralt."

He turned his head, towards the voice that had called from his right, straightening from where he'd been leaning over the railing of the inner facing balcony. "Prince Dimitri."

He noted ser Jamie trailing behind the princeling, back at his usual place. He wondered distantly who was guarding Tommen; perhaps Oakheart, or Barristan. Of the seven Kingsguard, it was a shame only three of them were worth half a damn with a sword. 

Nevermind who they were as people. 

The prince offered him a nod in greeting, turning his eyes towards the yard below. "What's all this?"

"Just some of the men burning off some energy, my prince." 

"All in good sport I trust." The prince half asked, half warned, eyeing the split shield hanging off the Baratheon man's arm with a leery gaze.

"Of course." He reassured hoping it was true at the very least.

He watched as Felix and Jon stepped into the practice yard. As they took their stances, he noted a strange expression across the Prince's face. Too complex to really understand what it was he was feeling. 

Not that Jeralt had any intention of picking the Prince's brain; that road likely led to nothing but headaches and complications.

Instead, he watched the two Stark youths.

They were skilled. Very skilled. In raw talent alone, he would say that they had the potential to be some of the best swords of the north; if not Westeros.

"They're not bad." Jamie Lannister said with an almost approving nod. "A bit… unseasoned. But the talent is there."

Jeralt agreed, but as a joke he asked; "Looking for a Squire?"

"Hah!" The Kingsguard barked out a laugh. "Ned Stark would sooner eat his Valyrian steel sword with nothing but hay to wash it down than allow that."

Jeralt agreed with that too.

"Where is the lady Byleth?" The Princeling suddenly asked, head on a swivel as he searched the courtyard below.

"My guess-" Jeralt shrugged. "She's either out riding or teaching Tommen and Arya in the Godswood."

"And what about you Blade Breaker?" Ser Jamie suddenly asked; his smile was still there, but there was a darkness to his eyes, Jeralt didn't like. "Care to show us your skill in the yard?"

It was the name that gave it away.

Blade Breaker

Gerald Hightower, Oswell Whent, Jeritza Velaryon… Arthur Dayne. 

Jamie couldn't extract whatever he was looking for from Ned Stark- The Warden of the North.

But a Mercenary leader was a different story. 

An easy target… politically at least- for a Knight of the Kingsguard.

Jeralt smiled and he knew it wasn't reaching his eyes. "No. I don't fight mock battles."

"You let your daughter fight them for you?"

"Uncle!" The Prince balked with a gasp that seemed half horrified, and entirely disapproving.

It was enough to get Jamie to back off.

For now.

—

Ashe:

Ashe wasn't… unused to hearing the nobility vent as though he wasn't present in the room; having been Jon Arryn's page for most of his life, he'd grown quite accustomed to such things in King's landing. 

It was however, one of the only times he'd been privy to female conversation, exclusively. 

He had to say, it wasn't proving to be very diverse; albeit to be fair, someone being betrothed to a Prince was a fairly dramatic development.

But still, going on for two days was a bit… much.

"She hardly deserves it! She doesn't even want to get married!"

The Lady Sansa's jealousy and disapproval of the development was an obvious thing and to be completely fair to her, Ashe understood it on some level. If Arya hadn't been betrothed to Tommen; Sansa would have been betrothed to Dimitri, a good match; possibly for both of them. 

Heaven forbid she be betrothed to Joffrey; no one deserved that. 

"Can you imagine her, Arya Horseface, a princess!" Jeyne Poole giggled, then blushed. "Oh, I suppose I should stop calling her that now."

"She's still Arya Horseface." Sansa answered mulishly, picking at her needlework. 

Bernadetta opens her mouth , taking a breath as though she's ready to speak before she decides against it.

Ashe tries not to feel too disappointed in that. He'd hoped that time with her northern family would help pull her out of her shell, and in some small ways it had. But the shadow of… the lady Arryn was simply far too large. 

Bernie was afraid of speaking any level of disagreement, or even agreement in some cases.

Still, her expression was noticed by at least one person. "Is something wrong Lady Arryn?" Marianne Manderly asked gently, seated across from Bernie. 

"B-Bernie."  She answered reflexively.

Ashe understood why. 

Lady Arryn was… Lady Arryn. And all that entailed. 

"I- well…" She continued, head ducking down to stare at her own needlework. "I-it's a good Match. Prince Tommen is the kindest of the Royal family. He'll treat cousin Arya well. They can be happy, away from… the Red Keep. Perhaps a holdfast in the westerlands."

"Probably for the best." Jeyne smiled; leaning towards Sansa. "Could you imagine Arya at court?"

Sansa half scoffed, half laughed. "I'd rather not. She'd turn the place into a barn."

"Better a barn than a snake pit."

It took everyone a second to register the words, and another second or two to each realize who'd spoken.

All eyes turned to Bernadetta, who looked absolutely mortified at the words that had slipped out of her mouth. 

"Cousin?" Sansa asked, visibly confused.

But Bernadetta didn't answer, suddenly standing up and quite literally fleeing from the room, shoving past Ashe at the door without a word to escape.

"Cousin!" Sansa called-

"Ser Ashe, what was that about!?" Jeyne questioned. "It was just a jest, we did not mean any offense."

Ashe bit the inside of his cheek, wondering what he should say.

Honesty had always been a value he held in high regard…

But destroying the idealized idea that the northern girls had about the capital, and even the royal family seemed… almost cruel.

And yet…

"There are…" He hesitated. "People in the capital that are not very kind, lady Sansa, people who wish to gain influence and will do anything they can to get it. When you were speaking such of Lady Arya and Prince Tommen, well, Miss Bernadetta probably believes you were being unkind, knowing how cruel some at court can be."

Sansa and Jeyne's eyes were wide with disbelief, and he could almost see the rationalizations and denials passing through their minds; It really never occurred to them that the stories of Gallant Knights and fair maidens were only stories. 

He didn't blame them.

He hadn't wanted to believe such either.

Part of him still didn't. Part of him still doesn't.

The lady Manderly only looked sad; as though she expected him to say such. 

He bowed, somehow feeling both awkward and hasty; "Excuse me, I should check on Miss Bernadetta." He said before turning and slipping out of the door, hoping that she'd gone to her rooms, he could find her there but not if she went elsewhere in the massive castle. 

—

Ned

It wasn't quite a headache that pounded at Ned's skull; not this early in the morning.

But he'd be lying if there wasn't some tension in him.

Lysa Arryn's letter last night had not helped him, or Catelyn get much sleep.

His Goodsister leveled the death of her husband on the Lannisters.

A thousand thoughts passed through Ned's mind every other minute. Considering, examining, re-considering and re-examining.

Grief did strange things to people, and though Ned loved Cat and Jon Arryn both, he did not know the lady Lysa  beyond mere acquaintanceship and it had been many years since then.

Could she be wrong? A grieving widow jumping at shadows?

Possibly.

Dare he sit back and trust in that? No. 

The Lannisters; Tywin was especially vicious. This was the same man that ordered the horrors upon Elia Martell, Rhaenys and Aegon Targaryen- a woman and her children who did not deserve their horrid fate.

If Tywin wished Jon removed; Jon would be removed.

But Jon had died from a sudden fever. That meant poison. 

Poison was a woman's weapon; The Queen then.

Ned had little reason to trust her either.

The princeling, now his Goodson to be, Tommen was far too young for suspicion, Myrcella as well. Joffrey, though near a man grown- Ned had no reason to believe was involved.

And the Prince Dimitri…

Ned did not want to think him involved.

But Lysa had said that the Prince had taken Bernadetta. A hostage, to keep her silence A silence she'd broken and trusted Ned and Cat to keep given the stakes. 

As charming and as good of a prince as he seemed; Ned could not trust him- not while he threatened house Arryn with a knife to their necks. 

He needed to find a way to keep Bernadetta in the north when they left.

Perhaps a betrothal? House Umber? Manderly? Or even Robb. It could be a ruse. A mummer's farce to give her reason to stay only to be broken off later. Betrothal agreements fell through all the time. One more would cause no real controversy.

So…

Cersei, and the Prince.

If they were his suspects; Ser Jamie must be added too- The Kingslayer was their family, their guard, for all his broken oath's might hold him to such. 

There was also Robert's page, Lancel. Another one to look into. And Ned did not know if there were other Lannisters at the capital. Distant cousins or married; extended family ties.

He knew Tywin had another daughter, his youngest, Ingrid. But last he heard she was still in Casterly Rock, along with Tywin and Kevan Lannister both.

There was still the possibility that Tywin had catspaws in King's landing; it might even be 'likely' For all the distance Casterly Rock held from King's landing; the old Lion's reach was long. The siege had proven that when he got orders to Jamie to kill the Mad King, orders that his son eagerly followed. 

His list of suspects grew ever longer, and his disquieting sense of dread only deepened with each passing thought.

He was glad, for the moment; that Robert was out and about. Ned needed the time to think his next moves through.

However, just as he was thinking such, there was a knock at the door of his study, Jory's voice coming through the barrier.

'My lord; the Mercenary, Jeralt is here to see you'

Jeralt?

A sudden bolt of inspiration struck Ned then. "Send him in" He called, raising his voice to be sure Jory heard him. The walls and door were thick.

Obligingly, the door swung open with a creaking heave.

Jeralt entered; and then bowed. "My Lord Stark."

"Ser Jeralt." Ned nodded; and then remembered his manners. "There is mead, if you wish." He gestured towards the collection of spirits by a side table. "It will warm you."

His old friend smiled, though there was a tension in him; one that Ned shared. "My thanks"

The mercenary's heavy footfalls echoed through the study; boots on old oaken floors. 

Jeralt took a flagon of mead, uncorking the bottle. Honey mead was a rare commodity in the north. Honey was scarce with no bee's after all. 

His friend took a drink, enjoying the flavor.

Then he spoke. 

"The Watch, Ned?"

Ned knew immediately what the mercenary was talking about.

Or rather; who.

"He will be safe there." Ned explained. "Once he takes the oath… none will have reason to ever go after him, even if he's discovered. He'll have forsworn his claim."

"And his whole life with it." Jeralt reminded. "No wife, no children, no family, legacy. Nothing but a Wall."

Ned shut his eyes; He knew all of this. And yet… "I promised her."

Jeralt shook his head. "Do you really think she would want his safety to be so absolute that she'd wish for this? For the wall? Just from what she did; she lived her life, brief as it was, for a love of life itself."

"And what's the alternative then?" Ned asked. "A holdfast? Lands, titles. And if he's found… what then? The North at war; the realm awash with blood again. Perhaps the entire Stark line, gone like the Reynes and Tarbeck's if we lose? His sons and daughters with their brains bashed against the wall."

"Only three people know." Jeralt said. "And two are in this room." The mercenary nodded. "Give him to me." He suddenly asked, "Send him with my men. He'll be as safe with me as he'd be at the wall. And if word ever got out-" Jeralt shrugged. "Pentos is nice this time of year. Or Bravos. Or Volantis. I've never seen Ashai."

The offer was made in good faith… and it was more than Ned could have hoped for, from this Mercenary he'd hired at the last moment all those years ago. The man who'd saved him from the two greatest swords in the realm. 

Jeralt pressed. "My lord. I've kept the secret all these years- I can keep it for longer still."

Ned stared at the man. The man he knew to be as good as his word. The man that had never had any tie to the North or Lyanna beyond coin; not like him. Not like Howland. 

And yet he had been there. He'd been there with him and with Howland. And had lied straight at King Robert's face; with all the risk it brought- and had never once asked for any sort of ransom to keep the secret.

He simply did it because in his words-

'I'm a mercenary; not an arsehole."

He could trust his word.

"I…" Ned's heart seized in his throat. A sudden fear choking him… a parents fear- of sending their children out… away from home at last. "I will… think on this."

Jeralt nodded, bowing. "Thank you my lord-" He turned, moving to take his leave.

"But-" Ned called, stopping his friend's retreat. "I might have a job for you Jeralt… if you choose to accept."

Jeralt raised an eyebrow eyeing Ned.

It must've shown on his face; the gravity of it all. Because Jeralt snorted.  "Somehow I get the feeling this job is… complicated. Is it a Job for the Beasts?"

"It's a job for one that I can trust." Ned answered simply.

Jeralt hesitated for a moment. 

Just a moment.

Then he turned back around, arms crossed. "Alright… what are we dealing with?"

Ned's next sentence tasted like purest irony. 

"Conspiracy. Against the King."