Tony had the rangers tied to ropes for balance drills. One by one they tried to stay upright while wearing the maneuvering rig. Most failed.
n hit the ground hard, got tangled in the lines, or were flung sideways when the knots slipped.
"Not everyone has the talent," Tony said. "And it has nothing to do with how long they've served."
Mormont had ordered every man tested. With barely a hundred brothers left, they couldn't afford to waste potential. Those who showed real skill would be fast-tracked as rangers.
Jon and Eddison Tollett were already standing out.
A single horn blast cut through the cold. The gates creaked open.
An old ranger with snow-white hair and beard rode in at the head of his party. One of his hands was gone. The brothers called him Corlin One-Hand.
He had a body lashed across a horse and several heavy bundles.
"I need the Lord Commander," Corlin shouted. "Now."
Mormont and Maester Aemon were together when Corlin was brought in. He dropped a bundle on the table and cut it open. Black dragonglass daggers clattered across the wood.
"Found them at the Fist of the First n," Corlin said. "We also found wildling corpses. Looked like they were getting ready to burn the bodies but never finished."
Mormont and Aemon exchanged a look.
"Get Tony Stark and Tyrion Lannister," Mormont ordered. "We need their heads on this."
---
Robert returned to King's Landing and imdiately handed every responsibility to Ned before disappearing into the city's pleasures.
In the Tower of the Hand, Ned t the Small Council.
Varys sat with his soft voice and bald head, slling of perfu. The spymaster's network of child informants was called the Little Birds. Everyone knew him as the Spider.
Petyr Baelish — Littlefinger — was even shorter than Catelyn. Premature white streaks ran through his hair. Ned rembered him well. Years ago Baelish had challenged Brandon Stark for Catelyn's hand and nearly died for it. The scar from shoulder to hip still marked him.
Grand Maester Pycelle looked ancient but had outlived four kings. Renly Baratheon, Master of Laws, was bright and charming. Stannis Baratheon, Master of Ships, sat like carved stone and never smiled.
Renly slid a letter across the table. "The king wants a grand tourney to welco you, Lord Eddard. Here are the prizes."
Ned read it and frowned. Forty thousand gold dragons for the lee champion. Twenty thousand each for second place, archery, and the team event. A hundred thousand in total.
He looked at Baelish. "Can the treasury cover this?"
The others laughed. Even Renly. Only Stannis stayed silent.
Baelish smiled thinly. "The treasury has been in deficit for ten years. We're six million gold dragons in debt. Three million to Lord Tywin, two million to the Iron Bank, and the rest scattered between Highgarden and smaller lenders."
Ned stared at him. "Six million…"
"Thanks to Lord Baelish's creative borrowing, the realm still functions," Renly said lightly.
Ned rubbed his face. "Then we cut the prizes. Cut them hard."
After the eting, Ned walked alone toward his chambers, steps heavy.
"Lord Eddard."
Petyr Baelish stepped out of a shadowed alcove.
Ned's guard captain started to draw, but Ned stopped him. "Stand down, Jory."
Baelish looked up at him. "I was hoping to speak with Lady Catelyn. Privately."
Ned moved fast. He grabbed Baelish by the throat and slamd him against the stone wall.
"What do you want with my wife, Littlefinger?"
Baelish's feet left the floor. He clawed at Ned's wrist, face turning red.
"I just… want to see her," he managed to rasp.
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