A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

shadow, and the death of her lord husband left her shattered and lost.”
    â€œSo you are quite certain that Jon Arryn died of a sudden illness?”
    â€œI am,” Pycelle replied gravely. “If not illness, my good lord, what else could it be?”
    â€œPoison,” Ned suggested quietly.
    Pycelle’s sleepy eyes flicked open. The aged maester shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “A disturbing thought. We are not the Free Cities, where such things are common. Grand Maester Aethelmure wrote that all men carry murder in their hearts, yet even so, the poisoner is beneath contempt.” He fell silent for a moment, his eyes lost in thought. “What you suggest is possible, my lord, yet I do not think it likely. Every hedge maester knows the common poisons, and Lord Arryn displayed none of the signs. And the Hand was loved by all. What sort of monster in man’s flesh would dare to murder such a noble lord?”
    â€œI have heard it said that poison is a woman’s weapon.”
    Pycelle stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It is said. Women, cravens … and eunuchs.” He cleared his throat and spat a thick glob of phlegm onto the rushes. Above them, a raven cawed loudly in the rookery. “The Lord Varys was born a slave in Lys, did you know? Put not your trust in spiders, my lord.”
    That was scarcely anything Ned needed to be told; there was something about Varys that made his flesh crawl. “I will remember that, Maester. And I thank you for your help. I have taken enough of your time.” He stood.
    Grand Maester Pycelle pushed himself up from his chair slowly and escorted Ned to the door. “I hope I have helped in some small way to put your mind at ease. If there is any other service I might perform, you need only ask.”
    â€œOne thing,” Ned told him. “I should be curious to examine the book that you lent Jon the day before he fell ill.”
    â€œI fear you would find it of little interest,” Pycelle said. “It was a ponderous tome by Grand Maester Malleon on the lineages of the great houses.”
    â€œStill, I should like to see it.”
    The old man opened the door. “As you wish. I have it here somewhere. When I find it, I shall have it sent to your chambers straightaway.”
    â€œYou have been most courteous,” Ned told him. Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, “One last question, if you would be so kind. You mentioned that the king was at Lord Arryn’s bedside when he died. I wonder, was the queen with him?”
    â€œWhy, no,” Pycelle said. “She and the children were making the journey to Casterly Rock, in company with her father. Lord Tywin had brought a retinue to the city for the tourney on Prince Joffrey’s name day, no doubt hoping to see his son Jaime win the champion’s crown. In that he was sadly disappointed. It fell to me to send the queen word of Lord Arryn’s sudden death. Never have I sent off a bird with a heavier heart.”
    â€œDark wings, dark words,” Ned murmured. It was a proverb Old Nan had taught him as a boy.
    â€œSo the fishwives say,” Grand Maester Pycelle agreed, “but we know it is not always so. When Maester Luwin’s bird brought the word about your Bran, the message lifted every true heart in the castle, did it not?”
    â€œAs you say, Maester.”
    â€œThe gods are merciful.” Pycelle bowed his head. “Come to me as often as you like, Lord Eddard. I am here to serve.”
    Yes
, Ned thought as the door swung shut,
but whom?
    On the way back to his chambers, he came upon his daughter Arya on the winding steps of the Tower of the Hand, windmilling her arms as she struggled to balance on one leg. The rough stone had scuffed her bare feet. Ned stopped and looked at her. “Arya, what are you doing?”
    â€œSyrio says a water dancer can stand on one toe for hours.” Her hands flailed at the air to steady herself.
    Ned had to smile. “Which toe?” he teased.
    â€œAny
toe,” Arya said, exasperated with the question. She hopped from her right leg to her left, swaying dangerously before she regained her balance.
    â€œMust you do your standing here?” he asked. “It’s a long hard fall down these steps.”
    â€œSyrio says a water dancer
never
falls.” She lowered her leg to stand on two feet. “Father, will Bran come and live with us