A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

“Lord Eddard,” he called after Ned, “a moment, if you would be so kind.”
    Ned stopped. “As you wish.”
    Renly walked to his side. “Send your men away.” They met in the center of the bridge, the dry moat beneath them. Moonlight silvered the cruel edges of the spikes that lined its bed.
    Ned gestured. Tomard and Cayn bowed their heads and backed away respectfully. Lord Renly glanced warily at Ser Boros on the far end of the span, at Ser Preston in the doorway behind them. “That letter.” He leaned close. “Was it the regency? Has my brother named you Protector?” He did not wait for a reply. “My lord, I have thirty men in my personal guard, and other friends beside, knights and lords. Give me an hour, and I can put a hundred swords in your hand.”
    â€œAnd what should I do with a hundred swords, my lord?”
    â€œStrike!
Now, while the castle sleeps.” Renly looked back at Ser Boros again and dropped his voice to an urgent whisper. “We must get Joffrey away from his mother and take him in hand. Protector or no, the man who holds the king holds the kingdom. We should seize Myrcella and Tommen as well. Once we have her children, Cersei will not dare oppose us. The council will confirm you as Lord Protector and make Joffrey your ward.”
    Ned regarded him coldly. “Robert is not dead yet. The gods may spare him. If not, I shall convene the council to hear his final words and consider the matter of the succession, but I will not dishonor his last hours on earth by shedding blood in his halls and dragging frightened children from their beds.”
    Lord Renly took a step back, taut as a bowstring. “Every moment you delay gives Cersei another moment to prepare. By the time Robert dies, it may be too late … for both of us.”
    â€œThen we should pray that Robert does not die.”
    â€œSmall chance of that,” said Renly.
    â€œSometimes the gods are merciful.”
    â€œThe Lannisters are not.” Lord Renly turned away and went back across the moat, to the tower where his brother lay dying.
    By the time Ned returned to his chambers, he felt weary and heartsick, yet there was no question of his going back to sleep, not now.
When you play the game of thrones, you win or you die
, Cersei Lannister had told him in the godswood. He found himself wondering if he had done the right thing by refusing Lord Renly’s offer. He had no taste for these intrigues, and there was no honor in threatening children, and yet … if Cersei elected to fight rather than flee, he might well have need of Renly’s hundred swords, and more besides.
    â€œI want Littlefinger,” he told Cayn. “If he’s not in his chambers, take as many men as you need and search every winesink and whorehouse in King’s Landing until you find him. Bring him to me before break of day.” Cayn bowed and took his leave, and Ned turned to Tomard. “The
Wind Witch
sails on the evening tide. Have you chosen the escort?”
    â€œTen men, with Porther in command.”
    â€œTwenty, and you will command,” Ned said. Porther was a brave man, but headstrong. He wanted someone more solid and sensible to keep watch over his daughters.
    â€œAs you wish, m’lord,” Tom said. “Can’t say I’ll be sad to see the back of this place. I miss the wife.”
    â€œYou will pass near Dragonstone when you turn north. I need you to deliver a letter for me.”
    Tom looked apprehensive. “To Dragonstone, m’lord?” The island fortress of House Targaryen had a sinister repute.
    â€œTell Captain Qos to hoist my banner as soon as he comes in sight of the island. They may be wary of unexpected visitors. If he is reluctant, offer him whatever it takes. I will give you a letter to place into the hand of Lord Stannis Baratheon. No one else. Not his steward, northe captain of his guard, nor his lady wife, but only Lord Stannis himself.”
    â€œAs you command, m’lord.”
    When Tomard had left him, Lord Eddard Stark sat staring at the flame of the candle that burned beside him on the table. For a moment his grief overwhelmed him. He wanted nothing so much as to seek out the godswood, to kneel before the heart tree and pray for the life of Robert Baratheon, who had been more than a brother to him. Men would whisper afterward that Eddard Stark had betrayed his king’s friendship and