Interlude: King's Landing (The Spark)

King's Landing was a rowdy place at the best of times, smelling of shite and overcrowded. Unlike the Free Cities, where Urban Planning had taken into account potential expansion, a holdover from the days of Old Valyria, King's Landing had never been intended to hold this many people at once. It was why every Free City comfortably housed over a million people while King's Landing felt crowded and overtaxed with half that number of souls. It was why the sewerage system, labyrinthine and monstrous as it was, was overtaxed, making the city reek of shite.

It was a place that seemed to breed discontent and plots like dung bred flies. An Apt metaphor if Stannis Baratheon had ever heard one. It had been one such plot that he had uncovered, thanks to the corroboration of Lord Stark. This plot was as foul and as fetid as any of the cesspits lying underneath this city, and much like a cesspit could drown a man in excrement, this plot had already killed a man.

For Stannis Baratheon had uncovered what Jon Arryn had been attempting to figure out. It took several months of digging, an exhaustive search of multiple genealogies, visits to Tobho Mott's smith shop, and even to the home of a Prostitute working at Chataya's Brothel, as Stannis refused to step foot in such a den of iniquity. With Lord Stark corroborating details about Mya Stone and Bella Rivers, and Stannis having sent Edric Storm to Storm's End himself, one thing became perfectly clear.

All of Robert's Bastards had dark hair and blue eyes, Baratheon hair and eyes. That in and of itself was not uncommon, save for the fact that looking through both The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms by Grand Maester Malleon, as well as Stannis' own copy of the Baratheon Family Geneology Books to confirm showed a few other Baratheon and Lannister Matches throughout history. In none of them did the Lannister's gold hair and green eyes prevail over Baratheon black hair and blue eyes.

Why then, did all of Robert's Trueborn Children have Lannister features? It made no sense unless the King had been made a Cuckold by the Queen for some time. That, in and of itself was grounds for an inquiry. Stannis called Lord Stark to a small back room in the Bravo's Dirk, a Dockside Tavern known to be run by Braavosi. There, he laid all this out for the Lord Hand. The Northern Lord's face grew grim at the mention.

"The Seed is strong indeed. We thought he'd been speaking of Joffrey." Intoned Lord Stark.

"He was, after a fashion, just not in the way we believed." Pointed out Lord Stannis.

"We have to tell him." Insisted Lord Stark.

"I agree, but he won't listen to me. My brother never has and I am beginning to think he never will." Grunted Lord Stannis, grinding his teeth at the frustration of it all.

"I will tell him, but the Lannisters will be an issue. This revelation would ruin Tywin Lannister's carefully cultivated reputation. There are more Lannister Guards in the City than any other fighting force, not counting the Goldcloaks. I must assume they would prove an obstacle to any attempt at righting this injustice." Pointed out Lord Stark.

"How many of your guards remain in the City?" Questioned Lord Stannis.

"Perhaps Three and Ten. I sent five and ten to the Riverlands with Beric Dondarrion and my Steward after Amory Lorch. What of yourself?" Queried Lord Stark.

"Aside from the Royal Fleet?" Asked Lord Stannis.

"Can the Sailors of the Royal Fleet be counted on to fight in the city if it came to it?" Shot back Lord Stark.

"Doubtful. They are more at home on the swaying of a ship's deck than on cobbled streets and in dirt alleys." Admitted Lord Stannis.

"Then aside from the Fleet." Pressed Lord Stark.

"Perhaps twenty and a hundred." Answered Lord Stannis.

"Not enough. Not with the Lannisters having a thousand of their guards in the city for the negotiations. Can we count on the Garrison of the Red Keep?" Questioned Lord Stark.

"Like as not, no. Many of them are Lannister Men who took the position upon Cersei's installation as Queen, and yet others are Lannister Men for want of coin. Perhaps fifty and two hundred out of the thousand-strong Garrison of the Red Keep may be counted upon to do their duty." Groused Lord Stannis.

"Aye, it is much the same with the Gold Cloaks. I fear our inroads against Lord Baelish's schemes with the Treasury have made him step up his own recruitment amongst the Goldcloaks. They have been extremely unreliable in my efforts to pin down Baelish's misdeeds of late. Yet others are simply corrupt in the normal fashion, all too willing to turn a blind eye should there be something in it for them, while still more are simple cowards." Scowled Lord Stark.

"It is my foolish brother who has allowed the rot to spread there. I fear there is little we can do about it. So, we have perhaps four hundred men to face off against anywhere from a thousand to one-thousand-sevent-hundred-fifty enemies? That isn't nearly enough." Sighed Lord Stannis before his teeth began to grind once again.

"Does not Lord Seawynd have men in the City? He could perhaps aid us?" Hedged Lord Stark.

"One hundred men, aye. Even with their Muskets, Steel, and Discipline, I doubt we'll be able to achieve victory over a force three and a half times our size. Not with City Fighting." Refused Lord Stannis.

"City fighting would indeed be brutal, and the preponderance of buildings would limit the effectiveness of Musketry somewhat. We should still alert Lord Seawynd and have him aid us. If nothing else, he may be able to think of something we cannot." Nodded Lord Stark.

"He is good at that." Agreed Lord Stannis.

"In the meantime, I shall send my heir and my daughters out of the City ahead of any such unpleasantness. You recall the Sealord's Man from Lord Seawynd's Wedding, I am sure? His term as First Sword of Braavos ended earlier in the year and I may have engaged him as a tutor for my Daughter Arya. She wanted to learn the art of Water Dancing, you see." Informed Lord Stark.

"And you believe he will be able to book your children passage on a ship?" Queried Lord Stannis.

"I believe he will. The Braavosi are a tight-knit bunch, even, it seems, extending to stepchildren with no blood connection to their City." Smirked Lord Stark.

"Yes, it does seem that way, does it not? Thankfully, Shireen is safely ensconced on Dragonstone behind the protection of solid walls and a large fleet." Responded Lord Stannis.

"Speaking of which, if this goes poorly, it is likely to bring about the Civil War that we feared was coming." Pointed out Lord Stark.

"Fear not, I have made my own preparations in advance. With both the Narrow Sea Houses and the Royal Fleet. Should we be forced to flee the City, we need only make it to the Docks and the Royal Fleet will see us to Dragonstone." Insisted Lord Stannis.

"You are that assured of their Loyalty?" Asked Lord Stark.

"The benefits of supervising the rebuilding of a fleet from scratch, Lord Stark. If any ships do remain loyal to Cersei should she somehow come out ahead of our efforts to make my Brother realize he has been cuckolded, it will only be a scant handful." Explained Lord Stannis.

"Aye. Then we meet back here in five days, shall we say?" Questioned Lord Stark.

"Until then, my Lord Hand." Concurred Lord Stannis.

With that dismissal, the clandestine meeting broke apart. Lord Stark exited the Bravo's Dirk first, passing by the Barman and Proprietor without sparing the man a second glance. Five minutes later, Lord Stannis exited as well, handing the Braavosi Barman a small pouch of coin for the man's discretion. Both Lords had preparations to make, after all.

Neither of them noticed that the Bravo's blade and Dirk hanging off the Barman's belt were made of Arsenal Steel. . .

XXXX

Bronn was busy counting a pile of coin when it happened. His group's recent rise to the position of Lords of Flea Bottom's Gangs had come with a commensurate bump in wealth from tributes and taxes of the various Gangs' earnings. Only some of that had gone into their own purses. A fair bit had been sent onto the Seawynd Manse, where it would be crated up along with various trade goods and sent back to Bloodstone as Lord Seawynd's Cut. Another large portion had gone toward the hiring of more agents at the direction of Vizimir. Vizimir's Network now had agents in Rook's Rest, Duskendale, Rosby, Hayford, the Old Stone Bridge Inn, on the Docks of King's Landing, and even a few of the serving staff of the Red Keep.

You would think that paying for agents in four towns, on the Docks of King's Landing, the Serving Staff of the Red Keep, and in a major Inn along the road to Maidenpool would have left nothing for any other endeavors. You would be wrong, for there were far too many folks crammed into Flea Bottom as it was, and all sorts of shite that would normally be taken care of by various Merchant Guilds or the Goldcloaks was instead taken care of by the Gangs. Did you want a bit of mutton? The Gangs owned herds of rustled sheep. Want a pint of ale? The Gangs owned all the Taverns. Need new shoes for your boy? The Gangs owned the Cobblers Shops. On and on it went, till the end of bloody time.

This was compounded by the fact that Flea Bottom could be considered a town of its own inside the City. There were certainly enough people residing in the district for that to be the case. Not quite a fifth of King's Landing's Population lived in Flea Bottom, and all sent coin to the Gangs in one way or another.

Littlefinger dismissing Flea Bottom as unimportant really is biting him right in the arse. By any realistic measure, this place, slum that it was, could be a literal gold mine. Bronn was happy to profit from Littlefinger's mistake and he was damned sure that Vizimir was happy to do likewise. Almost ninety-five-thousand souls worth of tributes and taxes flowed up from the streets to Bronn's coffers, the pile of Gold Dragons, Silver Stags, and Copper Stars had been reduced twice and it still sat piled precariously high.

It was a frankly ludicrous amount of money. Bronn had only gotten paid this much at one time a couple of times before after one of the Sellsword Companies he'd served in had captured a decent-sized town and began squeezing the inhabitants for coin to spare them a proper sack. He'd only partaken in that sort of thing twice. The first time he'd been cheated out of his share of the loot by Karkulo, the Dothraki had been serving as a Light Cavalry Officer in the Company of the Bloody Knife, the Company that Bronn had first served in. The Poxy Bastard had tricked Bronn into giving him most of his payout as some twisted form of hazing.

"Showed him though. That Cunt died hard." Snorted Bronn.

It was true, Bronn had used what was left of his pay to get a cake baked for Karkulo. Now, the bastard was known to think highly enough of his skills in a fight that he figured that the only thing that'd take him down was poison in the camp, so he'd taken up the habit of keeping antidotes to various known poisons on hand in his tent. Bronn hadn't bothered with that, just had the baker grind up an arseload of Myrish Glass and bake it into the cake. No antidote for crushed glass and all that. It helped that the town they'd captured had been on the Myrish Side of the Pentoshi Border. Plenty of glass around for his scheme.

The Second time it'd happened had been when he'd been with the Company of the Silver Spear. They'd been hired out by Volantis to fight Qohor over a few towns near Dagger Lake that Qohor'd made an effort to send a bunch of Sellsail Pirates to guard. They'd taken the largest of the Towns from the Qohorik-backed Pirates and had squeezed it for cash. That payday had been pissed away in a more honest fashion, with dice, women, and ale, just as the Gods intended.

This payday, though? This was going toward his conquest of Rolena Zo Asni and his future investment in a country estate somewhere warm. it was as Bronn had finished his counting and been daydreaming of a potential life of wedded bliss and luxury that Likely Luke barged into the counting room.

"Oi, you remember Tomarro Byanchi?" Queried Likely Luke, breaking the spell.

"Aye. He's the Braavosi Inkeep we paid to keep an ear out on the docks. What about him?" Frowned Bronn.

"He's sent word. Lord Stark and Lord Stannis are up to something. They met in one of his back rooms, some sort of clandestine deal about something big. He also heard something else. Last night, Lord Stark sent the former First Sword of Braavos to hire a Braavosi Merchant Ship headed to Dragonstone to take on three passengers, two girls, and a boy." Answered Likely Luke.

"No bets on who those kids are. All right, so something big is going down. Keep an ear out, aye?" Nodded Bronn.

"No need." Came Anguy's Voice as the Archer now entered the Counting Room. He had a slip of parchment in his hand and handed it off to Bronn.

"From the Manse." He intoned.

With a Frown, Bronn flicked open the parchment and read the message. As he did, he got a really serious look on his face. Looking up at Anguy, he forced himself to take a deep breath to calm his nerves. It was usually easier done with ale, but Bronn didn't have time to pour himself a drink right now.

"Is this real?" He demanded.

"I know the messenger who carried it personally." Explained Anguy, nodding.

"Where's Gragg Shorn?" Asked Bronn.

"Chataya's. There's some Ibbenese Girl there whose contract was sold off to the Happy Port in Braavos and this is her last night of work." Answered Likely Luke.

"This is no time for him to be dipping his spear. If what this letter says is true, Case Red is coming in thirty-six hours. Luke, go to Chataya's and haul Gragg out by his cock if you have to. Anguy, get the lads we've run through the scenario on alert. This is what we've been waiting for. I want everyone to be armed up and ready to go with the equipment from the hidden armories as soon as possible." Commanded Bronn.

As the others leaped to their assignments, however, Bronn frowned. Thanks to the recent expansion of their network, they knew exactly how many troops the Lannisters had in the City. They also had a reasonably accurate count of who the Lannisters or Littlefinger had on their payroll in the Goldcloaks and Red Keep Garrison. Unless Lord Stark and Lord Stannis had more Guards in the City than Bronn realized, they were going to be outnumbered at least three to one. Most of the men he could bring to the fight were also Gang Members, used to street fights and back alley skirmishes. They'd never faced proper troops before.

Fortunately, overthrowing Lannister Influence in the Capital wasn't Bronn's Mission. Instead, Bronn's Mission was to ensure that the various names on the list given to him by Vizimir made it out of the City alive. Shireen Baratheon wasn't in the City, and it looked like Lord Stark was sending his kids out of the City on his own initiative, though Bronn would still have some lads watch the Harbor just in case. That effectively pruned four names off the ten-name list.

Bronn had to get Lord Stannis, Lord Stark, Ser Davos Seaworth, Ser Maric Seaworth, and Syrio Forel out of the City alive for his mission to be a success. He was sure that the Guards at the Seawynd Manse were already stripping the Manse of the valuables, coin, and goods they'd been told to load onto ships ahead of Case Red. Bronn knew they could have the entire Manse packed up and ready to go within twenty-four hours' notice of Case Red. Lord Seawynd realized that it wouldn't be long until he was forced to declare openly for Lord Stannis if Case Red was successful. In that event, he'd be forced to abandon whatever wealth remained in King's Landing. He refused to allow the Lannisters to have anything that could bolster their war effort, hence the instructions.

The Manse itself would, within four hours of the proper runes being triggered, collapse in on itself as if sucked into a sinkhole, effectively allowing Lord Seawynd to deny the Lannisters anything that might have been left behind in the packing on top of the packing itself. Idly, Bronn wondered if there might be enough time to pack up the rest of his small mountain of coin and ship it with the contents of the Manse. Sighing, he realized that doing so would cock up the timetable the Lads at the Manse were operating under. Instead, he settled for only taking a rucksack full of Dragons with him when he left.

"The things I do for duty." Groused Bronn.

Then he began putting Gold Dragons in a small, canvas, rucksack for the flight out of the city. . .

XXXX

Syrio Forel was on guard. This did not mean that he believed Captain Gyordano of the Wavetreader would have let slip that he and his charges were being sent by Lord Stark to Dragonstone on his ship, mind you. After all, there are some things that Braavosi do not do to each other, at least while abroad in the Sunsetlands. Betrayal to foreign agents is one of those.

No, Syrio Forel was worried that Lord Stark was being watched and that potential attackers might waylay their party on the way to the ship. They would be safe enough once they reached the Wavetreader, as it was a merchant ship built to one of Lord Seawynd's designs that he had shared with the Arsenal. A Nau, with a proper deck just for the Guns. Mind you, the Sealord had only made certain types of guns available to Braavos' Merchant Fleets, primarily the four-pounders so endemic to several of the Lords of the Sunsetlands. He was keeping the six-pounders and twelve-pounders for the fleet.

Four pounders, however, would be enough to deter attacks on the ship itself. Syrio simply had to get his charges there in one piece. That was a task that might prove to be more easy to say than to do. However, Lord Stark had done his best to mitigate such dangers. Sending them out in the dead of night with heavy, hooded, cloaks to hide their faces. Between that and the skill of the First Sword of Braavos, this should be a mission that can be accomplished.

It was as they made their way into the Docks District that Syrio knew that the obfuscation of the cover of night and hooded cloaks had not lasted. He could feel eyes on them as they walked through the docks toward the Wavetreader. He'd spent enough time as a bodyguard, soldier, and general to realize when he was being watched.

Sure enough, around halfway to the Wavetreader's berth, a mob of rough-looking people in makeshift armor with various weapons poured out of a side alley, cutting across their path and halting their trip to the ship. The leader, a Ghiscari in Lorica that was hidden by a Full-Body Cloak stepped forward. Syrio knew that he was armored in a proper Legionary Lorica from the way the man moved. He was willing to bet there was also a Gladius under that cloak as well. Possibly also a Pugio dagger.

"Halt, friend! This road belongs to the Rush Devils, we can't let you go any further without paying us a toll!" Called out the Ghiscari in accented, but passable Common Tongue Westerosi.

"Are these not the King's Docks? I am sure he would be interested to hear that you act in his name." Retorted Syrio Forel.

He was playing for time. If he could find a way out of here that they could run without having to fight, that would be best. The Stark Boy might be trained, but he is inexperienced, while Little Arya wasn't even trained fully, and the Lady was more like to be a hindrance than a help in any fight. Unfortunately, it seemed the Legionary was experienced enough to recognize the tactic, as he refused to allow Syrio to dissemble.

"I'm afraid if you do not give us coin, then we will simply have to take those girls as payment. They will be put to work nicely." Insisted the Ghiscari.

"The first one to touch them will meet their Gods shortly afterward. Do you not fear such an outcome?" Threatened Syrio.

"Caco." Sneered the Ghiscari, calling Syrio's bluff in his native tongue before motioning to a quartet of his men. Unfortunately for them, Syrio had not been bluffing in the slightest.

Four men stepped forward, two in leather jerkins, one in a padded cloth gambeson that looked like it had been salvaged from a ragpicker's shop, and a third in a leather butcher's apron. All wielded various small blades, and the first two even had proper swords. It wasn't enough to save them.

In the blink of an eye, Syrio Forel drew his Sidesword and cut out in a manco cut from the sheath, his draw cut slashing from left to right and taking the throat out of the first Swordsman. The Second moved to stab him, but Syrio, sidestepped and the point of the Second Swordsman's Blade sailed harmlessly by as Syrio cut out at his sword hand with a descending cut that took two of the Man's fingers and the thumb off his sword hand. The Second Swordsman fell back clutching his ruined hand and in came the Man in the Gambeson with a worn naval dirk. He thrust for Syrio's chest only for Syrio to grab his wrist with his off-hand and smash the pommel of his sword into the Man's nose with a crunch. The nose broke on the first blow, but Syrio ensured he wouldn't be getting up swiftly by following that up with two more swift blows of his pommel to his face. The Butcher came in with his cleaver as the Dirk Man fell and Syrio ducked the chop aimed at his neck before thrusting out with his sidesword in a stocatta thrust, one hand braced on the ground while the other ran the Butcher through.

As Syrio straightened, he withdrew his blade from the chest of the Butcher and flicked the blood off it and onto the Cobbles before fixing the Ghiscari with a cold stare.

"I did warn you." He intoned. The remaining sixteen of the Ghiscari's Lackeys shuffled in place nervously from foot to foot, looking around as if suddenly unsure of their course of action. That was good, exactly what Syrio wanted them to be doing. Unfortunately, the Ghiscari seemed to cotton onto that trick as well.

"It's just one man, there's sixteen of you!" He barked.

That broke the spell and soon the Gang began to charge at him. Syrio Forel prepared to put himself between the oncoming gang and his charges, only to suddenly be met by the Ghiscari drawing his Gladius and Pugio and advancing on him from the left. Syrio was forced to parry the Gladius thrust and back away from the striking dagger, leaving his charges at the Mercy of the advancing Gang.

Or so Syrio thought, at least. Instead of that happening, the charging gang was met by a charge from a group of oddly well-armed and well-armored men in chain armor wielding various proper weapons. The other Gang clashed with the Ghiscari's Gang for a few moments, but Syrio could not spare the time to watch how that played out, as the Ghiscari was striking for him again.

Syrio parried twice, dodged once, and Riposted with a horizontal mandritto cut for the Ghiscari's throat from right to left. The Ghiscari parried with his Gladius before throwing a Riposte of his own with the Pugio that would have plunged into the side of Syrio's neck had Syrio not lunged forward at the last second to shove the Ghiscari to the pavement.

The pair grappled, jockeying for position on the cobblestone road as they went. Syrio struck the Ghiscari with an elbow strike in the midst of their scrum that smashed his nose flat and the Ghiscari managed to throw Syrio off of him. Both men stood and snatched up the nearest weapon lying on the ground. Fortunately for Syrio, that was his sidesword. For the Ghiscari, however, it was not the Gladius, but the Pugio.

"It appears that I have the advantage." Intoned Syrio.

"So it seems." Huffed the Ghiscari, voice sounding off thanks to his broken nose.

However, before they could clash again, the Ghiscari's gang broke, running for whatever dockside rathole they could find. The Ghiscari, on seeing this, decided that discretion was the better part of valor, and fled. Syrio was content to let him go, as getting his charges to the Wavetreader was his mission, not fighting dockside gangs. Unfortunately, now he had to deal with a group of far better-equipped Gang Members. He turned toward them to see that the Stark Boy's dagger was out and covered in blood. He was looking down at the corpse of a bearded man with a rusty cutlass that had taken a thrust through the throat and clearly choked to death on his own blood.

As Syrio moved to stand next to the Stark Boy, one of the other Gang's members, a big Bastard in blackened chain armor with a visored helm stepped forward. He lifted the visor on his helmet to show a square-jawed face covered in brown stubble.

"Was that the first time you ever killed anyone, Lad?" Questioned the Man.

"Aye." Replied the Stark Boy, face pale.

"The first time is never easy. Not unless you're a total Cunt, anyway. You can take solace in the fact that if you hadn't done that, he would have laid hands on your sisters. Trust me, he deserved it, and there's not as many first kills you can say that for." Intoned the Man.

"Who are you? How do you know who my charges are?" Demanded Syrio.

"I am an ally. Lord Seawynd sends his regards. We were sent to ensure you boarded your ship in one piece." Grinned the Man.

"That explains the equipment. That's arsenal steel, just blackened by fire." Snorted Arya.

"Arya, he just saved us, be nice!" Hissed Sansa.

"No, she's right. You've got a sharp eye on you, Lady Arya. Keep honing it and you'll go far." Huffed the Man.

And with that, the Man barked out an order to return to someplace called the Rat's Nest and their apparent allies faded back into an alleyway. Syrio was not one to look gift horses in the mouth, he did not want them to bite him, after all. He took the reprieve for what it was and ushered his charges onward. They made it to the Wavetreader without further incident and managed to get into their cabins.

By this time tomorrow, Syrio and his Charges would be well on their way to Dragonstone. . .

XXXX

Lord Petyr Baelish was furious. Oh, certainly he was calm and composed outwardly, but inwardly he was fuming. The Rush Devils had been supposed to capture the Stark Children for him, he'd even sent them his latest mercenary acquisition to bolster their ranks. Shezos na Diraz was supposed to be one of the better swordsmen from the Third Legion of New Ghis, only being pushed into retirement based on being on the losing side of one of the innumerable political spats that cropped up whenever the Princeps of New Ghis died, yet he'd clearly failed to deliver him the Stark Children.

Petyr supposed he shouldn't be too harsh on Shezos. After all, it was not just any man who could match blades with the First Sword of Braavos and life to tell of it. However, this put a damper on Petyr's plans. He'd needed the Heir and the Youngest Girl to serve as a deterrent. Hostages to ensure Lord Stark stopped digging into his financial records for any hint of wrongdoing. Clearly, his attempt to send a message hadn't worked, so this was his backup plan. As for Sansa, well, she was so much like her mother had been before that Oaf Brandon Stark and his fool of a brother had stolen her from him. He had hoped that he could have persuaded Sansa to see his side of things.

That was all in the past now, unfortunately. The moment was gone. Fortunately, there may be a way out of this. One of his various spies had brought him some interesting news from within the tower of the Hand. Apparently, Lord Stark had been looking into another conspiracy completely unrelated to any of Petyr's, that being the true parentage of the Queen's Children.

Oh, Petyr was fairly certain they hadn't been Robert's. One look at any of the King's Bastards compared to his apparent trueborn Children would be enough to tell anyone of reasonable intelligence that much. Petyr's Dragons were on them belonging to Ser Jamie Lannister of the Kingsguard, since the way they acted was more like how he and Lysa had been forced to act in front of Lord Hoster's Court back in his younger days. Secret lovers, not siblings. He was unaware if Lord Stark or Lord Stannis had realized that, but Lord Stark had scheduled a meeting with the King for tomorrow at noon.

Coincidentally, the Queen was plotting the murder of the King at the same time. Apparently, using her cousin Lancel of all things. Lancel was to spike the King's Wine with a poison that would weaken his heart with successive doses over a period of a few days until his heart simply gave out, paving the way for Joffrey's ascent. The first dose was to be delivered tomorrow.

Now, Petyr was an intelligent man, capable of formulating a premise from various bits of information as well as anyone he'd heard of. Given the poison and the likelihood of Lord Stark's meeting with the King being to inform him that he had been made a Cuckold, what was the likely outcome of such a meeting? Especially as the King was not exactly his old, healthy, self these days?

The combination of factors would likely result in the King's Heart giving out in the midst of the meeting. All it would take would be the right whispers in the right ears at the right time afterward and all Petyr's problems would solve themselves. As Petyr took a drink from his goblet of wine, he couldn't help but be very pleased with how he was about to salvage this situation.

"Sometimes, my cleverness really does surprise even me." He grinned as he sipped his wine and leaned back in his expensive leather armchair.

Tomorrow would be one Hell of a show, at the very least. . .

XXXX

Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King was sat in the Small Council Chamber alone with the King. Outside the door, stood Ser Mandon Moore of the Kingsguard, but the meeting itself was to be private. He would spare his old friend the shame of his cuckoldry being known to half the Red Keep before supper, after all. It was the least he could do.

Unfortunately, Robert had beaten him to the chamber and was already draining a bottle of the Madeira Wine that Lord Seawynd Produced from his Vineyards in the Stepstones. Lancel had already scampered off to the Kitchens to fetch the King a replacement, leaving them an opportunity to discuss the situation.

"What's this about, Ned? Bad enough I have to deal with this bloody situation between the Lannisters and your wife, playing middleman like some fucking scribe. Now you've got something important you need me to hear without anyone around as well?" Grumbled Robert.

"Indeed, Robert. It is a grave matter, treasonous in its own right and related to the current situation with the Lannisters." Intoned Ned.

"Don't tell me you're gonna give me a reason to march up to Casterly Rock and smash Tywin Fucking Lannister's skull open with my Hammer? Is it my Nameday and I just forgot?" Smirked Robert.

"Robert, this is serious. I beg you, take it seriously." Insisted Ned.

"What's wrong? By the Gods, Ned, the last time I saw your face that grim was just after Balon Bloody Greyjoy's Brothers burned down Lannisport! Tywin's not admitted to sending Lorch to raid the Riverlands has he?" Demanded Robert.

"No, Your Grace. It's not that." Insisted Ned.

"Then what the Bloody Hell is it, Ned? Out with it!" Commanded Robert.

With a sigh, Ned pulled the two books, both The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses and Stannis' copy of the Baratheon Geneology book. Both were marked to the appropriate pages with different colored scraps of cloth. Robert's brow furrowed at seeing this and Ned tried to walk him through it.

"Robert, have you ever noticed how all your bastards are dark of hair and blue of eye like yourself, but Joffrey, Tommen, and Myrcella are gold of hair and green of eye like a Lannister?" Began Ned.

"What's that got to do with anything? Plenty of Baratheons've had other hair and eye colors. Sure it's rare, but I'm a rare sort of man!" Protested Robert.

"But not, when those couplings have been with Lannisters and not after the Grandsons of Orys Baratheon. Look here." Intoned Ned.

He began to walk his Oldest and Best Friend through the dishonor that had been done to him by his very wife. It took all of five minutes for Robert's face to turn red with outrage. One minute later, the King could be heard bellowing about 'Conniving little shits' and 'backstabbing bloody traitors'. Two minutes after that, the King clutched at his chest heaved a few heavy breaths, and collapsed to the floor. Ned Stark rushed to the doorway, Ser Mandon Moore surprised by the sudden arrival.

"The King has collapsed, fetch the Grand Maester!" Demanded Lord Stark.

Ser Mandon Moore moved to do so. However the next person to arrive at the Small Council Chamber was not Grand Maester Pycelle, but a pair of Lannister Guards backed by a pair of Red Keep Guardsmen. They were being led by Ser Stafford Lannister, who had arrived as part of Ser Kevan Lannister's Negotiation Team after the King had called for both Stark and Lannister to come to the table over the issue of Cat's capture of the Imp, and the Kingslayer.

"Lord Eddard Stark, by order of Queen Cersei you are under arrest for the Murder of King Robert Baratheon!" Intoned Ser Stafford.

"Come quietly, Stark. You may have been able to defeat Ser Arthur Dane in your prime, but that was a long time ago." Grinned the Kingslayer.

Faced with being framed for the King's Murder, even Eddard Stark could realize that this accident had scuppered a peaceful solution. Plan B it was, he supposed, how unfortunate. Ned Stark, instead of standing down, Drew Ice from its place on his back and took a stance.

"I will not be a party to this treachery. You should stand down." Intoned Ned.

"If I'm being honest? I was hoping that would be your response." Smirked the Kingslayer.

And then, all Hell broke loose in the Capital. . .

XXXX

AN: So yeah, here we see the first part of events for how the Civil War is going to start. Ned and Stannis discover Cersei's infidelity, Ned manages to get Robb, Sansa, and Arya out of King's Landing with the help of Syrio Forel and Likely Luke, Cersei begins poisoning the King, but doesn't take his physical state into account, and Littlefinger moves to improvise a plan to capitalize on everything.

This is the result of multiple different plots colliding into each other, much like the canon War of the Five Kings resulted from a different Gambit Pileup, but the way they went about it and the element of random chance involved is different. This is just the spark, though.

Next chapter, you'll get to see the conflagration as the events play out.

Stay tuned. . .