The torch that Rodrik carried threw shadows that moved on the walls and made the passageway feel narrower than it was.
“What do we know?” “He entered with the royal party,” Rodrik said, as they descended.
“Positioned himself as a retainer of one of the lesser household knights.
Clean livery, proper kit.
Whoever placed him knew enough to dress him correctly.” “Has he spoken?” “Not yet, my lord.” Rodrik shook his head.
They reached the bottom of the final stair where at the end of the passageway, a pair of braziers flickered, scarcely illuminating four more wary guardsmen who waited by the oaken door that led to the dungeons proper.
With Ned’s nod, the sentries pushed open the doors, revealing dark hallways that were narrower and colder than halls of the great keep.
The walls were damp, lined with thick grey granite and the cells were hewn directly into the stone, with torches lining every thirty feet.
They descended deeper, eventually finding Karlon standing by a small cell with Ser Egran at his shoulder and Ser Wylis Manderly beside him.
Ned made a note at how the Manderly heir chose to follow instead of retiring to his room.
The flickering lantern revealed the insides of the cell, where a prisoner was slumped against the wall, his hands and feet clasped in irons.
A short man, sandy-haired, wearing the kind of festive garb that a bard or musician might wear, better quality than a kitchen boy but not lordly.
Ned vaguely remembered seeing him in the feast, a face he had registered and not catalogued.
“Ned.” Karlon held up a small wooden box, lined with ebony clasps.
“We found this on him.
There’s nothing inside but a Myrish far-eye.” Ned raised a brow as he took the box and opened it.
Indeed, aside from the Myrish lens that sat upon the velvet lining, there was nothing else inside.
“He’s asleep?” Ned asked, gesturing to the prone thief.
“He hit his head when he ran, we had the Maester fix him up.” Rodrik said, pulling out a small vial.
“Luwin says that the thief should wake once he gets a whiff of this.” Ned considered it, before nodding.
“Wake him.” The door to the cell was opened and Rodrik stepped inside, pulling the cork of the vial and placing it right under the thief’s nose.
It was at that moment that Jory came in with Robb, with Grey Wind trailing behind them.
The wolf had grown, now reaching his knee.
His eldest looked obviously tired, his auburn hair in loose tangles rather than the neat style he had worn for the feast.
Despite that, his gait was straight and his eyes focused, which was good.
This would hardly be the first time the Lord of Winterfell was forced to wake in the middle of night for an emergency, getting him used to it would do far more good than not.
“Father.
Jory told me what happened.” Ned nodded, “Where’s Jon?” “With the First Ranger, Lord Stark.” Jory replied, stepping forward.
“They’re with Desmond and Jacks to bring back the servant they caught by the stables.” “What happened there?” “I’m not quite sure yet, my Lord,” Jory replied, “but I believe Lord Benjen caught a man disguised as one of our servants.
It was Jon who caught him in the end with his direwolf.
Ghost caught the castpaw by the leg before Jon tackled him through the stable door and landed in a pile of hay.
The wolf then sat on him until Lord Benjen secured him.” “Jon did?” Rob’s eyebrows went up.
Beside him, Grey Wind gave a short, almost indignant-sounding yip, as if proud of his litter mate.
Ned just shook his head at the absurdity of it all.
It seems either Rodrik and Jory had been slacking with the guard, or the king’s party brought more trouble than he realized.
At that moment, the prisoner woke as Rodrik took a few steps back.
He blinked in confusion for a few heartbeats, before coming back to awareness with a sharp intake of breath.
His eyes moved across the assembled faces and settled on Grey Wind, which was when he let out a small whimper.
“M-M’lord!” The thief tried to stand, only to stumble as his face grimaced in pain.
One hand tried to go to the back of his head, only for it to make short for the manacles that chained him to the wall.
“I-I’m innocent!” Karlon raised a brow.
“Innocent?
You were caught sneaking into the Maester’s Turret in the middle of the night.
And you ran from the guards, you fool.” “I wasn’t—I was visiting a serving girl—” “So not only a thief, but a liar as well.” Ned snorted at the obvious lie.
He nodded to Rodrik, who called out for the guardsman outside.
The four guards who remained as sentries at the door walked in, Tomard bringing an iron stump before settling it down in the hall outside the cell.
Wayn and Hallis Mollen unshackled the man and forced him to his knees with the thief’s hand pressed to the block.
“W–Wait!
What are you doing?!” The chained man cried out as Robb walked forward and unsheathed Ice.
“Your right hand is forfeit for thievery,” Robb supplied, “And so is your tongue for lying to the Lord of Winterfell.” The prisoner began to struggle, but it was futile against the grip of the two guardsmen.
Robb lifted Ice and aimed for the outstretched hand.
“P-Please—” The man’s composure cracked entirely.
“I did lie, I did—forgive me!” Robb paused, giving Ned a glance.
“Speak truthfully, and you may keep both.” Ned offered after contemplating.
The silence that followed was not a comfortable one for the prisoner, which was appropriate.
Sweat and tears ran down his face.
“I-I was sent here b-by the Lord Littlefinger” he said, the words coming out in a rush once they started.
“To deliver a box to the Maester’s Turret without being seen.
That’s all I know, I swear it.” “You mean this box?” Karlon lifted the box in question.
“Y-Yes, m’lord.” “Who is Littlefinger?” Ned questioned.
“That would be the Master of Coin, Lord Stark.
Petyr Baelish.” Wylis supplied helpfully.
Baelish…Baelish…where had he heard that name before?
The last time was with that Maidenpool merchant, but there was something about the man that Eddard recognized.
He signalled for the guards to release the man, and Robb lowered Ice and put it back in its sheath.
“Was Baelish not the name of the boy who challenged our brother for Catelyn’s hand?” Karlon suddenly asked, and the memory came back belatedly.
“I scarcely remember after over twenty years.” Petyr Baelish, the young ward of Hoster Tully, who had demanded the right to fight for Catelyn and had nearly died for it.
How did such a minor lordling rise to Master of Coin in less than twenty years?
“No, you’re right.” Ned replied, looking down on the thief.
“Do you know the contents of this box?” “N-No, m’lord.” “What business does this ‘Littlefinger’ have sending wooden boxes to Winterfell?” Ned asked again, “Do you often do tasks for Baelish?” “H-He pays well to deliver things, m’lord.
Sometimes messages, sometimes parcels.
Nothing harmful, he always says.
I bring things to people and ask no questions.” “And tonight?” “Tonight was the first time anyone—” He swallowed.
“The first time I was asked to leave something without being received.
He said the Maester would find it.
He said it was a gift, that the Maester would know what it meant.” A frown returned to Ned’s face.
Taking the box from Karlon, he took another look inside.
Once again, there was nothing else there but the small delicate tube with two polished lenses on each end.
It was rather finely made.
The glasswork was smooth and the bronze was polished like a mirror.
It would be rather costly to buy for a common merchant, but well within the means of even minor lordlings, especially so for a member of the Small Council.
He gave it to Karlon, who was far more experienced in using one than he.
He watched as Karlon held up the cylinder, put the lens to his eye and looked at nothing in particular, then lowered it.
“A far-eye is an instrument that helps one see at a distance, perhaps we’re missing something?” Karlon’s words barely finished when Grey Wind had moved, rising on his back legs until he was pressing his nose to the base of the box where Ned held it, and whined.
“What is it boy?” Robb asked, crouching slightly.
The wolf circled once, pressed his paw against the bottom of the box, and Ned understood.
Ned placed the box on the ground.
Grey Wind sniffed the base again, and continued to prod.
Clearly, the canine’s sharp senses found something that they couldn’t.
The wolf then looked up at Robb, before biting down on it with his sharp teeth.
“Grey wind!
Stop it boy,” Robb called out, but the direwolf ignored his command.
Grey Wind continued to shake his furry head, not letting go.
As Robb attempted to grab the box back, something clicked, and the wolf deposited the box in Robb’s hands with a wagging tail.
Robb just blinked before chuckling and passing the box back to Ned.
“Gods, the box is made of hardwood but the bite cracked it open like an egg.” Karlon noted, and the thief paled even further at the sight.
The bottom panel had shifted out of alignment by a fraction, and when Ned pressed it the right way with his thumb, a small compartment opened in the base, releasing a roll of parchment so tightly wound it had to be coaxed loose from its housing.
The seal on it was blue wax, pressed with a falcon in flight.
The sigil of House Arryn.
Ned looked at the seal for a long moment, and then at the far-eye still in Karlon’s hand, and then at the man still kneeling on the cold stone of the dungeon floor with the manacles on his wrists.
“Put him back in the cell,” he said.
“He’s not to speak to anyone until I say otherwise.” He looked back at Jory, “I want Winterfell locked up.
Get two scores of men and secure Wintertown.” Jory nodded without question, and rushed off with Hallis Mollen.
Whatever was in this parchment was important, and he needed to read this somewhere with more light and fewer ears.
Check it out if you’re interested, at least chapter 19 (long form, which is around chp 36 in webnovel) should be available by the time this chapter was uploaded.