Chapter Text
Since arriving in King's Landing, Ned Stark had been a busy man.
He and Cat had already discussed the likelihood of Littlefinger being trustworthy: slim to none. The little rat of a man who had risen so high to be Master of the Coin clearly had his wife's sister wrapped around his finger, just as he had when they were children and young ladies and man at Riverrun. Cat remembered the mad glint in his eye when 16 year old Petyr Baelish had challenged 20 year old Brandon Stark to a duel for her hand. Idiot. He had been her friend as a child, but she had long since grown tired of the not so subtle japes he made about her teats and the leer he could not hide when staring hungrily at her and Lysa. Poor Lysa was not prepared to listen to Cat's warnings about the kind of man Petyr was becoming though, and had long since been his lover. They were hardly secretive about it and it didn't require the talents of Varys the Spider to work it out. Cat had long known that Lysa was happier with her lover Littlefinger than she was with her lord husband Jon Arryn. The message that Lysa sent by raven claiming that Jon's poisoning was the work of the Lannisters made Cat and Ned uneasy. It was feasible - there was certainly reason to suspect Cersei Lannister of being greedy enough for more power. But neither could shake off the feeling that Lysa's story was too easy, too palatable. What if there was a deeper agenda, someone else wanting the Starks to go to war with the Lannisters?
Cat and Ned discussed this in veiled terms when she came to King's Landing in secret after the attack on Bran. Ned quietly sent some of his better men back North with her to guard their family, not so many that would be noticeable to any in King's Landing, but enough to alleviate some of the worry he felt at being so far away from his family and unable to protect them himself.
Cat warned Ned to be careful. Not to be stupid. To be nice and honourable, as everyone thought he was, but to quietly investigate and work out what the hell was going on. And in kind Ned kissed his wife farewell and told her to be calm, considered and not to act rashly.
So Ned smiled nicely at everyone once Cat left to go back to Winterfell to care for their children, and began his work to make sense of the mess that was the reign of Robert Baratheon, First of His Name blah blah blah.
His oldest friend had spent far too long mooning over what never was with Lyanna, and failed to see what a mess he had made of this opportunity. Fuck, they went to war to eradicate the mad dragons, and what was all that for? Apparently all they fought for was so that Robert could grow fat and stupid with wine and feasts, and fuck any whore he wanted.
Because he certainly wasn't fucking his golden-haired wife, Cersei Lannister. Ned watched the royal couple when they were at Winterfell, and on the road back to the capital. Cersei's loathing for her royal husband was barely concealed, anyone could see it. As could anyone who cared to look closely see the lingering glances of affection between her and her brother, the Kingslayer. There was something going on there, far more than mere sibling affection. Ned remembered the conversation that he had overheard between his older brother Brandon, their father Rickard and Lord Hoster Tully at Harrenhal, all those years ago. Rickard was reminding Hoster that perhaps it wasn't such a loss to have Lysa's potential groom taken from the proposed contract with Tywin Lannister and off to the King's Guard, for sources within Casterly Rock say that the Lannister twins were far closer than was ever appropriate for siblings. Close like Targaryens were. And those golden haired children of her gave it all away. There was not a trace of Baratheon in any of them. Seven Hells, Joffrey was like a little walking homage to the Kingslayer - except with all his mother's madness.
Incest is an abomination in the eyes of all gods, old and new, but Ned wasn't stupid: he knew he had to take proof to Robert, more than just suspicions. But what?
The answer lay in following the footsteps of Jon Arryn. First to the blacksmith boy; looking at him was like looking through a window of time and seeing his old friend in the Eyrie, as they learned to wield swords together. Then the book from Pycelle's collection. Was it enough? Would it be enough to convince Robert to see what was right in front of him?
Ned had written to Stannis, cagily suggesting that they combine their efforts in persuading Robert to address the matter of his *rightful* heirs. Ned remembered Stannis Baratheon well from the war, although they had not served together as Stannis had been caged inside Storm's End by the Tyrell forces. He was methodical, crafty and deliberate. The fact that Stannis had vacated his seat on the Small Council and retreated to Dragonstone boded ill for the realm: Ned hoped he could entice Stannis back to the negotiation table to work with him, and not against him.
Ned hoped, but Ned did not delay. Ned was not stupid. Stannis seemed to have his own agenda, and his silence was enough for Ned. Stannis would not help him, so Ned would have to do this alone.
He sent Jory Cassell back to the blacksmith's, to bring the boy to court, ostensibly to take Ned's measurements for some new armour. While all the Northmen with him would know this was nonsense, as Mikken's work was serving fine, it gave them the cover they needed to get Robert's bastard boy inside the Red Keep.
Then he asked Robert to come and meet with him, bringing only Renly and Barristan the Bold. Ned was quite specific in that. He couldn't afford to have Lannister-sympathetic King's Guard hovering around and hearing this meeting. Renly had already given Ned an idea for how to soothe Robert's likely rage when he found out he had been cuckolded. The Tyrell girl looked nothing like Lyanna, Renly was talking out of his arse on that front, but she was comely enough and connected enough to be a suitable replacement Queen... once the Lannisters had been removed from power.
So, like a cyvasse player, Ned laid all his pawns out.... and waited.