Beast Slayer Online: Initialization
Copyright© 2026 by CaffeinatedTales
Chapter 155: A Blade Hidden in Snow
Lord Stark seemed to have spent too long groping blind through King’s Landing. So when someone suddenly explained the shape of the board and offered advice that made sense, he listened.
He did not take Jory to Iron Street to visit Tobho Mott’s forge, nor did he send Jory to question Huff.
At supper, Guard Captain Jory Cassel raised a cup to Lannor for that.
“If my lord called on me, I’d go,” the Guard Captain said. “But if I can avoid running two extra errands in this damned heat, I’ll gladly drink to that.”
For Northerners and Direwolves alike, King’s Landing was too warm by half.
At the Small Council, Eddard Stark, handling the affairs of the realm, felt the difference at once. Matters that usually bogged down into mud somehow moved smoothly across the table today.
Before meeting Lannor, he might have thought the kingdom had finally produced one easy thing.
Now he understood. The work went smoothly because he had not followed the bait. He had not gone to Huff. He had not gone to the forge. He had done nothing beyond the duties of the Hand.
His stillness seemed to convince certain people that he had learned obedience, and they had given him a little reward at the council table.
Did they think they were training a dog?
The business of the realm passed with uncommon ease, yet Eddard’s anger burned hotter than it had during any Small Council session since he took office.
The meeting ended quickly. Eddard’s square, stern face gave no sign that anything had changed.
Petyr Baelish drifted over once most of the others had left, wearing that same mild, graceful smile.
“My lord, it seems you did not take hold of those two threads yesterday.”
The smile held, but Baelish’s eyes moved, flicking over the room even as he spoke. For men like him, watching while talking had become instinct.
Eddard felt the disgust rise in his throat, but he followed Lannor’s script to the letter.
“Affairs of state are pressing, Lord Baelish. Lord Jon Arryn’s death is a private matter to me. I cannot set aside the public duties of the Hand of the King for private grief.”
“How admirably righteous of you.” Baelish’s smile, to Eddard’s eye, showed no crack. “I only hope you find time soon. Information within reach has a habit of being swept clean. Farewell.”
As Baelish walked away, Eddard’s courteous smile vanished.
In the past, the blunt Lord Stark might never have caught the pulse beneath a man like Baelish’s words.
But now...
Lannor was right. He was anxious.
For common folk starved of diversion, the Tournament was a feast.
When the opening began, the Hand of the King had already brought his household to a raised platform beside the grounds. The platform had been built for the great and the powerful.
The King sat at the highest tier, then the Prince, the Hand of the King, the lords of the Small Council, and the rest of the court.
From their seats, they could see the entire length of the jousting lane.
The joust drew the most eyes at the beginning of the Tournament, while the group melee at the end promised the most blood and noise.
The jousting ground was simple enough. A long, straight run had been divided down the middle by a wooden barrier. Two knights took either side, lowered their lances, and charged.
The lances used for the contest were specially made. Their shafts were brittle enough to shatter against full plate before the force of the warhorse could drive the point through armor.
At worst, they might break a knight’s ribs. Usually.
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