A Clash of Kings (A Song of Ice and Fire, #2)

by George R.R. Martin

“I will not treat with Renly,” Stannis answered in a tone that brooked no argument. “Not while he calls himself a king.” “Not Renly, then,” the maester yielded. His lord was stubborn and proud; when he had set his mind, there was no changing it. “Others might serve your needs as well. Eddard Stark’s son has been proclaimed King in the North, with all the power of Winterfell and Riverrun behind him.” “A green boy,” said Stannis, “and another false king. Am I to accept a broken realm?” “Surely half a kingdom is better than none,” Cressen said, “and if you help the boy avenge his father’s murder—” “Why should I avenge Eddard Stark? The man was nothing to me. Oh, Robert loved him, to be sure. Loved him as a brother, how often did I hear that? I was his brother, not Ned Stark, but you would never have known it by the way he treated me. I held Storm’s End for him, watching good men starve while Mace Tyrell and Paxter Redwyne feasted within sight of my walls. Did Robert thank me? No. He thanked Stark, for lifting the siege when we were down to rats and radishes. I built a fleet at Robert’s command, took Dragonstone in his name. Did he take my hand and say, Well done, brother, whatever should I do without you? No, he blamed me for letting Willem Darry steal away Viserys and the babe, as if I could have stopped it. I sat on his council for fifteen years, helping Jon Arryn rule his realm while Robert drank and whored, but when Jon died, did my brother name me his Hand? No, he went g...

galloping off to his dear friend Ned Stark, and offered him the honor. And small good it did either of them.”