external image bedroom_by_anthonyavon-d6y2slp.jpgA Distinctly Quiet Night

He was beyond restless. It had become increasingly more difficult to sleep as the days past; the looming shadow of uncertainty continuing to encompass Edgar’s bedroom. Perhaps this is why the nightmares had started to begin with, as a way of letting Edgar tell himself how unprepared he actually was for the unscrupulous politics and scheming of the city. There were moving parts everywhere, each player a small gear in a much larger cog, and those fortunate and wise enough to see them all were rarely seen themselves. The major players have no reason to reveal themselves, Peter Baelish an excellent example – perhaps the greatest master of convincing venal officials to do his bidding.

The Den was but a roadblock, he thought to himself. A temporary setback, a problem that would inevitably disappear – even if it did require the help of Ned Stark. Still, Edgar couldn’t shake the feeling that he made a mistake by involving them. He had hoped House Fenshaw would adapt to the real politics of the world, not the petty squabbling “politics” back home. Bandits were but the simplest of problems, as they have a singular purpose and a singular solution. Ironically, Edgar had also grown over-accustomed to dealing with the simpleminded and doltish, assuming the same of The Den when he refused to pay the agreed upon amount.

Anxiously sitting at his rotting desk, waiting for news of any kind to arrive, Edgar began scribbling down his thoughts with his quill. “The Den…Raynard…Edgar lied…”, he wrote rather languidly. It was increasingly more difficult to think in this great city of lies, much less sleep. Edgar thought to himself how this was the time for action, for exploitation, for- he had to stop himself. It was a fruitless exercise of the mind; he knew the dimwitted idiots accompanying him in King’s Landing would rather sit on their asses twiddling their thumbs rather than actually doing something to prevent any future misfortunes. Inaction was their forte, almost as much as their prospect of getting angry when, God’s forbid, someone actually tries doing something.

The stench of Eon’s undergarments, a servant and personal guard of Edgars, began to produce a foul and disgusting odor, presumably due to a lack of bathing. His half-brother, Drudge, had already been stationed outside the door just two weeks ago for the very same reason. “When did he start smelling? Days, weeks? Damn memory is foggier than my dreams”, Edgar solicitously pondered. Although Edgar desired nothing more than to send Eon out with his brother as to alleviate the awful smell – doing so would put himself at an even greater risk of danger. Risk, as he had already concluded, could not be afforded. Not now.

There was a great deal of commotion outside, the clunking of armor and chainmail filling the air at an unusually late time of night. Curiosity getting the better of him, Edgar headed for the door, making sure to avoid the vexatious splinters in the floorboards.

“Open up!”, Edgar shouted to Drudge. After a pause of silence, he warily repeated “Drudge, open the damn door! What’s going on out there?”

“…Your idiot brother better not have left his post, Eon. Unless he no longer desires being paid every month. Where is he?”

“I don’t know, sir. I thought he was standing guard all night.”, Eon gingerly replied, not wanting to upset Edgar any further. He was not a shrewd man, but could still discern that his employer was not his usual self as of late. Although it isn’t saying very much, Eon was doubly as smart as Drudge – perhaps he was simply gifted with a whoring scholar of a father.

Becoming irritated, he instructed Eon to open the door. Eon was visibly distraught and on-guard, no doubt worried about his brother and the repercussions if he had left his post. He hurriedly opened the door, his hand resting on his scabbard.

As it swung open, Drudge was not outside the door as Edgar had expected. The murmurs outside now became much more audible, as did the scene of guards running up and down the hallway. Edgar deemed it appropriate to investigate as the guards never shuffled around positions at this hour of night, and usually did so much more unnoticeably. There were only two Fenshaw guards left, the rest seeming to have disappeared, moved, or left. Prepared to approach the guard still posted outside of Theodan’s chambers, it struck him – all the Stark guards had left the premises. Considering they made up half of their internal guard force, this was surely not a coincidence.

Silence struck. It was not the pleasant kind of silence, but the unnerving, gut-wrenching kind that made even the strongest man in its presence desire a mother’s nurturing. Everyone in the room sensed it, with Edgar and Eon making an awkward yet necessary moment of eye contact, to confirm the ‘existence’ of the silence. If it was not for the buffoon Drudge, stumbling up from the first floor of the building, the silence would have continued to suffuse into the Red Keep itself.

“Where the hell were you?”, Edgar shouted across the room. His tone was not of anger, but now of cautionary concern.

Out of breath, he made his way across the hallway as quickly as he could. “Sir…I’m sorry...the Stark’s needed help moving equipment.”

“Do I pay you to move their equipment? I pay you to watch the damn door, a task you clearly cannot handle…”

“But sir, they thought I was just another Fenshaw guard…they were frightening and commanding.”

Giving a stern look, Edgar quickly replied "Are you saying I'm not?"

A nervous look swept across Drudge's face, a sure sign he was about to fumble over the few words he did know.

Rolling his eyes, Edgar knew he wasn’t getting anywhere with him. There was no honor in scaring such an imbecile. “Just watch my door. I doubt anything will happen tonight, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Do NOT let me come out here again and catch you giving another squire assistance in doing his own fucking job."

Edgar retreated to his chambers. Perhaps he would finally get some sleep tonight.