Hello! I love your art sm, and seeing your art inspires me to continue making my own. However, I struggle A LOT with shading. Do you have any tips for how you do shading? Especially dynamic lighting?

HI! First of all, sorry for the late response. It's been a very busy week! Second of all, I'm so glad to read you say this. Seriously, thank you so much <3333

I'll start by saying I'm NOT the best person to explain color theory and all that jazz, but I can describe to you my process and see if you can get something out it!

If you're interested in dynamic lighting, the important thing is to start DARK and work your way through the light. I've also just recently realized that this is the best way to shade in general for me.

So, usually I put down my base colors and slap a layer of a preferred hue on it in "multiply" (I'm sure your drawing program has a similar tool with a different name). This helps you "locate" the subject in your ambience of choice, whose color will always be changing the base colors of your character (unless it's open daylight, but personally, I'd still add an orange tint to it).

After this, you can start placing lights. Choose your light source (you might have noticed I often prefer a warm light/with a green/purple/blue shadow) and think of your drawing subject as a 3D object that will reflect light accordingly. Keep attention to what objects might block light from passing by, or how light might "bend" when it meets the surfaces in a different angle. Remember this is NOT a one layer process. Not for me, at least. This, for example, is the result of 6 layers of light. Same hue, different intensity. Start from low intensity and build up to it.

(LITTLE NOTE INBETWEEN: remember the shadow changes size depending on how close it is to the surface it's been casted on.)

(END OF NOTE)

Depending on what you want your result to be, you might be done here or you might want to add more shades as well. I tend to overshade a bit in the last period, but it does help me see flaws in the anatomy that I might have not noticed without the volume that shading brings out. Shades are ALSO a process of multiple layers.

And finally, if you went a bit too hard with the shading, you might want to bring back the silhoutte through a bit of reflected light from the ambience... very soft, I usually go for green and light blue unless I have a different light source that might suggest another color. It really adds to the piece, especially if you have very reflective surfaces in it (ex. metal or silk).

Final suggestions, remember that skin under a strong contrast between shadows and light does this kind of over-satured line inbetween the two (the terminator line). Really helps pull off the whole thing! It's usually even more defined then the ones I draw.

And remember that references are always the best way to go, especially if you want to put your light source in an angle you haven't drawn before.

Ugly Christmas Sweaters

pairing: steve rogers x reader. avengers x reader (platonic) 

request: Could you imagine the avengers having an ugly Christmas sweater contest? Because holy cow I need that in my life.

warnings: a few curse words and that’s about it.

word count: 1459

author’s note: pardon any mistakes! I’m also trying to complete my Christmas/winter requests first since December has already started. 

PART OF MY CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION (check the tag for the masterlist)

(gif below is not mine, nor do i take credit for it

The Morning Of December 24th

“Natasha, for the love of all that is good, why are we out at 10 am shopping? On Christmas Eve might I add!”

Tiny snowflakes danced across the sky, some making home in your hair and on the planes of your face. Cold wind gushed towards you, making your skin feel as delicate and fragile as porcelain. Having lived in New York for a few years, one would have assumed that you knew how to handle the harsh weather by now, but apparently not. Even though you were wrapped in a very warming trench coat, your neck encased in a fur collar, you wrapped yourself into Natasha’s side for even more warmth. 

The woman squeezed your arm that was wrapped around her own and kept walking all while ignoring your pleas to stop at the coffee house that looked oh-so inviting.

“Oh hush. You act like you are going to turn into Jack Frost!” 

She chided you for a minute more and then pulled your body into a clothing store that seemed a bit too up-class for your liking. 

“As for your second question, this is the answer. Tony is hosting an ugly Christmas sweater party tonight!”

Natasha unlatched from your arm and went into the center of the store. A sea of red and green blinded you and your friend was now practically swimming through the hundreds of racks all filled with ugly Christmas sweaters. 

“Seriously, Nat! I could have just ordered one on Amazon or something.”

You frowned and decided to jump into the unknown and search for your friend who was seemingly lost at the moment. Standing on tippy toes, you tried to peer over and find her. It was all in vain until you saw a head of red hair excitedly pop up, almost like a groundhog exiting from its home. Natasha smiled widely at you with two ugly Christmas sweaters in hand. As you walked closer to her, you found that the sweaters in question weren’t actually separated yet they were actually one large conjoined sweater, presumably for two people. 

“No,” before she could even speak, you had cut her off. 

“C’mon (y/n)! Even you were thinking about it. I didn't even have to say anything to influence you.” 

You shook your head and attempted to walk away when she grabbed your hand. 

“Call him.”

Natasha stared into your eyes and you did the same, almost squinting back at her now. 

With the slowest movements of your lips, you replied, “N-O, Natasha!” 

Just as you thought this argument had been put to rest, Natasha sneakily snatched your cell phone from your back pocket and immediately FaceTimed your boyfriend, Steve.

“WHAT?!” At this point you were grabbing for the phone and waiting for Steve to ultimately pick up at any given moment.

“HOW DO YOU EVEN KNOW MY PASSWORD?” Natasha kept waving around your phone in the air as it was nothing, some bystanders even shamelessly watching at this point. 

“I’m a spy, sweetheart. It’s simple. Also, your first mistake was to make your password your birthday.”

She pursed her lips and looked at you with a knowing look and you grumbled. Suddenly, the sound of the call being picked sounded and your blood froze. If it wasn’t already frozen from the frigid weather that is.

“Hey dol—Nat?”

“Hiya Cap! Your girlfriend is being a pain in my ass and we need you to settle this argument.”

You piped up and scurried over to get in the view of the camera.

“There is no argument! It’s a stupid sweater that’s all.”

Natasha looked at you once more and you did the same, this time snatching the phone from her. 

“Well I guess you two don’t need me then?”

You could see Steve was visibly confused and clearly in the middle of something as Bucky and Sam were in the background attempting to hang some garland. 

As you were about to tell Steve goodbye, you heard him suddenly chuckle. Confused, your eyes scanned the screen and that is where you spotted Natasha in the background of your own camera feed, jumping up and down while pointing to the sweater. 

“Honey, why is Nat jumping around behind you. Did she have some caffeine or something? I’ve never seen her this hyper before.”

You started laughing as Steve didn’t know Natasha exactly like you did. She was your best friend and the two of you got on each other’s nerves, but never seriously of course. Natasha was a different person with you and quite frankly it was a lot more fun than her usual persona with the team. 

“No Stevie, she stole my phone to try and get you to wear this sweater with me, but I know there’s no way you’d ever wear it.” Towards the end of your statement you were winking, and very noticeably at this point, hoping he would play along. 

But alas, he didn’t catch on.

“Huh? You know me, angel. I’ll do anything for you!”

He was so sweet and innocent that it was hard to stay mad at him. At this point, Nat had stopped jumping and was now at your side, a proud smirk on her face. On the screen, Bucky had joined and Sam partially paid some attention to the conversation as he was now working with Wanda and her powers on the garland. 

“Oh hey, Tasha! You gotta get us one of those, babe! Can’t let Rogers and (y/l/n) beat us this year, ya know?”

Natasha nodded vigorously and walked away to go and find said sweater. You just watched the two boys on the phone playfully nudge each other and drop a few “insults.” 

“I’m going to leave you two to whatever that is. Good luck Sam, you too Wanda!”

The young woman looked towards the camera and you could hear her irritated grumble all the way from across the room. 

“Should’ve gone with you guys!”

—

The Night of December 24th

You and Steve are standing shoulder to shoulder. Literally. 

Minus the white camisole you are wearing beneath this thing, all you feel is Steve’s warm body and skin touching yours. 

The two of you, after some time, finally managed to get the damn thing on. 

“(y/n)! Step to the side and then let me slip my arm through. 

Growing you did as he asked, when you immediately jumped back at Steve crushing your foot. The simple action throwing you both back. 

“Steve, you were stepping on me!”

and then your favorite part of the whole fiasco, “Steven Rogers get your arm off of my waist.” 

You turned and gave the man a side eye to which he shrugged with his own wide eyes. “What! I’m not doing anything and even if I was—”

Steve noticed your look, one that you don’t mess around with. “Care to finish that sentence, Cap?”

He made a motion as if he was zipping his lips and the two of you found it difficult to walk out of the door. 

At the party, you eyed the room for the team. They were a mere few feet away, but you and Steve were already struggling to walk as it is. 

Tony and Pepper were wearing some lighted tinsel sweaters while Bucky and Nat wore a conjoined reindeer sweater. Sam was sporting a literal Christmas tree sweater while Wanda wore a fruit cake themed ugly Christmas sweater. 

Soon Bruce and Thor joined you all. Bruce had an avengers themed ugly sweater on, making you giggle a bit while Thor was just wearing a casual sweater. 

“What is this nonsense that you are all wearing?”

Thor motioned to everyone’s different and most of all, ugly, sweaters, then prompting Bruce to explain the whole thing to him.

Eventually the festivities came to an end and you and Steve by now, had become experts at wearing this giant nap sack of a sweater. 

Rhodey, who decided not to participate, instead became the judge of the contest. By now, everyone was tired and blissed out from the drinks and such. There was silence as you all sat around on the couch and chairs, but it was comfortable and enjoyable, not deafening. The team was your family and there was no other way you’d have it. 

Sleepy, you leaned onto Steve who was still sitting beside you of course, because it’s not like he can run off. 

He smiled when you finally gave in and placed a kiss on your head. The whole team saw you and Steve all snuggled up and napping away. From that, it was decided that you both had won the ugly sweater competition. Not because of your sweaters, but because of your PDA. 

taglist: @memissbee @tricereads @buckybarnesthehotshot @bval-1 @tonystankschild @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @turtoix @kelbabyblue @jakiki94 @aubreeskailynn @calirindo @lady-elena-adeline​ @siriuslyslyslytherin 

A Magnetic Pull and a Reflexive Push | Counterfeit Criminals pt. 2

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Chapter Summary: You and Loki try to make an escape off planet Praxius IX

Warnings: smidge of angst, barely noticeable 

Word Count: 2k 

A/N: Summer classes are keeping me really busy so I apologize if there are a ton of typos! Hope you enjoy!! Always love to know what you think! <3 

Counterfeit Criminals | Part Two

He took the seat beside you and glanced around your ship with a bemused look on his face.

“It’s a little messy,” You said, keeping your focus on your lift off, “Get over it.”

You could hear the smile on his face when he said, “I didn’t say anything.”

The sound of your tools hitting the floor let you know he’d brushed them off the passenger seat. Before he could sit down, you jerked your ship to the side and back, sending him careening into the side.

“Lots of trees,” You shrugged by way of explanation.

He huffed a little chuckled and took a seat, leaning back lazily as if you were his chauffeur. You gripped the steering wheel tight knowing that, despite your purposeful little dip, your ship was in no condition to even brush a tree on the way out. Almost the entirety of this job was going toward fixing your ship, but if something happened to it, well, you didn’t even want to think about that scenario. When you had landed on Praxius IX you had thought the cover of the trees was towpath the difficulty getting out, now you weren’t so sure.

“You haven’t sold it yet,” The Prince’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but you heard it loud and clear.

You didn’t need to ask what he was talking about. The Warlock’s Eye hadn’t moved from its position on the floor beside the passenger seat in the year you’d had it. When you’d landed on Earth a little over six months ago, you’d considered selling it to the museum, but you couldn’t make yourself do it. It was silly, but you couldn’t even get yourself to touch it, no matter how desperately you needed the money. Eventually you’d learned its mind controlling powers and there was no way in hell you’d ever risk it falling into some idiot’s hands on earth. You knew you weren’t in any place to hold onto such power, but it was hidden on your ship and that was that. At least it wasn’t being used, even if you were tempted to used it on the person sitting next to you.

His words weren’t a question, so you didn’t answer; let him think what he wanted.

Aggressive beeping sounded from your dashboard and you looked down at your monitor and swore.

“I thought you took care of it,” You growled with a glance in his direction.

He shrugged, “I was unaware that it would take you this long to get your ship off the ground. Pardon me for thinking highly of you.”

“I am going to kill you once we get out of here,” You promised.

He smirked, “Go ahead, but I must warn you, from past experience, it doesn’t seem to take.”

“Judging by the fact that there have been past attempts you could understand why I’d want to.”

He chuckled and leaned further back into the seat. If he was in the least bit worried, it didn’t show. The Praxian ships were gaining on you faster than you’d anticipated, and you willed your ship to go faster. Your engine was heating up, but you ignored it and forced it on.

“Care to do anything about this?” You snapped.

He shook his head, “There’s nothing I can do.”

You tore your gaze away from the front long enough to glare at him and flip him the finger. The wailing warning of an incoming shot grabbed your attention and you swerved the ship at the last second, narrowly avoiding the hit. Firing back, you managed to give yourself enough room to race around a tall mountain peak and head back the way you came, the mountainous scenery acting as a shield.

“I believe the way out is in the other direction,” Loki commented.

“I’m well aware,” You replied through gritted teeth, “But we’re not going to make it out that way.”

Coming into this job, you’d known that you might have to take a detour out, which hadn’t bothered you then. Now, the idea wasn’t so appealing. To get close to Asgard through the portal you were about to go through meant spending weeks in your ship. Your mortal body could barely handle three consecutive jumps at a time with at least a twenty-four-hour waiting period between jumps. The only benefit was that this way was looking like you’d make it out alive. At least this way you’d get your chance to stab the Prince.

Even though they were gaining on you, the portal was close enough that you’d make it. The ship was part way through the portal when something hit the side, sending you flying off your seat and onto the floor, the ship careening out of control. Your stomach dropped and you knew you were feeling the effects of the portal. When your head began to spin, and the urge to throw up washed over you, you knew you’d gone through a second one. You could barely move, wincing under the pressure as it flattened you to the floor of your ship. Despite the pain and kaleidoscope of colours fading in and out around you, you braced yourself for the crash. The ship rocked dangerously, but somehow, it was still in space.

When you could finally stand, you tumbled onto your seat. The Prince gave you a quick once over, brows knotted in concentration as he steered your broken ship as best he could. The ship had to land. It wouldn’t make it much further, but at least he’d saved it from crashing. Though you knew the landing wouldn’t exactly be far from a crash.

“I can take over,” You said when the world stopped spinning.

“I know,” He didn’t yield control, “But it would be more dangerous to switch seconds away from landing. You wouldn’t risk death for the sake of your pride, would you?”

You scoffed, “Like you’re one to talk about pride.”

“Would you like me to take my hands off the wheel then?” He threatened.

“Stop acting so childish,” You snapped, “Land the damn ship.”

“So touchy.”

The smirk on his face made you want to stab him so you said, “You’ll see how touchy I can get when you get up close and personal with my dagger.”

That wolfish grin only grew, “Well that was not where I was hoping you’d go with that sentence.”

You glared at him and braced against the side of the ship, the tall plant life and vegetation an unappealing landing pad. The best you could hope for was that nothing you’d hit would cause any permanent damage to your ship. With the hit you’d taken, you’d be stuck on this planet for a couple days. The worst you could expect was being stranded out here for who knew how long.

Strain was written all over the Prince’s face as he forced against gravity to slow the ship decent enough that the impact wouldn’t kill either of you. Panic lights were flashing red, warning you that your incoming speed was dangerously high for any kind of landing. The hit wouldn’t be gentle.

“You need to slow down,” You ordered even though you were well aware that it wasn’t possible.

“Buckle up,” The prince growled, putting up on the wheel. He spared you a glance when you didn’t move, “Now.”

You did as you were told seconds before the impact jerked you around like a rag doll. The turbulence seemed to last for forever, only opening your eyes when it stopped. Somehow you were alive, which was good, but could you say the same for your ship?

Looking around, you noticed Loki slumped over in his seat, head leaning against the wheel and blood coming out of his temple. A massive tree branch had broken through your ship trough the side and had jammed across the front practically screwing him.

You scrambled to unbuckle yourself, tripping over the seat as you rushed to him. You gently lifted his face and his eyes fluttered at the movement but didn’t open. Your heart pounded in your ears and you searched his face desperately for a sign that he was all right.

“Loki. Loki, say something,” You brushed hair away from his face, checking his pulse to make sure he was alive.

A groan escaped his lips and you let out a shallow sigh, still not convinced he was fine. He managed to open his eyes, the bright green dulled and sleepy.

“I thought you were going to stab me. Not make sure I live,” He slurred.

You considered letting go of him, but you couldn’t make yourself do it, “You’re not dying, Wolf. There’s no need to be so dramatic. It’s a concussion at worst. When you die, it’ll be my fault, not some accidental shipwreck.”

The corner of his mouth twitched upward, “Then I’d better not die, now should I?”

You narrowed your eyes, “Don’t you dare.

“Funny. I almost believe you care,” He murmured.

“Almost.”

You stared into his eyes and found yourself searching for some sort of explanation for the way things had ended the way they had. You had thought that maybe…You sighed and pushed the thought away. Despite his return, it was useless to think about it now. You needed to get him off your ship and then the two of you could go on your separate ways. Even if you had spent the better part of the past year thinking about what you’d say to the Prince when you finally saw him again, you knew you had to let it go. The past was in the past and the two of you had no future.

You backed off, “At least you got us here in one piece.”

“One of my many talents,” He shot you a weak smile and looked around, “Where is here?”

You took in the familiar forestry and checked your monitor for confirmation. You’d had your suspicions about where you’d landed but hadn’t wanted to think about it. Because if you were right, then that meant three more jumps to get close to Asgard than you’d originally planned.

“An old trading post I found years ago,” You sighed, letting your head fall back, “it’s off most of the maps. I found it by accident and logged it into the ship’s default destinations.”

“There’s nothing here,” He said.

“There’s enough to fix the ship and to get going again. And I didn’t choose to come here, the ship diverted here when we got knocked off course partway through the portal,” You snapped.

He pushed himself up, wincing, “How long should that take?”

“Depends on the damage,” You shrugged, “I’m hoping to get out of here as soon as possible.”

He raised a brow, “Is my company that despicable?”

His tone caught you by surprise, but his face showed nothing other than the bored indifferent you hated so much. Maybe you were imagining it. This wouldn’t be the first time. You had certainly imagined something that wasn’t there before.

“It definitely wasn’t wanted,” You replied, though there was far less bite in your words than before.

Those intense green eyes never left yours, “Wasn’t or isn’t?”

You didn’t know how to answer. You decided on deflecting the same way he always did, “You didn’t want my company in Asgard.”

He opened his mouth to speak but you shook your head.

“Don’t bother. I know you were only keeping me around as a means to your end. When you let me out of that cell, we made a deal. It was on me for being surprised that you’d risk my life and use my escape as an attempt to get the throne.”

Everything in his eyes hardened and his voice was cold as ice, “Your life was never in danger.”

“It took three days of waiting in a forgotten pocket of the universe before I could even think to begin the jumps back to Earth,” You spat, “Don’t try and tell me that my life was never in danger.”

You stood before the conversation could continue any further and headed toward the back of the ship. You needed to let go of the past. Let go of feelings you never should have had in the first place.

You paused before exiting, but didn’t turn to look at him, “I need to go and assess the damage. You’re in no condition to help. Stay here.”

Eddard

Robert, I beg of you," Ned pleaded, "hear what you are saying. You are talking of murdering a child." "The whore is pregnant!" The king's fist slammed down on the council table loud as a thunderclap. "I warned you this would happen, Ned. Back in the barrowlands, I warned you, but you did not care to hear it. Well, you'll hear it now. I want them dead, mother and child both, and that fool Viserys as well. Is that plain enough for you? I want them dead." The other councillors were all doing their best to pretend that they were somewhere else. No doubt they were wiser than he was. Eddard Stark had seldom felt quite so alone. "You will dishonor yourself forever if you do this." "Then let it be on my head, so long as it is done. I am not so blind that I cannot see the shadow of the axe when it is hanging over my own neck." "There is no axe," Ned told his king. "Only the shadow of a shadow, twenty years removed . . . if it exists at all." "If?" Varys asked softly, wringing powdered hands together. "My lord, you wrong me. Would I bring ties to king and council?" Ned looked at the eunuch coldly. "You would bring us the whisperings of a traitor half a world away, my lord. Perhaps Mormont is wrong. Perhaps he is lying." "Ser Jorah would not dare deceive me," Varys said with a sly smile. "Rely on it, my lord. The princess is with child." "So you say. If you are wrong, we need not fear. If the girl miscarries, we need not fear. If she births a daughter in place of a son, we need not fear. If the babe dies in infancy, we need not fear." "But if it is a boy?" Robert insisted. "If he lives?" "The narrow sea would still lie between us. I shall fear the Dothraki the day they teach their horses to run on water." The king took a swallow of wine and glowered at Ned across the council table. "So you would counsel me to do nothing until the dragonspawn has landed his army on my shores, is that it?" "This ‘dragonspawn' is in his mother's belly," Ned said. "Even Aegon did no conquering until after he was weaned." "Gods! You are stubborn as an aurochs, Stark." The king looked around the council table. "Have the rest of you mislaid your tongues? Will no one talk sense to this frozen-faced fool?" Varys gave the king an unctuous smile and laid a soft hand on Ned's sleeve. "I understand your qualms, Lord Eddard, truly I do. It gave me no joy to bring this grievous news to council. It is a terrible thing we contemplate, a vile thing. Yet we who presume to rule must do vile things for the good of the realm, howevermuch it pains us." Lord Renly shrugged. "The matter seems simple enough to me. We ought to have had Viserys and his sister killed years ago, but His Grace my brother made the mistake of listening to Jon Arryn." "Mercy is never a mistake, Lord Renly," Ned replied. "On the Trident, Ser Barristan here cut down a dozen good men, Robert's friends and mine. When they brought him to us, grievously wounded and near death, Roose Bolton urged us to cut his throat, but your brother said, ‘I will not kill a man for loyalty, nor for fighting well,' and sent his own maester to tend Ser Barristan's wounds." He gave the king a long cool look. "Would that man were here today." Robert had shame enough to blush. "It was not the same," he complained. "Ser Barristan was a knight of the Kingsguard." "Whereas Daenerys is a fourteen-year-old girl." Ned knew he was pushing this well past the point of wisdom, yet he could not keep silent. "Robert, I ask you, what did we rise against Aerys Targaryen for, if not to put an end to the murder of children?" "To put an end to Targaryens!" the king growled. "Your Grace, I never knew you to fear Rhaegar." Ned fought to keep the scorn out of his voice, and failed. "Have the years so unmanned you that you tremble at the shadow of an unborn child?" Robert purpled. "No more, Ned," he warned, pointing. "Not another word. Have you forgotten who is king here?" "No, Your Grace," Ned replied. "Have you?" "Enough!" the king bellowed. "I am sick of talk. I'll be done with this, or be damned. What say you all?" "She must be killed," Lord Renly declared. "We have no choice," murmured Varys. "Sadly, sadly . . . " Ser Barristan Selmy raised his pale blue eyes from the table and said, "Your Grace, there is honor in facing an enemy on the battlefield, but none in killing him in his mother's womb. Forgive me, but I must stand with Lord Eddard." Grand Maester Pycelle cleared his throat, a process that seemed to take some minutes. "My order serves the realm, not the ruler. Once I counseled King Aerys as loyally as I counsel King Robert now, so I bear this girl child of his no ill will. Yet I ask you this—should war come again, how many soldiers will die? How many towns will burn? How many children will be ripped from their mothers to perish on the end of a spear?" He stroked his luxuriant white beard, infinitely sad, infinitely weary. "Is it not wiser, even kinder, that Daenerys Targaryen should die now so that tens of thousands might live?" "Kinder," Varys said. "Oh, well and truly spoken, Grand Maester. It is so true. Should the gods in their caprice grant Daenerys Targaryen a son, the realm must bleed." Littlefinger was the last. As Ned looked to him, Lord Petyr stifled a yawn. "When you find yourself in bed with an ugly woman, the best thing to do is close your eyes and get on with it," he declared. "Waiting won't make the maid any prettier. Kiss her and be done with it." "Kiss her?" Ser Barristan repeated, aghast. "A steel kiss," said Littlefinger. Robert turned to face his Hand. "Well, there it is, Ned. You and Selmy stand alone on this matter. The only question that remains is, who can we find to kill her?" "Mormont craves a royal pardon," Lord Renly reminded them. "Desperately," Varys said, "yet he craves life even more. By now, the princess nears Vaes Dothrak, where it is death to draw a blade. If I told you what the Dothraki would do to the poor man who used one on a khaleesi, none of you would sleep tonight." He stroked a powdered cheek. "Now, poison . . . the tears of Lys, let us say. Khal Drogo need never know it was not a natural death." Grand Maester Pycelle's sleepy eyes flicked open. He squinted suspiciously at the eunuch. "Poison is a coward's weapon," the king complained. Ned had heard enough. "You send hired knives to kill a fourteen-year-old girl and still quibble about honor?" He pushed back his chair and stood. "Do it yourself, Robert. The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. Look her in the eyes before you kill her. See her tears, hear her last words. You owe her that much at least." "Gods," the king swore, the word exploding out of him as if he could barely contain his fury. "You mean it, damn you." He reached for the flagon of wine at his elbow, found it empty, and flung it away to shatter against the wall. "I am out of wine and out of patience. Enough of this. Just have it done." "I will not be part of murder, Robert. Do as you will, but do not ask me to fix my seal to it." For a moment Robert did not seem to understand what Ned was saying. Defiance was not a dish he tasted often. Slowly his face changed as comprehension came. His eyes narrowed and a flush crept up his neck past the velvet collar. He pointed an angry finger at Ned. "You are the King's Hand, Lord Stark. You will do as I command you, or I'll find me a Hand who will." "I wish him every success." Ned unfastened the heavy clasp that clutched at the folds of his cloak, the ornate silver hand that was his badge of office. He laid it on the table in front of the king, saddened by the memory of the man who had pinned it on him, the friend he had loved. "I thought you a better man than this, Robert. I thought we had made a nobler king." Robert's face was purple. "Out," he croaked, choking on his rage. "Out, damn you, I'm done with you. What are you waiting for? Go, run back to Winterfell. And make certain I never look on your face again, or I swear, I'll have your head on a spike!" Ned bowed, and turned on his heel without another word. He could feel Robert's eyes on his back. As he strode from the council chambers, the discussion resumed with scarcely a pause. "On Braavos there is a society called the Faceless Men," Grand Maester Pycelle offered. "Do you have any idea how costly they are?" Littlefinger complained. "You could hire an army of common sellswords for half the price, and that's for a merchant. I don't dare think what they might ask for a princess." The closing of the door behind him silenced the voices. Ser Boros Blount was stationed outside the chamber, wearing the long white cloak and armor of the Kingsguard. He gave Ned a quick, curious glance from the corner of his eye, but asked no questions. The day felt heavy and oppressive as he crossed the bailey back to the Tower of the Hand. He could feel the threat of rain in the air. Ned would have welcomed it. It might have made him feel a trifle less unclean. When he reached his solar, he summoned Vayon Poole. The steward came at once. "You sent for me, my lord Hand?" "Hand no longer," Ned told him. "The king and I have quarreled. We shall be returning to Winterfell." "I shall begin making arrangements at once, my lord. We will need a fortnight to ready everything for the journey." "We may not have a fortnight. We may not have a day. The king mentioned something about seeing my head on a spike." Ned frowned. He did not truly believe the king would harm him, not Robert. He was angry now, but once Ned was safely out of sight, his rage would cool as it always did. Always? Suddenly, uncomfortably, he found himself recalling Rhaegar Targaryen. Fifteen years dead, yet Robert hates him as much as ever. It was a disturbing notion . . . and there was the other matter, the business with Catelyn and the dwarf that Yoren had warned him of last night. That would come to light soon, as sure as sunrise, and with the king in such a black fury . . . Robert might not care a fig for Tyrion Lannister, but it would touch on his pride, and there was no telling what the queen might do. "It might be safest if I went on ahead," he told Poole. "I will take my daughters and a few guardsmen. The rest of you can follow when you are ready. Inform Jory, but tell no one else, and do nothing until the girls and I have gone. The castle is full of eyes and ears, and I would rather my plans were not known." "As you command, my lord." When he had gone, Eddard Stark went to the window and sat brooding. Robert had left him no choice that he could see. He ought to thank him. It would be good to return to Winterfell. He ought never have left. His sons were waiting there. Perhaps he and Catelyn would make a new son together when he returned, they were not so old yet. And of late he had often found himself dreaming of snow, of the deep quiet of the wolfswood at night. And yet, the thought of leaving angered him as well. So much was still undone. Robert and his council of cravens and flatterers would beggar the realm if left unchecked . . . or, worse, sell it to the Lannisters in payment of their loans. And the truth of Jon Arryn's death still eluded him. Oh, he had found a few pieces, enough to convince him that Jon had indeed been murdered, but that was no more than the spoor of an animal on the forest floor. He had not sighted the beast itself yet, though he sensed it was there, lurking, hidden, treacherous. It struck him suddenly that he might return to Winterfell by sea. Ned was no sailor, and ordinarily would have preferred the kingsroad, but if he took ship he could stop at Dragonstone and speak with Stannis Baratheon. Pycelle had sent a raven off across the water, with a polite letter from Ned requesting Lord Stannis to return to his seat on the small council. As yet, there had been no reply, but the silence only deepened his suspicions. Lord Stannis shared the secret Jon Arryn had died for, he was certain of it. The truth he sought might very well be waiting for him on the ancient island fortress of House Targaryen. And when you have it, what then? Some secrets are safer kept hidden. Some secrets are too dangerous to share, even with those you love and trust. Ned slid the dagger that Catelyn had brought him out of the sheath on his belt. The Imp's knife. Why would the dwarf want Bran dead? To silence him, surely. Another secret, or only a different strand of the same web? Could Robert be part of it? He would not have thought so, but once he would not have thought Robert could command the murder of women and children either. Catelyn had tried to warn him. You knew the man, she had said. The king is a stranger to you. The sooner he was quit of King's Landing, the better. If there was a ship sailing north on the morrow, it would be well to be on it. He summoned Vayon Poole again and sent him to the docks to make inquiries, quietly but quickly. "Find me a fast ship with a skilled captain," he told the steward. "I care nothing for the size of its cabins or the quality of its appointments, so long as it is swift and safe. I wish to leave at once." Poole had no sooner taken his leave than Tomard announced a visitor. "Lord Baelish to see you, m'lord." Ned was half-tempted to turn him away, but thought better of it. He was not free yet; until he was, he must play their games. "Show him in, Tom." Lord Petyr sauntered into the solar as if nothing had gone amiss that morning. He wore a slashed velvet doublet in cream-and-silver, a grey silk cloak trimmed with black fox, and his customary mocking smile. Ned greeted him coldly. "Might I ask the reason for this visit, Lord Baelish?" "I won't detain you long, I'm on my way to dine with Lady Tanda. Lamprey pie and roast suckling pig. She has some thought to wed me to her younger daughter, so her table is always astonishing. If truth be told, I'd sooner marry the pig, but don't tell her. I do love lamprey pie." "Don't let me keep you from your eels, my lord," Ned said with icy disdain. "At the moment, I cannot think of anyone whose company I desire less than yours." "Oh, I'm certain if you put your mind to it, you could come up with a few names. Varys, say. Cersei. Or Robert. His Grace is most wroth with you. He went on about you at some length after you took your leave of us this morning. The words insolence and ingratitude came into it frequently, I seem to recall." Ned did not honor that with a reply. Nor did he offer his guest a seat, but Littlefinger took one anyway. "After you stormed out, it was left to me to convince them not to hire the Faceless Men," he continued blithely. "Instead Varys will quietly let it be known that we'll make a lord of whoever does in the Targaryen girl." Ned was disgusted. "So now we grant titles to assassins." Littlefinger shrugged. "Titles are cheap. The Faceless Men are expensive. If truth be told, I did the Targaryen girl more good than you with all your talk of honor. Let some sellsword drunk on visions of lordship try to kill her. Likely he'll make a botch of it, and afterward the Dothraki will be on their guard. If we'd sent a Faceless Man after her, she'd be as good as buried." Ned frowned. "You sit in council and talk of ugly women and steel kisses, and now you expect me to believe that you tried to protect the girl? How big a fool do you take me for?" "Well, quite an enormous one, actually," said Littlefinger, laughing. "Do you always find murder so amusing, Lord Baelish?" "It's not murder I find amusing, Lord Stark, it's you. You rule like a man dancing on rotten ice. I daresay you will make a noble splash. I believe I heard the first crack this morning." "The first and last," said Ned. "I've had my fill." "When do you mean to return to Winterfell, my lord?" "As soon as I can. What concern is that of yours?" "None . . . but if perchance you're still here come evenfall, I'd be pleased to take you to this brothel your man Jory has been searching for so ineffectually." Littlefinger smiled. "And I won't even tell the Lady Catelyn."