A Blog of Thrones (Chapter 43) Eddard XI: Let’s Kill All the Lawyers

Previously on A Blog of Thrones, neither Tyrion nor Tywin were capable of making any sense. (Quite an accomplishment in the latter's case seeing as he hasn't appeared "on-screen" yet.) Also, Bronn. Now, you might have noticed that my tone has become more negative in these recent postings, but in my defense it's been ten chapters since Arya was a POV character.
Ned is doing some Handing.  Robert, Renly, Barristan Selmy, Joffrey (!), the Hound (!!), Balon Swann (That Guy) and many others have gone off hunting, leaving Ned to run the show.

Oh, good. There goes the kingdom.

So, Ned's been sitting on the throne for hours:

The metal beneath him had grown harder by the hour...

...but only now has Raymun Darry come forward with his news of how Lannister men have sacked Sherrer, Wendish Town and the Mummer's Ford.

#priorities.  And Ned knows the kingdom's become a tinderbox because of that insane thing his wife gone did. It says so right here:

The west had been a tinderbox since Catelyn had seized Tyrion Lannister. Both Riverrun and Casterly Rock had called their banners, and armies were massing...  It had only been a matter of time until the blood began to flow.

Remember that about two minutes from now, okay?

     "If it please His Grace-" 

     "His Grace is hunting across the Blackwater," Ned said, wondering how a man could live his whole life a few days ride from the Red Keep and still have no notion what his king looked like.

Okay.

What.

I live in the era of the f*cking internet and I have no idea what my town's mayor looks like.  Now, granted, I do know what the President looks like, but if what Jorah said about the smallfolk just wishing the nobles would play their game of thrones and leave them in peace is true, I see no reason why a random peasant should be expected to know who the king is.

Rather than a question of proximity, how about, ...wondering how a man who probably lost family in the Rebellion still had no notion what his king looked like.  I said I have no idea what my mayor looks like, but I'd imagine that would be different if the man won his throne in a bloody coup. Maybe.  Again, I live in the internet era. Robert strikes me as the sort of person too busy pursuing the baser pleasures in life to bother having royal portraits commissioned.  Point is, Ned a) is sitting on the throne, and b) doesn't have sh*t on him, so why wouldn't some random peasant expect him to be the king?

The noble and heroic Ned Stark, everyone, has no idea how to think like a peasant.

Ned could feel cold steel against his fingers as he leaned forward. Between each finger was a blade, the points of twisted swords fanning out like talons from arms of the throne. Even after three centuries, some were still sharp enough to cut.

WHAT.

Nope.  How much of the last chapter was Bronn sharpening his blade? I skipped over talking about that because I didn't know George was going to contradict himself in the very next chapter.  Moving on.

So then an old man tells Ned that he's sure they (the people who did the burning and pillaging) were riding warhorses. Pretty sure that's expert testimony. (Granted, the man does take a step to establish his credentials.) Then Ned asks how many men there were. One says fifty, one says a hundred, and one old bat says "Hunnerds and hunnderds, m'lord, an army they was."

"You are more right than you know, goodwoman," Lord Eddard told her.

Awhastawhat now?  You have three witnesses who all say different things and you arbitrarily agree with the one who said it was the highest number? Never mind the fact that you're right, but you, pardon me, don't have a leg to stand on.  This is like me agreeing with a Ninth Circuit opinion; when it happens, the outcome makes sense but the reasoning is batsh*t insane.

He caught a glimpse of Septa Mordane in the gallery, with his daughter Sansa beside her. Ned felt a flash of anger; this was no place for a girl. But the septa could not have known that today's court would be anything but the usual tedious business of hearing petitions, settling disputes between rival holdfasts, and adjudicating the placement of boundary stones.

Also what.

Literally four pages ago you were telling us how the West was a tinderbox and how it was only a matter of time before the blood began to flow.  Do septas not read newspapers? Does Ned never tell his family what's going on in court?  (Actually, imagine that conversation: "Girls, your mother has gone and started a war. No I haven't gotten any letters from Bran recently. Now finish your supper.")

Anyway Ned decides to send for Ser Gregor's head, because that's exactly the sort of rational response we've come to expect from this family.  He obviously can't go because he doesn't have a leg to stand on, so Ser Ponce volunteers to go in his stead. Littleprick insults him, but Ned lets him down gently. Varys comments that he should have sent Ser Ponce, since "A man who has the Lannisters for his enemies would do well to make the Tyrells his friends."  

(To get waaaaaaaaay ahead of things, I have this insane theory that Willas Tyrell knows about/is a collaborator in the Martell/Targaryen plot; wouldn't it be something if Varys let that cat out of the bag right here?)