Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Behold, Your Grace," Tywin Lannister declared, gesturing to the three corpses. "Tokens of my loyalty."

Eddard wrinkled his nose involuntarily. Of course, the children were a threat to the throne; as they grew older, they could seek vengeance on the North. Thus, he fully approved of the act in principle. Yet the method was utterly grotesque. This was not his plan. Before reaching the city, he had spoken to Roose Bolton and ordered a man named Locke to lead five Bolton men into the princess's chambers ahead of time. He specifically instructed swift and painless deaths, leaving Princess Elia for last. That way, the noble hero, Ned Stark, could storm the room with his men and "rescue" her.

As for the five Bolton men expecting a reward under Locke's leadership, they would be executed on the spot. This would preserve, even bolster, the "Honorable Eddard Stark" image he had meticulously built for years. As a reward to House Bolton, he had promised the betrothal of a Stark daughter to the young Domeric, who was only two years old.

It was a brilliant plan. He would rid himself of threats to the North, be hailed as a hero for saving the traumatized Elia, gain the gratitude of Dorne, and secure the allegiance of the second-most powerful Northern house, the Boltons, solidifying House Stark’s rule. He would achieve in one stroke what his father, Rickard Stark, had spent a lifetime pursuing.

Tywin Lannister was a disgusting man, he decided. Yes, Ned had planned something similar, but his methods were quick and humane. He would never have imagined carrying it out in such a vile way. Tywin's execution of the plan was horrifying, earning the Lannisters both fear and hatred. A certain degree of fear was necessary, of course, but too much hatred would eventually come back to bite you. Ned looked forward to that day, relishing the thought of plundering the lion's corpse for all it was worth.

But for now, that was not the issue. Ned had to maintain the honorable image he had worked so hard to cultivate. He couldn't witness such a scene and still claim to be honorable.

"This... This is murder," he shouted. "Robert, you cannot stand by and let this happen!"

"They were dragonspawn, Ned," Robert retorted. "They burned your father and strangled your brother here!"

Ah, his father. A fool who thought himself greater than he was, yet his burning was indeed tragic. Rickard Stark had worked tirelessly to strengthen the North. As for his brother Brandon's strangulation... Honestly, Aerys had done the North a great favor. The bastard would have been a disastrous Lord of Winterfell, incapable of anything beyond fighting and fornicating. In truth, Robert was much the same, but his deficiencies worked in Eddard’s favor. In the future, he would exploit his friend's idiocy to further strengthen the North.

"Children are innocent of their parents' crimes," he said, meeting Robert’s gaze. "How can you claim to be different from the Targaryens after approving such murders?"

Robert immediately rose from his seat, clearly agitated. Ned knew he had struck a nerve, but it didn’t matter; Jon Arryn would soon step in. The old man never failed to mediate.

Right on cue, Jon Arryn sprang to his feet, positioning himself between Ned and Robert. Mixing gentle and firm words, he attempted to calm them both. But Ned paid him no heed; he didn’t need to be calmed. He continued glaring at Robert for a few more moments but didn’t prolong his anger. Fighting with Robert too much wasn’t in his interest—he didn’t want to accidentally cross the point of no return. This fool had to be exploited to the bone.

Once he finished his business in Dorne, he would return to the city and reconcile with Robert under a convenient pretext. Such a reconciliation would allow him to extract even more concessions for the North. Every move Ned made was calculated to kill several birds with one stone.

"I cannot condone this," he finally declared. "Lord Bolton, gather your men. We are leaving this cursed city."

He strode toward the door. After finishing his business in Dorne, he would return to the city to claim his rewards. His mind was already brimming with ideas. Eddard would accomplish what his ancestors could not, elevating the North to unprecedented power.

First, he would turn to Storm’s End, breaking the siege and forging connections with a few Reach lords. Once that was done, he would gather a skilled group of knights and head to the Tower of Joy. He hadn’t decided what to do with Lyanna yet. The foolish girl seemed unlikely to serve as a useful pawn, probably still weeping for Rhaegar. Now that he thought about it, killing her might be the more logical choice—it would be an excellent excuse to mend relations with Robert.

The She-Wolf had caused nothing but trouble for House Stark with her actions in life. Perhaps her corpse could be of some use.

After the Tower of Joy, he would head to Starfall to see his old flame, Ashara Dayne. She would undoubtedly be devastated by the loss of her brother in such a brutal event, but Eddard could offer her some warm consolation. After all, as an honorable man following the knightly code, he couldn’t ignore a weeping woman.

He was fully aware that he was married to Catelyn Tully and had no intention of replacing her with Ashara. The marriage was one of his father’s rare clever moves, and the Tully alliance was crucial to his plans for strengthening the North. Still, Catelyn was dreadfully dull in bed, lying there like the fish on her family’s sigil. Eddard hoped this would change in time; otherwise, he might need to visit his great lost love from Harrenhal a few more times. Ashara wanted to marry him, but given her dramatic nature, she might settle for being his mistress. After all, a meddling trout lord shouldn’t stand between him and the love of his life.

Such thoughts might seem arrogant from the outside, but Ned knew Ashara well enough from the Harrenhal tourney. She was deeply passionate about what she claimed as hers, especially when she lost it. The "Honorable Ned Stark" abandoning his honor for her would thrill her, making her feel uniquely special.

Eddard Stark was, without a doubt, a two-faced and terrible man—and he was fully aware of it. Those who called him honorable would be shocked and flee if they knew what went on in his mind. But since no such danger existed, it didn’t matter.

Ned Stark wasn’t selfish. Every action he took was for a stronger North.

Chapter Text

Ned gazed at the sight before him. A tower, standing in the middle of the desert, far from civilization. The heat was unbearable, and the place was likely far from hygienic. Rhaegar had left his sister here, pregnant and defenseless, with only three Kingsguard to protect her, probably without even a maester. And then he had the audacity to call this place the 'Tower of Joy.' If irony had a name, it was Rhaegar Targaryen. The man was undoubtedly as mad as his father. Perhaps Robert had done the realm a favor by killing that prophecy-obsessed fool.

What kind of king would Rhaegar have been? Ned thought about it for a moment. Rhaegar wouldn’t have been a drunk, whoring king like Robert. But that didn’t mean he’d have been a better ruler. Most likely, he’d have had an epiphany while reading one of his prophetic books from Asshai, realizing: 'The Prince That Was Promised must be the children I have with Cersei!' Just as he had discarded Elia Martell, he would have done the same to Lyanna, plunging the realm into yet another civil war.

What Ned appreciated about Robert was his self-awareness. Robert knew exactly what he was—a warrior, not a king. He didn’t try to make excuses or pretend otherwise. He also didn’t waste time trying to fix it. Instead, he dumped all the responsibilities on Jon Arryn’s shoulders and returned to his drinking and whoring.

Ned had never expected Robert to be a good king. But at the very least, he wouldn’t burn the heir and lord of a major house or kidnap another lord’s daughter—who also happened to be betrothed to a different paramount lord. That kind of madness would throw the realm into chaos. Robert’s decision to offload all his responsibilities onto the council might ironically have made him a more peaceful ruler than half the Targaryen kings combined.

Ned turned to look behind him. Six men had come with him, forming the famed number seven so beloved by the Andals. Of course, he hadn’t told them about the three Crannogmen archers secretly following them. Only Howland Reed and Ned himself were aware of their presence. Once he was rid of the five fools he had brought, the archers would take over.

The five idiots, handpicked for this mission, were immensely proud to have been chosen by the Warden of the North for such an important task. But, well… they were all going to die here anyway, so it hardly mattered.

Ethan Glover was one of the fools who had ridden to King’s Landing with his brother, as if they could actually achieve something. If the man had even a shred of common sense, he’d have realized how this would end. After being released from the dungeons, Ethan had insisted on coming along to rescue Lyanna. Ned allowed it. Once this idiot was dead, it would prevent any inheritance disputes or civil wars among the Glovers. A headache solved before it began.

Theo Wull was a childhood friend of Ned’s older brother. Like Brandon, he enjoyed wine and women a little too much. He had just begun ruling but was already causing problems. Ned had no desire to deal with mountain clan disputes during his tenure as Warden of the North. Once Theo was dead, his much more competent brother would inherit.

Martyn Cassel... Ned had to admit this one gave him a pang of guilt. The Cassels were a loyal house, and Martyn had served Winterfell faithfully for decades. But the man was aging and slowing down, yet stubbornly refused to give up his position as master-at-arms. If Ned gave the role to his younger and more capable son, Jory, the boy would never accept it out of respect for his father. A slow master-at-arms was a liability. Martyn had to go.

Mark Ryswell was a proven swordsman and tactician. And that was precisely why he had to die. Ned wasn’t blind to the alliance between House Ryswell and the Boltons. If a Bolton rebellion ever arose, Mark Ryswell would be a dangerous asset for them. Better to remove that piece from the board now.

And finally, William Dustin. Ah, his death would be a significant boon for Ned. With no heirs left, the Dustin line would end, leaving Barrowton ripe for the taking by House Stark.

As Ned climbed the steps to the tower, he saw the three Kingsguard standing proudly.

"I looked for you at the Trident," he called out to them.

"We were not there," Hightower replied.

"If we had been, your usurper would be dead," Oswell Whent added.

Ned stared at them incredulously. Were these fools seriously convincing themselves of that? One of them was an old man, and the other wasn’t particularly skilled. At most, he was slightly better than Ned. If they had been at the Trident, Robert would have crushed them in minutes.

"When King’s Landing fell," Ned said, "Ser Jaime killed your king with a golden sword. I wondered where you were."

"Far away," said Hightower, "or Aerys would still sit the Iron Throne, and your false brother would burn in the seven hells."

Ned barely held back a laugh. The man was about to die, yet he was still busy sucking up to Aerys.

"I marched on Storm’s End to lift the siege," Ned continued. "The Tyrells and Redwynes lowered their banners, and their knights bent the knee. I expected to find you among them."

Ned knew full well these three fools would never have bent the knee. Still, he spoke these words as a final gesture of mercy—a way to hint that the fight for House Targaryen was already lost.

"Our knees do not bend easily," Hightower said.

Empty words, Ned thought.

"Ser Willem Darry fled to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys," he said. "I thought you might have sailed with him."

"Ser Willem is an honorable man," Oswell replied. "But he is no Kingsguard."

"A Kingsguard does not flee," Hightower affirmed.

Ned nearly burst out laughing. Your king is dead, and you weren’t there. Your prince is dead, and you weren’t there. Your princess was raped, her children butchered, and you weren’t there. I don’t know what you call that, but I’d call it fleeing.

Ser Arthur Dayne donned his helm. "We swore a vow," he said.

'We swore a vow.' Ned wondered how many times Arthur had repeated that to himself. Ned might play at being an honorable man, but no vow could ever bind him to guard a rapist. If Ned had been there, he’d have drawn his sword and killed Aerys himself.

The swords were drawn, and the fight began. Ned stayed back, focusing on defending himself. The five fools he had brought with him got the 'honorable deaths.' they craved. Howland Reed was injured, but still alive. Ned was relieved to see his friend breathing but had no time to help. He was left face-to-face with Arthur Dayne.

Eddard Stark was no match for Arthur Dayne in a fair fight. If it had come down to skill alone, Ned would already be a dead man, and all his plans for the North would end here. But fortunately, Ned had planned ahead.

He raised two fingers and pointed at Arthur Dayne, signaling the archers.

A volley of arrows flew through the air, each striking true. Howland wasn’t exaggerating about their skill, Ned thought.

He raised his hand to signal them to stop, then picked up Dawn, the famous sword of House Dayne, and pointed its tip at the dying Kingsguard.

"Don’t worry, Arthur," he said before delivering the final blow. "I’ll comfort your sister in your absence."

Afterward, Ned checked on Howland Reed. Seeing that his friend’s injuries weren’t severe, he ordered the archers to tend to him while he made his way up the tower alone.

He had already decided. Lyanna had to die. She wasn’t fit to be a pawn. Even after causing their father’s and brother’s deaths, she would still be the same shameless woman she always had been.

Entering the tower’s top room, he was greeted by a strange smell. Hallucinogenic incense, no doubt. I shouldn’t linger here, he thought as he approached the bed.

"Ned?" Lyanna’s weak voice called out. "Is it really you?"

Huh, Ned thought, glancing at the blood-soaked bed. Looks like she’s about to die anyway. Saves me the trouble.

"Yes, it’s me, Lyanna," he replied in a monotone.

Lyanna Stark. A woman who wanted all the privileges of being born a Stark but none of the responsibilities. While the North struggled to survive winter, with women, children, and elders dying from cold and starvation, their father had sought to strengthen their house with a southern alliance. A marriage to Robert Baratheon. But Lyanna had thought herself above such duties.

And for what? She had traded the title of Lady Baratheon for Rhaegar’s second wife. Or rather, his concubine. A second wife was no better than a mistress—just a fancier title.

"Brother," she whispered. "Promise me."

Promise you what? Ned wondered, then noticed the cradle beside her bed. So, you had a child.

"Robert will kill him," Lyanna pleaded.

He probably will if I bring the boy to him, Ned thought. But watching my nephew die isn’t something I’d enjoy. Best to throw him from the tower now.

"Rhaegar named him Aegon," Lyanna said. "Promise me, Ned. Protect him."

Ned raised an eyebrow. Rhaegar already had a son named Aegon, yet he had given this child the same name. Poor Elia Martell and her children. Rhaegar had already discarded them. This explained why they hadn’t been protected by the Kingsguard, Ned thought.

"Promise me, Ned," Lyanna repeated.

Ned sighed. Even now, after all she’d done, Lyanna was looking to him to clean up her mess.

"Fine," he said dismissively. "I promise."

Lyanna smiled at that, then died.

Ned picked up a pillow, ready to send his newborn nephew to join his mother.

But then the baby opened his eyes.

Black hair.

Gray eyes.

The Stark features were unmistakable.

A smile crossed Ned’s face.

A brilliant idea had just struck him.

Chapter Text

Ned looked at the castle before him. Starfall. They had traveled a long way to get here, crossing the desert first, then passing through lemon orchards. Carrying Lyanna’s coffin hadn’t made the journey any easier. But in the end, the 'honorable' Eddard Stark couldn’t leave his sister’s body in the middle of the desert. There should have been a similar code of honor for the other corpses, but it wasn’t possible for Eddard to carry them. After all, they were ‘only’ two people traveling. So, he had placed the bodies at a certain point and respectfully laid them to rest, then collapsed the tower on top of them. It was interesting how easy it was to destroy the tower. Rhaegar clearly hadn’t paid much attention to the strength of the structure he had chosen for his sister’s resting place. His only concern had been secrecy, and since the Tower of Joy served that purpose, the rest didn’t matter.

He approached the red gates of Starfall.

“Stop! Who seeks entry to Starfall!” shouted the guard at the castle gate.

“Lord Eddard Stark and his companion Howland Reed seek entry to Starfall,” Howland shouted in reply.

The guard was clearly stunned by what he had heard. “Do you have any proof?”

Without hesitation, Ned unsheathed House Stark’s sword, Ice, raising it and showing it to the guard. Valyrian swords were rare in Westeros, found only among the nobility, and there were only a few as large as Ice in the entire world.

“Welcome to Starfall, Lord Stark,” the guard said immediately. “Please wait. We will summon Lord Alaric.”

After a nod of approval from Ned, he waited. Coming to this castle was a huge risk. He had killed the castle lord’s brother, impregnated his sister, and then broken the marriage promise he had made by marrying someone else. The man had every reason to execute him, but this was a risk worth taking. He had brought Rhaegar and Lyanna’s bastard with him—though, according to the marriage documents he had, he wasn’t a bastard—and had plans for him. Still, these plans required risk. That’s why Ned gambled on the information that Lord Alaric Dayne was one of the ‘honorable’ types, hoping Ashara might stop him if Alaric decided to execute him.

“Lord Stark!” a voice called, and Ned looked up. The man standing on the castle’s ramparts, looking down at him, was undoubtedly a Dayne, though not as handsome as Arthur. He had a more serious expression.

“Lord Dayne,” Ned greeted him with a nod. “We seek entry to your castle. We also have important news to deliver.”

The man continued to look down at him. “How many are you?”

“Just the two of us,” Ned replied. The archers had sworn to silence and were left behind. They would return to their homeland alone. This decision showed just how risky Ned was truly taking, but in the legendary tale where Arthur Dayne was slain, there was no room for three archers, and once inside the castle, if Lord Dayne decided to execute Ned, the archers wouldn’t be able to save anyone. They were useless.

Lord Dayne stared at him a little longer, then sighed and nodded, ordering his guards to escort Lord Stark into the castle. “Please be our guest, Lord Stark.”

Muttering a few words of thanks, Ned followed the guards. Soon, they led him to the main hall. The offer of bread and salt was a great relief. Breaking the guest-right was something even Tywin Lannister would hesitate to do.

Finally, as he entered the main hall, Lord Alaric Dayne was standing on a high dais, looking at him. Around him were a few guards, a maester, and… a woman. Ashara.

Ned stared at Ashara for a while. But not for too long. After all, the brother of the woman he loved had killed her brother, Arthur, and now he had to be in a sorrowful and embarrassed state. He turned his head in shame.

“Lord Dayne,” he said after a few silent coughs. He drew Dayne’s famous sword, Dawn, from its scabbard and placed it at the lord’s feet. “I regret to inform you that your brother Arthur died in battle, with honor.”

Ned looked down at the sword again. He was frustrated. Really frustrated. If he had taken Dawn for House Stark, it would have been a huge prize. He imagined carving wolf patterns into the scabbard and renaming it ‘Frost.’ His grandchildren, the future lords of Winterfell, would come to his grave and thank him for such a glorious legacy. But sadly, this wasn’t an option. If he took Dawn, it would leave a huge stain on the 'honorable' Eddard Stark name, and his plans with Lyanna’s child would be harder to realize.

Ice was the family’s Valyrian sword, and especially due to its unique size, it was a source of pride. But, honestly, it wasn’t very functional. Ned was too small to use it in battle. In fact, to wield such a sword, you’d have to be a giant like Gregor Clegane. His ancestors had only used Ice for ceremonial purposes, or as decoration on their backs. Eddard had briefly considered melting the sword down and forging two separate Valyrian blades: one for the lord of Winterfell and one for his heir. But he quickly dismissed the idea when he realized how costly it would be, and because melting down an ancestral sword would cause a massive outcry.

Lord Dayne stared at the sword for a while. He lifted it and checked if it was truly Dawn. Ashara, standing by, began to sob quietly. If Ned were to say his heart didn’t ache, it would be a great lie. The affection he had for her was one of the rare sincere moments that didn’t imitate anything.

“Who killed him?” Lord Dayne asked.

Ned sighed deeply. Here it begins. Old gods, help me.

“I did,” he announced after a pause. If he had blamed one of the slain Kingsguard members, his life would be safe, but he had no intention of letting anyone else take credit for defeating Arthur Dayne in single combat. He wasn’t lying; he had killed the man himself.

“How did he die?” Alaric Dayne asked, his voice harsh.

Ned sighed again. He had been shot with arrows, but that wasn’t a story they would like. But don’t worry, I’ve written you a great story.

“I came to the Tower of Joy to find my sister,” he began. “Gerold Hightower, Oswell Whent, and your brother Arthur were there. I tried to convince them I would never harm my sister, but they wouldn’t listen. ‘We have an oath,’ they said.”

“Fool! Fool! Damn him!” Ashara cried.

Lord Dayne said nothing, only motioning for Ned to continue.

“We fought. In the end, only Arthur, Howland, and I were left. Howland was injured and couldn’t help me.”

Howland Reed nodded in confirmation and showed the wound on his shoulder.

“Arthur and I fought one-on-one. He defeated me in no time, and my sword fell from my hand.”

The Daynes looked at Ned in astonishment.

“If Arthur took your sword, how are you still alive?” Alaric Dayne asked.

Friend, if you hadn't asked that question, I would have been truly disappointed. You'll love the story you’re about to hear.

“While I was kneeling, awaiting death, I realized Arthur… he…”

“That’s enough, Stark! Just tell us!” Lord Dayne shouted.

The room held its breath.

“He couldn’t raise his sword.”

“WHAT?” a voice exclaimed from everyone in the room.

"What do you mean he couldn't lift his sword?" Ashara asked.

“I mean exactly what I said, my lady. Your brother Arthur couldn’t lift your ancestral sword, Dawn. The tip of the sword was buried in the ground. Despite gripping it with both hands and using all his strength, he couldn’t lift it. He was in shock.”

Everyone in the room stared in disbelief. Even the guards stood silently for a few minutes.

“This... this... I understand,” Alaric Dayne said with tears in his eyes. “After helping Arthur with dishonorable deeds, Dawn rejected him when he tried to kill a man as honorable as you. It decided he was not worthy to wield it. Arthur was no longer the Sword of the Morning.”

Man, you really finished the story in an amazing way.

“So how did he die?” Alaric Dayne asked more calmly.

“I took advantage of the situation,” Ned announced. “I charged at Arthur and knocked him down with all my strength. Your brother, shocked by the moment, fell to the ground and dropped his sword. I immediately took Dawn from the ground and, with one last move, killed your brother.”

The room was silent.

“Lord, if you don’t believe me...” Ned began.

“There’s no need, Lord Stark,” Alaric Dayne said. “No one in Westeros doubts your honor.”

“Ah, Lord Stark,” the old maester asked. “Can you tell me what happened to your sister? I don’t see her with you.”

Ned wondered why he was asking about Lyanna. Shouldn’t he be asking about his own Arthur?

“My sister is dead,” he announced with a sorrowful voice. “Her body is in the coffin I brought with me.”

Even the guards looked at Ned with sad eyes.

"I see. My condolences," Alaric Dayne said with a sorrowful voice. "What about my brother’s body?"

"Unfortunately, I couldn’t bring it," Ned said. "I could barely carry Lyanna. After burying them properly, I collapsed the tower on top of them so their bodies wouldn’t be disrespected by ravens and vultures."

Alaric Dayne nodded in acknowledgment, but the maester objected. "That is not right, my lord. Your brother Arthur should be buried in Starfall, alongside his family."

"Arthur is not worthy of being buried in Starfall," Alaric Dayne said firmly. "He was my brother, and I loved him, but Dawn rejected him. He was no longer worthy of his name or his title. Let his body remain there."

Ned thought, I didn’t expect this to end like this. Sorry, Arthur.

“Then what about the baby?” Ashara asked. “Where did that child come from?”

Ned sighed. Here it comes.

"That... that child is my bastard," Ned stammered, avoiding looking at Ashara.

Ashara raised an eyebrow, then looked at Ned, then at the child, then back at her brother. Her gaze softened as Alaric gave her a confirming nod.

"All guards, leave the room immediately," Alaric announced. "Maester, you too."

"But, my lord..."

"This is an order," Lord Dayne shouted.

Soon, all the guards and the maester left the room. Now, only Ned, Howland, Alaric, Ashara, and the baby were left.

"Damn it, Ned," Ashara said, covering her face with her hands. "Really, you’re terrible at lying."

Believe me, love, you have no idea.

"I... I’m not lying, Ashara," Ned stammered. "That child is truly my bastard."

"Is it?" Ashara asked, her voice laced with sarcasm. "Then who is the mother?"

"I was stressed during the war and visited a... prostitute."

"Please, don’t insult us, Lord Stark," Alaric said, gesturing to the baby. "This child is newly born. How did you bring it with you? Or did you take it to the tower?"

"Of course not," Ned immediately objected. "I simply picked it up in a village along the way..."

"Ned," Ashara interrupted. "Is that child Lyanna’s?"

Damn, Ned thought. How did you catch my obvious lie?

"Please, Ashara," he said, his voice pleading. "I swore to protect my sister’s child."

"Don’t worry, Lord Stark," Alaric Dayne immediately said. "This secret will never leave this room. But my sister is right. Your lie is a little too obvious. You really are terrible at lying."

Ned took a deep breath. "So what should we do?" he said, feeling defeated. "How do I protect my nephew?"

Ashara stepped down from the dais. She took the child into her arms and, after inspecting him for a moment, looked at Ned.

"Tell them that this bastard is my child. Say that I gave birth to your bastard," she said with a slight smile. "It’s not something I haven’t already done."

"I can’t put that burden on you, Ashara," Ned immediately protested. "I’ve already sinned so much against you. You don’t deserve more of my problems," he added, his voice filled with sorrow.

"If you want to protect the child, this story will be the best option," Alaric said. "We can take care of him here if you wish."

Hell no, Ned thought. I’m not foolish enough to leave him with Doran Martell. This child will give me a huge advantage in the future.

"I can’t accept this," he said, his voice firm. "The child will grow up in Winterfell."

"Very well, I understand," Alaric said with a sigh. "My guards are loyal. I will make sure they swear an oath of silence. As for the maester... well, he was old anyway. We’ll need a new one."

Ned opened his mouth to protest, but Ashara quickly grabbed his arm. "No problem, Ned."

"Ashara, I..." Ned paused dramatically, then continued, "I’m so sorry, Elia and the children..."

"It wasn’t your fault, Lord Stark," Alaric Dayne immediately said. "Everyone in Dorne knows how you stood up to the king, seeking justice for Elia and the children."

Nice, Ned thought. I spent a fortune getting bards and merchants to spread this news, and it seems like every penny was well spent.

"This isn’t important right now, Ned," Ashara said with a sad smile. "Come, let me show you my daughter."

For the first time since entering the hall, Ned Stark smiled genuinely. I have a daughter, a little girl. If she's as beautiful as her mother, I'll have a hard time keeping the men away from her.

As Ned Stark walked out of the hall with Ashara, he was quite satisfied with his situation. The roots of his grand plan had been perfectly planted.

Chapter Text

Ashara woke up in the arms of the man she loved.

She had slept with the man who killed her brother, but she wasn’t complaining. She wasn’t angry, sad, or regretful. If there was one thing she regretted, it was having to work for three days to make it happen. Ned was leaving tomorrow. Her time with her Silent Wolf was painfully limited.

She glanced at her naked body under the covers. Her skin was marked with bruises and bite marks everywhere, especially between her thighs. Ashara knew she’d have trouble walking today. Her sweet Silent Wolf had unleashed all the pent-up anger he’d carried through the war on her body, But Ashara was very pleased. It had been a magnificent night. And he had taken his fair share of damage, too. Ned’s body was just as battered, covered in bruises, bites, and scratches—his back, in particular, looked like it had been mauled by a wild animal.

She gently stroked her stomach. They had been together multiple times last night. Ashara wanted another child— a sibling for Allyria and an heir for Starfall.

Ashara had successfully hidden Allyria by passing her off as her sister, sparing the child the stigma of bastardy. Alaric was infertile; he couldn’t father children, so the Dayne bloodline would continue through Ashara. She had made it clear to Alaric that she would never marry anyone but Ned, nor would she take any other lover or bear anyone else’s children. She had told him this with unwavering resolve.

After much deliberation, Alaric Dayne had agreed. His infertility was a closely guarded family secret. Coincidentally, Lonna Blackmont, the eldest daughter of the Blackmonts and their mother’s cousin, was similarly infertile. She was not an heir to her family’s legacy, nor did she have any prospects for marriage. Her future seemed bleak.

Alaric would marry her, ensuring that he wouldn’t ruin the life of a woman capable of bearing children. Pessimistic and resigned to her fate, Lonna would become the Lady of Dayne. Ned and Ashara’s children would be claimed as theirs and declared the heirs of Starfall. Ashara’s children would not grow up carrying the stain of bastardy. It was a perfect trade-off, leaving everyone happy.

Ashara looked fondly at the man sleeping beside her. She had cried a lot when she learned he had killed her brother Arthur—but not for Arthur. Why would she cry for that fool? No, her tears were for the seemingly impossible future they could have together. Ned had married another, and he had killed her brother. But when he explained how Arthur had died, hope was reignited. That idiot had been rejected by their ancestral sword, Dawn. Ashara had made sure everyone in Starfall knew the story, ensuring no one could accuse her of being 'a whore who lay with the man who killed her brother.'

She got out of bed slowly, put on her nightgown, and left the room. Walking through the corridor, she noticed the servants looking at her, but she held her head high, unashamed. Thinking back to the screams she let out while being taken by Ned, she smiled faintly. It was no secret what had happened last night.

She raised her head proudly. Yes, I am that woman, she thought. Eddard Stark, the man who defied a king for honor and duty, shattered his own ideology for me. Because I am his, and he is mine. Let everyone know. Especially that Tully whore.

She made her way to the nursery to check on her daughter Allyria and her supposed son Jon. Jon was a quiet baby, but even as a newborn, he already showed signs that he would grow up to be the spitting image of his uncle, Ned Stark. Ashara often imagined that if she and Ned had a son, he would look just like Jon. She stroked her stomach again and prayed to the gods for a child.

Entering the nursery, she closed the door tightly behind her. A little girl stood by Jon Snow’s cradle, playing happily with her brother.

“Rhaenys,” Ashara whispered. “You shouldn’t be here. Your Uncle Ned will wake soon, and he mustn’t see you.”

Rhaenys looked up at her Aunt Ashara. “Can’t I stay a little longer?” she asked in a sad voice. “Munna is gone, Egg is gone, and now Maekar is leaving too.”

Maekar... Ashara thought. Rhaegar’s preemptive naming of a potential son with Lyanna as Aegon had infuriated her because she knew exactly what it meant. That bastard abandoned Elia and her children. He kept ranting about the ‘dragon having three heads’ and decided all the heads must come from Lyanna. If he had won the war, he would have divorced Elia, cast her children aside, and acknowledged only the pups of the she-wolf.

After discussing it with Ned, they had decided to change the Targaryen name given to Jon. At Ashara’s suggestion, Jon Snow’s true name became Maekar. The truth that he had been named Aegon remained a secret. If the Martells ever learned of it, they would undoubtedly lose their minds, especially Oberyn.

“Don’t worry, dear,” Ashara said, stroking Rhaenys’s face. “This separation is only temporary. One day, you’ll see him again.”

“Can’t you convince Uncle Ned?” Rhaenys pleaded. “He’s my brother, and he should stay with me.”

“Your Uncle Ned doesn’t know you’re alive, sweetheart,” Ashara explained. “And he mustn’t learn the truth. Knowing this would endanger his life.”

Ashara hadn’t told Ned that Rhaenys was alive. The poor Silent Wolf was already breaking his vows to protect Jon and hold Ashara in his arms. It tore at his sense of honor, putting him in constant turmoil. Ashara didn’t want to burden him any further. She would tell him about Rhaenys one day—but not yet.

Rhaenys asked, "Aunt Ashara, I heard your voice while walking in the corridor yesterday. Uncle Ned doesn’t hurt you, does he?"

Ashara’s face turned as red as a tomato. Oh my god! Oh my god! I’d forgotten about Rhaenys being there. Forgive me, Elia, I’m not a good aunt for your daughter.

"The thing we did with Uncle Ned..." Ashara began, "You'll understand when you grow up, but know that he never hurt me." After taking a moment to calm herself, she looked at the child again. "Don't worry, Rhaenys," she reassured the child. "Uncle Ned will protect Maekar, take care of him, and you'll see him again later, I promise."

Rhaenys, with tears in her eyes, nodded in approval and left the room to return to her hiding place in the castle. Ashara would see her again later.

After checking on the child for a while, Ashara returned to the room. She saw Ned putting on his clothes.

"Good morning, my love," she said, kissing him on the lips.

"Ashara..." Eddard murmured. "I... You..."

"What happened?" Ashara asked with a playful smile. "Didn’t you like last night?"

"What? By the gods, last night..." Ned began to protest immediately.

Ashara put her finger on Ned's lips. "If you didn’t like last night..." she continued, removing her nightgown in a single smooth motion, revealing her naked body. "Maybe you should give your lover another chance."

Ned watched Ashara’s body passionately and hungrily, but then, taking a deep breath, he controlled himself. "I have things to do today," he said, finally covering her with his cloak. "Also, this... What we did..."

"If you’re going to tell me you’re married, Ned," Ashara frowned. "I already know about that."

"I..." Eddard sighed deeply. "I’ve dishonored you over and over. I’ve broken the vow I gave you in marriage. I’ve put a bastard in your womb."

Oh, my love, Ashara thought. I would let you dishonor me hundreds of times more.

"It was my choice," she immediately declared, holding Ned's hand. "And it was your choice too, Ned. It wasn’t a wrong decision we made while drunk; I don’t regret a single second of it."

She reached for him and kissed him passionately. Ned responded with the same passion. "Damn you, woman," he said finally. "You’re making me a completely different man."

"I know," Ashara confirmed with a smile. "Come to my room tonight."

Ned paused thoughtfully for a minute, then nodded in agreement and left the room.

Ashara watched the man she loved walk away. In the past, she would have felt immense shame at being with a married or engaged man, but not with Ned. Her connection with him was written in fate. It was the will of the gods, and there was only one person standing between them and a life of happiness together... Once that one person was gone, Ashara and Ned could be as they were meant to be... Catelyn Tully.

She returned to her room, opened the hidden compartment in the wall, and took out the book. It was a book Oberyn had given her a long time ago. Ashara had never thought it would come in handy.

She sat down, opened the book, and began to read eagerly, a twisted smile on her face.

"Conium, also known as hemlock, is an extremely deadly poison. When grating it, gloves must be worn at all times, and never..."

Chapter Text

"My Lord, our ship will reach King’s Landing shortly."

Ned nodded in acknowledgment. He climbed the stairs to the deck and scanned the view ahead. Ah, King’s Landing. What a filthy city.

“Hey, Howland,” he said, turning to his companion.

“Yes, my lord?”

“Is the bite mark on my lip still visible?”

Howland chuckled mockingly. “It’s hardly noticeable unless someone looks closely. Does it still hurt?”

Ned touched his lip with his hand. “A little.”

He sighed. The woman he loved had been wild when taking what she desired. Before he left Starfall, she made sure to leave a mark on his lip. As if I didn’t already have enough marks on my body.

Ashara Dayne… what an extraordinary woman she was. Ned recalled the first time he danced with her at the Tourney of Harrenhal.

It was during the first night of the tourney. Nearly all the highborn families of the realm were present, and Ned saw a significant opportunity in this gathering. The quiet wolf retreated to his corner and observed the proceedings with great attention.
Who was dancing with whom? Who had potential alliances? Which lords were forging bonds, and which were growing apart? Ned carefully noted everything, memorizing it in case it proved useful later. His eyes lingered especially on the royal table—but, of course, not enough to draw the Mad King’s attention.

But his foolish brother Brandon had misinterpreted his glances toward the royal table. Brandon thought Ned was watching Ashara Dayne. He grabbed Ned’s arm, urging him to ask her to dance, but Ned shrugged him off. He had already chosen his bride: Catelyn Tully.

After the tourney, Brandon, who loved hunting and riding, would suffer a tragic accident and lose his life. The accident had been carefully orchestrated; no one would suspect it was an assassination. And even if they did, Ned would never make the list of suspects. Who would believe that 'Honorable' Eddard Stark would commit fratricide to become Lord of Winterfell?
Even if Ned confessed aloud, they’d probably think he was joking.

With Brandon gone, Eddard Stark would naturally take his place. He would become the heir to Winterfell. He would marry Catelyn Tully. Ned’s dream was to make the North a strong and stable kingdom, and that was impossible with Brandon, who treated the responsibilities of being heir so lightly.

Anyway, when Brandon tried to push him toward Ashara, Ned had played the part of the shy second son and refused to approach her. He thought his brother would soon get bored and give up. But no—Brandon personally approached Ashara and asked her to dance with Ned.

During the dance, Ned made no attempt to charm Ashara. There were two reasons for this. First, his acting skills were limited to playing the role of 'Honorable' Eddard Stark. He lacked the charisma to woo women. Second, though Ashara Dayne was undoubtedly beautiful, an alliance with House Dayne held no strategic value for him.

Thus, Eddard Stark, the quiet wolf, continued his act as a shy young man and avoided initiating any conversation during the dance. He expected Ashara to grow bored of him quickly. Perhaps, like so many other foolish women, she’d fall for Brandon, bear one of his bastards, and become another conquest for his brother to brag about. Ned didn’t care.

But things unfolded very differently. Ashara was a woman who had lived in the Red Keep, witnessed the Mad King burn people alive, and grown far too wise for the likes of Brandon. She saw through such trivial games.

Ashara knew that sleeping with Brandon would gain her nothing but the label of 'Dornish whore.' 

Though they didn’t speak during the first dance, Ashara didn’t let go of his hands. She wanted to keep dancing. During the second dance, they exchanged small questions and answers, and then… Ned couldn’t remember what happened or what they talked about. But they danced all night.

In the days that followed, they occasionally met for walks. And before long, 'Honorable' Eddard Stark found himself waking up in Ashara’s bed.

Their relationship became an open secret among everyone at Harrenhal. Brandon, Lyanna, Benjen, Robert, Jon Arryn—even the servants—knew about their affair. Everyone seemed happy for him.

And Eddard Stark did something he thought he’d never do: he promised to marry Ashara. He had changed his plans for a woman. A woman!

Of course, he justified the marriage with strategic reasons. Ashara was intelligent and understood southern politics. She could be a great help to him in the future. And, most importantly, when the rebellion against the Targaryens began (Ned wasn’t naïve; he understood why great houses married each other), his marriage to Ashara would weaken the Dornish faction.

The Dornish forces, led by the Daynes, were known for their spear-wielding warriors and their ability to form an impenetrable wall against armored knights. If the Targaryens lost them, they would be helpless against the Arryn, Bracken, Ryswell, and Dustin cavalry.

Eddard Stark planned to marry Ashara, let Brandon marry Catelyn, and wait for his brother to sire a male heir. Considering how “active” Brandon was in such matters, this wouldn’t take long. Once a healthy male child was guaranteed, Brandon would suffer an unfortunate accident.

Eddard Stark, as the child’s guardian, would rule the North in his nephew’s stead. Brandon would never ruin the North with his recklessness. The Tully alliance would remain intact, and Eddard would wield the power necessary to strengthen the North, all while staying married to Ashara.

Ned was a liar, but not a selfish one. His desire to become Lord of Winterfell wasn’t for personal gain but to ensure he had the authority and resources to make the North a strong kingdom. Titles didn’t matter to him—whether King in the North, Warden of the North, or Regent of a baby lord. What mattered was the power and influence to enact his vision.

As for Brandon’s son, Ned intended to raise him with the utmost care. If the boy proved himself worthy of being Lord of Winterfell, Ned would gladly hand over the seat and leave him a powerful kingdom. But if the boy turned out to be like Brandon... well, in the North, it wasn’t uncommon for children to die young.

Reflecting on the events now, Ned realized the irony of it all. If he hadn’t danced with Ashara that night, Brandon would have died a few days later at the tourney. Without a doubt, the news of Lyanna’s abduction would have reached him as Winterfell’s heir. Perhaps Robert’s Rebellion would never have started.

“My lord,” Howland’s voice broke Ned’s train of thought. “We’ve arrived in the city. A Kingsguard is waiting for you.”

Ned nodded and disembarked. At the harbor, he was greeted by Ser Barristan Selmy.

“Lord Stark,” Barristan said with a respectful bow. “His Majesty, Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, invites you to the Red Keep as his guest.”

Ned signaled Howland to have Lyanna’s casket loaded onto a cart. We’ll need the casket for a dramatic entrance.

He mounted his horse and began riding beside Ser Barristan. After a moment of hesitation, Barristan turned to Ned.

“Lord Stark, if I may ask an impertinent question?”

Ned was taken aback but nodded. “Go ahead, Ser.”

“They say that when Ser Arthur faced you in battle, he could not raise his sword, that as a Dayne, he was rejected by Dawn. Is it true?”

“I know it’s hard to believe,” Ned said, “but yes, it’s true.”

“I see,” Barristan sighed, then paused before continuing. “It’s also said that you had a liaison with Lady Ashara while in Starfall. Is that true as well?”

Gods, I’ve been on the road for a week, and everyone already knows.

Eddard Stark lowered his head in shame. “Unfortunately… yes, that is also true.”

Barristan gave him a sympathetic look. “Our vows are chains that bind us tightly. And... sometimes it’s incredibly difficult to keep them. I understand.”

“Thank you, Ser,” Ned replied. Adultery should have been a significant stain on the honor of a man like Eddard Stark. But with Ashara, it was different. Their tragic love story was well-known, making people see Ned not as an unfaithful husband but as a man mourning a lost lover.

Soon, they arrived at the entrance to the throne room. After a formal announcement of his presence, Eddard Stark entered.

“Ah, Ned!” a familiar voice boomed. Of course, it was Robert.

“Your Majesty,” Ned said, bowing.

“Oh, stop that nonsense,” Robert said, waving his hand. “Where’s Lyanna? You didn’t bring her?”

Eddard Stark sighed sadly. “I’m afraid not, Robert. She’s gone.”

For dramatic effect, Howland pushed the casket into the room.

Robert fell to his knees before the casket, weeping openly.

It wasn’t proper for a king to be seen crying, so Jon Arryn quickly signaled for the throne room to be cleared. Only Ned and Robert remained.

“How did she die?” Robert asked, his voice choked with tears.

“Fever” Ned replied briefly.

“Did she say anything about me before she died?”

“No,” Ned shook his head. “She only wanted to go home.”

Robert nodded solemnly. The two sat in silence for a while. Then Ned decided it was time to begin his performance.

“Robert, about last time…” Ned sighed and looked at him. “I want to apologize for the way I left. I shouldn’t have shouted. I was in shock over everything that happened. I—”

Robert interrupted him. “Forget it, Ned. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have reacted that way. Besides, you’ve been through hell. How are you holding up, Ned?”

Ned glanced at the casket, his eyes brimming with tears. “She’s gone, Robert. And I couldn’t save her.”

“No, Ned, you…” Robert started to protest.

“I’m the Lord of Winterfell,” Ned interrupted. “The greatest lord in the North. All the armies of the North answer to me.” He closed his eyes, struggling to control his anger. “And yet, with all that power, I couldn’t even save my own sister.”

“Damn it, Ned. If you feel guilty, what should I feel? I was her betrothed, the man she was supposed to marry, and I couldn’t protect her either!”

Ned sighed and stared at the casket for a long moment. “Never again,” he finally said. “My bloodline will never suffer what I’ve endured.”

Robert looked at him, confused. “How will you ensure that?”

“I will rebuild the North,” Ned said with newfound determination. “I’ll make it stronger, a kingdom no one dares to challenge. Look, Robert.” He pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. “For this to work, I need some concessions and support. These requests may be difficult, but—”

“Stop right there, Ned.” Robert snatched the parchment without reading it and stuffed it into his own pocket. “No family suffered more than the Starks in this war. Whatever’s on that list, I’ll grant it. Jon also told me there’s four million gold dragons in the treasury. I’ll give you three hundred thousand—no repayment, and don’t argue.”

Ned stared at Robert in astonishment, unsure of what to say. Even he hadn’t expected such generosity.

“Robert… I… I…” he stammered.

“If you want to thank me,” Robert said with a grin, slapping a hand on Ned’s shoulder, “then get drunk with me tonight and tell me how you bedded that Dornish woman!”

Eddard Stark was both stunned and incredibly pleased. A new dawn was rising for House Stark and the North.

Chapter Text

Doran let out a sigh as he gazed at the map of Westeros. To lift the gloomy atmosphere hanging over Dorne, he had announced a tournament in honor of his son, Quentyn Martell's fifth birthday. He had invited several houses from the Reach and the Crownlands, as well as a few others he thought might align with them in a Targaryen Restoration. To avoid drawing too much attention, he had also extended invitations to the three leaders of the rebellion. However, he didn’t expect any of them to attend.

Robert Baratheon was enthusiastic about tournaments, but he wasn’t foolish enough to travel to Dorne. If he did, no amount of security would ensure his safe and healthy return. He would likely face ten assassination attempts before even stepping off the ship.

Jon Arryn was known for his honor, but he had remained silent about the brutal murders of Elia and her children. Though the Dornish didn’t hate him, they held him in contempt. If he attended, Doran would protect him—killing the Hand of the King would not benefit Dorne politically—but attempts on his life were still inevitable.

As for Eddard Stark, that was an entirely different matter. The Warden of the North had condemned the murders of Elia and her children and had ensured that Dornish nobles captured after the Battle of the Trident were returned home unharmed. He had also seen to it that the bodies of Uncle Lewyn, Elia, and her children were treated with dignity and sent back to Dorne.

No, Eddard Stark was deeply respected in Dorne. No one bore him any ill will. He could visit any house in Dorne freely, be treated with respect, and roam Sunspear without fear of assassination.

In fact, Doran particularly hoped for his presence and had taken great care when drafting his invitation. Unsurprisingly, he received a polite refusal. The Starks were not a family inclined to leave the North, and Dorne was too far away.

However, surprising events had followed. King Robert and Queen Cersei had welcomed a son, an heir—undoubtedly a cause for celebration. King Robert immediately announced a grand tournament, which came to be known among the people as the "Heir's Tournament." He sent multiple letters urging his friend, Ned Stark, to come to King's Landing. Eddard Stark, of course, could not refuse the King’s request and arrived in King’s Landing a month before the tournament.

At this point, Dorne received unexpected assistance from Jon Arryn. The Hand of the King wanted Dorne to return to the fold and actively participate in Westerosi politics, using the Quentyn Tournament as a starting point. He knew that Ned Stark would face no disrespect in Dorne, so he persuaded his foster son to attend the tournament. As the Warden of the North had limited time, he left King's Landing shortly afterward on the fastest ship to Sunspear.

The entire trip would take ten days by ship. He would be a guest in Dorne for one week during the Quentyn Tournament. Similarly, he needed to return to King's Landing a week before the Heir's Tournament. In short, Doran had one week to establish good relations with the North and lay the groundwork for their potential alignment with the Targaryen Restoration. Jon Arryn had done Dorne a great favor.

Doran was a realist. He did not expect Eddard Stark to join the Targaryen cause, but he could establish friendly relations with the North as a foundation. And he knew exactly who would be most instrumental in laying this foundation: Ashara Dayne.

Ashara Dayne hadn’t initially planned to attend the Quentyn Tournament. However, when Doran sent his fastest rider to Starfall with news of the attendees, she wasted no time. Bringing her daughter Allyria along—whom Doran knew to be her daughter, not her sister—Ashara boarded the fastest ship she could find and set sail for Sunspear. She had been in Sunspear for about three days now, grumbling impatiently. Her last union with Ned Stark had borne no fruit, and Doran remembered seeing her a year ago, clearly dissatisfied with her circumstances.

According to Oberyn, Ashara had developed an obsession with the study of poisons over the past two years, an interest that bordered on dangerous fascination.

Doran turned his gaze back to the map of Westeros, focusing on the North. In the past two years, the region had developed remarkably quickly. Eddard Stark had proven himself surprisingly adept at administration. He had transformed the settlement below Winterfell into a fully functioning city now called Winter City. Though it had not yet been officially chartered as a city—Tywin Lannister had blocked it with all his power—Robert’s persuasion wouldn’t take long now that Eddard was in the South.

Winter City had become the North's new trade hub, with a secure and well-maintained road connecting it to White Harbor, further boosting its prosperity. Recently, it had even attracted Essosi merchants eager to trade for the North’s exotic goods.

And all of this had been achieved in just two years. Doran was certain the North would grow even stronger and more prosperous under Eddard Stark's leadership. Establishing good relations with them would greatly benefit Dorne, and if they joined the Targaryen Restoration, it would be phenomenal. Edmure Tully, heir to Riverrun, was being fostered in Winterfell—a clear sign of cooperation between the North and the Riverlands. If Doran could convince Eddard Stark, two of the seven major houses would join the cause. If conditions were right, Arryn might also align with them. Should the Targaryens secure the support of four houses, he anticipated the Tyrells abandoning their hesitance and joining as well—leaving five of the Seven Kingdoms backing the Targaryens. It was almost a dream. But convincing Eddard Stark was crucial.

Doran had recently spoken candidly with Ashara, who firmly stated that achieving such a feat within a week was impossible. Ashara could exploit Ned Stark’s honor, but only to a certain extent. Pressuring him to divorce Catelyn Tully would surely cause a rift, and bringing up the Targaryen Restoration might sever their relationship entirely.

Ashara, however, proposed her own plan: eliminating Catelyn Tully. Without a doubt, Ned Stark would choose Ashara as his new wife. Over time, she could influence him to join the Targaryens. Moreover, she would act as a mother to young Robb Stark, securing the Tully alliance. "I would never harm Ned's child, even if he is part trout," Ashara had said.

Doran was no fool; he knew why Ashara was insistent on this plan. He had seen the madness in her eyes as she proposed it—the woman wanted her quiet wolf back.

It was a solid plan, albeit a risky one. Arranging a subtle and untraceable death for Lady Stark was no small feat. Her death had to appear entirely natural, or the plan would fail. The relationship between Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne was no secret; with Catelyn Tully out of the picture, everyone would expect the Warden of the North to marry Ashara.

No, the assassination had to be flawless. Nobody could suspect foul play.

Dorne had long supported promising acolytes at the Citadel financially and politically. When Doran reviewed the list of supported individuals, he was pleased to find several Northerners among them. He would carefully select one of them to be sent to Winterfell as a Maester under Luwin’s guidance. Over a few years, the boy would earn the trust of the Stark household. When the time came, Doran would signal him to carry out the task assigned to him. It was a perfect plan, though it would require patience and precise execution.

Doran informed Ashara that he approved the plan but kept the details to himself to prevent any accidental slip of the tongue. The only information he shared was that it would take a few years. Ashara didn’t care how long she had to wait; she was incredibly happy.

For now, however, these were long-term concerns. Doran needed to focus on the immediate task. Eddard Stark would be staying in Dorne for a week, and Doran was determined to make the most of this visit.

"Lord Stark," Doran nodded as he greeted, "Welcome to Sunspear."

"Thank you, Prince Doran," Eddard Stark replied, showing the same respect. "I have come here representing His Grace King Robert Baratheon." He took out a sealed letter from his inner pocket and carefully extended it to Doran.

At that moment, Oberyn let out a mocking laugh. "Is the usurper's dog bringing him a letter?"

"Oberyn!" Doran gave his brother a sharp look as he took the letter. "He can sometimes be overly impulsive. I apologize for that." There was a marked calmness and composure in Doran's voice, but also a tone that hinted at the pain he felt inside.

"It’s fine, Prince Doran," Eddard Stark said, with a bitter smile on his lips. "In fact, there is something I have wanted to say for a long time. What happened to Princess Elia Martell and the children... was horrendous, to put it mildly. If I had been a few hours earlier, maybe I could have stopped it. Though I am not speaking on behalf of the crown right now, please accept our apologies on behalf of the North."

Doran and Oberyn stared at Lord Stark for a long moment in silence. Then, Oberyn’s voice, now soft and emotional, resonated, quite different from his earlier mocking tone. "This... this apology means a lot. Even if it comes from an innocent man," he said, tears welling up in his eyes. "Please forgive my previous words. As my brother said, consider yourself our guest." He gestured to a servant to offer bread and salt.

Eddard Stark accepted the bread and salt gratefully and then, with heavy steps, followed Doran towards the main hall.

"How do you find Sunspear?" Oberyn asked with a smile, but his gaze carried a depth of thought.

"Magnificent," Eddard said, with a gleam of awe in his eyes. "It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen."

"You’ve been to Dorne before, but Starfall is nothing like Sunspear," Oberyn remarked, watching Lord Stark's face carefully. "Still, your experiences in both places might have been quite similar."

Ned Stark furrowed his brow slightly, trying to make sense of what was being said. "I don’t understand."

Just then, a voice came from behind. "Ned."

Eddard Stark turned suddenly. His expression changed for a split second; just a brief flicker, but Doran noticed it immediately. His eyes followed this sudden shift carefully.

"Lady Dayne," Eddard said, bowing his head respectfully.

"Ah, cut it out," Ashara replied, her tone playful. She swiftly moved to him and embraced him. "Everyone in Westeros knows the two of us, Ned. No need to be so distant."

"Ashara, I..." Eddard began, somewhat embarrassed, taking a deep breath. "This is an important meeting..."

"It doesn’t matter," Doran interrupted, waving his hands dismissively, trying to ease the situation with a glance. "You’ve just arrived, you’re tired from the journey. Go to your room and rest a bit. After reading the letter, I’ll meet with you tomorrow, and you’ll be our honored guest at the tournament." He gestured toward Ashara. "Lady Dayne, if you’re not busy, please show Lord Stark to his room."

Ashara smiled and, with pleasure, gently guided Eddard Stark by the arm, while Doran watched them from a distance.

Ah, well, Starfall needed an heir anyway.

Chapter Text

"The signatures are complete, Lord Stark," said the envoy from Myr. "The agreement will officially take effect once it is ratified by the High Council of the city of Myr."

Eddard Stark nodded silently. He rose from his seat and left the room.

The rights to sell and distribute all timber exports from the North, its most valuable trade commodity, had been granted to the Myr Trade Company for 12 years. This agreement was sure to provoke strong opposition from the northern lords, but Eddard Stark was prepared to face that backlash. He firmly believed that what he had gained in return would fundamentally transform the future of the North.

I gave them the rights to sell our timber. For the next 12 years, our profits in this trade will decrease. But in exchange, the city of Myr has agreed to share the secrets of glassmaking with House Stark. They will send glassmakers to the North to train our people. Once we learn the craft, the North will be able to produce its own glasshouses.

Glasshouses were a vital resource, especially during the harsh winters, as they allowed crops to be grown year-round. However, the problem was that glass was prohibitively expensive. Even building a small glasshouse was an enormous expense.

The North had never produced its own glass, as the methods for making it were unknown. In fact, only the artisans of Myr held that knowledge, and under normal circumstances, they would never sell their secrets.

Ned was well aware that the balance of trade between the Free Cities had shifted significantly in recent years. Despite marketing a variety of luxury goods, Myr's economy had been in decline for the past five years. Securing the rights to sell the North's timber would provide them with a much-needed economic boost.

Essos was a continent with a chronic shortage of wood and timber, while the North was abundant with high-quality trees suitable for logging. Timber sales were one of the North's largest sources of income, but the manpower required for logging was limited. Cutting down these trees and transporting them was no easy task. Under the harsh northern conditions, not everyone was capable of such labor. As a result, the North's profits from timber had been inherently capped. However, as the Lord of Winterfell, Eddard Stark had managed to resolve this issue within two years, drastically increasing timber production in the North. And he had done it with one simple method.

Rickard Stark had insisted on the Tully alliance for political and economic support, but for Eddard Stark, there was another reason. Yes, an alliance with the Riverlands brought many advantages, but his father had overlooked the real prize: the massive waterwheels of Riverrun.

Eddard Stark had been deeply impressed by the waterwheels when he first visited Riverrun. These machines were the reason House Tully was so efficient in grain production. However, even Hoster Tully himself failed to grasp their full potential.

The North was crisscrossed with rivers and rushing streams. Utilizing his Tully alliance, Ned had learned how the waterwheels were constructed and operated. He then adapted this knowledge to build timber mills. In addition, he identified suitable river routes for transportation and provided boat-handling training to workers. Northern wood was exceptionally hard—cutting it down was one challenge, processing it into timber was another, and transporting the heavy timber to ports was yet another major obstacle. Eddard Stark had eliminated the second and third problems. The North could now produce timber without relying on human labor. This advantage had dramatically increased timber production across the North and filled the coffers of many northern houses with gold.

At present, they were exporting significant quantities of timber, but Ned knew this situation was temporary. Eventually, the market would saturate, and demand for timber would decline.

Eddard took pride in what he considered his masterpiece over the past two years: Winter City. Instead of selling all the timber produced by House Stark, it had been used to build Winter City. Skilled artisans and merchants from all over had been encouraged to settle in the city. Inns had been constructed at key locations, and travel was made easier by renovating the long-neglected Kingsroad and building a new route connecting Winter City to White Harbor.

None of these constructions were free; they required enormous financial resources. Of the 300,000 gold coins Eddard had received from Robert, 140,000 had been spent on these projects. However, the waterwheels had helped reduce costs; otherwise, the expense could have reached 170,000.

Thanks to these initiatives, tax revenues across the North had increased significantly. The taxes collected on Stark-owned lands had quadrupled, while those of the Manderlys had doubled. Even the grim Roose Bolton had been compelled to express his satisfaction. All these achievements had been made possible by a simple waterwheel.

Thinking about the waterwheels brought Catelyn to mind. Their relationship had begun to crumble even before it started, with Eddard Stark bringing a bastard to Winterfell. Catelyn had initially demanded the child be sent away and later pressed for the name of his mother. Ned had refused to answer both questions. While he had a compelling story ready about Jon’s mother—the servants at Winterfell believed it was Ashara Dayne—he chose to remain silent. Long-term lies could easily backfire.

Catelyn had been infuriated by his silence and began to distance herself from his bed. Ned hadn’t been surprised. He knew that septas often taught girls such strategies, though he personally found them counterproductive. Avoiding the bed of an unfaithful husband was unlikely to bring him back; in fact, it might drive him further away. In Ned’s case, this rule also held true. He couldn’t deny that his days in Dorne had been… enjoyable.

Ned had considered attending the Quentyn Tournament when invited but ultimately decided against it. Starks rarely ventured south, and Dorne was far away. Visiting Dorne might make him seem like a lord neglecting his duties for the sake of a lover.

Later, when he received news of Joffrey’s birth and a series of letters from Robert urging him to attend the great tournament, Ned had no choice but to comply. Yet he also saw an opportunity in the visit.

Upon reaching King’s Landing, he was greeted by Robert and Jon Arryn. During their conversation, Ned had steered the topic toward Dorne, suggesting to Jon Arryn that at least a royal envoy should be sent for the Quentyn Tournament. Robert dismissed the idea, claiming any envoy sent to Dorne would likely be killed. Then, as Ned had hoped, Jon Arryn suggested a brilliant alternative: sending Eddard Stark, a figure highly respected in Dorne.

Ned had several reasons to visit Dorne. One of them was, of course, to see Ashara and her daughter Allyria. However, his primary purpose was to negotiate a trade agreement for the regular supply of sand, a known raw material used in glassmaking.

The visit had been fruitful for both parties—perhaps especially so for Ashara. Before leaving Sunspear, Ashara had been certain she was pregnant. The two had even discussed names: Edric for a boy and Sansa for a girl.

“Lord Stark,” a servant called from behind. “The King requests your presence in the council chamber.”

Ned sighed, his thoughts interrupted, and followed the servant. It wasn’t hard to guess why he was being summoned.

“Hey, Ned!” Robert bellowed as soon as he entered. “Apologies for the sudden call, but these fools are throwing ridiculous accusations your way.”

Eddard Stark calmly greeted his king and took his seat. “May I hear the charges?”

“According to recent reports,” came Tywin Lannister’s arrogant voice, “the North has been actively purchasing slaves from Essos.”

“As Master of Whisperers, I must regrettably confirm this,” said Varys. “It appears these slave purchases began three months ago, with approximately 350 slaves acquired so far.”

“The information you’ve been given is incorrect, Lord Varys,” Ned corrected. “We’ve been purchasing slaves for about five months, and the actual number is 732.”

Everyone in the council chamber stared at Ned Stark in shock.

Yes, the North had been acquiring slaves. Of the 732, around 250 were skilled artisans and masters of their craft, while the rest were their family members.

“Are you confessing to your crime, Lord Stark?” Tywin asked. “Slavery is absolutely forbidden under both the Old Gods and the New.”

“I don’t need a lecture on the law from you, Lannister,” Ned replied through clenched teeth. “Every slave brought to White Harbor has had their chains broken and been made a free person upon arrival. We then offer them jobs in the North.”

Most of the freed slaves had gratefully accepted these job offers. Life in the North was harsh, but House Stark had freed these individuals and their families without expecting anything in return, treated them with respect as skilled artisans, and offered them honest work. The settlement of these freed slaves had only recently begun, but they were already fiercely loyal to House Stark.

“This does not change the fact that you’re engaging in the purchase of slaves,” Tywin retorted.

“ENOUGH!” Robert slammed his hand on the table. “I won’t have this nonsense ruining the tourney for my heir. Everyone here knows Ned would never practice slavery. This discussion is over.”

Although Tywin Lannister had achieved his goal, he was angry because no sanctions were imposed on the North, but he kept quiet since the king had spoken his final word.

"Since the council is gathered, I have my own requests as well," Ned said. "A few months ago, I submitted a petition for a city charter for Winter City. We have met all the necessary requirements and provided all the documents." Jon Arryn nodded in agreement. "However, our request has still not been approved, and no reason has been given."

“Approved,” Robert said with a dismissive wave. “Jon, handle the paperwork. Now, Ned, let’s leave this nonsense behind and enjoy the tournament.”

As Eddard followed his king out of the chamber, he found himself smiling involuntarily. For the love of the gods, I do adore this man. I endured so much trouble with him in the Eyrie, but it was all worth it.

Chapter Text

Catelyn Tully lovingly embraced her little daughter. Sansa was a true Tully beauty—red hair and blue eyes. Ned had claimed that she would grow to be as beautiful as her mother, but Catelyn believed Sansa would be an even more beautiful woman than herself because she was born out of love.

As she gazed at the baby, Catelyn sighed. If it hadn’t been for that wretched Dornish whore, Catelyn could have had many more children born of love with her 'Loyal and Honorable' husband Eddard. But no, fate had intervened and stood in her way.

She remembered the dance night at the Harrenhal tournament. At that time, Catelyn was with her 'temporary' fiancé Brandon. Until then, she had only exchanged a few words with Eddard, which was not unexpected. Ned was the kind of man who would never look at his brother’s fiancée, which is why the infamous fiancé had to be removed from the picture.

Catelyn wasn’t foolish; she was fully aware of what kind of man Brandon was. He would never be a loyal husband, and she doubted he would even respect her as a woman. No, Catelyn had no intention of marrying him. My father wants me to marry the heir of the North, so I will marry the heir of the North. Eddard will make a much better Lord of Winterfell than his brother ever could, she thought.

Additionally, Catelyn had ‘accidentally’ seen Eddard and Brandon swimming naked in the river. She couldn’t help but smirk at the memory. Brandon might have boasted about his swordsmanship, but Eddard’s sword was, in fact, much larger and more impressive.

The plan was simple. She used the foolish boy, Petyr Baelish, who was in love with her because of a few kisses she had given him as a child. She went to him, cried, and told him she didn’t want to marry Brandon. Naturally, the foolish boy overestimated himself and challenged Brandon for Catelyn’s hand.

Petyr would undoubtedly lose and be killed by Brandon. Catelyn would mourn Petyr’s death and refuse to marry Brandon, keeping her distance until the wedding. Petyr Baelish’s death alone wouldn’t be enough to annul the engagement, but when Rickard Stark arrived at Riverrun and learned of Brandon’s affair with Barbrey Ryswell, her father’s sense of honor and love for his family would outweigh his ambition. He would tell Rickard Stark under no circumstances would his daughter marry Brandon.

The Tully-Stark alliance was critical for Rickard, and Brandon had already proven he wouldn’t make a good lord for the North. From what Catelyn observed, Rickard Stark was far from pleased with his heir and proud of his second son, Eddard. It wouldn’t take long for Brandon to be disinherited, and Eddard, the husband Catelyn wanted, would take his place.

When Brandon approached Ashara Dayne to convince her to dance with Eddard, Catelyn was pleased. Surely, that foolish woman would fall into Brandon’s bed and become one of his conquests. Once the names of both Barbrey and Ashara Dayne as dishonored women surfaced, her father would have no choice but to cancel the engagement. Of course, poor, heartbroken Eddard Stark would need comfort, and Catelyn would gladly console him and his large sword. Soon, Ashara would be forgotten, and Catelyn would be the only woman he looked at—his true partner.

But she had greatly underestimated Ashara Dayne.

This woman was Elia Martell’s lady-in-waiting. She had emerged from the Red Keep. She had watched a mad king burn people alive. She wasn’t a woman who could be conquered by men like Brandon—she was far beyond that.

When Ashara Dayne looked at Eddard, she saw the same thing Catelyn had seen in the past: a perfect husband.

From that moment, everything went wrong for Catelyn. Within days, Ashara and Ned’s romantic relationship became the talk of the realm, a tale still told across Westeros today. Brandon had failed to kill Petyr Baelish, and the events that followed were sheer madness—far beyond anything Catelyn had imagined. Yet, for the Tully family, things turned out favorably. Catelyn got the husband she wanted, but he wasn’t hers; another woman had already claimed him, and Ned had brought that woman’s bastard to Winterfell. Still, there was hope—everything could be set right again.

Catelyn looked at the letter in her hand. It bore no seal and was written in code, but she could decipher it with ease.

The servant she had placed in Starfall had secured a good position within the castle. Soon, Ashara Dayne, unable to bear the loss of the man she loved, would throw herself from the Palestone Sword. Catelyn knew that Ashara’s tragic end would be seen as a desperate act of grief, but in truth, it was all carefully orchestrated. A crooked smile spread across Catelyn’s face.

As soon as Ashara and Ned's bastard child died, Catelyn could easily imagine how Ned would react. He would withdraw into himself, crushed under the weight of his grief. His honor would be tested by the shock of the loss. In those moments, Catelyn would be the harbor of peace for him—the faithful wife, still standing by his side after the painful memories of the Dornish woman had faded away.

Catelyn knew she had to play this role carefully. She would offer him words of understanding, share in his sorrow, and remind him that the family they had built together was still strong. The Stark name would live on, not as the legacy of a Dornish scandal, but through the love and devotion of a loyal wife.

While Ned mourned, Catelyn would comfort him softly. She would whisper, "We can rebuild together, Ned." She would stroke his head, slowly breaking down the walls of grief he had built around himself. Over time, Ned would come to see Catelyn as the only real support in his life.

She looked at Sansa; she was the perfect proof of their union, of their love. She thought of the other children they would have—children born of their blood, Stark blood, who would come into the world strengthened by the unbreakable bond of their marriage. Yes, when Ashara was gone, the temple Ned had built in his heart for her would vanish.

And then, Ned would be completely hers. Just as it was always meant to be.

Chapter Text

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Howland asked. "I have professional soldiers with me. They can handle it. You don’t need to get personally involved."

"We Starks follow the old way," Benjen reminded him. "If you're going to kill someone, you should look them in the eye and hear their last words."

Howland stared at him for a while. "Fine," he said at last. "But if you get caught, Lord Stark won't protect you."

I won’t get caught, Benjen thought, pulling his hood over his head and vanishing into the night’s darkness. Brandon had disappointed the North. Lyanna had disappointed the North. Eddard had to clean up their mess. I won’t. Never again.

He was dressed completely in black, fitting perfectly into the darkness of the night. Black had always been Benjen’s color, and he knew it. Since childhood, he had wanted to be a member of the Night’s Watch, preparing himself for that duty. But no, not anymore. After all the destruction he had helped cause, joining the Watch now would be running away, not serving.

He had helped with Lyanna’s foolishness, and the North, including House Stark, had paid the price. While his brother Eddard worked outside to fix his siblings’ mistakes and save their family’s honor, Benjen had stayed in Winterfell, waiting for him to handle it all. Just like Brandon. Just like Lyanna. Not again, he thought as he climbed toward Great Barrow. Never again.

He removed the grappling hook from his back and threw it onto the wooden walls of Barrow Hall. Benjen had trained for climbing, preparing for joining the Watch, dreaming of scaling the Wall, and had made his preparations accordingly. Compared to the Wall, Barrow Hall, needless to say, was much shorter.

Tonight, there would be fewer guards, and those who were there would be rookies. Everything had been arranged in advance.

Finally, he slipped inside through a window on the second floor. His target lived on the third floor, at the highest point, but all the windows on the third floor had been wisely barred. So, Benjen would have to descend to the second floor and then climb to the top.

The corridor was lined with enormous tapestries. Barbrey Dustin loved extravagant displays, but Benjen knew the tapestries would be perfect for hiding as he made his way through the hallway.

There were guards on the stairs to the third floor, but Benjen knew the patrol change was about to happen. He just had to wait. Then, he climbed the stairs.

The entire third floor was dedicated to a single person: the current Lady of Barrowton. Two seasoned Ryswell guards stood watch at the door. Barbrey might have been ruling Barrowton, but she trusted nothing associated with House Dustin.

"Who are you?" one of the guards asked cautiously.

"I have a message from Lord Stark. It’s urgent," Benjen said, sliding a gloved hand into his pocket and pulling out the sealed letter.

"Give me the letter," the guard said quickly, grabbing it and checking the seal. "It looks correct..." The guard suddenly started to tremble and collapsed to the ground. His companion looked at him in confusion, and Benjen immediately took advantage of the opportunity. A swift strike for the standing guard and another for the one writhing on the floor.

Before opening the door, Benjen picked up the letter from the floor and tucked it back into his pocket. Poison on the seal, he thought. Crannogmen were truly terrifying people.

He entered the room silently. There she was, standing by the bed. "Who... who are you?" she asked timidly.

Benjen gently closed the door behind him and lowered his hood, showing his face. If I’m going to kill her, she deserves to see her killer’s face, Benjen thought.

He looked at the woman in front of him: Barbrey Dustin.

After her husband William Dustin’s death, she had claimed the title of Lady of Barrowton using the widow’s law. All of the Dustin bannermen had rebelled, starting an uprising because, according to the law, Barbrey had to either have Dustin blood or a child with Dustin blood to claim the title. This woman had neither.

Benjen was surprised when his brother Eddard allowed the law to be enforced despite all objections and ignored the bannermen's rebellion because he knew that Ned wanted Dustin's lands. When Benjen asked his brother about it, Eddard had simply replied, 'We cannot take Dustin's lands for ourselves just like that. Such things require comprehensive plans.'

Later, Benjen realized that this was part of a multi-layered plan. First, the rebellion of Dustin's bannermen demonstrated how disliked Barbrey was and showed that taking control of Barrowton from her would be relatively easy.

Second, Barrowton falling into Ryswell hands had raised alarms among other northern bannermen. While all the northern bannermen were loyal to the Starks, they formed political alliances to safeguard their own interests. The Ryswell-Bolton alliance was one of these, and after the Ryswell family took Barrowton, all the other northern factions saw them as enemies and distanced themselves. When Barrowton’s lord changed, they would be very pleased.

The rebellious bannermen had not been punished or appeased, they had been ignored. They were still angry, and they would welcome the change of lordship eagerly.

Taking Dustin’s land was crucial for House Stark, and even more important for the North. The southern part of Dustin’s lands would be needed for a project that would completely reshape the future of not just the North, but all of Westeros. This was why Benjen had to carry out such a dishonorable act.

He grabbed the dagger tightly and looked into the woman’s eyes, preparing to hear her final words. "You... who are you?" the woman asked. "Please, don’t." Benjen quickly stabbed her, ending her life. It was a clean, painless death, but what he had to do next was truly disgusting.

After composing himself, Benjen grabbed the dagger again and began to move toward the woman’s limbs. Then, he stopped. Why didn’t she recognize me? He wondered, We’ve never met, but I look like a typical Stark. If she had met my brother, she would have recognized me as a Stark. There are only two adult Stark men, and my blue eyes should have given away my identity.

He checked the body’s face and hands. The hands were rough and calloused—not the hands of a noblewoman, but of a servant.

This woman was not Barbrey Dustin.

Benjen immediately stood up and began to examine the room. The curtains were drawn, the bed was too low, and something didn’t feel right. Where did she hide? A secret exit? He looked to the side. The wardrobe.

He rushed toward the wardrobe, and at that moment, a woman with a dagger lunged out at him. Benjen grabbed her dagger hand with his empty hand and dealt the final blow with his other hand.

"Any last words?" he asked, looking into the real Barbrey Dustin’s eyes.

"You Starks took everything from me," the woman spat with hatred. "William..."

"If you loved William Dustin so much," Benjen cut in, "why did you sleep with Brandon while you were engaged to him?"

A look of shame crossed her face as she died.

Benjen sighed as he let her body fall to the ground, placing the servant’s body in a corner. Now, he had to do the truly disgusting part of the task.

He drew a bloody five-pointed star on the wall with his dagger, nailing Barbrey Dustin’s head and limbs to the points of the star, leaving her torso in the center.

The five-pointed star was the sigil of House Bloodhall. House Bloodhall was one of Dustin’s bannermen, with a reputation as bad as the Boltons. Their current leader, Erd Bloodhall, was known as a rapist and murderer, and he was staying at an inn in Barrowton. Barbrey had probably invited him, hoping to form an alliance and secure a reliable bannerman.

By morning, a servant would find Barbrey’s body. Everyone would know who the killer was. With Erd Bloodhall in Barrowton, the connection would be obvious.

Eddard would immediately intervene, wiping out House Bloodhall. Then, seeing the chaos in the region, he would choose Benjen as the new Lord of Barrowton. Benjen would marry a Dustin bannerman to secure their loyalty, and their children would bear the Dustin name. This way, the Dustin family’s thousands of years of history would not disappear, and the southern land titles of Dustin would be transferred to House Stark, preventing any future issues for the great project.

Everyone except the Ryswells and Boltons would be pleased. The Ryswells had overstepped recently, and Ned Stark would punish them as soon as possible. As for the Boltons... Benjen’s brother had been clear on the matter: 'The Boltons should either be tools of the Starks or cease to exist.'

Benjen knew his brother’s plans. If successful—and it already seemed to be—Northern power would grow far stronger and wealthier than any rival kingdom. No one would dare question them.

Old Gods forgive me, Benjen thought bitterly as he left the room. Everything is for a stronger North.

Chapter Text

"A would-be assassin tried to throw Ashara from the Palestone Sword."

When Ned read the letter in his hand, his first reaction was anger, and his second was confusion. Why would anyone try to kill Ashara? He sat down and thought about it seriously.

Could it have been someone from Dorne? No, Ashara was politically neutral and respected as Elia Martell's former lady-in-waiting. What about the other southern kingdoms? Would Tywin Lannister attempt such a thing? It didn’t make sense—such an act would only further strain the already fragile relations between the Westerlands and the North. Tywin was a man who only resorted to assassination if it served his interests. The other likely names had no plausible motive to attack Ashara.

What about the North? Could the Ryswells or Boltons have learned the truth about Barbrey's death and sought vengeance in their own way? But no, their reach wouldn’t extend as far as Dorne.

That left Ned with only one logical suspect: the Tullys.

Edmure was still a boy under Ned’s wardship and couldn’t have ordered such an act. Catelyn, as a proper southern lady, was far too honorable for such schemes and wouldn’t even know how to carry one out. Lysa, from what Ned had heard, had gone mad and seemed to take delight in her sister’s humiliation. Brynden Tully was immediately ruled out—he was far too honorable for assassination.

That left one name: Hoster Tully.

Ned’s last encounter with the old man had been during the heir’s tourney. He had made it clear that he had no intention of divorcing Catelyn for Ashara and had repeatedly assured Hoster of his children’s future position as Lords of Winterfell. By the end of their conversation, the old man had seemed satisfied with what he’d heard. Besides, Ned had not lied or put on an act.

The common tale was that the Tullys joined the rebellion because Ned had sacrificed his love for Ashara to marry Catelyn, but that wasn’t true. If he had wanted, Ned could have suggested Robert Baratheon or Stannis, the future Stormlord, as a match, and Hoster Tully would have been convinced. But no, he had played the role of the heartbroken lover who gave up everything for duty because he valued an alliance with the Riverlands more than his love for Ashara. Every move Ned made was for a stronger North, even if some of those moves pained him deeply.

Hoster Tully had forced him into marrying Catelyn, but to be honest, Ned didn’t resent him for it. The Riverlands had always been vulnerable to invasions and raids. Some of the Tully bannermen had larger armies, greater wealth, or stronger alliances than the Tullys themselves. Their position was precarious, and the old man had acted in the best interests of both his family and his lands.

Still, if Hoster Tully was behind the assassination attempt on Ashara, Eddard Stark would not forgive him. He would have to find a way to teach the Tullys a lesson without breaking their alliance, a thought that gave Ned a headache. Yet, his trusted instincts told him that Hoster was not the culprit.

He sighed as he placed the letter on the table. After surviving the assassination attempt, Ashara had thrown the servant who tried to kill her from the tower. If only they could have interrogated the assassin, they might have discovered who was behind this plot. For now, all he could do was send Ashara his condolences, ask for her thoughts on the possible culprits, and advise her to take greater precautions.

A smile spread across Ned’s face as he read the second letter. The mining experts he had brought from Essos had surveyed the mountain clan regions and discovered abundant silver and iron deposits. The high purity of both metals pleased Ned greatly, and the large expanse of the area suggested that more mines might yet be found. They were already speculating about the presence of a tin mine.

The active trade of these resources to the South and Essos would open a new revenue stream for the North. But Ned was in no rush. First, he needed to secure the region and the mining rights. Until that was done, he would keep the discoveries a secret.

What he read next made him curse aloud. The gold mine he had long sought had finally been discovered—but it was in Ryswell territory! Damn it, nearly all of the North’s bannermen were fiercely loyal to the Starks, except for the suspicious Boltons and the increasingly insolent Ryswells. Of all places, the North’s first gold mine had to be in their lands. The Old Gods must be mocking him.

The rest of the letter calmed him slightly. It seemed the mine was located on the Ryswell-Dustin border. Moreover, its purity was low, and the mine itself was small. Even so, Ned would not leave such wealth in the hands of the Ryswells. He decided to keep this information secret as well.

He picked up the next letter. After the victory in the rebellion, the lands of the New Gift had been returned to the North. Yet, agricultural efforts in the region had still not yielded significant results. Ned was trying to discover crops that could thrive in the cold without requiring greenhouse protection. He had brought in seeds from various regions and even called upon agricultural experts from Braavos. It was an expensive project. Ned had even imported seeds from Yunkai, but no definitive success had been achieved yet. However, failure was not guaranteed. The Braavosi engineers had studied the soil of the North and suggested new farming methods. Ned had tested these methods on a few farms and obtained promising results. Soon, he would issue an order encouraging their adoption across the North.

The final letter came from Lord Glover, expressing gratitude and reaffirming his house's loyalty to the Starks. Ned was unsurprised. He had received a similar letter from House Flint of Widow’s Watch the previous week. These expressions of gratitude stemmed from one thing.

Lorath, the smallest and oldest of the Free Cities, possessed unique fishing techniques that allowed its people to sustain themselves year-round, even when the seas froze. Ned had brought Lorathi master fishermen to the North and assigned them to the coastal lords. The feedback so far had been overwhelmingly positive.

However, what he read next made his eyebrows rise. The Ironborn were raiding the coasts—which was no surprise—but what was unusual was that they weren’t targeting villages. Instead, they were attacking lumber mills and stealing timber.

Ned wasn’t a fool. He knew exactly what this meant: the Greyjoys were preparing for another rebellion. The stolen wood was likely being used for shipbuilding. Normally, he would warn King Robert, but a glance at the map changed his mind.

If Balon Greyjoy launched a rebellion, he would target the wealth of the Westerlands, not the poor and barren North. Sorry, Robert, but weakening the Lannisters would serve the realm’s greater good.

He ordered Glover to keep this information confidential and wrote a warning letter to Jason Mallister, a loyal ally of the North. Jason would secure Seagard without leaking the information.

Finally, Ned opened the last letter.

Roose Bolton.

The right of the first night has been invoked.

A rape beneath the gallows.

A bastard exists.

A wolfish smile spread across Ned's face. It was time to deal with the Boltons.

Oh, Roose, you cannot begin to imagine what a bastard can bring about.

Chapter Text

"The damage to the harbor is extensive, Tywin," Kevan reported. "Additionally, nearly our entire fleet has been burned. We'll need to rebuild everything from scratch."

Tywin Lannister sighed in frustration. Rebuilding the fleet and harbor would be both time-consuming and expensive. Securing the necessary timber for all the reconstruction was another major problem. Relations with the North were strained; Eddard Stark would likely refuse to sell, and no Northern bannerman would dare trade with the Lannisters, who were at odds with the Starks. The Northern bannermen were, as Tywin saw it, absurdly loyal to their liege, and if he were honest, Tywin couldn’t deny a tinge of envy for that level of devotion.

Not all of them were loyal, though, he reminded himself. The Ryswells and Boltons had questionable allegiances, but they were of no use to Tywin. Both houses had been brought to the brink of ruin after the so-called 'Trial of the Wolf.'

Tywin didn’t know all the details of the incident. During the Spring Festival regularly held at Winterfell, Lord Halys Hornwood had suddenly risen and leveled accusations against the Boltons. Allegations of heinous crimes such as enforcing the First Night and raping a woman under the gallows had been made.

It was well known that the Hornwoods and Boltons were at odds, so Tywin initially dismissed the accusations as slander. However, it seemed that Lord Hornwood had prepared his move meticulously. A closed-door trial was held in the presence of all the major Northern lords, and conclusive evidence was presented to support the claims. Even the Ryswells, long-time allies of the Boltons, could not shield Roose Bolton.

In the end, Roose Bolton was found guilty and imprisoned in the deepest ice cells of Winterfell. Eddard Stark wrote a letter to King Robert, requesting authorization to execute Lord Bolton.

At the execution stand, Roose Bolton pleaded to join the Night’s Watch, but Eddard Stark denied the request, citing the king’s order. Roose then made a desperate offer: in exchange for being sent to the Night’s Watch and guaranteeing his son Domeric’s future as the next Lord Bolton, he would expose the 'traitors in the North.'

What followed was chaos. Roose Bolton revealed not just rumors but actual evidence, including hidden caches of correspondence with certain lords, heirs, or noble figures.

The trial dragged on for a week. Some lords and heirs were severely punished, sent to the Night’s Watch. However, the North's general loyalty meant that most of these traitors came from minor houses. The exception was the Ryswells.

House Ryswell faced heavy taxes for the next decade, and several family members, including Lord Rodrik Ryswell, were sent to the Night's Watch. Although they were allowed to retain control of The Rills, their lordly status was downgraded from a Great House to a bannerman house. The title 'Lords of the Rills' was granted to House Ironsmith, a Stark-loyal family known for their expertise in blacksmithing.

The Ironsmiths had once been vassals to the Ryswells, but now they were their new masters. Vassal houses were usually insignificant compared to their liege lords, but houses like the Ironsmiths and Forresters were exceptions in the North. Despite their vassal status, their power rivaled their lords', earning them respect far above their rank. Such powerful vassals existed throughout Westeros; the Templetons of the Vale were a prime example, a knightly house capable of fielding thousands of men in war.

The Boltons, in comparison, received much lighter punishments. Roose Bolton was sent to the Night’s Watch, and the victims of his crimes were compensated by House Bolton. Significant portions of the Bolton lands in the south were granted to House Hornwood, and the last surviving Bolton, an eight-year-old boy named Domeric Bolton, was brought to Winterfell to be raised and ensure his future loyalty.

Tywin could easily mock Eddard Stark's foolishness. The Boltons had always been a house of questionable loyalty, and Ned Stark should have seized the opportunity to eliminate their last member and rid the North of them for good. But, of course, he wouldn’t do that. He would spout nonsense like, “Children are not responsible for their parents' crimes.” And the price of this mercy would eventually be paid by the innocent civilians suffering under oppression and the future lords of Winterfell, who would have to constantly monitor the Boltons to prevent a potential rebellion.

Regardless, Eddard Stark’s foolishness was of no concern to Tywin. Right now, he needed Northern timber. He could source timber from the South, but it wouldn’t match the quality of what the North provided. Tywin Lannister always demanded the best for his house and wouldn’t settle for less.

He could trade not with the North directly but with the Myrish trade company that controlled the North’s timber export rights to Essos. However, this wasn’t Tywin’s preferred method. The Myrish merchants’ rights were limited to Essos, and they wouldn’t want to jeopardize their relationship with the North by selling to Westeros. Tywin would have to expend considerable effort and political resources to persuade them, and he would likely pay three to four times the usual price for the timber.

No, the best option was to negotiate with Eddard Stark and repair relations with the North. The North was rapidly becoming a powerful kingdom, and maintaining bad relations with them wouldn’t benefit House Lannister. While Tywin had no qualms about using violence, it was never his first choice. He preferred political maneuvers or forging alliances through marriage. In fact, now that he thought about it, perhaps he could propose his granddaughter Myrcella’s hand to young Robb Stark.

"Very well," Tywin said to Kevan. "Arrange a meeting with Lord Stark. I’ll try to convince him to sell us timber."

"I doubt he’ll meet with you right now, brother," Kevan replied. "And making such a proposal at this moment would be inappropriate."

Tywin raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?"

"Ah, so you haven’t heard," Kevan said. "While we were suppressing the Greyjoy Rebellion in the Iron Islands, Lady Catelyn gave birth to a daughter for Lord Stark but succumbed to childbirth fever shortly afterward."

As Tywin walked through the corridor, he thought to himself, This changes many things.

He paused briefly, trying to anticipate Eddard Stark's next moves. Since the man was an honorable fool, it wasn’t a difficult task. In the Faith of the Seven, it was customary to mourn a deceased spouse for seven months. Of course, Eddard Stark followed the Old Gods, meaning he wasn’t bound by these rules. However, knowing his character, he would likely respect his wife’s faith and observe the mourning period.

As for whom he would marry next, the answer was obvious: Ashara Dayne. Tywin could already see the dangers of such a union. Ashara had been a lady-in-waiting to Elia Martell and despised Robert Baratheon. Her hatred for the Lannisters was even greater. Such a woman becoming the Lady of Winterfell was a grave threat. She would likely sabotage any efforts to mend relations between the North and the Westerlands, and worse, she could encourage the North to betray House Baratheon.

Tywin didn’t think Eddard Stark would betray his old friend Robert, but he vividly remembered his former enemy, Ellyn Reyne. That woman had nearly toppled the Lannisters’ position as Lords Paramount of the Westerlands. Ashara Dayne was cut from the same cloth—a thorny rose, indeed.

Over his long political career, Tywin had realized that women could be crudely divided into two groups. The first were ordinary women—those who dreamed of handsome knights and white-horse princes. Without the protection of their families, such women were often used and discarded by their so-called princes. They had no exceptional abilities or talents of their own. Being ordinary wasn’t a crime, but it wasn’t admirable either, and most of the women Tywin had met fell into this category. The late Queen Rhaella was one of them, and unfortunately, so was his own daughter, Cersei—no matter how much she thought otherwise.

The second, much smaller group were what Tywin referred to as 'thorny roses.' These women were not to be underestimated. They used their social standing, personal talents, and physical beauty as tools for advancing their futures, and they were not afraid to bend the rules or compromise their morals to achieve their goals.

During the Tourney of Harrenhal, Eddard Stark had been a popular target for such women, though he was completely oblivious to it. While it was true he was a second son and not expected to inherit, he had strong ties with four Lords Paramount and was practically guaranteed to hold a lordship in the future. With his connections, it was almost inevitable that he would one day serve on the king’s council. His reputation for honor ensured he would treat his wife with respect and loyalty. Though he was not as dashing as his older brother, he had his own charm. As a second son, he also had more freedom in choosing a bride.

For a thorny rose, there could hardly be a more appealing target. Eddard Stark was often surrounded by women, but he remained unaware of it because Ashara Dayne had ensured they were driven away through various subtle means.

According to what Tywin had heard from Gerion, Eddard’s older brother Brandon had been perplexed by the attention his younger brother received. The women who sought Eddard’s company showed no interest in Brandon. For a thorny rose, Brandon was a bad investment. Pursuing him would likely result in being discarded after bearing a bastard. Even marriage would not guarantee loyalty from such an unfaithful man. With Eddard around, focusing on Brandon made no sense.

Regardless, Tywin had decided that Ashara Dayne must not become the Lady of Winterfell. He had already taken his first step by suggesting to King Robert that Eddard marry his young cousin, Mercia Lannister, as a replacement for Catelyn Tully. If the king ordered it, Eddard would have no choice but to comply. However, Robert had rejected the idea outright, declaring he would not subject his old friend to the same suffering he had endured. He wouldn’t separate Eddard from the woman he loved. Jon Arryn agreed, arguing that the marriage would improve relations with Dorne.

Tywin cursed silently. He had rid himself of a mad king only to deal with a fool.

The path was clear: Ashara Dayne had to die. Tywin had seven months to act, and he was confident the assassination would succeed. After all, how well-guarded could a simple lady possibly be?

Once Ashara was gone, he could bring up Mercia’s name again. If this marriage succeeded, it would secure the timber Tywin needed and plant Lannister influence firmly in the increasingly powerful North.

I’ll instruct Tygett to arrange the assassins, Tywin decided. And I’ll speak with Mercia as well. She must do everything in her power to charm Eddard Stark while he’s still here. Better yet, she should get him into her bed. If she succeeds, I can secure the position of Lady of Winterfell without even bothering to kill Ashara Dayne.

Tywin gazed out the window, watching the sun set. He envisioned the Lannisters spreading their influence across the realm. Why should the North be an exception?

Chapter Text

So, Catelyn Tully Stark is dead. Olenna began tapping her finger on the table. There is certainly an opportunity here.

Recent years had seen events that changed Westeros forever. The Targaryens had fallen, replaced by the Baratheons. The Lannisters had gained the royal bloodline they always wanted. The Iron Islands had rebelled, not only attacking the Westerlands but even Olenna’s own home, Arbor. Eddard Stark had proven himself not just a great warrior but also an excellent administrator, enriching the North significantly over the last five years.

None of these developments were in favor of House Tyrell.

The new king openly disdained the Tyrells and Reach nobility. After all, the entire Reach had fought for the Mad King. And Olenna wasn’t shameless enough to claim serving a mad king was a noble cause.

The truth was that House Tyrell had been little more than glorified stewards until Aegon the Conqueror elevated them to Lords Paramount. Everything they had now was due to the Targaryen kings. Following them was only natural. However, the loyalty of the entire Reach to the Tyrells was rare.

The Reach was home to many powerful houses descended from Garth Greenhand and carrying the blood of the Gardener kings. These houses openly looked down on the Tyrells and sought to claim the title of Lord Paramount for themselves.

In the event of a civil war, it wouldn’t be surprising if the lords of the Reach split into factions, much like during the Dance of the Dragons. However, Robert’s Rebellion unfolded differently, and the lords of the Reach had all rallied under one banner. Robert's rebellion had been a just cause; no man of honor could deny it. Yet, not a single noble from the Reach had joined Robert Baratheon.

Olenna could offer various excuses: Rhaegar seemed like he would make a good king, there were vows to uphold, and so on. But none of them would be true.

The reality was that the Reach had benefited the most from the 300-year Targaryen rule. This long period of peace allowed its population to grow and its coffers to overflow. The grains and wines of the Reach were sold throughout Westeros. Even in the North, the rare farmland of the New Gift had been taken and given to the Night’s Watch, forcing Northern lords to rely on the Reach for grain.

Moreover, many seats on the Small Council had been occupied by nobles from the Reach.

The lords of the Reach had grown powerful and wealthy under Targaryen rule. Why would they want that to change? What the Targaryens had done for them, the Baratheons could never promise.

All of the Reach had fought for the Targaryens, but the Targaryens had fallen. Now, the new king naturally distrusted the Reach and looked down on them. One by one, the advantages they had enjoyed during Targaryen rule were being stripped away.

The fact that King Robert’s brother Stannis Baratheon was married to a damned Florent wasn’t helping matters either.

House Tyrell was walking a fine line. Doran Martell was seeking their help for a new Targaryen restoration, but it was too risky. Even if the Tyrells raised their banners for the Targaryens, this time the entire Reach wouldn’t follow. A significant portion would side with the Baratheons—especially the Florents.

The Florents had always been the most vocal opponents of the Tyrells’ Lord Paramount status. Unfortunately, their threat went beyond mere complaints. Those damned foxes had marital ties to nearly every major noble family in the Reach. Rhae Florent had married Lord Hightower and become Lady of Oldtown, while another Florent daughter had married Lord Tarly.

The Tarlys and Hightowers were among the most powerful houses in the Reach. If a rebellion broke out, would they support the Lord Paramount or their allies by marriage? Olenna didn’t know.

The defeat of the Greyjoy Rebellion had boosted the new king’s image and consolidated his support. His position on the throne was more secure than ever, making any challenge to him extremely risky.

Olenna had repeatedly assured Robert Baratheon and Jon Arryn of House Tyrell’s loyalty to the crown, but they didn’t trust her. Why should they? Words were wind; loyalty had to be proven.

The best way to prove loyalty was through a marriage alliance. But among the rebellion's leaders, there were no eligible men—either they were already married or too young. Until now.

Eddard Stark, Robert Baratheon’s close friend, was favored by the king more than his own brothers. If Olenna could marry her daughter Janna to him, all doubts about House Tyrell’s loyalty would dissipate like sand in the wind.

The North had reclaimed the New Gift and begun cultivating it, reducing trade with the Reach each year. Reach lords were losing the steady flow of gold they once enjoyed and were beginning to complain. But complaints would do them no good. The new king wouldn’t listen, and even if he did, what exactly would they complain about? The North was growing stronger, but it wasn’t doing anything illegal.

A marriage alliance would be the perfect way to establish a connection with the rising North. It could ensure trade continued as before, earning gratitude from other houses in the Reach. The king might even begin to trust them. House Tyrell would finally stand on solid ground.

Still, it wouldn’t be easy. Undoubtedly, many other nobles coveted the same position. Olenna had already heard that the old lion, Tywin Lannister, was making moves. Many northern and southern lords wanted the new Lady of Winterfell to come from their own house.

Olenna wasn’t afraid to engage in a political battle to make her daughter Janna the Lady of Winterfell. She was confident, viewing no one but Tywin as her equal.

The real problem was that this political battle might be entirely unnecessary. As long as Ashara Dayne was alive, Eddard Stark wouldn’t even glance at another woman.

The story of the two being together at Harrenhal was a widely known tale in Westeros, and rumors claimed that not even marriage could put an end to their relationship. Ashara Dayne was the only woman who could break through the walls of a man renowned across Westeros for his honor and respected for it. A woman who lay with a married man should rightfully be scorned, but the romantic tale of the Silent Wolf and the Fallen Star was on the lips of many young girls. Even her little granddaughter, Margaery, loved listening to the story.

But as long as Ashara Dayne lived, Janna becoming the Lady of Winterfell seemed unlikely. Maybe an assassination? It was possible. Maybe it would succeed. But if the assassins’ trail led back to House Tyrell, it would be a disaster. Any such attempt would require extreme caution.

Assassination was the easy answer, likely the approach Tywin Lannister would take. Olenna would bet her last teeth that the old lion was already making plans.

The Lannisters were better at assassinations than the Tyrells and would likely try. So why should Olenna bother?

She picked up her quill and parchment, ready to wield her true expertise: politics.

Olenna began drafting her letters carefully, her mind as sharp as ever.

The first letter was addressed to Eddard Stark, a proposal of betrothal for her daughter Janna. She played to the North's needs, offering generous shipments of grain and other provisions. Olenna also pledged aid for the Night’s Watch and promised discounted prices for goods in the future. If Eddard Stark truly valued the North’s interests over his own desires, he would at least consider the proposal.

The second letter was sent to Jon Arryn. Olenna explained how a marriage alliance between the Reach and the North would unite the realm and foster stability. She emphasized how such a union would eliminate suspicions about House Tyrell’s loyalty. Jon Arryn, a man devoted to the kingdom's stability, was deeply respected by Eddard Stark as a foster father. If anyone could influence the Northern lord, it was him.

The third letter was sent to Doran Martell. Olenna subtly highlighted the potential complications of having a Dayne as the Lady of Winterfell, planting seeds of doubt in his mind. How could he guarantee that the Daynes would fully commit to a Targaryen restoration?

Eddard Stark was deeply loyal to his friend Robert Baratheon. Despite everything, there was always a possibility that he might raise his banners for the Baratheons once again. If that were to happen, what would the Daynes do?

Olenna did not provide direct accusations or threats. Instead, she left these doubts to fester, wrapped in polite and carefully chosen words that encouraged Doran to consider the potential risks.

The fourth letter was addressed to Tywin Lannister. It contained a marriage proposal between the only eligible woman currently in House Lannister, Mercia Lannister, and Olenna’s eldest grandson, Willas Tyrell. This offer gave Tywin a way to save face and step back gracefully. Olenna also included a polite request for a response within no more than five months, stating that if no answer was received by then, she would begin considering other candidates.

By imposing this time limit, Olenna placed Tywin under considerable pressure. If the old lion failed to make strategic moves in the coming months, he stood to lose not only the position of Lady of Winterfell but also the title of Lady of Highgarden for his house. That would surely drive him mad.

Olenna allowed herself a moment of satisfaction as she imagined how furious Tywin would become. A sly smile spread across her face.

The fifth and final letter was addressed to Hoster Tully. Olenna expressed her condolences for the loss of his daughter while skillfully planting a few more seeds of doubt.

How certain was Lord Tully that his grandson Robb would one day become the Lord of Winterfell? Eddard Stark was undoubtedly deeply in love with his potential bride, a woman hailing from Dorne—known for their cunning and manipulation. Ashara Dayne might very well desire for her own children to inherit Winterfell and could take steps to ensure it.

Furthermore, rumors abounded that Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard, was Ashara Dayne’s child. If this marriage came to pass, Jon Snow might be legitimized, and his age was perilously close to Robb’s. This could present a direct threat to Robb’s claim to Winterfell.

Olenna did not spell out her accusations outright but used carefully crafted language, subtly implying these risks to Hoster Tully. The words were intended to provoke concern while maintaining an air of respect and sincerity.

Satisfied, Olenna rose and handed the letters to Maester Lomys, instructing him to ensure their swift delivery.

She poured herself a cup of Arbor Gold and walked down the corridor to see her granddaughter, Margaery.

The chessboard is set, and I am a master of this game, Olenna thought as she moved gracefully through the halls. Now, let’s see what you all will do. Win or lose, I intend to enjoy every moment of this game.

Chapter Text

Ned cursed under his breath, 'Damn you, Olenna Tyrell. You’ve really stirred up trouble this time.'

He looked at the two older men seated across from him—Hoster and Brynden Tully. The first was known for his political acumen, the second for his military prowess. The Tully family seemed to have been blessed with a knack for producing capable leaders.

"We want to discuss your future marriage, Ned," Hoster began.

Ned’s fists clenched as he snapped back, "How far do your political ambitions stretch, Lord Tully? Your daughter passed away barely a month ago, and you’re already intent on profiting from her death?"

Hoster’s face flushed red with a mix of anger and shame, but before he could retort, his brother Brynden interjected. "Look, Ned, we know this is a difficult conversation. It’s not easy for us either. But you won’t be staying in Riverrun much longer, and we must address this."

“With all due respect,” Ned replied firmly, “the future Lady of Winterfell is my decision alone. I may take your advice, but I am not bound to heed it.”

“Fair enough,” Hoster said, waving his hand dismissively. “Our concern lies with the safety of my grandson Robb.”

“Robb will be the future Lord of Winterfell. I’ve assured you of this time and again.”

“Yes, you have,” Hoster acknowledged. “But to be honest, I’m not entirely at ease with it, especially considering the prospect of you marrying a Dornishwoman.”

"Ashara would never harm my children," Ned said firmly.

"And why are you so certain of that? Ashara Dayne is a woman who did not shy away from lying with a married man," Hoster said disdainfully.

"Let me remind you, my lord," Ned replied, his voice resolute. "When I first met Ashara, I was a second son with no inheritance. On the other hand, she was the heir to Starfall. Ashara does not care for titles or power; she does not chase after them."

"I understand," Brynden interjected quickly. "But we need absolute assurances for Robb's safety."

"And how exactly do you plan to obtain those assurances?" Ned asked, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Do you think Robb will be safer if I marry Mercia Lannister or Janna Tyrell?"

Both men visibly tensed at the question. No one with any sense would wager on that.

“Are you even considering their proposals?” Brynden asked cautiously.

Ned paused for a moment. The Lannister offer came with vast wealth and trade connections—resources he could use to strengthen the North quickly. For five years, his plans had progressed at an impressive pace thanks to the 300,000 gold Robert had granted him. However, Tywin Lannister could never be trusted. The man always sought the best for his house, and there was no doubt he would try to exert control over the North through his grandchildren. Moreover, it was highly likely Tywin had already sent assassins after Ashara.

Olenna Tyrell’s proposal, on the other hand, was far more cunning. Truth be told, she had backed Ned into a corner. Even Jon Arryn thought he should accept the offer, and some Northern lords were dazzled by the sheer abundance of the proposed dowry. Just the day before, Lord Manderly had spoken to him, attempting to persuade him to agree.

Ned couldn’t help but chuckle to himself. Typically, engagement terms and dowry proposals were kept private between the two houses, but the Queen of Thorns had announced her offer publicly, ensuring that the Northern lords were well aware. While the Northern lords’ loyalty to the Starks would not waver due to his marital decisions, the number of bannermen trying to sway him was far from small.

Olenna Tyrell, Ned thought for a moment. Clever woman. If she were in her twenties, I wouldn’t hesitate to marry her.

The dowry offered was truly generous, and Ned couldn’t deny he was momentarily tempted.

But the contents of the proposal and its promises weren’t what Eddard Stark wanted—in fact, they were precisely what he sought to avoid.

For years, Ned had been developing a plan for agricultural reform in the North, investing significant gold and effort into it. The project had made gradual progress. Though crops suited for the North’s harsh winters had yet to be discovered, agricultural engineers had identified what they needed, and new farming techniques were already being implemented across the North with promising results.

If Ned accepted Olenna Tyrell's offer, the North could obtain grain from the Reach at lower costs. However, this would discourage the Northern lords from supporting his agricultural reforms. Instead of experimenting with new farming methods and incurring expenses, they would gravitate toward the cheaper grain from the Reach. Ned's primary goal was to transform the North from an import-reliant kingdom into an export-driven one. Olenna's offer was beneficial in the short term but potentially disastrous in the long run. The food shortages during winter had been a curse for thousands of years. Families often starved to death during harsh winters. Relying on grain from the Reach was a temporary solution. The North needed to solve this problem independently.

“No,” Ned finally declared firmly. “I will not accept their offers.”

Both older men leaned back in relief at his decision.

“Very well,” Hoster said. “Still, my grandson’s safety must be ensured somehow.”

“What do you want?” Ned asked, irritation evident in his tone.

“Any children you have with Ashara Dayne must come after all of my Catelyn’s children in the line of succession,” Hoster said. “Even if you have a son with her, he will not be considered Robb’s heir. Until Robb has children of his own, Sansa will remain his heir.”

Ned considered the proposal for a moment. To be honest, it wasn’t entirely reasonable. While Northern culture respected women, the head of House Stark had never been a woman. No Northern lord would accept Sansa as their leader while a living Stark male existed.

“Agreed,” he said nonetheless. It shouldn’t pose much of an issue. Robb was a healthy child, and Ned had other plans for any children he might have with Ashara. Edric would inherit Starfall. Allyria could be married off to a suitable man in the South. Their true parentage would be revealed to them later.

As the North grew stronger, Ned would need more capable lords. The children he had with Ashara could be groomed for such positions. Truth be told, Ned would need many sons, but with Ashara by his side, it shouldn’t be a problem.

“There’s one more matter,” Brynden said. “Your bastard, Jon Snow—his mother, is she really Ashara Dayne?”

“That boy…” Ned said through gritted teeth. “He is of my blood.”

"You can legitimize him," Hoster said, taking Ned's response as an approval. "But he must always remain last in the line of succession—behind my grandchildren from Catelyn, your children from Ashara, and even Benjen's future children."

“Agreed,” Ned said without much resistance. At the moment, he had no intention of legitimizing Jon. Even if he did, Jon would never be his heir. The man who strengthened and transformed the North was Eddard Stark. Naturally, the future Lords of Winterfell should descend from him.

"I want Brynden to serve as the Master-at-Arms of Winterfell," Hoster added. "This way, he can personally ensure the safety of Robb and Edmure."

Ned's face darkened at the suggestion. I'm offering him my hand, and now he wants the whole arm.

“I cannot agree to that,” he replied firmly. “The Cassel family has served as Winterfell’s Master-at-Arms for generations. Stripping them of that honor without cause would insult one of my most loyal bannermen.”

“I don’t need to be Master-at-Arms,” Brynden interjected. “Just create a suitable position for me. I only require authority to act. Additionally, I can train all the Stark children—including those you have with Ashara—in warfare and combat.”

That’s a reasonable offer, Ned thought. “Agreed,” he said after a moment of consideration. “Is there anything else?”

“No, that’s all,” Hoster said, clearly satisfied.

Ned stood up and left the room. The coming months would be difficult. First and foremost, he needed to secure Ashara's safety, who was at risk of assassination. Especially during her journey north, she could face many dangers, and Ned was determined to prevent that. He would need to establish a safe route for the woman he loved, send his best men to protect her, and seek the help of a few lords.

Then there was the matter of his late wife, Catelyn Tully. The last time he saw her, she was healthy. It didn’t make sense to Ned that she had died from childbed fever, but then again, the same had happened to his mother, Lyarra. She had been healthy and active, but after Benjen's birth, she had died from childbed fever.

Even so, Ned decided to take the matter seriously. Since becoming the Lord of Winterfell, he had always been cautious about spies and assassins infiltrating the castle. If one had managed to elude him and was responsible for killing the Lady of Winterfell, Ned would find them, interrogate them, and eliminate them—no matter the cost.

The trout is convinced, Ned thought as he walked down the corridor. Now I need to deal with the old falcon.

Chapter Text

"Lady Dayne," the muscular Northman said, bowing respectfully. "I am Jory Cassel, the master-at-arms of Winterfell. Lord Stark has sent me to accompany you on your journey to Winterfell."

Oberyn Martell raised an eyebrow. Sending his master-at-arms to guard her personally? Eddard Stark certainly wasn’t taking this lightly.

He glanced at Ashara, whose face held a proud expression. After Catelyn Tully's death, she had been kept under incredibly strict protection in Sunspear for five months. The most trusted guards were stationed by her side at all times, and even her food and water were thoroughly inspected. Initially, Oberyn had thought his brother Doran was overreacting, but it turned out the danger was all too real. Despite all the tight security, Ashara had faced assassination attempts two or three times a week.

Oberyn inspected the group of Northerners before him. Fourteen men in total. Nine of them were strong and muscular, clearly seasoned Northern warriors. One was a rather wiry Crannogman, and the remaining four... They wore leather armor adorned with skull motifs, and, in Oberyn's opinion, not all of that leather came from animals. The leader of the group was a goat-bearded man with a cheerful face, but Oberyn couldn't deny the chill running down his spine.

"Ahem," Oberyn couldn't help but ask, "Would you mind explaining a bit about the group you've brought along?"

"The nine men with me are some of the toughest and most loyal in the North. As for the other four..." Jory Cassel grimaced in distaste. "They are former Bolton men who have sworn loyalty to House Stark. Their leader is known as Locke. But don’t worry, Prince Oberyn, you needn't concern yourself with them. They’ll only be traveling with us temporarily and will part ways with the group later. They have business to attend to in King’s Landing."

"And what sort of business might that be?" Oberyn asked.

"A final service to the late Lady Stark," Jory replied, refusing to elaborate further.

"And the Crannogman?" Ashara asked. "He doesn’t seem much like a fighter."

"You're right," Jory nodded. "That man is Morgan Blackmyre, one of House Reed’s vassals. His role is to stay by your side at all times and ensure your escape in case of a serious conflict. While he may not look it, Morgan is an incredibly swift warrior and, as a Crannogman, is highly skilled in the arts of stealth."

Eddard Stark didn’t just send men; he also carefully planned for every contingency, Oberyn realized.

"Alright," Oberyn said, waving his hand dismissively. "Now, I believe it’s time you shared the secret travel route you’ve so carefully hidden."

"Unfortunately, my lord," Jory replied, "we only share that information with the important individuals traveling with us."

"I’m coming with you," Oberyn declared, gesturing to the 30 men behind him, among them one of his so-called Sand Snakes, Elia Sand, also known as Rhaenys. She had insisted on coming to Winterfell to see her brother, Maekar.

Maekar. Oberyn paused in thought. Ashara didn’t reveal his existence to us until the very last moment because she knew that if Doran found out, he wouldn’t have bothered with Lady Catelyn. Instead, he would have tried to bind Ned Stark to the Targaryen restoration through threats and marriage. Clever woman.

Hearing this, Jory handed Oberyn a map and instructions without much resistance.

Oberyn carefully examined the map.

Hmm, let me see. From Sunspear to Estermont Island. The Estermonts are Robert Baratheon’s maternal relatives, and judging by the fact they’re sending three ships, they’re taking Ashara’s protection seriously. After that, we’ll head to Tarth Island and Massey’s Hook. I’ve heard Lord Stark gets along well with Selwyn Tarth, and Justin Massey is known as a loyal supporter of Stannis.

Then, we’ll travel to Dragonstone. It seems Eddard Stark made a personal request to Stannis, meaning we’ll be protected by the royal fleet. Following that, we’ll stop at Celtigar Island. Since the Celtigars are known Targaryen loyalists, they’ll ensure Ashara’s safety, as she’s critical to their plans. I should send a letter to Doran about this.

After Celtigar, we’ll dock at Runestone, home of House Royce, loyal friends of the Starks. Normally, we would head to Gulltown, but the city is overcrowded, rife with opportunities for assassination, and far from safe. From Runestone, we’ll ride to the Gates of the Moon. This part of the journey could be dangerous due to the mountain clans, but Lord Yohn Royce will be traveling with us all the way to the North, so it shouldn’t be much trouble.

When we finish with the Vale, we will reach the Reed swamps. This move will likely catch Tywin Lannister off guard; he was probably expecting us to travel all the way to White Harbor by ship. At that point, we will officially enter the North. From there, the rest of the journey should proceed smoothly. There are strict orders to keep everyone except the most trusted men away from Ashara Dayne. Every risk factor has been minimized, and it’s clear how necessary this level of caution is. Tywin Lannister delayed accepting Olenna Tyrell’s marriage proposal, and now that the opportunity has presented itself, he will strike like an enraged bull.

"Very well," he said at last, nodding. "How many men will we be traveling with?"

"With your men included, a total of forty," Jorry replied, "but we will be receiving reinforcements from other houses throughout the journey. May I ask who else will be traveling with us?"

"Ah, of course," Oberyn said, gesturing behind him. "Ashara Dayne, as you're all well aware. The young girl beside her is her sister, Allyria Dayne. Lady Lonna Dayne and her son, Edric Dayne, who she holds in her arms, will also join us. Lord Alaric will remain at Starfall. The soldiers you see behind me are loyal men from House Dayne and House Martell. My bastard daughters—Obara, Nymeria, Tyene, and Elia—will also ride with us."

Jorry let out a quiet sigh at the sight of the large group of passengers but nodded without much protest. He seemed to think the journey would take far longer than necessary with this many travelers, but he didn’t want to risk souring relations with the future Lady Stark, whom he had only just met.

"We will set sail in three days, once the weather calms. I’ve received strict orders from Lord Stark regarding this journey—such as never setting sail in stormy weather—and I will follow those orders to the letter if we encounter any critical moments. I trust there will be no stubbornness on your part during the trip."

Oberyn simply nodded, glancing at the northern men in the group behind Jorry while licking his lips. Personally, he preferred the beautiful men of Lys, but experiencing the rugged and muscular men of the North could certainly prove to be an interesting change of pace.

"Oberyn," Ashara said as she grabbed his arm. "We need to talk."

Oberyn turned to her calmly. "Yes, what is it?"

"I want to know how you killed Lady Catelyn Tully," Ashara said bluntly. "I’ve asked Doran several times, but he refuses to tell me."

Catelyn Tully. Oberyn raised an eyebrow. She always calls her Tully, never Stark.

"Well, I suppose there’s no harm in telling you now," Oberyn said. "Dorne has long sponsored talented acolytes trained in Oldtown, allowing us to secure skilled maesters for our houses. Some of them were Northmen. After Doran spoke with you, he selected one of them and sent him to Winterfell as an apprentice to Maester Luwin."

"Northmen are usually fiercely loyal to House Stark," Ashara said, surprised. "You found a traitor among them?"

"Well, people are ambitious," Oberyn said with a shrug. "But the acolyte was a proud Northman and loyal to House Stark. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have made it past Winterfell’s security. You know how tightly it’s guarded against spies—even Varys struggles to infiltrate it."

"If he was loyal, why did he kill Lady Stark?" Ashara pressed.

"Loyalty can be interpreted in different ways," Oberyn explained. "The acolyte, Wullan—I think that was his name—believed that with Lady Stark out of the way, Lord Stark could marry the woman he truly loved, which would be better for the North and House Stark."

"How did the assassination happen?"

"Lord Stark was away dealing with the Greyjoy Rebellion, and Lady Catelyn was about to give birth. After the birth, Wullan laced Lady Stark’s medicine with winter roses. Normally, winter roses aren’t poisonous, but they can make people slightly ill. If given to a woman who’s just given birth, it could trigger postpartum fever."

"How did he receive the order?" Ashara asked, concerned.

"We hung a red cloak at the top of the Broken Tower. It was a pre-arranged signal," Oberyn said. "Don’t worry, Ashara. Doran cleaned up all traces meticulously. Eddard Stark trusts Wullan and sees him as a future maester for Winterfell. There will be no problems."

"Very well," Ashara said, turning away, visibly relieved. "Acolyte Wullan, huh? I’ll remember that name."

"Hey," Oberyn said, grabbing her arm. "Doesn’t it bother you that your children are placed last in the line of succession?"

"Not really," Ashara replied with a shrug, a sly smile on her face. "The important thing is that we have plenty of children."

"Good," Oberyn said approvingly. "We’ll need Robb Stark alive if we want the Tullys to join the restoration."

"What are you implying?" Ashara asked, her voice sharp.

"Nothing," Oberyn said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. "I just mean, you hated Catelyn Tully, and the children are hers."

"They’re Ned’s children," Ashara said firmly. "I would never harm Ned’s children—or any child. I’m not a Lannister."

"I know, I know," Oberyn said, backing off. "I spoke too freely, alright? My apologies. What about Jon Snow?"

"The trout whore was a devout follower of the Seven," Ashara said disdainfully. "She probably treated the poor boy terribly. I’ll tell him I’m his mother and raise him as a prince should be raised."

"You’re going to lie to him?" Oberyn asked, surprised.

"Yes," Ashara admitted. "That way, I can mold him into what he should be. He won’t turn out mad like his grandfather or father, and even after he learns the truth, he’ll still see me as his mother. I’ll be a far better mother than that spoiled she-wolf whore ever was. Don’t you think so?"

Oberyn couldn’t argue with that. He would rather be the child of a couple like Ned and Ashara, who were bound by love, than the product of a foolish, war-starting affair like Rhaegar and Lyanna. He suspected many others would feel the same way, including the boy himself.

"Alright," he said at last. "We leave in three days. Be ready."

As Ashara walked away, a satisfied smile on her face, Oberyn watched her go. He couldn’t help but smirk, wondering if Eddard Stark would have any energy left to rule the North after Ashara was done wearing him out in their marital bed.

Chapter Text

Locke looked at the man sobbing on his knees before him.

"Please, please," Petyr Baelish begged, tears streaming down his face. "I'll do anything, just don't touch me, let me go."

"Look, dear Petyr," Locke said, stroking the man's face with a broad grin, "I’m sure you already know this as the Master of Coin, but having a right-hand man is important. They take care of all the unnecessary trouble for you." He gestured toward the skull-masked man behind him. "Saymon is my right-hand man. Who’s yours?"

Petyr Baelish said nothing, only sobbing harder.

"Fuck," Locke said, looking at the bloody mace in his hand. "Was that the guy I killed?" He turned to Saymon and pointed at the shattered body on the ground. "What was his name?"

"Lothor Brune."

"Lothor Brune," Locke murmured. "See? This is why Saymon's my right-hand man. He takes care of the unnecessary stuff for me, like remembering names and all that." He looked down at the body. "Ah, I really killed him in a nasty way, didn’t I? The guy screamed like a woman." He placed hand on Petyr's shoulder. "Sorry, buddy. If I’d known he was your right-hand man, I would’ve made it a bit quicker, but just a bit."

Petyr continued sobbing uncontrollably.

What a bore, Locke thought with a sigh. My new master rarely lets me hunt. I wish this one had a little fight in him—or maybe was a woman.

"Hey, Saymon," Locke called out, "This guy had a Valyrian steel dagger on him, didn’t he?"

"Yes," Saymon confirmed.

"Give it to me," Locke ordered, taking the dagger.

Locke looked at the Valyrian steel dagger in his hands with admiration. My old master loved this dagger; it’s a shame it’s been collecting dust on a wall. Hmm, maybe my new master will let me use it.

"I’ll have some fun with this man," Locke said as he grabbed Petyr by the shoulder and hoisted him into the air. "You can play with the other one. What’s his name again?"

"Oswell Kettleblack."

"Whatever," Locke said, setting Petyr onto the back of the horse and sliding the dagger into his belt. Then he climbed onto the horse and began riding toward the woods.

He could see the man behind him staring at the dagger on his belt. The man’s hands weren’t tied—he could have reached for it and stabbed Locke with it. Or at least, that’s what he must have been thinking. But he did nothing.

"Ah, Petyr, I know men like you. In fact, we are the same." Locke said with a sigh. "We have different tastes from normal people, but those bastards misunderstand us. Instead of respecting our differences, they try to hunt us down. It’s a shitty world, isn’t it?" He raised his hands theatrically. "But there’s a big difference between you and me. I handle my own business. You, on the other hand, use pawns like Lysa Arryn or Lothor Brune. Oh, I’m sure you have all sorts of excuses for it, telling yourself you’re some sort of tactical genius." He turned to look back at Petyr. "How about, for once in your life, you handle your own business like a real man?"

Petyr Baelish seemed emboldened by those words. He quickly reached for the dagger, but Locke didn’t let him complete the move. He headbutted the Master of Coin with enough force to break his nose, knocking him off the horse.

For the love of the Old Gods, they told me this man was supposed to be clever, Locke thought, laughing as he looked down at Petyr.

Locke grabbed him off the ground and threw him back onto the horse. "I hope I don’t have to do that again. Honestly, for size,  your pretty heavy." He smacked the sobbing man’s face again, but this time nothing broke, and the man didn’t fall.

He’s learning, Locke thought cheerfully.

After a while, Locke saw a rabbit deep in the forest. "Wait here, my new friend. I'll be back soon," he said as he dismounted and silently crawled toward the rabbit, keeping an eye on the man behind him. His feet weren't bound, but he made no attempt to escape.

Locke lunged at the rabbit and caught it with his bare hands. "Ha! Looks like I haven't lost my agility," he said, lifting the rabbit into the air for Petyr to see. Then, as he walked toward the man, he suddenly started smashing the small animal against a tree. He didn't stop until there was almost nothing left of the rabbit's flesh, and the tree bark was stained red.

"Ah, my apologies," Locke said with a smile, tossing the mangled remains aside. "Did it remind you of someone you knew?"

Petyr said nothing, staring at the ground.

"Look, Petyr, I need you to understand something," Locke said as he approached his horse, pointing at the man. "You belong to me." He pointed to the path they had come. "Those men over there belong to me too." He drew the new dagger from his back and showed it to the trembling man. "This also belongs to me." He mounted his horse. "Actually, you should be happy about this, Petyr. New beginnings are always nice."

He looked at the man behind him as he urged the horse forward. "How about a new name to celebrate this fresh start? Hmm, let me think. Ah, I've got it! Reek! That's going to be your new name! Do you like it?" He examined the man's sour expression. "Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you like it, and then I’ll call you that."

As he continued riding, the man behind him started crying again. Ugh, how boring, Locke sighed. "Come on, Petyr, stop crying so much," he finally said. "You should’ve known this was how it would end. I mean, you were walking around bragging about how you fucked the late Lady Catelyn—rest her soul—right? You know Lord Stark, honorable guy and all that, but he's no fool."

"I've put a lot of effort into getting you out of the city, Petyr," Locke said with genuine regret. "I even missed the new Lady Stark's wedding because of it. And you know, that really pissed me off because I love weddings. All that food, alcohol, dancing girls..." He sighed. "We don't get to see that much at the Dreadfort."

They rode for another five minutes in silence, Locke allowing Petyr a brief moment of peace—a small gesture of mercy.

"Alright, we’re here," Locke finally announced as he stopped the horse. "Look, Petyr, this must hurt a lot. You thought you were the king of the realm, and now you’ve seen your most loyal man torn to shreds in front of you. The other one? Well, they’re flaying him right now."

Locke roughly dragged Petyr off the horse and kicked him to the ground. He pointed to tracks on the forest floor. "See that? Bear tracks. We’re right in the middle of their path."

Ignoring Petyr’s pleas, Locke tied him to a tree.

"Serving Lord Starka is a strange feeling, you know," he said, silencing Littlefinger with a punch. "I enjoy myself much less than I used to, but when I do enjoy myself..." He licked his lips in satisfaction. "I deal with bastards like you. It gives me a strange sense of justice." He took off his bag and began preparing his equipment. "You're kidnapping little girls from Fleabottom, and force them to work in brothels, chained up, don’t you?" He took out the surgical knives from his bag and checked their sharpness. "Don’t get me wrong, I’m not doing any of this for justice. Personally, I’m just having fun."

"Now, we’re going to play a game. I’m sure you know what this is," he said, pulling out the hourglass from his pocket and showing it to the man crying, tied to the tree. "I’ll turn this 5 times, meaning you’ll have to stay silent and endure for just 5 minutes. If you make a sound...," he paused for a moment, looking at the man. "Like I said, this is a road actively used by bears, so you’ll attract them. I could escape, but you... well," he shrugged.

He watched with pleasure for a while as the man, tied to the tree, flailed and silently begged, constantly promising large sums of money and rewards. "Do you know I’m about to be the new Lord Bloodhall? That’s the reward for finishing your job. Actually, it’s quite a funny story," he said, fiddling with the hourglass in his hand. "It seems the Bloodhall lands are on the shores of the Saltspear Sea. They’ve been preventing Ironborn from raiding the area and attacking Barrowton. In the end, the godless will be dealt with by the faithless," he said, driving his knife into the tree bark right next to Littlefinger. "After the destruction of House Bloodhall, I heard Lord Benjen has been having constant trouble. He has to patrol Saltspear with his men, yet some Ironborn still escape and attack the surrounding villages. In short, Lord Stark needs a new Erd Bloodhall," he said, pointing to himself with another dagger. "So, as you can see, I’m the one to take over. Thankfully, the late lord’s sister is still alive and unmarried. How lucky am I, huh?"

He flipped the hourglass over and set it on the ground, leaning against a nearby tree. "Well, time is ticking away," Locke said, showing the hourglass. "Now, let’s see, Petyr. I want to play a little game. Shout 'I’m Reek!' as loudly as you can. If I’m satisfied with the volume of your voice, I’ll give you a short break, but be careful." He grinned. "After all, we’re in the middle of a bear path."

Locke slashed at Petyr’s clothing with a single swift movement, tearing it open, exposing the man’s chest. He looked down at the man who was desperately trying to hold back his cries. "Alright, new friend," Locke said, picking up the surgical blade, ready to begin. "Let’s get started."

Chapter Text

Ashara woke up in the arms of the man she loved. Just like every other day.

"Seven hells, how do you Northerners wake up this early? You’re all demons," she said with a sigh, looking at Ned as he got out of bed.

Ned only gave her a gentle smile and kissed her forehead. "You keep resting. Don’t push yourself too much, Ashara. You’re pregnant," he said lovingly.

Ashara cupped Ned’s face in her hands and kissed his lips as she gently stroked her slightly swollen belly with gratitude. They had been married for nearly three years, and this was her second pregnancy. It hadn’t taken long for Ashara to conceive again after the birth of their first 'official' child, Argilac Stark. Initially, Ned hadn’t wanted to rush into having a second child and had been concerned about Ashara’s health, but she had no health issues, and the Stark pack needed new cubs.

For a moment, Ashara thought of her eldest son, Edric. After their wedding, he had returned to Starfall. As a mother, being separated from her child had been an agony for Ashara, but she found comfort in knowing that Lonna loved Edric as if he were her own and would raise him like a mother. Additionally, when Edric turned eight, he would be sent to Winterfell as a ward.

Allyria had stayed in Winterfell with Ashara and had long been acting as an older sister to her step-siblings, but Ashara had yet to tell her the truth about who her real parents were. The time was approaching, and Ashara feared how her daughter would react to this long-hidden lie.

"Unfortunately, I have to get up," she said, getting out of bed and dressing. "Because your little wolves wake up just as early as you do."

Every day, Ashara and Ned would wake up, get dressed, and then go their separate ways—Ned to oversee the morning patrols, and Ashara to look after the children. Later, the entire family would gather for breakfast. It seemed like a monotonous life, but Ashara never grew bored; she could live every day like this.

As she walked down the corridor, she first headed toward the nursery to check on Argilac. But as she turned the corner, a small, energetic figure crashed into her leg and fell to the floor.

"Arya!" she exclaimed, kneeling down to check the child. Once she was sure Arya wasn’t hurt, she couldn’t help but scold her. "I told you not to run in the corridors."

"I’m sorry, Mother," Arya said, pouting sadly. Ashara sighed. She felt like she wasn’t a good mother to Arya, unable to discipline her properly. Whenever she tried to scold Arya, the little girl would look at her with Ned’s eyes and call her 'Mother,' and Ashara would feel her anger dissolve like grains of sand.

Since coming to Winterfell, this little girl who never stopped moving, never tired, and terrorized the entire castle had become Ashara’s favorite. When Arya called her 'Mother' for the first time, Ashara had cried tears of joy.

"All right," she finally said as she sent Arya on her way, "but don’t let it happen again, or I’ll talk to your father." Ashara found it difficult to scold Arya, so Ned often took on that role for her. After all, that’s what husbands and wives were for.

She continued walking down the corridor and entered the nursery. She checked on Argilac's health. Normally, this would be the task of Acolyte Wullan, but he had passed away in an accident a few months after Ashara arrived in Winterfell. Ashara knew she owed her current happiness to that man, but his loyalty was questionable, and she couldn't allow someone like him to linger around her family.

She asked the nurses if the baby had been awake all night. Fortunately, Argilac was probably one of the healthiest babies ever born in Winterfell. He had inherited Ashara’s jet-black hair and violet eyes, but his features resembled Ned’s more. Like his father, he was quiet—a silent wolf—and always woke up very early in the morning.

Ashara played with her son for a while until a servant entered the room and said, "My lady, Lord Stark is calling you to breakfast." She then took the baby in her arms and headed toward the main hall of Winterfell for breakfast.

"Leydi Stark," Sansa said shyly, "I made this for you," and handed Ashara the knitted piece in her hands.

As Ashara examined the piece, she had to admit that the girl was talented. A star was gliding on a purple background, with the Stark sigil beneath it. "It’s wonderful, dear," Ashara said to Sansa. "I’m sure it will look amazing on Argilac."

The girl nodded happily and turned back to Allyria, but Ashara couldn’t help but watch her. Getting used to Sansa was truly a difficult trial for Ashara. It was easy to see Stark in Robb and Arya, but no matter how much Ashara looked at Sansa, she couldn’t find a single drop of Stark in her. The little girl had inherited almost all of her features from her mother, Catelyn Tully, the woman who had stolen Ned from her.

This didn’t mean Ashara treated Sansa badly; she was always as kind as she could be, but she tried to keep her distance from the girl, fearing she might say something hurtful in a moment of impulse. Fortunately, Sansa was too young to notice the formal tone Ashara used with her, but Allyria understood and had argued with Ashara about it.

She’s not from the North, Ashara thought, gazing at the red-haired, sweet girl. We should send her to Tully or Tyrell as a ward.

Ashara couldn’t help but sigh. Every time they discussed this with Ned, her husband would strongly object. He said Sansa couldn’t be sent south, as she was Robb’s heir.

Robb, to be fair, was a Stark who had taken the Tully colors. He would bear his father’s position well, but Sansa, as his heir, was incredibly irrelevant. No northern lord would take her seriously. Arya, maybe, but not Sansa. Realistically, Robb’s only true heir was the tiny Argilac in his arms.

The girl worshipped the Seven. A Stark who worships the Seven! Northern lords would never accept such a leader. Ashara considered doing something about it, but as a worshipper of the Seven herself, she couldn’t guide a young girl to the Old Gods.

We need to marry Robb off as soon as possible and ensure he has children, Ashara thought. I should check the suitors. Maybe Rhaenys? It would be a great way to form an alliance.

"Mother," a voice called, and Ashara turned. Jon Snow, another child with no blood relation, but unlike Arya, this child truly believed himself to be Ashara’s son.

"Yes, my son, what is it?" she asked, patting the 8-year-old’s head. When Jon had first been told he was her son, the little boy had cried with joy and hugged Ashara. Ashara felt guilty for telling such a big lie to a child, but it was better than growing up without a mother. She couldn’t even imagine how he would react when he learned the truth.

Ashara’s feelings about Jon were complicated. His birth had come as a result of a rebellion, the same rebellion in which Elia and Aegon had been brutally murdered. But it wasn’t his fault. She kept reminding herself that children are innocent of their parents’ sins. The anger that built up in her heart towards this boy, who looked so much like Ned, made Ashara’s conscience ache.

"My father called for you," the boy said, keeping his silent expression as Ashara continued to stroke his head, though it was clear he was pleased by the news.

Ned called for me in the middle of the day? Ashara wondered. Eddard Stark was a wonderful lover at night, but during the day he was an extremely busy, work-focused man, and he rarely made exceptions. After securing the mines from the northern mountain tribes, he had begun selling them, increasing the flow of gold from the North more than ever before.

"The Manderly family is loyal, but White Harbor shouldn’t be the only trading port on the east coast," Ashara remembered Ned saying. "I’m thinking of Widows Watch as a new port, but I should speak to the Flint family first. Also, if we do this, we’ll need to build a new port and roads, which will be expensive. As a more viable alternative, my grandmother’s castle, Oldcastle, which belongs to the Locke family, is close to White Harbor, but it might upset the Manderlys, as it takes trade from them. This is something I’ll need to consider carefully."

"Alright," Ashara said, handing Jon the baby in her lap. "While I’m gone, could you look after Argilac? Take him to Old Nan." She motioned to the servant behind her to follow the children to ensure nothing would happen, but she didn’t anticipate any problems. Jon was carefully holding ‘his full-blooded sibling.’

Ashara moved toward the solar where her husband was. She nodded to Jorry Cassel, who was standing guard at the door.

"My lady," Jorry said, bowing respectfully. "Lord Stark has been waiting for you, and by the way, I have a special request."

"Yes, what is it?" Ashara asked.

"If, inside, you and Lord Stark... you know, do something," Jorry blushed in embarrassment. "Please let me know before you do. I keep hearing too many sounds from that side, but since I’m not allowed to leave the door without orders, I must wait here."

Ashara blushed in embarrassment, murmuring a few words of approval, then quickly entered the Lord’s solar.

"Ned," she said to the man sitting at the table. "You called for me?"

"Yes," Ned said with a grin, quickly standing up, wrapping Ashara in a tight embrace, and kissing her deeply.

Ashara was surprised by his reaction. There was no lack of passion in their relationship, but Ned was a man who took his duties seriously and knew how to control himself during the day.

"What’s made my husband so happy?" she asked curiously.

"The crop rotation plan," Ned said, his eyes scanning Ashara as he spoke. "It worked. We found the right product."

"Really?" Ashara asked in surprise.

"Yes, it’s rice," Ned said as he began to kiss Ashara’s neck. "It only grows in the marshes, but it’s said to be suitable for cultivation in the entire marsh, and it can last for years in storage without spoiling." He began to undress her. "This will feed our people throughout the winter, and this is just the beginning. There’s also a product called potatoes, and they say we can grow them all over the North."

Ashara gasped softly as she looked at her husband in astonishment. This was indeed big news. Once rice and potatoes became common products in the North, the people would be better able to withstand the winter. This would undoubtedly lead to population growth.

Ashara knew that Ned had worked long and hard on the crop rotation plan, pouring a lot of money into it. That’s why, without resisting at all, she let him push everything on the table to the floor and sit her on it.

Hmm, Ashara thought, as her husband began kissing her chest. She pulled his head toward her, encouraging him as she moaned more. Why do I feel like I’ve forgotten something?

Chapter Text

The square of Stoney Sept had not been this crowded in years. Merchants, peasants, knights, and even a notable number of noble stood packed together on the cobblestone ground, some clutching the holy star of the Seven, others whispering silent prayers. The air was thick with anxious hope and simmering anger. Along the edges of the square, Bonifer Hasty and his Faithful Hearts stood guard, their spears glinting in the light. Banners bearing the sacred symbols of the Seven fluttered in the gentle breeze.

At the very center of it all stood the High Sparrow, barefoot on the cold stone ground. His plain, knee-length white tunic set him apart from the finery of the gathered nobles. His gaze swept over the crowd, sharp and piercing, as though he could see into their very souls. Taking a deep breath, he began to speak, his voice carrying over the murmur of the square.

"Brothers and sisters," he called, his tone neither overly loud nor meek, yet each word seemed to find its mark among the throng. "We gather here today not merely to recall our sins. No, today, we come together to unearth their roots. To stand against the injustice that festers across Westeros!"

The hum of the crowd stilled as all turned their attention to him.

"Tell me, why are we hungry?" he asked, his voice rising with conviction. "Why do our children go to bed with empty stomachs? Why do our lords drown in rivers of wine while we beg for a single drop of water? Is this the will of the Gods? No, my brothers and sisters, this is the greed of men! This is the rot that poisons Westeros!"

A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd as they exchanged glances and nods of agreement. The High Sparrow let the moment hang before stepping forward, his bare feet firm against the stone.

"Look to the North!" he cried, his voice ringing out across the square. "The Starks and their followers, worshippers of the old gods! They kneel before trees and stones, rejecting the light of the Seven! These lost souls endure each bitter winter as a punishment for their defiance. But I promise them salvation, a path illuminated by the light of the Seven!"

A stir ran through the crowd, whispers buzzing like bees. The High Sparrow pressed on without pause.

"Turn your eyes westward!" he thundered. "To the Greyjoys and their Drowned God! These marauders drench the seas in blood, pillaging, raping, enslaving the innocent. They are an affront to our Gods and to humanity itself! Their blasphemy is a poison that should have been purged long ago!"

At his words, Bonifer Hasty’s men struck their spears rhythmically against the ground, the sound echoing through the square like a war drum. It added weight to the High Sparrow’s accusations.

"Now, look to the East!" he proclaimed, his voice growing louder. "Essos, land of corruption and false gods—gilded idols, stone deities, and the so-called Lord of Light! These twisted faiths uphold slavery and seek to taint our holy lands. Their blasphemies defile Andalos, the sacred land that birthed the Faith of the Seven. Anyone who kneels to their false gods is damned in the eyes of the Seven!"

The murmurs of the crowd grew into rumblings of anger. Faces darkened with indignation, and fists clenched. The High Sparrow allowed their fury to simmer, his presence an anchor amidst the storm.

"And to the South!" he continued, his voice sharp as a blade. "To Dorne, where the heathen traditions of the Rhoynar still linger! These Dornishmen, with their false freedoms, twist the sacred teachings of the Seven. They allow the priests of Essos' cursed gods to infiltrate Westeros, and some among them secretly continue their worship of Mother Rhoyne! Their very existence is a dagger driven into the heart of the Faith!"

The shouts of the crowd grew louder, their disdain for Dorne bubbling to the surface. The High Sparrow fed the flames with every word, knowing full well the power of collective outrage.

"And now," he said, his voice hardening further, "we must speak of the Targaryens, our former rulers, cursed and broken! This vile house, who glorified incest and twisted it into a virtue. They lost their dragons, and so too must their bloodline fade! Yet, there are still noble families loyal to their shadow. Their loyalty deepens the wounds of Westeros, prolonging our suffering!"

At this, the crowd erupted. Jeers and curses filled the air as memories of Targaryen tyranny were stoked afresh. The Faithful Hearts braced themselves, shields raised to keep the surging masses contained, but the High Sparrow stood unmoved.

"And let us not forget the man who sits upon the Iron Throne," he declared, his voice rising above the chaos. "Robert Baratheon, a king who drowns himself in wine and loses himself in the arms of whores! This man dares to call himself king, yet he does not bow to the Gods! How can a man who scorns the Seven rule with justice? A king who disrespects his people disrespects the Gods, and his rule is void in their eyes!"

This proclamation sent the crowd into a frenzy. Some shouted in anger, others in agreement. Stoney Sept had a complicated history with Robert Baratheon; the townsfolk had once hidden him from his enemies, risking their lives for the man now being denounced. The tension in the air crackled like a storm.

"But my brothers and sisters," the High Sparrow continued, softening his tone, "our path is not one of violence. Ours is a path of repentance and justice. United under the light of the Seven, we can bring these sinners to face divine judgment. The Gods are merciful, but they do not tolerate injustice. And neither should we!"

He raised his hands skyward, his voice reverberating like a prayer.

"Today, here in Stoney Sept, let us ignite a flame! A flame of justice, a beacon of hope, a light that will guide Westeros back to righteousness. Together, we will fight for equality in the eyes of the Gods. Together, we will build a kingdom of justice, faith, and honor!"

The crowd roared, their voices rising in a crescendo of prayers and shouts. "Justice! Faith! The Seven protect us!" they cried, their fervor shaking the very air.

The High Sparrow surveyed the sea of faces before him, his eyes alight with a holy fire. He knew that what had begun in this small square would spread across Westeros like wildfire. This was the first step in a revolution that would change the realm forever.

Turning to Bonifer Hasty, he spoke in a low but resolute voice. "Send the ravens. Spread the word to every corner of Westeros," he said. "The time has come to bring the light of the Seven back to this fractured land. Our crusade begins now."

Chapter Text

This is truly surprising, Eddard Stark thought as he read the paper in his hand.

Recently, some rather intriguing developments had occurred in the South. After High Sparrow's famous sermon in Stoney Sept, ravens had been sent all over the Seven Kingdoms. The letters, particularly those sent to Robert Baratheon, Doran Martell, Tywin Lannister, and Balon Greyjoy, were extremely harsh. Meanwhile, letters sent to Mace Tyrell and Jon Arryn were invitations to a new crusade. The letter that reached Eddard Stark, however... Ned honestly expected it to contain some nonsense accusing him of heresy, but the situation was quite different. In fact, the letter was written in an extremely polite tone and invited House Stark to embrace the Faith of the Seven.

Eddard Stark worshipped the gods of his ancestors, the Old Gods. However, if he were to be honest, he didn't have a profound loyalty to them. If the right conditions and environment were presented, he might seriously consider converting to the Faith of the Seven. However, the circumstances required for that were truly extraordinary.

If Ned were to accept this invitation, it would certainly plunge the North into civil war. The Northerners might be loyal to House Stark, but they had also worshipped the Old Gods for thousands of years. If Ned forced them to choose between the two, it would likely be an incredibly difficult decision.

Eddard tried to imagine a religious war in the North in his mind. Manderly, Cerwyn, Ironsmith, and Benjen would support Eddard. However, Karstark, Umber, and—unfortunately—Reed would likely spark an uprising. The actions of the other houses could only be speculated upon. For instance, the Mormonts were one of the most loyal houses to the Starks, but they had also worshiped the Old Gods for thousands of years. What would Maege Mormont do? Ned didn't know.

Well, there's no need to dwell on such thoughts, Ned dismissed the matter. After all, I will never make such a decision.

He looked at the plump man sitting before him. "We truly live in interesting times, don't we, Lord Manderly?"

"Indeed, my lord," Wyman Manderly confirmed.

"I assume you also received a raven."

"Yes," Wyman confirmed. "A letter inviting us to join their crusade. I’m sure I don’t need to say it, but House Manderly will follow House Stark, as always."

Ned smiled faintly. The Manderlys had been an important house in the Reach during the old days, when Westeros was divided into seven kingdoms. They had started a civil war in the region, lost, and were exiled. Normally, such an exile would have led to the complete obliteration of a house, for a landless house was nothing. However, the Starks had protected and supported them, giving them the land once known as the Wolf’s Den and helping them establish White Harbor. The Manderlys had never forgotten that help. Despite managing the North's only rival-free trade port for thousands of years, they had never shown anti-Stark political ambitions, unlike the Ryswells or the Boltons. Despite their good relations with the Targaryen dynasty—including briefly serving as Hand of the King and nearly sealing a marriage alliance—they had never hesitated to stand with the Starks during the rebellion.

"The Starks are always grateful for your loyalty," he said sincerely. "I've been on the road for a few weeks, and to be honest, I haven't heard much about the South. Now, tell me, what's going on in the South?"

"Ah, my lord, truly interesting things have transpired," Wyman Manderly said. "It seems some noble houses have joined High Sparrow's revolution."

"Is that so?" Ned asked with interest, though not surprise. "Which houses?"

"Vance, Harlton, Wode, Hayford, Footly," Wyman listed and then paused for emphasis. "And Whent."

Ned looked at the man in front of him thoughtfully. All of these houses were near Stoney Sept. Hayford was dangerously close to King's Landing, and Robert needed to act immediately. But Whent... The house itself wasn't strong, but it held Harrenhal.

"Please," he said to Wyman. "Don’t tell me High Sparrow has retreated to Harrenhal."

"Unfortunately," the plump man shook his head. "It seems he has retreated there with 3,000 soldiers."

Eddard swore silently. Though Harrenhal had been a shadow of its former self since Aegon the Conqueror burned it, even the ruins of the cursed castle provided a formidable defensive position. If it were guarded by 3,000 men, an attack would require at least 10,000.

Still, gathering 10,000 soldiers shouldn’t be an issue. If the enemy were merely a house or a kingdom, Ned wouldn’t be so concerned. But to go to war against a religion, against a faith, was something entirely different. It required a much more nuanced approach; otherwise, it could ignite troubles that would linger for centuries, troubling his descendants.

"That's not all, I assume," Ned said, looking at the man before him.

"Yes," Wyman confirmed. "They've sent priests to various regions and cities. They're preaching to the common folk, and whenever someone tries to catch them, the same people protect them. Tracking them down is incredibly difficult. I've even heard that King's Landing is on the brink of a civil uprising."

That's the real problem, Eddard sighed. Tywin Lannister had a tendency to underestimate the common people, but if a real rebellion broke out, even the Red Keep could be overrun by the masses. A few thousand soldiers couldn’t stand against hundreds of thousands of enraged civilians.

Eddard had countless questions swirling in his mind, but he asked the most pressing one first: "Have they come to White Harbor?"

"They have," Wyman confirmed. "But we identified them quickly and sent them away. There's no need for you to worry. The people of White Harbor may worship the Seven, but we’ve developed a culture intertwined with the Old Gods over thousands of years."

Ned nodded, recalling that the sept of White Harbor was built right next to the heart tree, deeply integrated with the sacred forest. "Alright," he said finally, "I'm sure you're already aware of this, but aside from the priests of the septs in Winterfell and White Harbor, it is forbidden for any of the Seven's priests to stay or preach in the North for long."

The Winterfell sept was seldom used, except by Ashara and her daughters Allyria and Sansa. Ned had built it for his late wife, Catelyn, who had died from childbed fever. Ashara still occasionally visited the sept, especially on significant days, but she could hardly be described as a follower of the Seven's teachings. Especially not in bed.

"What about Robert? What's he doing?" Ned asked.

"King Robert seems to have retreated to Storm’s End. He’s assembling an army," Wyman reported. "Hoster Tully and Tywin Lannister are doing the same. However, unlike the others who are merely calling on their regular forces, Lord Lannister appears to be mustering his entire Westerlands host."

Eddard nodded. No doubt Lord Tywin was smart enough to see that this rebellion needed to be crushed swiftly and decisively.

"And Jon Arryn?" he asked.

"He seems to have sailed to Oldtown," Wyman replied.

Ned raised an eyebrow. Both the King and the Hand were absent from King’s Landing—a situation that could create serious issues. However, he understood why his foster father had sailed south. Jon must be seeking counsel with the Most Devout in Oldtown, likely to gain formal approval from the Faith's official institutions for any action against the High Sparrow and his followers. It was the prudent course of action.

But then, a troubling realization struck him. Wait a moment... Does this mean Cersei Lannister is currently in charge of both the Red Keep and King’s Landing? Gods have mercy on us.

"I see," Ned said at last. "If you'll excuse me, I’ll need some time to think. We’ll discuss Sansa’s wardship tomorrow."

Wyman Manderly gave a silent nod and left the room, leaving Eddard alone with a map of Westeros.

As he studied the map, Eddard deliberated on his next move. Should he gather an army and march south? He could use his alliance with the Tullys as an excuse—even if Hoster claimed he didn’t need aid—and personally deal with the High Sparrow's uprising.

But he quickly dismissed the thought. Starting a new conflict between the followers of the Old Gods and the Seven would only sow discontent that might haunt his son Robb and future generations.

He sighed as his gaze shifted to Moat Cailin. Despite his years of efforts to strengthen the North, he had done little to restore the ancient castle. But why should he? King Robert was a friend of the North; he would never attack them, and even if he did, the castle in its ruined state could repel any invasion from the south.

Still, Ned’s instincts were gnawing at him, raising alarms he couldn’t ignore. The events in the South weren’t as straightforward as they appeared.

The High Sparrow had gained significant popularity among the common folk even before the rebellion began, with some hailing him as the future High Septon. Yet, the speed at which houses around Stoney Sept rallied to his cause seemed unusual—too well-organized, too meticulously planned.

A voice in my head tells me more houses, especially those in the Reach, will soon declare their support for the High Sparrow, Ned thought as he scrutinized the map. For now, the only action he decided on was to station a thousand Stark soldiers at Moat Cailin. He also resolved to begin plans for the fortress's restoration.

Shifting his focus to the map of the North, he considered his other plans. A new port was needed on the eastern coastline, and Ned would have to choose between granting the project to House Locke or House Flint. Ramsgate was also a suitable option, but it was already under the management of a vassal house sworn to the Manderlys.

His primary reason for coming to White Harbor had been to discuss this matter with Wyman, as well as Sansa’s wardship. There was also the matter of Sisterton, though Ned had decided to postpone it for now.

When Ned had mentioned his plans for Sisterton to Ashara, her reaction had been far from pleasant. "Go outside and ride, Eddard Stark," she had shouted. "Ride in any direction, without stopping for two weeks, and you still wouldn’t leave the North. But you want more land?"

Ned couldn’t help but sigh. Ashara didn’t understand; Sisterton was no mere land. It was the critical gateway to the North, and Ned couldn’t afford to ignore that.

It seems I’ll be staying in this city longer than I expected, Ned decided. I should write to Ashara and Benjen.

Ned took the paper and ink and began to write Ashara's letter. But just as he was about to write, he saw someone barging through the door. It wasn't hard to recognize the man; he was a perfect copy of his father.

"This is insolence!" he said, glaring at Wendel Manderly with furrowed brows.

"My lord, please forgive me," the young man said hurriedly, extending the letter in his hand. "But you must read this immediately. The letter just arrived."

Ned looked at the man in front of him with a stern expression, but couldn't help but wonder what had him so worried. He took the letter from the man's hand.

He opened the letter and read it. At first, he wanted to deny what he had read, but at the bottom, there was the royal seal.

Eddard Stark sighed as he looked at the man in front of him, took the wine glass in his hand, and, unlike he usually did, filled it to the brim and drank it in one go.

"When did this happen?" he asked Wendel Manderly.

"About a week or a week and a half ago, my lord," the young man reported.

Ned looked again at the ornate wine glass in his hand, then threw it at the wall.

Chapter Text

Ulther was an ordinary man.

He was born and raised in Flea Bottom, but luckier than most children there. Though his mother died during childbirth, his father was alive and had raised Ulther, teaching him the family trade: rat hunting.

His father had always been proud of their profession. They weren’t rich, but they always had enough to eat, and there was always meat and bread on their table. Their family had been doing this work for generations, and Ulther had even heard that one of their great ancestors had accomplished something extraordinary. His father never gave any details about it, but little Ulther never tired of hearing the story. "His real name was Raymund, but everyone knew him as 'Cheese.' From the most ordinary peasant to the greatest lord, everyone had heard his name."

Later, Ulther learned what his great-grandfather Raymund had actually done and didn’t know how to feel about it. The deed was a true atrocity—but it was committed against the Targaryens. The Targaryens were a cruel family, known for insulting the teachings of the Seven with their incestuous marriages, burning people alive, and other heinous acts. Was it truly a crime if it was done to them?

Before his father passed away, Ulther asked him what he thought about it.
"I'm dying now, son... from old age," his father said with a grin. "Our ancestor Raymund lived twenty more years despite killing a crown prince, and he died the same way as I will. Now that's an achievement to be proud of."

That’s when Ulther realized: his father didn’t care whether the person killed was a child or a Targaryen. He was simply honoring the success of his great-grandfather Raymund.

What does it matter? Ulther decided. Don’t nobles do the same? They boast of ancestors who won wars by killing and raping thousands. What’s the difference between us?

After his father’s death, Ulther naturally took over the family business. To be honest, he was quite good at it. But his work wasn’t limited to rat catching. His great-grandfather Raymund knew the tunnels beneath the Red Keep as well as the back of his hand, and he passed this knowledge down to his children.

Even so, Ulther didn’t use this knowledge much—just for small jobs. Stealing some supplies from inside or spying on minor nobles were simple tasks that earned enough to feed Ulther and his sons. There was no need to take bigger risks for larger rewards.

But this time, Ulther accepted the offer presented to him—not for money, but for something else entirely.

"Turn right up ahead," he instructed the men following behind him. "The path will get tight, damp, and slippery, but it won’t last long. After that, turn right again, climb a vertical ladder, and you’ll come to a dragon sigil dial. Turn it left twice and right once, and the queen’s chamber door will open for you. I’ll wait here."

The two men nodded silently, their foreheads branded with the seven-pointed star—a fiery seal.

"Thank you for your help, Brother Ulther," said the lean man with two swords at his waist, his voice gracious. "We’ll make sure the High Sparrow is informed of your great assistance."

"No need," Ulther replied with a dismissive wave. "Just… make her suffer."

The two men neither confirmed nor denied his request. They simply began to follow the path Ulther had shown them in silence.

As Ulther watched them go, he prayed for their success. The Lannisters had slaughtered his loved ones and friends cruelly during the Sack of King’s Landing. Later, they seized control of the city after the king and Hand departed, oppressing both the common folk and the devout. They were no different from the Targaryens and deserved the same treatment.

Ulther waited, waited, and waited. But the men hadn't returned for a long time, and waiting any longer could be risky, so he started packing his bag to leave. But at that moment, he noticed someone had appeared behind him.

Ulther quickly turned around, but stopped when he saw the fat, bald man. Ah, so that’s why I didn’t hear any footsteps, he thought to himself. "Lord Varys," he said, bowing respectfully. "I didn’t expect to see you here."

"The feeling is mutual, Ulther," the spymaster said in his usual mocking tone. "You’ve never taken big jobs before. What made you accept this one?"

Ulther sighed, knowing there was no point in lying to this man. "The Lannisters… those bastards killed my son. If you mean to kill me, Lord Varys, so be it. But please, don’t harm my children."

"Kill you?" Varys raised his eyebrows. "That thought never even crossed my mind. You know I learned about the Red Keep’s secret tunnels from your grandfather, so I have a certain fondness for your family."

"But I..." Ulther hesitated. "I helped assassinate members of the royal family."

"Oh, the ones inside," Varys said with an amused tone. "That’s not what was inside, dear friend Ulther. To be honest, what happened even shocked me. Come, it’s getting dangerous if we stay here any longer. I’ll explain on the way."

Ulther followed Varys without a word. He didn’t fear the spymaster; if Varys wanted him dead, he had plenty of ways to do it. Lying to Ulther wasn’t necessary.

"What happened in there?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Your men entered the queen’s chambers," Varys began, "and found Queen Cersei… with her brother Jaime."

Ulther stared at the pudgy man, sensing there was more to his words.

"I see," he said eventually. "I’ve heard of Ser Jaime’s legendary swordsmanship. He probably cut them down easily."

"Oh, but that’s not quite how it went," Varys said with a grin. "You’re right—Ser Jaime could have dealt with them effortlessly… if he’d had a sword and if he hadn’t been naked."

Ulther blinked at Varys, needing a moment to process the implications of his words. Incest. Disgusting. I was right all along—there’s no difference between the Targaryens and the Lannisters.

"And then?" he prompted.

"Apparently, Ser Jaime heroically stepped forward to protect his sister," Varys continued. "Your men didn’t have much trouble cutting down an unarmed, naked man. Queen Cersei screamed so loudly after watching her brother die that the entire Red Keep heard it. Even I heard it from my chambers."

"I did hear some muffled shouting earlier," Ulther admitted. "That explains it."

"Indeed. Once the queen’s cries were heard, all the guards nearby rushed to her chambers: a few Lannister soldiers, some Gold Cloaks, and Ser Barristan Selmy himself."

"Did they see all of it?" Ulther laughed this time. "It must have been quite a sight."

"It truly was," Varys confirmed, his tone gleeful. "The naked corpse of Ser Jaime on the floor, Queen Cersei lying on the bed, also naked, with her legs wet. And, as I’m sure you guessed, the two men you brought were killed on the spot."

"I wish I’d been there," Ulther said with a genuine laugh. "I’d probably be dead too, but it would’ve been worth it to see that scene."

Their laughter echoed through the secret tunnels of the Red Keep.

"What happened next?" Ulther asked.

"Ser Barristan Selmy demanded the queen’s arrest. Naturally, she resisted," Varys explained. "Now the king’s men and Lannister soldiers are fighting within the castle. Even the Gold Cloaks are divided between those loyal to the king and those loyal to the Lannisters."

"So a war is about to begin?"

"Yes, it seems so," Varys replied. "Just like your ancestor ‘Cheese’ Raymund, you’ve lit the fuse for a war. Do you feel guilty?"

"Not really," Ulther shrugged. "The lords of Westeros are always looking for an excuse to slaughter each other. Even if it weren’t me, they’d have found another reason to fight."

The two men continued through the tunnels for several more minutes.

"You’re taking me to the harbor? May I ask why?" Ulther inquired.

"You’ve started taking on bigger jobs, and I have one lined up for you," Varys replied.

Ulther looked at the spymaster and realized this wasn’t a request. He had no choice but to accept. "What about my family?" he asked.

"They’ll join you aboard your ship in half an hour. Then you’ll set sail," Varys said, handing him a large pouch of gold. "Here, consider this your advance payment."

Ulther said nothing. He simply climbed out of the tunnel hatch and emerged near the harbor, where a ship awaited, ready to sail.

"What do I need to do?" he asked the man behind him.

"You’ll find out on the way," Varys replied.

"And where am I going?"

"Tyrosh."

Ulther glanced at the spymaster, then at the ship in the harbor, and finally at the pouch of gold in his hand.

In that moment, he understood.

Ulther was no longer an ordinary man.

Chapter Text

Jon Arryn looked at the letter in his hand.

Then, he looked at the courier standing before him.

Then, he looked back at the letter.

And again at the courier.

For a moment, the old man just sat there, as if staring long enough might somehow make the absurdity vanish. 'What in the name of the Seven is going on?' he muttered. In his sixty-five years of life, Jon Arryn had weathered wars, political schemes, and royal tantrums, but never before had he been this thoroughly shocked.

Still, ever the cautious and pragmatic man, he inspected the letter again, focusing on the unmistakable seal stamped at the bottom. He turned it over in his hands, inspecting the parchment for any sign of forgery, though he already knew it was authentic. The seal, the handwriting—it all matched perfectly.

"If this is some kind of jest, Ser," Jon said finally, his voice sharp and low, "know that it is one that carries severe consequences."

The courier, a young knight who seemed visibly uncomfortable, bowed his head. "I would never dare such disrespect, my lord. I swear on my honor that everything written in that letter is true."

Jon Arryn let out a slow, shaky breath and pinched the bridge of his nose. Incest. Depravity. Betrayal. And wait—if this letter is correct, it means the heirs to the Iron Throne are bastards, born of incest. His hand dropped to the desk. Bastards. The word echoed in his mind, heavy with the weight of the revelation. Bloody hell. I’m too old for this…

Without another word, Jon reached for his wine goblet, filled it to the brim, and drained it in a single swallow. He stared at the empty glass for a moment, as if contemplating whether another would help, then set it down with a thud.

'I was gone for two weeks,' he muttered under his breath, almost to himself. 'Two bloody weeks, sailing for Oldtown, and now Westeros is teetering on the edge of a civil war.'

After a moment, he looked up, his pale blue eyes sharp and calculating. "When did this happen?"

"One week ago, my lord," the courier replied.

"And what is the state of King’s Landing?"

"Ser Barristan Selmy has managed to maintain order," the knight began, speaking with measured respect. "He dealt with the Lannister-aligned gold cloaks swiftly, ensuring no further unrest."

Jon nodded slowly. Leaving Barristan behind had been the right choice. Normally, the old knight should have been by Robert’s side, serving as his personal guard. But Jon had insisted that Barristan remain in the Red Keep. Someone needed to keep an eye on the queen, especially with both himself and Robert absent. If Barristan hadn’t been there… Jon didn’t want to imagine the chaos that might have unfolded.

"And the queen? Her children?"

The courier hesitated for a moment, as if the news pained him. "The commander of the Lannister forces in King’s Landing proved to be… exceptionally capable. He managed to rally all the Lannister troops stationed in the city and escort the queen and her children out. By now, they’ve likely reached Casterly Rock."

Jon swore under his breath. That was disastrous news. If they had managed to capture Cersei and her children, they could have used them as bargaining chips, a powerful leverage against Tywin Lannister. But now… now, war was inevitable.

"And after that?" Jon asked, his voice grim.

"Ser Barristan’s first action after securing the city was to write letters—to King Robert, to yourself, and to Lord Stark. He detailed the events and sent them with trusted couriers. Concerned that his claims might be dismissed as absurd or a cruel jest, he took the liberty of sealing the letters with the royal sigil, even though he lacks the authority to do so."

"Ser Barristan did what was necessary," Jon said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "No one will hold that against him." He paused, tapping his fingers on the desk. "Has there been any word on how the warriors of the Seven managed to enter the queen’s chambers?"

"When I left, Lord Varys was still investigating the matter, my lord."

"I see, Ser," Jon said. "Thank you for your service. You’ll be rewarded in due time."

The knight nodded, bowed deeply once more, and left the room.

Jon sat in silence for a long moment, staring at the parchment on his desk. Finally, he let out a deep sigh, reached for his quill and ink, and began drafting his first orders.

Being in Oldtown at this time, Jon realized, was a stroke of luck. He was scheduled to meet with the Most Devout in two days. Originally, the meeting was meant to address the High Sparrow and the growing rebellion he’d incited. But now… Now, the fanatics and their rabid followers seemed almost laughably insignificant. The Seven only knew what kind of chaos awaited him in King’s Landing.

"Milord, there is news that requires your attention," said Nestor Royce as he entered the room.

Jon Arryn sighed deeply as he looked at his loyal steward. The past few weeks had been nothing short of overwhelming. He had met with the Most Devout Council and informed them about the sins of the former Queen Cersei and her children. Soon, the council would officially declare Cersei’s children as bastards. Jon was determined to avoid fighting a war on two fronts—against the Lannisters and the zealous fanatics of the Faith. That was why a delegation of selected envoys was being prepared to negotiate with the High Sparrow. If the negotiations failed, the Most Devout would issue an official edict excommunicating the High Sparrow and his followers.

"Any news from the Tyrells?" Jon asked, his voice calm but firm.

"They are still assembling their forces at Bitterbridge," replied Nestor. "There hasn’t been any significant change."

Jon nodded in acknowledgment. Over the past weeks, he had sent orders to the Reach and Vale lords to muster their armies. Unfortunately, the Lannisters were moving faster. Tywin had already assembled the entire Westerlands host under the guise of quelling the High Sparrow’s uprising. Now, they were launching brutal attacks against the Riverlands and the Reach. According to the reports Jon had read, the atrocities committed in the raided regions were horrifying.

He turned his attention to the map of Westeros sprawled across the table. Ned Stark was rallying the Northern armies to march to Riverrun’s aid. The Vale forces, led by Yohn Royce, were gathering at the Bloody Gate and preparing to move. Robert Baratheon had only recently completed mustering his forces and had already begun his march toward the Riverlands. Jon feared Robert’s impulsiveness would lead to a hasty decision that could jeopardize the campaign.

Hoster Tully, on the other hand, was wisely employing defensive strategies against the Lannisters. As for Dorne... Doran Martell had refrained from sending official aid, but his brother Oberyn had joined the war with a volunteer force of 5,000 men.

The most unexpected aid, however, came from Balon Greyjoy. The Ironborn had taken the opportunity to launch raids along the western coasts. Their navy was still recovering after being decimated by Stannis Baratheon, so their attacks weren’t particularly strong. They hadn’t captured any castles yet, but they were consistently raiding Lannisport, The Crag, and Banefort. It seemed Balon Greyjoy had finally learned to play the political game. This time, he had attacked under favorable circumstances, ensuring the Ironborn wouldn’t be punished for their actions.

"Very well," Jon said at last, pulling his eyes away from the map to meet Nestor’s gaze. "What is it?"

"Milord, Adam Marbrand, an envoy from the Westerlands, requests an audience with you."

Jon let out a quiet sigh. "Very well," he said as he rose to his feet. "Summon him to the council chamber and ask the other lords to join us for the meeting."

"Ser, I would say you're welcome," Jon said as he regarded the man before him, "but that would be a lie."

"I've come on behalf of Lord Tywin, Lord Hand," Adam Marbrand said, bowing respectfully. "I am here to provide an explanation for the misunderstanding that occurred at the Red Keep."

"Ah, let us hear it then, Westerlander," Lord Florent said with a sneer. "Do share your wretched excuses."

Jon cast a sharp look at Florent. The man had been trying to take advantage of the chaos in recent weeks, attempting to legitimize Robert’s bastard, Edric Storm, as the king’s heir. While Jon found his ambition grating, there was some truth to Florent’s mockery.

"If you’re here to accuse Ser Barristan of lying," Jon warned Adam Marbrand coldly, "you’ll find that a futile endeavor."

"Never, my lord," Marbrand protested quickly, raising his hands. "I would never dishonor Ser Barristan so. He spoke the truth as he saw it, but I fear he misunderstood what transpired."

Jon’s gaze hardened. "Explain."

"Queen Cersei..." Marbrand began.

"Former Queen Cersei," Lord Florent corrected, his tone dripping with disdain.

Marbrand shot a sharp glare at Lord Florent but continued with his story. "Queen Cersei, tragically, was raped that day by two devout fanatics," he said with visible discomfort.

"And why was Ser Jaime naked?" Leyton Hightower interjected with a mocking chuckle. "Did they rape him as well?"

Laughter rippled across the room. Even Jon had to steel himself to avoid cracking a smile.

"The brigands stripped him of his armor and sword after slaying him," Marbrand said, his voice tight with barely suppressed anger.

"A fine tale," Lady Alyssane Bulwer said dryly. "And why was Lady Cersei so late in calling for help?"

"Her mouth was gagged throughout the ordeal, my lady," Marbrand replied.

Jon sighed as he watched the young man struggle. The story was obviously fabricated, but it was crafted well enough to account for every piece of evidence.

I’m sure Lord Tywin doesn’t expect us to believe this story and back down, Jon thought. It didn’t matter whether the tale was true, false, or absurd. Its mere existence served its purpose. If the Lannisters won the war, this version of events would become the 'truth.'

"We’ve heard enough of your excuses, ser," Jon said, waving dismissively. "You will soon return to the Westerlands with a message for Lord Tywin. Inform him that former Queen Cersei and her three bastards are to be surrendered immediately to King Robert for a fair trial. Lord Tywin must withdraw his forces from the Riverlands and the Reach and pay reparations equal to four times the damage inflicted. His armies are to disband at once. If he agrees, there will be peace, and House Lannister will not bear the stain of Cersei’s actions. But if he refuses, he will be tried after the war, and House Lannister’s position as Lords Paramount of the West will be reconsidered." Jon’s voice carried the weight of finality, silencing the room. "You may rest here for a few days. After that, you will be escorted back to Casterly Rock."

Adam Marbrand opened his mouth to protest, but before he could speak, two Hightower guards seized him by the arms and hauled him out of the chamber.

"We continue with our war preparations, my lords," Jon declared, rising to his feet. "The Lannisters will answer for their crimes soon enough."

As Jon left the chamber, the sound of applause and cheers followed him. A faint smile tugged at his lips. But then he saw Lord Nestor Royce approaching, a letter in hand. Seven hells, Jon thought with a weary sigh. This man is my friend, but every time I see him, it’s bad news.

"What happened this time?" Jon asked, turning to Nestor Royce.

"King Robert has hanged Ser Jaime’s naked corpse from Maegor’s Holdfast for all to see," Royce reported grimly. "He also severed his... manhood and sent it to Lady Cersei in a box. He said his whore of a wife would recognize the gift."

Jon covered his face with his hand. He knew that Tywin Lannister would never tolerate such an insult, but war was already inevitable. He decided to overlook this particular matter.

"You always bring bad news, Nestor," Jon said with a wry smile. "Do you have anything good to report?"

Royce paused thoughtfully before his face brightened. "Ah, yes, something you’ll enjoy hearing. Lord Stark has had another child, a daughter named Litheria Stark. They say she’s an exceptionally sweet child."

Jon’s heart warmed at the news. He was genuinely happy for Ned. Unlike himself, Ned seemed blessed when it came to children. Perhaps the old gods favored the Starks.

Jon’s thoughts drifted to his late wife, Jeyne Royce, who had died giving birth to their daughter, Sharra. Though the girl had seemed healthy at first, she had succumbed to illness a few months later, leaving Jon in anguish.

During the years he raised Ned and Robert in the Eyrie, Jon had come to view them as surrogate sons. Robert had been mischievous and impulsive, but Jon loved him regardless. And Ned... Ned was everything a son should be—honorable, dependable, capable.

During those times, Jon realized that he often thought of his late daughter Sharra while watching Ned. If she had lived, she would have been around Ned's age. Jon wouldn't have hesitated to marry her to Ned, as it would have allowed Ned to become the Lord of the Vale after Jon. Jon's only condition for the marriage would have been that the husband must take his wife's surname. In traditional marriages, the woman adopts the husband's surname, but in this case, Jon would have insisted on the opposite. After all, Ned couldn't have ruled the Vale under the Stark name, and any children from his marriage to Sharra would certainly carry the Arryn name.

Still, the idea of merging his own bloodline with Ned's was not just a fantasy. Jon thought about a potential marriage between his son, Robin Arryn, and Sansa, Arya, or even the newly born Litheria. Robin Arryn's health had not been great, but under the care of Yohn Royce, he was gradually improving. His mother, Lysa, after learning of Petyr Baelish's death and the horrific circumstances of it, had thrown herself out of the Moon Door, leaving Jon to take on the role of both guardian and regent. As the Hand of the King, Jon couldn't devote as much time to his son as he would have liked. Perhaps he could send young Robin to Winterfell to be raised under Ned's watch. There, the boy would experience real family love, friendship, and eventually meet his future wife.

I’ll speak with Ned after the war, Jon resolved as he entered his chambers.

He glanced at the mountain of paperwork on his desk and let out a deep sigh. Truly... I’m too old for this.

Chapter Text

"Your Grace, the Hand of the King specifically advised against this course of action," Cortnay Penrose said, attempting one last time to dissuade Robert.

"Ah, shut it, Cortnay," Robert barked, waving his hand dismissively. "I've made my decision. Now go and prepare those damned legitimization papers."

Cortnay hesitated but eventually relented, leaving the room with Maester Cressen to see the paperwork done. As the door shut behind them, Robert turned his attention to the man before him—Imry Florent, whose wide grin was made all the more absurd by his comically large ears.

"You’ve made a wise decision, Your Grace," Imry said, bowing low in gratitude. "Edric is a boy to be proud of and will serve as an exemplary heir."

"A temporary heir," Robert corrected firmly. "The moment I have a son with my new queen, Edric moves to the back of the line. Keep that in mind, Florent. I’m giving him the Baratheon name because the boy’s earned it."

And Edric had earned it. The boy was undeniably his—Baratheon through and through, except for those ridiculous Florent ears. More importantly, he was everything Robert’s brothers weren’t.

At first, Robert hadn’t even considered legitimizing Edric Storm. But with war raging and no trueborn heirs of his own, the uncertainty of survival gnawed at him.

In theory, Robert already had two heirs: Stannis and Renly. But Stannis was a cold, humorless pedant who could never connect with people. All he ever talked about were laws and technicalities. Renly, on the other hand, was a vain fool, utterly useless in matters of governance or war. At least Stannis had some skill in both, but Renly? He was little more than an entitled brat, and Robert had no patience for his antics.

Then there was the matter of Renly’s preferences. Robert wasn’t blind—his youngest brother was a 'sword swallower,' incapable of fathering children and continuing the Baratheon line.

Jon will understand, Robert thought. Given the circumstances, Edric is the best option I’ve got. He’s got the blood, the brains, and the strength. The boy’s as much a Baratheon as I am—Florent ears be damned. He’ll do fine as my heir for now.

Cortnay entered the room holding a stack of papers. Robert reviewed the documents carefully. They proclaimed Edric Storm's legitimization but specified that he would remain behind Robert's trueborn sons in the line of succession, yet still ahead of his uncles. The papers were divided into ten copies, some destined for the Lord Paramounts, the Small Council, the Most Devout, and the High Septon. Robert personally signed each document and sealed them with the royal ring.

"Take this," he said, handing one of the papers to Imry Florent. "Go to Storm’s End, fetch Edric, and bring him to King’s Landing. Present these papers to the High Septon and have him legitimized immediately. Afterward, take the boy back to Storm’s End. King’s Landing isn’t safe right now."

"As you command, Your Grace," Imry said, his tone oozing with gratitude. He bowed deeply, his ridiculous ears almost flapping with the motion, and hurried out of the room, no doubt thrilled at his family’s newfound favor.

"Now, Cortnay," Robert said, turning to his cousin. "Let’s talk about the war. What’s the state of the army?"

"We have approximately 22,000 men under arms, Your Grace," Cortnay replied. "As you know, Riverrun remains under siege, and the Northern army is marching south with nearly 20,000 men."

Robert’s eyes lit up with excitement. Yes! Ned! Together, they had crushed dragonspawn and Ironborn. Now it was time for the lions to fall.

"Good," Robert muttered, studying the map spread across the table. He may not have been a great king—he left most of the governing to Jon Arryn—but war was where he truly thrived.

"How many men are defending Harrenhal?" he asked, pointing to the castle on the map. The so-called High Sparrow had entrenched himself there, turning it into a fortress of zealotry.

"Roughly 4,000," Cortnay reported.

"Perfect," Robert said with a wolfish grin. "That’s where we’ll strike first."

"But... but, Your Majesty," protested his cousin—Aemon Estermont, cursed with a damnable Targaryen name. "Lord Arryn sent a delegation to negotiate with them."

"Call them back," Robert snapped. "You don’t negotiate with rebels. You crush them."

His gaze returned to the map, his finger tracing the path his army would take. Harrenhal was a strong defensive position, and taking it would cost him men—but he didn’t care. Six of the Seven Kingdoms were behind him. Soldiers were a resource he could afford to spend.

He estimated that his army would reach Harrenhal within a week. The time has come to smash these self-righteous zealots and end their rebellion once and for all.

"May the Stranger have mercy on my soul," the priest murmured one final prayer, just before Robert tore through his chest with his war hammer.

Robert gazed at the scene before him. Kingspyre Tower. He knew the High Sparrow was inside. Once Robert finished dealing with this fanatic rebellion, he would turn to the real war with the Lannisters.

The pious fanatics, despite not knowing how to fight, had put up a good fight. They fought not with skill but with faith, and because of that, they had managed to deal a significant blow to the Baratheon forces attacking Harrenhal. But it was nearly over now. Once Robert ended this rebellion, he would go help Ned, who was attacking the Lannister forces besieging Riverrun. He was in a hurry and didn’t want to waste time here.

Ah, Ned! How nice it would be to fight beside him again. If only Lyanna were still alive, she would’ve joined them in battle too. Of course, Robert wouldn’t have allowed Lyanna to take a sword in hand and charge into battle, but she could’ve shot arrows from a safe distance at their enemies.

Lyanna… Robert mourned once again for her and the future they never had. To be honest, Lyanna wasn’t the most beautiful woman, but she was exactly the woman Robert had wanted.

Robert dreamed of the wonderful future he could have had with Lyanna. They would leave the administrative tasks of Storm’s End and the absurdities of copper counting to Stannis, they would ride together, hunt together, and when their sons were old enough to rule, Robert would give him the lordship. He would travel Essos with Lyanna, visiting places like Bravos, Myr, Tyrosh, even Asshai. The two of them would tour the entire continent.

Robert was eager to talk to Lyanna about his dreams and plans. During the Harrenhal tournament, he had tried to speak with her, but she had coldly rejected him.

He knew that Lyanna likely saw Mya’s bastard daughter as evidence that Robert would be an unfaithful husband, but Mya’s birth was not a conscious decision. Robert had witnessed the drowning of his parents at Storm’s End and had fled to the Eyrie shortly after. He had been angry and stressed, plagued by nightmares every night, and it was during this time that he met Mya’s mother. The woman had been eager to comfort him, and Robert had needed something to quiet the nightmares haunting him.

If I had told Lyanna, I’m sure she would’ve understood. I had no intention of disrespecting her. If I had done that, she probably would’ve castrated me, Robert thought with a chuckle.

Robert had planned to meet Lyanna privately on the last day of the tourney and explain everything in his mind, but then that dragon freak, Rhaegar, declared Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty, ruining everything.

When Robert recalled Rhaegar extending the flower crown to Lyanna, he clenched his fist in anger, remembering how every smile had died that day. The dragon freak had not only disrespected his own wife but had also branded Lyanna with the 'wolf whore' tag. After that fiasco, many of the Stormlords had advised Robert to call off the betrothal, but Robert had completely ignored them.

If Rhaegar hadn’t taken her… well, it doesn’t matter now. Everything had already happened.

“Where is that shitbag called the High Sparrow?” Robert asked the knight beside him.

“He’s inside the tower, my lord. We’ve chained him up for you,” the knight answered.

“Good.” Robert looked back at his men. “Stormlords! Come with me and bear witness to your king’s just judgment. A preview of what I will do to Tywin and his whore daughter Cersei!”

With the cheers of the Stormlords echoing in his ears, Robert entered Kingspyre Tower, and High Sparrow was brought before him, his arms bound in chains.

“The so-called High Sparrow, whatever the hell his name is,” Robert dismissed the formalities. “You’re being tried for plotting rebellion against your king and for treason. What is your response to the charges?” Heh, Ned would be proud if he saw me now.

High Sparrow lifted his head and looked at Robert. “Your Majesty,” he said calmly but resolutely, “I have merely carried out the will of the Seven. Your kingdom has become corrupt, stained with immorality, and has strayed from the light of our faith. Even you, with your sins, have defiled the sacred lands. This is not rebellion, this is purification.”

Robert laughed angrily. "You call this purification?!" He struck the ground with his warhammer for emphasis. "Hiding behind the walls of Harrenhal, inciting my Lords to treason, and terrorizing the Blackwood people who worship the Old Gods. Is this the will of the Seven?"

High Sparrow lowered his head, as if listening to the confession of a sinner. “Those who do not see the light of the Seven must inevitably suffer, Your Majesty. This is the price for their salvation.”

“Enough!” Robert shouted, reaching the end of his patience. “There is no need for a trial. Your crimes are crystal clear. I’ll end this nonsense by smashing your skull with my hammer, and then I’ll get back to my real wars!”

The High Sparrow took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and raised his head toward the sky. "May the Stranger have mercy on my soul... and I pray that He shows mercy on yours as well," he murmured. These were his last words before Robert lifted his warhammer and brought it down upon his chest.

Robert thought, This matter is closed, as he returned his warhammer to his belt, turning around amidst the cheers. Now, I need to go help Ned.

At that very moment, an explosion shook the tower. The entire castle was violently rattled. Robert’s feet were firmly planted, but suddenly he felt like the world was slipping away beneath him. A low hum rose from deep in the earth, a chilling silence that followed a storm’s warning, signaling that something was terribly wrong with the world.

He quickly lifted his head, and the Stormlords and soldiers around him looked at the ground in confusion. It felt as though the whole world was collapsing all at once. A sense of fear settled in Robert’s chest, building up inside him, but then he felt another shockwave, one that seemed to emanate from deep within the tower itself. The ground trembled, the wind shifted abruptly, and everything felt hollow, as if the very core of reality had shifted.

His eyes, suddenly sharp, focused on the ground beneath Kingspyre Tower, sensing something stirring within it. He could feel something spreading fast. But... what was it?

And then, a second later, the explosion hit.

At first, just a flash, a burst of light... but then everything changed, as if time itself had slowed down. The flash felt like a harbinger of the end, and green flames rose around Robert. That's when he understood what was happening. Wildfire. How had these fanatical bastards gotten their hands on wildfire?

A green light flared in the air, and suddenly everything transformed into hell. As Robert desperately looked around, the flames consumed every inch of his body. Strangely, he didn’t feel any pain, despite the fire enveloping him.

As the tower’s stone walls cracked and Kingspyre began to collapse above him, Robert realized his inevitable end was near. But oddly, he didn’t feel fear. He felt a strange sense of peace. It was as if he had longed for this from the very beginning.

Robert ignored the screams of those around him, the men who tried to flee and begged for mercy. He simply raised his head and watched the sky beginning to show through the cracks in the tower. Embracing his inevitable death, he murmured his last words.

“Lyanna…”

Chapter Text

Ned sighed as he looked at the castle before him. The past few months had been nothing short of madness.

First, Robert legitimized Edric Storm, naming him his heir and placing him above his uncles. Ned wanted to bang his head against a wall at Robert's stupidity. What had Robert been thinking? A future civil war between true heirs yet to be born and Edric Baratheon was a real possibility. Legitimizing a royal bastard could lead to countless disastrous outcomes. There was even the example of the Blackfyres. The moment Ned heard the news, he resolved to give Robert a good beating.

But now, he couldn’t do that because Robert was dead. When Ned learned of Robert’s death, a wave of grief washed over him. He reminisced about their old times together and mourned his friend.

The strange thing was how Robert had died. Wildfire! What was wildfire doing in the hands of the High Sparrow? It was a substance banned from use and trade, and the amount of wildfire sufficient to blow up the Kingspyre Tower would have undoubtedly attracted attention. Wildfire was so volatile that it could explode under intense sunlight—it was that unstable. Transporting it would have required extreme care.

And what made it worse? The people didn’t see the 'Kingspyre Disaster' as a wildfire explosion but as divine justice. Robert, in his attack on Harrenhal, hadn’t only killed soldiers but also the priests in the castle. The High Sparrow and his priests were about to be excommunicated by the Most Devout Council, but Jon Arryn delayed the process and chose negotiation. When Robert killed the High Sparrow and his priests, these men hadn’t been excommunicated yet—they were still official members of the Faith of the Seven. Thus, Robert’s attack on Harrenhal was seen as an attack on the Faith itself, a brutal massacre of the priests. The High Septon was far from pleased.

Shortly after Robert's death, Edric Baratheon was proclaimed king at Storm's End, and Ned received a letter asking him to come and swear loyalty. Ned shook his head in disbelief. "Do they know I'm in the middle of a war? I'm leading an army; I don’t have time to travel for weeks," he had said.

Later, Ned learned that Edric’s coronation was orchestrated by his Florent relatives. It had taken place without Jon Arryn’s knowledge or approval. The old man was still in Oldtown at the time, having just received the news of Robert’s death.

When Ned received news of Robert’s death, he was at Riverrun. His three-pronged attack on the Riverlands had been a resounding success, wiping out the entire Lannister army of 15,000 that had invaded the Trident in one stroke. It was a complete disaster for the Lannisters. Eddard Stark was known for devising the strategy that ended the Targaryen reign at the Battle of the Trident, and now, with minimal losses, he had secured this major victory. Needless to say, Eddard Stark was now hailed as one of the greatest military strategists in Westerosi history. Compared to him, names like Randyll Tarly and Stannis Baratheon seemed insignificant.

Shortly after Robert’s death, Ned received a raven from Tywin Lannister. The old lion reminded Ned of the terms of Edric Baratheon’s legitimization. Edric was placed behind any legitimate-born children in the line of succession—meaning Joffrey and Tommen were ahead of him. The old lion was adamant that his grandchildren carried Robert Baratheon’s blood. He outright rejected the bastard claims and, of course, included a marriage proposal alongside the letter: a union between Joffrey and Sansa.

Ned didn’t even bother considering the proposal. In his eyes, the Lannisters were a lost cause, unworthy of investment. He didn’t want to cooperate with the lion; he wanted to kill it first and then plunder its corpse. Besides, he would never agree to marry his daughter to a cat-killing, psychopathic bastard.

The real disaster came later. The same letter was apparently sent to Mace Tyrell, who was at Bitterbridge at the time. The old lion also reminded Mace of the Florents’ claim to the position of Reach’s paramount lord. And the fat rose decided to accept the lion’s offer! Olenna Tyrell would no doubt beat her son senseless the moment she saw him, but the deed was done—the contracts were signed. Joffrey and Margaery were engaged. Forty thousand soldiers were added to the Lannister army.

Meanwhile, a 30,000-strong army led by Randyll Tarly and supported by the Hightowers was backing Edric Baratheon. In short, the Reach had split into two factions: the Roses and the Foxes.

The Northern and Riverlands armies under Ned's command consisted of around 45,000 men. Normally, the 20,000-strong army from the Vale under Yohn Royce would have joined them, but Jon Arryn had redirected them to the Reach to unite with the forces of the Foxes. Meanwhile, Jon had finally reached Storm's End and assumed the regency over the boy king, Edric Baratheon. The first thing the Old Falcon did was arrange a betrothal between Edric and Sansa. For now, Ned was holding off on considering the proposal.

The Lannisters were already mobilizing the entire Westerlands army to suppress the High Sparrow rebellion. After the fiasco in King’s Landing, Tywin Lannister declared a civilian conscription, increasing the army’s numbers to 40,000. Ned had wiped out 15,000 of these soldiers in the Riverlands, leaving 25,000 remaining. With the Reach now aligned with King Joffrey’s faction, their combined forces totaled 65,000 soldiers.

Ned looked again at the scene before him. Golden Tooth. A formidable castle, it was the gateway to the West, and taking it quickly was essential for his plans. Fortunately, he had begun preparations long before Robert’s death.

“Blow the horn five times to signal the attack,” he ordered a soldier beside him. The soldier looked at him in surprise; one blow of the horn would have been enough to signal the army. But Ned ignored the soldier’s confusion and simply waited for his command to be carried out.

Some battles are won with a sword, some with a pen.

And sometimes, with both.

"A great victory once again! You are still very young, but you have already become the architect of three great victories," Lord Roland Crakehall shouted, raising his glass in Ned's honor.

"Thank you, Lord Crakehall. I surely couldn’t have succeeded without your help," Ned replied, maintaining a neutral expression.

He looked around at the lords once more. Crakehall, Farman, Serret, and Lefford. Traitors of the Western army. Thanks to their aid, Ned passed Golden Tooth without any resistance and took land from Ashemark to Kayce. In short, the Northern and River armies had now occupied the northern part of the Western Kingdom. Soon, they would launch an attack on Lannisport. The traitor alliance had a total of 7,000 men. Ned decided to place them on the front lines for the attack on Lannisport.

Tywin Lannister probably did not expect this betrayal from his bannermen. Tywin was a man who used fear to secure the loyalty of his banners, but now this method had backfired. Very few Western lords liked Tywin, and now the old lion was in a precarious situation. Jon Arryn had clearly stated that the status of the Lord Paramount of the West would change after the war, and this had whetted the appetites of these ambitious Western lords.

Ned looked again at the man beside him. Lord Leo Lefford. The Lefford house owned Golden Tooth, and the price they charged to open the gate had been steep. Ned had arranged for Lord Leo Lefford's only child, his daughter Alysanne Lefford, to be betrothed to Robb, making her the future Lady of Winterfell. This marriage would undoubtedly provoke the Northern bannermen, but Ned could calm them down.

"I would like your daughter Alysanne to set off for Winterfell at the soonest possible time," he said to Lord Lefford. "That way, she can meet Robb early, and my wife Ashara can begin training her to be the Lady of Winterfell." Ashara wanted Robb to marry and have children as soon as possible. I'm sure this news will please her.

"With pleasure, my lord," Lord Lefford said, bowing respectfully. "It is an honor for us to strengthen ties with your family."

Roland Crakehall smiled contentedly. Alysanne was his granddaughter, and through this marriage, Crakehall port would begin active and generous trade with the North. The Crakehall family would undoubtedly become wealthier.

The Serret family was related to Crakehall, and the current Lord Serret had been trained as a stepson by Roland Crakehall, so there was nothing surprising about their joining the traitor alliance.

And House Farman... They had no blood or marital ties to the traitor alliance, but they were among the most powerful bannermen of the West. They had their eyes on the position of Lord Paramount of the West.

Ned continued to chat with the traitorous Western lords for a while longer. When Mace Tyrell learned of the betrayal of the traitors and Ned's new victory, he would surely regret supporting the Lannisters and seek a way out. No doubt, the funeral bells for House Lannister would soon begin to toll.

"Lord Stark, I apologize for interrupting your conversation," Jorry Cassel spoke, stepping forward. "But someone wishes to speak with you."

"Who?"

"Oberyn Martell."

Ned raised an eyebrow. He had just learned that Oberyn Martell was here, but it wasn’t surprising. He probably wanted to join the attack on Lannisport.

After obtaining permission from the Western lords in the hall, Ned politely excused himself and moved to the neighboring room.

"Prince Oberyn," he nodded to the man in the room.

"Lord Stark," Oberyn Martell said, smiling, and embraced Ned in a friendly manner. "I heard Ashara has just given birth. How is she?"

"The maesters say her health is good," Ned replied. For a moment, he thought of Ashara, Allyria, Sansa, and Arya. He missed them all dearly. And there was also his newly born daughter, Litheria. Ashara had written about how sweet and cute she was in her letters. Ned was eager to see his newborn daughter. "Are you here to join the Lannisport attack?"

"Yes, that as well," Oberyn said, shrugging. "But I also wanted to discuss a serious matter with you."

"What is it?"

"Maekar."

Ned froze for a moment. He knows... How does he know? After a brief pause, the answer came to him. Ashara... Damn it.

"What do you want, Martell?" he asked sharply.

"I’ll be brief and cut to the chase. I know you Northerners prefer it that way," Oberyn said. "We know Rhaegar and Lyanna married, and that the marriage documents are with you. That means the child is legitimate. Declare Maekar king, and marry him to Rhaenys. If Dorne, the North, and the River armies unite, Maekar could become king of Westeros. If you convince Jon Arryn, the Vale will join us. Stark blood could make a man the king of Westeros. Doesn’t that sound tempting?"

Honestly, it was tempting, but the cost of losing would be high, and it would be a risky gamble. And Rhaenys... Ashara had told him that Rhaenys was alive when they were married. Ned had personally spoken with the little girl and apologized for what had happened to her mother.

"I am loyal to House Baratheon," he said firmly. Robert had done so much for the North; he could not betray his son like that.

"But you've already betrayed him, haven't you?" Oberyn said mockingly. "I've sent ravens and evidence in all directions. Lord Hand and the child king Edric will likely learn the truth within a week, and after them, it won't be long before all of Westeros knows."

Ned furrowed his brow. This news getting out could put the North in serious trouble. The Martells were laying all their cards on the table and forcing the Starks into an alliance.

"I’ll leave you to think for a bit, but you don’t have much time," Oberyn said, withdrawing.

Ned’s nerves were on edge as he watched the self-satisfied man leave the room with ease, after causing trouble for House Stark. He decided to ruin that smug mood.

"His name is not Maekar."

"What?" Oberyn looked at Ned in surprise.

"The name isn’t Maekar," Ned repeated. "Maekar was the Targaryen name given by Ashara and me. Rhaegar named the child Aegon."

Oberyn froze for a moment, then realized what Ned had meant. His face twisted with anger, and he quickly left the room, likely to find a few Lannister soldiers to kill. As Ned watched him leave, he couldn’t help but smile. Now his mood was restored.

Still, as he watched the view outside the window, he couldn’t help but mutter a curse to himself. Damn you, Ashara, you really fucked me over.

The decision he would make next week would be critical for the future of House Stark. Ned prayed that he would make the right choice.

Chapter Text

Aedran gazed at Dragonstone with admiration. The sharp lines of the dark stone made the castle look more like the arms of a dragon than a fort. The dragon statues adorning the outer walls seemed to stare at visitors with lifelike eyes. The sound of wind mixed with the waves crashing against the rocks, echoing like an ancient whisper.

This place was now his. These stone walls and dragon statues were the rightful claim of his bloodline. "And no one will take it from me." he added with determination, a dark smile crossing his face.

"Your Majesty." At that moment, Myles Toyne appeared behind him, interrupting Aedran's quiet reverie. "The people of Dragonstone and the nobles of Crownland are gathered in the square as you requested."

Aedran nodded and silently followed Myles. As they walked, the sound of the stone-paved road echoed in his ears. Dragon motifs adorned the surrounding stone walls, but Aedran didn’t pause, continuing forward.

When they reached the square, a black stone pedestal in the center caught his attention. It was surrounded by nobles and common folk. Aedran noticed the fluttering banners of Crownland houses and recognized a few. Rykker's black battle hammers, Bar Emmon’s blue swordfish, Velaryon's seahorse, and Celtigar's red crab were all clearly displayed. Each house was here, showcasing its power.

With resolve, Aedran climbed the pedestal's steps. The murmurs of the crowd gradually faded, and all eyes turned toward him. Nobles and common folk alike fell silent as if waiting for this moment. Aedran's dark cloak fluttered lightly in the breeze as his eyes scanned the crowd. After gathering everyone's attention, he began to speak in a deep, confident voice:

"I am Aedran Blackfyre! My mother, Serra Blackfyre, of the noble Blackfyre House; my father, Maegor Brightflame, son of Aerion Targaryen, the true heir to the throne, whose birthright was stolen by the Great Council!"

With Aedran’s words, most of the crowd remained silent, but several nobles shifted uncomfortably. Aerion Targaryen, known for drinking wildfire and burning himself in his madness, was a figure marked by delusion. His son, Maegor Brightflame, was Aerion's legitimate son; by the rules of inheritance, he should have been the king. However, the Great Council had completely ignored the infant. The fact that Maegor's father had been known for his madness and the name 'Maegor' itself were likely factors in this disregard.

If Aedran was truly Maegor Brightflame’s son, then he was the legitimate heir to the throne. Maegor, after Aerion’s death and his madness, had been ignored by the Great Council, but they had not officially declared him a bastard or removed him from the line of succession. This left the possibility for Maegor’s descendants, like Aedran, to claim the throne once more.

Aedran scanned the crowd before taking another step forward, his voice full of determination and anger.

"Our time, our era has come!" he shouted. "We, the Blackfyres, deserve this throne, because true rulership runs through our veins! This has always been the truth. Westeros denied this truth, and since the reign of King Daeron II, this land has known nothing but strife and war!”

Aedran stepped further, feeling a growing power with each word. “They wore down the people, spilled blood, and used deceit to claim the Iron Throne! But we, the Blackfyres, have the strength to cast out the false rulers! This is our right, and we will take what is ours!”

The crowd began to grow more and more excited. Many nobles nodded, raising their hands in support. Banners from various houses fluttered as the crowd slowly began to gather around Aedran. Some common folk clapped and cheered, chanting his name. "Blackfyre! Blackfyre!" Many felt that a new era was about to begin.

Feeling the power of the crowd, Aedran strengthened his words, filling the square with a fiery energy. The light in the eyes of everyone around him grew brighter.

“The Blackfyres are returning! Our time is now! No one will stop the rightful heirs from reclaiming what is ours! This land will belong to those who deserve it!”

At that moment, soldiers from the Golden Company, along with commanders, began chanting louder in support. Descendants of the nobles who had fled with Aegor Bittersteel during the First Blackfyre Rebellion joined in. Aedran’s words ignited a fire in the hearts of these former rebels’ descendants. The proud heirs of old, their chests puffed with pride, raised their hands and shouted "Blackfyre! Blackfyre!" The excitement reached its peak, and the crowd had become a tidal wave of support.

Aedran looked at these new supporters, and his power grew even stronger. "We are the true heirs of the old times!" he proclaimed. "No one can deny the rightful heirs! The time has come, the Blackfyres are returning!"

The crowd, growing more and more excited, filled the square with their thunderous chants. "Blackfyre, Blackfyre!" The echoes of their voices seemed as though they would last until sunset.

"I am proud of you, my nephew. That was a magnificent speech," the plump, bald man said, embracing Aedran. "Your mother and father would be proud too."

"I could never have gotten this far without you, Gaemon uncle," Aedran replied gratefully.

"I did what had to be done for our family's legacy," he said. "By the way, you don't need to call me Gaemon anymore. That name died a long time ago. Everyone calls me Varys now, and that is what you should call me."

"Very well, Lord Varys," Aedran said, respecting his uncle's request. "Please join me in the council of war."

"It would be a great honor for me, Your Majesty," Varys replied, walking behind his nephew. When they reached the doors of the war council, Aedran entered without hesitation. He sat at the head of the long table, while Varys took his place at his right. The table was covered in maps and plans, with the council members silently watching them.

"Let's discuss the details of the King's Landing assault. What is the plan?"

"Your Majesty, we will depart in two weeks, and..." began Harry Strickland to report.

"Two weeks is far too long," Varys cut him off. "We must start the invasion within a week at the latest."

Aedran and the others at the council exchanged surprised glances. "You said all the Westerosi armies are currently fighting in the West and Reach," Harry Strickland reminded him. "Why the rush?"

"Are you familiar with the Jon Snow scandal?"

It was impossible not to know. All of Westeros had been shaken by the news. Eddard Stark, a man known for his honor and integrity, had lied and deceived everyone. He had hidden his nephew, the son of Lyanna, as his own. But no sane person blamed him. Given what had happened to Elia and her children, it made sense and was morally right for Lord Stark to protect his nephew.

"Of course, everyone knows, but what does it have to do with this?" Will Cole asked.

"The news reached us after Lord Stark finished the Lannisport occupation," Varys explained. "Lord Stark was immediately called to King's Landing by Jon Arryn, and he responded to the summons. They will likely negotiate the situation and decide to send young Jon Snow to the Night’s Watch."

Some of the people in the room’s eyes lit up as they understood Varys’ meaning, but Will, clearly, did not. "I still don’t see the connection. The realm and the faith would never accept a second marriage; that child will be considered a bastard in every sense."

"It’s not about Jon Snow, you fool," Myles Toyne interrupted. "Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn are in King’s Landing, so if we take the city, we can capture them too."

Aedran’s eyes sparkled at the opportunity before him. Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn were two of the key figures of the rebellion, people Aedran deeply respected and admired. Both lords were unaware of the Blackfyres’ return; Varys had kept all the news from them, meaning they would be caught unprepared. If Aedran could capture them at the start of the war, it would be a huge victory. If he could convince either of them to join him, it would be a major breakthrough in his quest for the throne.

"Alright," Aedran said, standing immediately and focusing on the map to strategize. "How many soldiers do we have?"

"With the support of the Crownlands lords, we have 17,000," reported the excited Henry Strickland.

"Good, Lord Varys said that Janos Slynt, the commander of the Gold Cloaks, is a bribed man. We’ve made the necessary arrangements to have him open the gates for us," Aedran said, pointing to roads on the map with his fingers. "Additionally, the man he sent, Ulther, knows the tunnels of King’s Landing and will allow us to infiltrate quietly. I’m telling everyone here, Lord Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn are not to be harmed. If you make a mistake in this, I will have you executed, no matter your rank. Understood?"

The council members nodded solemnly; they knew how crucial this was.

"Good," Aedran said, turning his attention back to the map. "With my 7,000 men, we’ll take King’s Landing. Myles Toyne’s 4,000 will quickly take Harrenhal. I believe there’s only a small garrison there." Even though the Kingspyre Tower had been destroyed, the castle still stood, and strategically it was in a very valuable position. "Laswell Peake’s 4,000 will take Bitterbridge and monitor the road to the Reach." He studied the map again. "Finally, Harry Strickland’s 2,000 elite soldiers will assault the tunnels under Storm's End and attempt to take the castle. King Edric Baratheon’s current position is unknown, but he’s most likely still there. I want that boy alive with me. The same goes for his uncles, Stannis and Renly."

Aedran then turned to Henry Strickland. "What is the situation with the fleet?"

"As you know, the Golden Company has its own fleet, and the Crownlands lords are supporting us with theirs. Thanks to Lord Varys, we’ve managed to win over most of the royal fleet," the man reported proudly. "The only fleet that can challenge us now is Redwyne, but they are far away on the West coast."

"The plan seems flawless," Laswell Peake said. "But we can’t conquer Westeros with only 17,000 men. We need allies."

"We will find allies," Aedran said. "I sent a messenger to House Tyrell. After we complete the conquest, they will deliver a letter to Olenna Tyrell."

"I’ve never heard of this before," Varys said. "What did you offer them in return?"

"Nothing," Aedran said with a smile. "I just wrote that they could retain the title of Lord Paramount of the Reach."

There was no need to offer House Tyrell anything. The Tyrells were already in a desperate situation. Their allies, the Lannisters, had been largely crushed by Eddard Stark. On top of that, they were being pressured by the army of Randyll Tarly. By the end of this war, they would lose their House’s title, if not their very existence. They had no other choice but to ally with Aedran.

"Moreover, many of the Storm Lords were killed during the Kingspyre disaster," Aedran continued. "The current lords are the second or third children of their families, still young and lacking experience in governance. Their positions are unstable. If we capture Storm's End, I will offer them help and try to sway them to our side."

"You’re still unmarried, Your Majesty," Laswell Peake said. "If we arrange a suitable marriage, we could secure more allies. Perhaps with Arianne Martell."

"I’m not discussing marriage at the moment," Aedran replied firmly. "I already have someone in mind."

His words created a brief silence in the council room, but Varys watched him closely. He didn’t ask more, but the subtle smile on his face indicated he hadn’t forgotten about it.

"Alright," Aedran said, refocusing on the map. "We’ve settled the plans. Each of you knows your tasks. We won’t stop until we take the throne back. Now go and tell your men to prepare. We leave in a week."

The council members began to rise and leave the room. Aedran leaned back, watching the crowd disperse, while Varys stayed behind.

"Your Majesty," Varys said softly. "You can win this war, but there’s one thing you must remember. The throne is not just about winning; it’s also about keeping it."

Aedran remained silent for a moment in response to Varys’ words. Finally, with a gleam in his violet eyes, he answered, "I will take the throne, Lord Varys. And once I have it, it will belong to me and my heirs forever."

Varys nodded, bowing his head in respect. "Of course, it will be that way, Your Majesty."

Aedran rose and walked to the large window of the room. His eyes lingered on the horizon, where the throne he sought and the steps that would change the fate of Westeros lay ahead. This war would likely be one of the bloodiest in Westeros history, but Aedran would be at the heart of it.

My father fled, Aedran thought, recalling his father Maegor, who had been too fearful of assassins to claim the Targaryen name, instead adopting his grandfather Aerion's epithet, Brightflame, as his surname. But I will not flee.

Aedran looked out the window, the endless blue of the sea stretching before him. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore, mixed with the salty air carried by the wind, whispered to him the echoes of both the past and the future. The horizon, where the sea met the sky, was unclear, but somewhere out there, in that endless space, a power lay waiting. He found himself standing at the crossroads of both his past and the future he was writing. Here, in this land and before this sea, everything was in his hands.

For a moment, everything went silent, only the sound of the sea could be heard. He stared at the dance of the waves, silently watching for a few minutes.

This kingdom is my right, and it will be mine.

Chapter Text

Ashara had been on the verge of losing her mind with worry over the past few months. First came the scandal of the Gold Room, which forced Ned to gather his army and march south. While she was concerned for her husband, she wasn’t overly frightened; after all, the Lannisters were fighting against the combined strength of the other six kingdoms. She only hoped Ned would end the war swiftly and return home to meet their newborn daughter, Litheria.

Then, more serious news arrived. The death of Robert Baratheon—whom Ashara had never liked despite his friendship with Ned—was among them. She had never forgiven the king for turning a blind eye to the massacre of Elia Martell and her children. There was also news of the new king, Edric Baratheon, the Tyrells siding with the Lannisters, and countless other developments. However, reports of Ned’s significant victories soon followed. Ashara was proud of her husband, confident that despite the war dragging on, he would emerge victorious and return home.

As if all these events weren’t enough, Jon Snow’s true parentage was revealed to the entire world. Ashara felt deeply grateful to the Martells for their help in removing Catelyn Tully; without their assistance, she would not have been married to Ned. She also harbored a sincere desire for her late friend Elia’s vengeance and wished to see Elia’s daughter seated upon the Iron Throne. For this reason, before leaving Sunspear, Ashara had disclosed Maekar’s identity to the Martell brothers. However, she hadn’t anticipated that they would use the truth in this way.

What were Doran and Oberyn thinking? Had Robert Baratheon still been alive, this revelation might have swayed the North and Riverlands toward supporting a Targaryen restoration. Everyone knew how the Stag King would have reacted upon learning the truth. If the Martells were lucky, Robert might even have made a move that would fracture the Stag alliance. But Robert was dead, and his son Edric was too young to rule, leaving Jon Arryn as his regent. The old falcon was not a man prone to rash actions. While the revelation created trouble for the Starks, it hadn’t severed their ties to the Stag alliance.

Poor Jon Snow’s world shattered upon learning the truth. He had always believed his parents were a magnificent couple who met at a tournament and fell in love. But the horrifying reality struck him like a hammer: he was the child of a disgraceful union that had sparked a war. Even though he had no part in the events, Jon couldn’t help but blame himself. He had already started talking about joining the Night’s Watch.

Moreover, he had grown distant from Ashara, addressing her only as 'Lady Stark.' Every time she tried to speak with him about the matter, he avoided her with unwavering determination. His relationships with his siblings also suffered; he kept his distance from them and refused to share any thoughts or feelings.

Ashara felt a deep sense of shame for the boy’s pain. Perhaps Ned had been right—perhaps they should never have lied and claimed that she was his mother.

Despite all this, there didn’t seem to be any immediate danger. Ned had traveled to King’s Landing to negotiate. The talks would likely conclude with Maekar being sent to the Night’s Watch—a fate the boy had begun requesting—and a betrothal between Sansa and Edric Baratheon. For the first time, Ashara began to worry about Sansa’s future. The girl was entirely detached from reality, living in a world of princesses and knights. If she went south to become a queen, the politics of King’s Landing would devour her. Ashara knew that Ned would not provide Sansa with the guidance she needed, so she took it upon herself to prepare the girl. She shared the tragic story of her friend Elia and her children, emphasizing that life was not a fairytale. Then, she began educating Sansa on the complexities of royal politics.

The true disaster that stunned the entire realm came shortly afterward. The Blackfyres had returned. In a series of masterful military maneuvers, they captured King’s Landing, Dragonstone, Bitterbridge, Harrenhal, and Storm’s End. Stannis Baratheon was killed defending Storm’s End, Renly was taken captive, and the young King Edric narrowly escaped because he happened to be elsewhere. Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn’s fates remained uncertain. The smallfolk had begun calling this conflict 'The War of the Three Bastards.'

Upon hearing the news, Ashara left all the Stark children in Winterfell and traveled south. She knew this impulsive act was unbefitting of a Lady Stark. She was expected to remain strong and present a resolute front to the northern lords—something she tried her best to do. However, her deteriorating health didn’t go unnoticed. Worry and fear consumed her. Each day she remained in the dark about her husband’s fate, she grew paler, weaker, and more ill.

Two months later, word arrived that Jon Arryn had been killed during the invasion. King Aedran Blackfyre expressed his condolences, claiming the incident had been a tragic mistake. He returned Jon Arryn’s body to his family with full honors, along with the heads of the three men responsible for his death.

But Eddard's fate remained uncertain. It had been five months since Kings Landing was taken, yet the Blackfyre side refused to provide any explanation. Before departing for Kings Landing, Ned had left command of the army to 'The Blackfish,' Ser Brynden Tully. Brynden left 10,000 men to besiege Casterly Rock and starve the garrison, while the remaining 32,000 soldiers regrouped at Fairmarket, preparing for a coordinated offensive.

Brynden Tully could not guarantee victory in this campaign. To reach Kings Landing, they would first have to lay siege to Harrenhal—a move that would result in significant military losses. Following that, they would need to besiege Kings Landing itself. Unless they could find a way to open the gates, as Tywin Lannister had once done, the siege could drag on for an extended period. The city’s walls were strong, and taking Kings Landing would not be an easy feat. They awaited the Vale army to retake Bitterbridge and join them for the siege, but Bitterbridge, too, was a fortress not easily reclaimed. That attack would also come at a high cost in lives.

Eddard's situation... Many nobles and soldiers believed that Lord Stark was dead. If the Blackfyres had him in their custody, they would have already announced it and attempted to use his capture to their advantage. Their refusal to even declare his death seemed to stem from a desire to delay the Northern and Riverland armies from immediately mobilizing and launching an assault on Kings Landing.

Ashara rejected and tried to ignore all the rumors and speculation. If Ned were truly dead, Ashara knew she could never live with the fact that it was because of her. The raging rivers of the Trident, offering a swift death to those willing to plunge into their currents, seemed more tempting with each passing day.

And now, Ashara was running toward the command tent of the encampment. She had heard that Blackfyre envoys had arrived at Fairmarket for negotiations—a truth others had tried to keep from her. But Ashara had learned during her time in the Red Keep to listen to the servants if she wanted to hear the fastest news. She knew that, as a woman, she had no place in such military discussions, yet she had to be there. She had to be present, to look the Blackfyre envoy in the eyes, and to ask the question burning in her soul.

Ignoring the soldiers calling after her, begging her to stop, and the guards at the tent entrance attempting to block her way, Ashara pushed forward with determined strides. As she entered the tent, she could feel every pair of eyes turn toward her, their attention fixed on her intrusion, but she did not care.

Her gaze locked onto the elderly man she believed to be the Blackfyre envoy. The emblem on his chest—three black castles—marked him as a member of House Peake, leading her to assume he was Laswell Peake. Fixing her eyes firmly on him, she demanded with unwavering resolve:

"Where is my husband?"

Laswell Peake appeared stunned by her sudden entry and question. For a moment, he stood motionless, seemingly unsure of how to respond.

"Where is my husband?" Ashara repeated. "Is Ned dead?"

"If your heart tells you so," Laswell Peake finally replied after a tense silence, "then trust your heart, my lady. The Seven reveal themselves in strange ways."

In that moment, Ashara understood the truth. Her legs gave out beneath her, and she collapsed to the ground. She offered no resistance as soldiers gently lifted her and led her outside. She hung limply, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Ned was dead. He truly was gone.

That night, Ashara danced with Ned at Harrenhal in her dreams. She did not want to wake, knowing that when she did, he would be lost to her forever.

Chapter Text

The maid respectfully informed Ned, "His Majesty invites you to join him for tea.

Ned sighed as he closed the book he was reading. Rising from his seat, he followed the maid down the corridor, noting her Valyrian beauty. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on him—Valyrians, who once ruled kingdoms, now served as palace maids.

For the past six months, Ned had been confined to the Maidenvault within the Red Keep. He wasn’t mistreated; in fact, he was treated as a distinguished guest. Essosi servants attended to his every need without hesitation, fulfilling his requests promptly. After a while, Ned realized these servants were former slaves. All were women, of appropriate age, attractive, and some wore revealing attire without any shame. Though they were technically free, their demeanor and treatment mirrored that of slaves. Ned had heard of such bed slaves in places like Pentos. He was certain that if he wanted to sleep with one of them, he would face no resistance. In fact, some servants attempted to seduce him, but Ned was not the kind of man to fall for such tactics. He had only ever been with two women in his life and felt no need to increase that number.

There were also guards who constantly observed him. However, they never interfered with him as long as he didn’t attempt to escape or venture beyond the allowed boundaries. He was even permitted to train in the yard and walk in the gardens. Before Jon Arryn’s body was sent to the Eyrie, Ned was allowed a final farewell to the old falcon. During that time, Aedran Blackfyre personally executed the men responsible for Jon Arryn’s murder. Though reluctant, Ned had to respect the act—it adhered to the laws of the First Men.

Yet, one thing was missing. No matter how often Ned asked, he couldn’t learn what was happening outside the palace. The only exception was the weekly tea sessions with King Aedran. Once, he declined the invitation, just to see if the guards would force him. To his surprise, nothing happened. Attendance wasn’t mandatory, but it was the only way to gather information about the outside world.

“Lord Stark,” Aedran greeted with a nod from his comfortable chair. The young king seemed to be in good spirits, though that was always the case whenever Ned saw him. Without saying a word, Ned sat in the chair opposite him.

Ned had been meeting with this young man every week for the past few months and had come to know him to some extent. First of all, the man was handsome, with a striking charisma that was immediately noticeable upon first sight. However, his charm was not like Rhaegar's. Rhaegar could be described as beautiful rather than handsome, with more feminine features, whereas Aedran was the complete opposite—he was the embodiment of a masculine man. Rhaegar was always melancholic, as if crushed under an immense burden. Aedran, on the other hand, seemed as though he always had everything figured out, projecting the image of a man who could overcome any obstacle in his path. Rhaegar was a man to be helped; Aedran was a man to be followed.

Ned saw shades of Robert in Aedran, but the differences were stark. Aedran was far more intelligent, cunning, manipulative when necessary, and unquestionably ambitious.

“Tea?” Aedran followed his usual routine, gesturing to the teapot and offering Ned a cup.

Ned rarely accepted. It wasn’t personal—he just didn’t like tea. “No, thank you,” he replied politely.

But this time, Aedran ignored his refusal and placed a cup in front of him. The action caused Ned to raise an eyebrow. Aedran had never forced tea on him before. Why was this time different?

He’s trying to unsettle me, Ned realized. He wants to show me I can’t say no to him.

“Lemon cake?” Aedran asked, pointing to the cloche on the table.

Clearly, you’re going to make me take something. “Fine,” Ned replied.

Aedran lifted the cloche, revealing an empty plate. “Ah, my apologies—it seems they forgot to bring it,” he said with mock embarrassment.

Bastard.

Something was off. Ned could feel it in the air. “What do you want, Your Majesty?” he asked in a flat tone.

“Just a conversation, as always,” Aedran replied innocently. “I’ve withdrawn my forces from Harrenhal and Bitterbridge, consolidating them in King’s Landing.”

Ned couldn’t hide his surprise at the statement. Aedran was preparing for war. Abandoning strategically critical locations like Harrenhal and Bitterbridge seemed unbelievably foolish. If there was one thing Ned had learned in the past months, it was that Aedran was no fool.

“You’re counting on my presence, aren’t you?” Ned asked. “You think the enemy won’t attack King’s Landing because I’m your prisoner?”

Aedran chuckled at the suggestion. “They don’t know you’re alive.”

Ned shot to his feet. “You told them I was dead?" Ashara will lose her mind!

“I told them nothing,” Aedran corrected. “But yes, they believe you’re dead.”

“Why would you do that? You could have used me as a bargaining chip.”

“The Northern, Riverland, and Vale armies,” Aedran replied. “I want them to gather around King’s Landing without hesitation.”

No matter how much Ned thought about it, he couldn’t make sense of it. “Why?”

“Because they’ll soon be my army,” Aedran said matter-of-factly. “Three kingdoms joining the Blackfyres will be an unprecedented move. It will create an opportunity to strike the foxes from behind.”

Ned sat back down. “You think I’ll join your side and convince them to follow suit? You’re overly confident, Blackfyre. Why would I join you? Don’t even think of threatening me with execution—I’m a soldier. I live ready to die.”

“I’d never execute you. That would ruin everything,” Aedran replied firmly. “First, I plan to marry your daughter, Sansa, and make her my queen.”

“Sansa is only nine years old!”

“I’ll wait until she’s fifteen,” Aedran shrugged.

“You’d wait five years to marry her? What if you die in the meantime?”

“Maenar and Daemon,” Aedran explained. “My bastard sons. They’re currently six and four years old, safely hidden in Essos. If something happens to me, they’ll be legitimized and take my throne. If I marry Sansa and have a legitimate son, they’ll remain bastards forever.”

“You’re very confident in yourself—and this war,” Ned said. “In this world, nothing is certain except winter.”

"I agree," Aedran acknowledged. "Let’s say you refused to bend the knee and heroically sacrificed yourself," he said, making a theatrical gesture with his hands. "Brynden Tully comes with his army, avenges you, and drives the Blackfyres away—though believe me, the cost of that would be immense. And then what? The defeated Golden Company returns to Essos, hides my sons Maenar and Daemon, trains them, and prepares for yet another Blackfyre invasion. Do you know how many Blackfyre rebellions there have been? Honestly, I stopped counting after the third."

Ned couldn’t deny the truth in Aedran’s words.

“Even if I accepted, the people wouldn’t,” Ned said. “They’re furious over the High Sparrow’s death. They won’t tolerate a sinful, Targaryen-like house ruling Westeros.”

“I’ll speak with the High Septon,” Aedran replied.

“The High Septon won’t be able to control them this time,” Ned argued.

“He will. He owes me for the wildfire in Harrenhal. I’ll also issue decrees outlawing incest and second marriages for the Blackfyre line.”

Ned stared at the king in shock. The wildfire at Harrenhal had been provided by the Blackfyres? If true, this meant they had been planning this invasion for a long time, crafting a meticulous strategy.

Outlawing incest, meanwhile, would distinguish them from the Targaryens and appease the people. It was a clever move.

“This might actually work,” Ned admitted. “But it’s not enough for me to accept your offer.”

“I have one more promise,” Aedran said, holding up two fingers. “None of the concessions Robert gave to the North will be revoked while I’m king—except for a few minor exceptions.”

Robert’s concessions, particularly the tax breaks, had greatly accelerated the North’s prosperity. However, many nobles, including Jon Arryn, believed they were overly generous and pressured Robert to revoke them. Robert had stubbornly refused, but Ned knew these benefits wouldn’t last under the next king.

Aedran’s promise, however, extended this advantage significantly. It was a generous offer.

“I acknowledge your offer is generous,” Ned said, rising from his seat. “But I need time to think.”

“Take all the time you need—you’ll accept in the end,” Aedran said smugly. “You won’t have a choice.”

Ned turned and prepared to leave without responding.

“Wait,” Aedran said abruptly. “There’s one more matter.”

“What now?” Ned asked, visibly irritated.

"Lady Ashara is devastated," said King Aedran. "After her last meeting with Laswell Peake, despite the old man's vague response, she concluded that you were dead. She deteriorated so quickly that even Lord Peake’s heart bled for her. She came to me, begging me to reveal that you were alive."

For the love of the Old Gods, Ashara… Ned’s heart filled with dread. Please, let nothing terrible happen.

“I can’t reveal you’re alive—it would jeopardize my plans. But I’m not entirely heartless,” Aedran continued. “I’ve ordered paper and ink to be left in your room. Write a letter to your wife, telling her you’re alive and to keep it secret. Mention something only the two of you would know, so she can trust its authenticity. But we’ll review it before it’s sent.”

Ned nodded in sincere gratitude and hurried to his chambers to write the letter.

The maid respectfully informed Ned, "His Majesty invites you to join him for tea.

Ned nodded to the maid and began to follow her. He had been thinking about Aedran's offer for the past week and was leaning toward acceptance, but he hoped to push the terms of the bargain. If possible, he wanted Sisterton to be recorded as part of the northern territories.

"Lord Stark," Aedran said. This time, he was not sitting; he stood. There was no tea on the table, not even a table, and this meeting was no longer secret, with people everywhere. Lords, commanders, servants. "I have a gift for you," the king said in a generous tone.

Just as Ned was about to say something, he heard a scream behind him. A woman, whom he did not immediately recognize, ran toward him and embraced him so swiftly and warmly that Ned couldn’t even respond. The woman buried her face in his neck, inhaling his scent, and began to cry.

Ashara, Ned realized in shock. Seven hells, she has truly fallen. I didn’t even recognize her when I first saw her.

Ned, in the same way, hugged the woman tightly, murmuring comforting words in her ear. Then, to express his thanks, he turned to Aedran. The young king was sitting there, wearing a generous expression, but when Ned looked into his eyes, he saw a glint of cunning, and at that moment, he understood exactly what was happening.

The bastard tricked me.

He used the letter I wrote to lure Ashara here.

Ashara is now a prisoner with me, and if I refuse the offer, both of us will be executed.

He turned our meeting into a public spectacle to show all of Westeros how generous he is.

Ned looked back at the man before him. The young man was wearing red Blackfyre armor. Even though he had only just entered the game of thrones, he was turning it with great skill. He was definitely someone who should not be made an enemy.

For the first time in his life, Ned was afraid of his rival.

Chapter Text

Benjen tightly embraced his brother, having believed for the past few months that he was dead. He had concluded that the Blackfyres' refusal to provide any explanation regarding Lord Stark's unknown status could only mean the worst. But it turned out that the young King Aedran was far more cunning than he seemed.

"Brother! Thank the gods!" Benjen exclaimed with gratitude.

"All right, you're going to choke me," his brother replied, laughing. "Come, Benjen, we have things to discuss, and time is limited. Ashara only allowed a private meeting for 10 minutes."

Benjen chuckled at the remark. Lady Stark, since reuniting with her husband, rarely allowed him out of their chambers or away from her side. Still, Benjen was happy for his sister-in-law; when he saw her earlier, he noticed she was much healthier than before.

"Brother, I…" Benjen hesitated, embarrassed. "I'm sorry. I couldn't protect her. I was too focused on keeping the Northern army united."

"It doesn't matter. I fell into the same trap," Ned replied dismissively. They both sat at the table. "Tell me, what's the state of the Northern army?"

"The lie you told wasn't well-received, brother," Benjen said honestly. "The reputation and trustworthiness of House Stark have certainly taken a hit, but most lords remain generally loyal. However…" He fidgeted nervously. "There were rumors that you intended to support Maekar as king, which caused significant unrest within the army. Additionally, there has been fierce debate about Lyanna and Rhaegar's relationship. Some claim Lyanna willingly eloped, causing her father's, her brother's, and thousands of Northerners' deaths. They say she refused to marry Robert Baratheon because of his affairs with whores but was willing to become the Silver Prince's second wife. They're calling her 'the She-Wolf Whore.' I've punished those spreading such rumors immediately, but they continue to whisper in secret."

"I understand," Ned sighed deeply. "What about the North? Have the harvester deliveries been completed?"

Benjen looked at his brother in surprise. Even in captivity, Ned was concerned with the North's agricultural rotation plan. "Since Ashara headed south, there hasn't been anyone left in Winterfell to oversee such matters, so the harvesters are currently stored. Additionally, the new grain silos you ordered to be built and the upgrades to existing ones have been delayed due to the war."

"That could be a serious issue," Ned said frankly. "The summer has lasted unusually long in recent years, which means the coming winter could be disastrous. We must end this war immediately and prepare for winter in the North. Oats, rye, barley, wheat, beets, and rice—all of these must become widespread crops in the North before winter comes."

Benjen knew how ambitious his brother was about the agricultural rotation plan, but even now… Well, he knows better than I do, Benjen thought as he shifted his focus to the main issue. "What about the war, brother? Are we joining the Blackfyre side?"

"I'm not sure," Ned admitted honestly. "If I stubbornly refuse to bend the knee, it will likely result in Ashara's and my execution, leaving you as the only adult Stark in the North. Some Northern and Southern lords will try to claim all the investments I made over the years to enrich the North. Robb is still a child, so you'll need to guide him until he comes of age."

Benjen recoiled at the thought. He saw himself as a capable lord but knew he wasn't a leader like his brother. He was more of a supportive figure, akin to Kevan Lannister, and he was honest with himself about that. As the third son, he had never been groomed for leadership.

"Then it seems you have no choice but to accept," he said reluctantly.

"I'm inclined to accept," Ned stated plainly. "But there are two non-negotiable conditions. If they are not met, I will never bend the knee."

Benjen immediately straightened in his seat, focusing on his brother. "What are these conditions?"

"First," Ned explained, "Sansa will be placed at the very bottom of Winterfell's line of succession. This will make it nearly impossible for Aedran and Sansa's children to claim rights to Winterfell."

Benjen nodded in agreement. Sansa was not a capable leader for the North, and keeping her as Robb's heir posed a significant risk to the region's future. They barely knew the Blackfyres and couldn't take such a gamble.

"And the second condition?"

"I recently had the chance to speak with King Aedran," Ned said uneasily. "He told me the wildfire that caused the Kingspyre disaster was supplied by his side."

"Are you certain?" Benjen asked. "Could he be bluffing?"

"I don't think so," Ned replied. "Everything that has happened since the war began seems meticulously planned. The Goldroom scandal might have been a coincidence, but the High Sparrow uprising was not. For a zealot-led rebellion, it was too organized, and the houses that joined the rebellion didn't wait even a day before aligning with the Blackfyres."

"I'm not sure," Benjen said. "The High Sparrow despised Targaryens, and the Blackfyres are essentially a branch of them."

"According to King Aedran, the High Sparrow was not a Blackfyre supporter," Ned explained. "The one who detonated the bomb was Bonifer Hasty. He was in love with the late Queen Rhaella and sought to avenge her."

"Then they must have been preparing for this for a long time," Benjen speculated. "I trust the Northern lords, but among the Riverlands and Vale lords, there may be Blackfyre traitors waiting to stab us in the back during the war."

"That's possible," Ned agreed. "But you're missing the main point. I told you the wildfire used during the Kingspyre disaster was supplied by the Blackfyres. Do you understand what that means?"

Benjen thought for a moment before his eyes widened in realization. "The Blackfyres have wildfire. They likely possess the knowledge to produce it and, given how they transported it to Harrenhal unnoticed, they also have safe and efficient methods of transportation."

"Exactly," Ned confirmed. "My second condition relates to this. King Aedran must issue decrees outright banning the use of wildfire and have the High Septon declare it a cursed and accursed substance. He must proclaim that anyone who uses it will be damned."

"If what you're saying is true, wildfire is a critical weapon for the Blackfyre family. King Aedran won't easily accept this proposal."

"That's why I said this condition is non-negotiable," Ned said firmly. "Even if they execute Ashara and me, I will never kneel unless these two conditions are met. While I'm gone, you must lead the North with utmost caution, brother. If you launch an attack on King's Landing, remember they possess wildfire. Keep the troops spread out, and have the crannogmen archers ready in the rear to target any wildfire bombers immediately."

"Don't worry, brother," Benjen assured him. "No matter what, I will avenge you."

"Don't burden yourself with that too much," Ned said, laughing as he leaned back. "King Aedran may have cornered me, but Tywin Lannister has cornered King Aedran just as effectively. If I don't support them, the Blackfyres have no chance of winning this war."

Benjen knew this statement was true. Tywin Lannister, besieged at Casterly Rock, had made a move no one expected, completely upending the board. He had renounced all claims to the throne for his grandchildren, announcing that Joffrey and Tommen would join the Night's Watch and that Cersei and Myrcella would become Silent Sisters.

But Tywin's actions didn’t stop there. He had negotiated with the armies of both the Rose and the Fox, facilitating an alliance between them. Edric Baratheon would marry Margaery, with Tywin serving as Hand of the King. In short, the Rose and the Fox armies had merged, giving the Baratheons an army of 83,000.

"I can't believe the old lion gave up the Lannister legacy," Benjen remarked.

"He didn't have much choice," Ned explained. "He tried to negotiate and make peace with the Blackfyres, but King Aedran completely ignored him. As a new king with a new dynasty, he needs to prove himself militarily; otherwise, his reign won't be taken seriously." He paused for a moment. "The king chose the Lannisters as a rival to crush. The Tyrells seemed on the verge of defecting to the Blackfyre side, so House Lannister's existence was in jeopardy. The old lion gave up the Lannister legacy to save his house."

"If you kneel before Aedran, their 83,000 soldiers will face our 79,000. This will be a war of unprecedented scale, Ned. The likes of it have never been seen in history," Benjen mused.

"It truly will be," Ned said, pausing briefly before rising and walking to the window to gaze at the view of King's Landing. "I fear what the future may hold, brother. The fate of House Stark may hang by a thread."

Benjen found this comment hard to dismiss as an exaggerated absurdity, so he said nothing, focusing instead on the war.

"What about the Dornish?" he finally asked. "Their allegiance could make a real difference in the war."

"I doubt they'll join the war," Ned said. "They would never side with the Lannisters, and King Aedran, as a Blackfyre, holds them in contempt. He despises the Targaryens even more. He won't negotiate with them in any capacity."

"What will happen to Maekar?" Benjen asked after a moment's pause.

"Most likely the Night's Watch," Ned replied. "There's nothing more I can do about it. I promised Lyanna, but I can't protect my nephew any longer. If I insist on this, the security of the North will be in danger."

Poor child, Benjen thought.

"Well… I…" Benjen stood. "I need to think about this and make plans. I should take my leave now."

Eddard Stark gave his brother one last tight hug. "I trust you, Benjen. Protect the North."

"And I trust you," Benjen replied. "Take care of my sister-in-law. While you're at it, have another child—the Stark pack needs new wolves."

Ned, feigned mock anger as he told his brother to get lost, while Benjen walked away laughing.

"We pledge our loyalty to the Blackfyre house of Dragonstone," Benjen said at the same time as his brother, kneeling before the Blackfyre king.

"We entrust our hearth and our crops to you. Our swords and spears are at your command. Grant mercy to the weak, help to the helpless, and justice to all. We will never abandon you."

Fuck, fuck, fuck, Benjen swore inwardly. We are about to start the greatest war in history.

"I swear on earth and water."

Thousands of people will die.

"I swear on Bronze and Iron."

The Battle of the Trident will seem like a mere skirmish in comparison.

"I swear by Ice and Fire."

I hope history forgives us.

Chapter Text

Aedran calculated that the Stag army should be near Golden Grove now while looking at the map. Then the battle would most likely take place in Tumbleton.

“What do you think, my king?” Lord Stark asked with an unreadable expression.

Aedran looked at Eddard Stark, who was sitting in the honor seat beside him. During the months he had held the man captive, they had met nearly every week, and Aedran couldn’t deny that he had developed a certain level of admiration for his good father. War, politics, statecraft—this man had expertise and experience in all of them. He rarely spoke, but when he did, everyone around him listened closely, and the advice he offered was almost worth its weight in gold.

Aedran had spent a lot of time thinking about how he would draw Eddard Stark to his side while the man was his prisoner. Eventually, with support from his uncle Varys, he managed to come up with a strategy. Eddard Stark was born a soldier, and threats like death or torture didn’t frighten him. However, there were things he valued more than his life: the North, his children, his wife.

Aedran acknowledged that the alliance he had formed with the Starks had begun under somewhat unpleasant circumstances, but he was genuinely eager to build a good relationship with them. There was no better way to secure the future for himself and his children than a Stark marriage. Drawing the Starks to his side—though the price he paid was hard to swallow—had been worth it. Not only did he gain an army that would make him king, but he had also acquired a brilliant commander and advisor in Eddard Stark. The very presence of the man lifted the morale of the army, and despite their fatigue from war, they were confident they would win.

“I believe the battle will take place here,” Aedran said, pointing at Tumbleton on the map.

“That’s a reasonable deduction,” Eddard Stark acknowledged. “What strategy do you plan to follow?”

Aedran realized that the man was testing him. He had been doing this in nearly every meeting they had had, observing him, trying to assess his character.

Aedran smiled to himself. Putting a king to the test in this way might be considered insolence by some, but Aedran actually enjoyed these challenges, and after passing each one, he made significant progress.

“Tumbleton’s eastern region is known for its mountainous terrain,” Aedran said. “If I place archers there, I could gain an advantage over the Stag army.”

“Yes, the advantage of archers is quite valuable,” Lord Stark said. “But it alone won’t win you the war. We’re facing the combined armies of the Reach and the West, and these forces are known for using heavily armored soldiers.”

“The Stormlands army is renowned for its ability to make forward attacks and break through enemy defenses,” Aedran suggested. “We could open a gap in the Stag army and then let the archers take advantage of it.”

“The entire Stormlands army isn’t with you. Some of them are still supporting Edric Baratheon,” Eddard Stark reminded him. “And they don’t have a leader like Robert Baratheon. I wouldn’t bet on such a claim.”

“What about the North’s army?” Aedran asked. “What difference can you make?”

This question caused Lord Stark to pause and think for a moment. "We have Crannogmen archers, they're very accurate, but their numbers are few. The Rills and Dustin cavalry are of good quality, but they're not as good as the Vale's armored cavalry. The Manderlys have a good quality knightly force, especially their armored infantry, but facing Lannister-level quality would be difficult for them. The Umbers are excellent soldiers for the front lines, their shield walls are incredible, nearly impossible to breach, but I wouldn’t claim they’re as impressive as the Dornish shield walls. The Boltons are great soldiers for the front lines as well. They have experience in breaking shield walls. Very few men can look at the banner of a skin-peeler and not be frightened, but even they aren’t as good at breaking through a wall as the Baratheon army."

He looked at Aedran again. “In short, the North’s army is good in nearly every aspect, but it’s not the best at any of them.”

Aedran looked at his good father in surprise. The man clearly had an excellent understanding of Westerosi armies, though such insight was to be expected from such a renowned war commander.

“What do you recommend?” Aedran finally asked.

“The armies we face,” Lord Stark asked. “Tyrell, Florent, and Lannister. What do these three have in common?”

Aedran thought for a moment. “These armies have fought against each other.”

“Yes, correct,” Eddard Stark confirmed. “These armies were fighting, killing each other, and plundering each other’s lands just a few months ago. Wouldn’t it be absurd if they suddenly became allies?”

Aedran couldn’t deny the logic of this. The Stag alliance did appear quite fragile, but especially the Lannister and Tyrell forces would be highly motivated. If they lost this war, at best, they would lose their lord paramount titles; at worst, their houses would be destroyed. Tywin Lannister and Olenna Tyrell both knew this very well, and they would play all their cards.

Compared to the Stag army, the Blackfyre alliance was made up of men who had fought together, not against each other. Aedran had the full armies of the North, the Riverlands, and the Vale, along with part of the Stormlands. These kingdoms had come together in their last campaign to overthrow the 300-year-old Targaryen dynasty.

And the Blackfyre army... If his ancestor Daemon Blackfyre hadn’t been treacherously ambushed by Brynden Rivers, he would have certainly won that war, overthrown the Targaryens, and saved Westeros from the mad kings who would follow in the years to come. Aedran was absolutely certain of this.

“You want to exploit their lack of alliance,” Aedran said. “How do we do that?”

“The Stag army is mostly made up of heavily armored troops, so they’re very slow—much slower than us,” Eddard Stark said, placing his hand on a specific part of the map. “You should march the army here.”

Aedran looked at the location his good father had indicated on the map in surprise. “Highgarden?”

“Yes, the Tyrell stronghold,” Eddard Stark confirmed. “When Mace Tyrell learns the army is marching towards his house, he’ll try to intervene and get in the way. Tywin Lannister, on the other hand, will seize the opportunity and attempt to conquer King’s Landing while we’re away.”

“King’s Landing is the seat of power in the kingdom. You want me to give it to the Stag army?”

“King’s Landing will be a temporary loss,” Eddard Stark shrugged. “If you win the war, it will become the seat of the Blackfyre house forever.”

Aedran paused for a moment, tapping his fingers on the table as he thought. “What’s your plan?”

“When we march our army towards Highgarden,” Eddard Stark explained, “the Stag army will have only two options. First, they can try to intervene. If they choose this path, a battle will take place near Roseroad—a battle that strategically favors us. The Mander river will be right behind us, and you can station the Blackfyre fleet there, so if we need to retreat, they’ll provide us with a clear route.”

“What if they choose the second option?” Aedran asked. “What if they attack King’s Landing?”

“Most likely, they’ll take the city,” Eddard Stark shrugged. He picked up the symbols on the map—lion, flower, and fox carvings—and placed them on King’s Landing. Then he put the Blackfyre symbol on Highgarden.

“Now tell me,” Eddard Stark looked at Aedran carefully. “Where is Tywin Lannister?”

“At King’s Landing.”

“Where is Mace Tyrell?”

“At King’s Landing.”

“And where are their lands?” Eddard Stark pointed to the West and Reach on the map.

“Our hands,” Aedran’s eyes lit up with admiration. “On a silver platter. They’ll be in our hands, and we can conquer and plunder as much as we want, and while we do that, the loyalty of the Reach and the West nobles at King’s Landing will be greatly shaken.”

“Exactly. Already, a few Western noble houses have betrayed the Lannisters. And the Tyrells don’t have the full support of the Reach,” his good father said. “While we plunder their lands, they’ll be trapped in King’s Landing. And with us blocking the flow of crops from the Reach into the city, they’ll have to deal with a starving population.”

“They could attack the Reach again, or they might turn towards the Riverlands,” Aedran speculated. “But attacking the Riverlands would drag the war out and provoke the nobles who want to free their own lands. If they attack to regain the Reach, we can wait in a favorable position and create an opportunity for ourselves. And by that time, several Reach and Western houses will be at our door, offering alliance and a chance to strike from behind the Stag army.”

Aedran looked at his good father once more with admiration. “This... This is a brilliant plan,” he finally said. “Let’s present it at the war council tomorrow. I’m sure they’ll approve it.”

Eddard Stark accepted the compliment with a small nod of his head.

The war council had approved the plan. Tomorrow, under the leadership of Lord John Mudd, a vanguard of 5,000 men would set out for Bitterbridge. The entire army was expected to be on the move within a week, as speed was crucial to gaining the strategic position for the battle. Most of the soldiers were experienced warriors, and they were aware that the upcoming battle would be one of the largest in Westerosi history. From the most ordinary soldier to the greatest commander, everyone was eager to prove themselves and etch their names in history. Of course, Aedran would lead the army, with Eddard Stark always by his side for advice.

Aedran was excited, his spirits high. After winning such a grand battle, no one would dare question the Blackfyre family's right to rule the country. He would achieve a victory like the one Aegon the Conqueror had won at the Field of Fire, but with one major difference: Aedran didn’t have a dragon to cheat with, and since he had promised Eddard Stark, wildfire would be off the table during the war. He would win this war with nothing but his own intellect. His soldiers had already begun calling him ‘The Valiant.’

Aedran looked at his good father, who was speaking to his good mother, Ashara, trying to calm her down. The woman was soon to set sail for White Harbor and return to the North; she had already started showing signs of pregnancy. She loved her husband, that was certain. And the man loved her as well, but he was paying the price for it.

“What do you think?” his friend Lymond Peake asked.

Aedran said, "I hope Sansa Stark is as productive in having children as her stepmother."

“Ha, is that what you’re thinking?” Lymond laughed mockingly. “Did you know I’m going to marry their daughter? The girl is incredibly beautiful; I am the luckiest man in the world.”

“Their daughters?” Aedran looked at his friend in horror. “Litheria Stark is still a baby.”

“I’m not talking about her,” Lymond said. “I’m talking about Allyria Dayne. She’s actually the daughter of this pair, don’t tell me you didn’t know.”

“Ah...” Aedran sighed in relief, remembering the information his uncle Varys had given him earlier. He could see the strategic advantages of this marriage.

After Aedran won the war, he decided to grant the Peake family vast lands along with the title of the new Lord Paramount of the Reach. The Peakes had been active supporters of the Blackfyres since the first rebellion; they had even managed to kill a Targaryen king. However, the cost of their support for the Blackfyres had been very heavy for the Peakes. The Peakes had lost many of their relatives in the Blackfyre rebellions, along with much of their land. In the last battle, Lymond’s older brother, Pykewood Peake, had been killed, and his friend Lymond had become the new heir to his father's lands.

While Aedran was willing to reward House Peake generously, he had kept it quiet. Yet his good father, Eddard Stark, had probably foreseen this move. He was securing his daughter’s future position as Lady of Highgarden, a deal that would benefit both sides and, of course, Aedran was not against a marriage that would draw the Starks and the Daynes more firmly into the Blackfyre alliance.

“Must be nice to be loved like that,” Lymond said with a certain bitterness.

Aedran smirked. “Love is not what I need. I need a lady who does her queenly duties and gives me healthy heirs. I hope Sansa Stark can manage that.”

"Really?" Lymond asked. "Come on, mate, don't be so cold. Everyone wants to be loved."

"Unnecessary," Aedran repeated, looking at his friend.

"Love would kill me."

Chapter Text

The knights bearing the sigil of House Arryn took their positions in waves, numbering in the thousands, while they were supported by the Stark infantry soldiers following behind them. The two allied houses had fought together in this position before, so they were accustomed to each other’s tactics. They took their assigned positions on a slight rise overlooking the enemy’s defenses.

The armor of the man beside him was forged from black steel, decorated with red and silver embroidery. A three-headed dragon embossment glowed on the breastplate, and the shoulder plates resembled dragon wings. His helm was designed like the head of a dragon, with eye holes glowing like embers. It was truly a magnificent set of armor. Anyone watching from afar would have no doubt that the one wearing it was Aedran Blackfyre.

"Stand tall," Ned commanded the armored man. "Right now, people think you're King Aedran. If you show any sign of fear, we could lose the battle. If that happens, I’ll send your corpse to the Boltons."

The man with the violet eyes briefly shifted with fear, but quickly returned to his brave, kingly posture and nodded at Ned in acknowledgment. He was playing his role well.

In the distance, Ned could see the Manderly knights advancing south at a relaxed pace. Dawn had broken, and the sun was beginning to rise mercilessly. There was a light breeze, but no rain, and Ned was truly grateful for this; if it had rained, the battle would have become a miserable ordeal for his army.

The area they were in was already partially swampy, but Ned had positioned his soldiers in a more favorable spot. The Stag’s army would have to cross the swamp's wet areas before launching their assault, and most of them were heavily armored. Their feet would become cold and damp as they waded through the water, leaving them feeling ill and demoralized even before the battle began.

He looked at the banners of the enemy army approaching and saw the golden rose of House Tyrell. However, the banners of House Tarly and House Hightower were missing. It was clear that Randyl Tarly and Baelor Hightower had seen through the trap this position was laying for them. The Tyrells are keeping us occupied while they circle around the forest and try to attack us from behind, catching us off guard, Ned speculated. A simple yet effective strategy.

If Ned had wildfire in his possession, he would have set the forest ablaze while the enemy soldiers were inside. But there was no such hope. Wildfire been completely banned, a taboo material. If Ned had used it, his already fragile reputation and honorable image would have been shattered beyond repair.

Still, this didn’t mean Ned wouldn’t use the forest to his advantage; he had already prepared a few surprises.

Half a mile away, Mace Tyrell sat atop his magnificent horse, with the main body of his army at its center. Beneath his green cloak, he wore an ornate suit of armor adorned with a golden rose. The morning sun shone on his helm, decorated with leaf motifs, giving him the appearance of a figure straight out of a knights’ tale.

For the Old Gods’ sake, does he not realize we are at war? Ned wondered in disbelief. Making himself so conspicuous will only bring about his death.

"Keep five Crannogmen archers ready," he instructed Howland Reed, who stood beside him. "If the opportunity arises during the battle, they should take a shot at this fool. I'm sure finding his position won’t be difficult."

Ned heard the sound of the war horn and saw 5,000 enemy soldiers charging swiftly from the left flank. He easily recognized the commander leading them. Gregor Clegane. Ned had to admit that this man was the right choice; had he been the one to initiate the first assault, he would have used the Boltons.

He’s heading toward the Umbers, Ned thought with amusement. I guess this time he’s chosen a rival more his size. Greatjon will have a lot of fun.

Ned sent instructions to Lord Deacon Ironsmith, who was in charge of the Rylls cavalry, to circle around the enemy’s vanguard from behind. As he gave these orders, the Umber forces were already beginning to form a shield wall against the enemy. If House Crakehall hadn’t betrayed the Lannisters, they would have moved alongside the vanguard, and the Umber shield wall would have posed a serious threat. The Crakehall sigil wasn’t a wild boar for no reason; House Crakehall had a certain reputation for breaking through shield walls.

As the enemy continued to charge toward the Umbers at full speed, the archers of House Blackwood, House Hunter, and House Tempeton were unleashing a rain of arrows. Ned saw a few enemy soldiers fall, but there were no significant casualties.

Finally, Clegane slammed into the Umber shield wall. The noise was so loud that it was likely heard even in Winterfell. Soon after, Ironsmith's cavalry launched a counterattack from behind Clegane. Ned hoped Lord Deacon Ironsmith wouldn't make the foolish mistake of directly attacking Gregor Clegane, as doing so would certainly result in his death.

"Boy," he instructed the squire beside him. "Tell Lord Ironsmith not to attack Clegane directly and not to send his cavalry into the enemy ranks. They should shake up the enemy and prevent them from escaping while the archers finish their work."

The squire nodded quickly and hurried off. Just then, the Tyrell infantry began to advance. An intimidating force of around 20,000 infantry was charging toward the center of Ned’s army.

This won’t do, Ned thought. I need more time.

"Order the Bolton, Bracken, Piper, and Vance forces to advance and engage," he commanded. "Ten thousand men should be enough. I want them to hold them off for as long as possible."

As Ned’s orders were quickly relayed, the battlefield was descending into chaos. The Umbers had clashed with Gregor Clegane’s vanguard in a deadly battle. Great shields and massive axes collided, the screams of the dying and the sharp sound of metal ringing through the air. Ironsmith's cavalry had begun to encircle the enemy, but Gregor Clegane was still charging forward like a wrecking machine atop his giant horse.

As the Bolton, Bracken, Piper, and Vance forces advanced, a bloody clash with the Tyrell infantry was imminent. Ned knew these forces wouldn’t last long, but their sole purpose was to buy time. If the enemy's attention could be distracted long enough, it would be enough.

"Hightower and Tarly are inside the forest," Howland reported.

"How many?" Ned asked with an expressionless face.

"About 16,000."

Ned nodded in acknowledgment. If 16,000 men had suddenly emerged and attacked from behind, it could have been a serious problem, but Ned had already ensured that the enemy forces wouldn't be able to move through the forest easily.

For the Northerners, calling the forest folk was hardly an inaccurate term. Nearly all of the North was covered in vast forests, and they were the North's greatest source of livelihood. Almost all Northerners, including women, learned to hunt, set traps, and skin animals from a young age.

Ned had already prepared for a possible attack from the forest. Since the beginning of the battle, Glover, Forrester, Mormont, and the mountain tribesmen had been positioned in a scattered manner throughout the forest. The forest was filled with hunting traps.

The forest was an ideal place for setting traps; first, it wasn’t that large. From the hill where Ned stood, he could see both the start and the end of the forest. Secondly, despite the forest's small size, it was quite dense, filled with trees and greenery. In short, it was the perfect place to lay an ambush for an army.

Still, Ned didn’t expect the forces he had positioned within the forest to destroy the enemy. They didn’t need to do that. Ned wasn’t after a victory in this battle; he only needed to buy time.

The battle continued like this for about an hour. To keep occupying the Tyrell forces, Ned sent reinforcements from Hornwood, Slate, and Flint. A few enemy soldiers occasionally emerged from the forest, attempting to attack from behind, but they posed little problem since the Crannogmen archers at the rear quickly intervened. Ned now thought that Aedran must have arrived by now.

"A servant rushed towards Ned, shouting, 'My lord! My lord! A disaster! This is a disaster!'

Ned glared at the foolish servant, who was shouting loud enough to announce the disaster to the entire army. "What happened?"

"The combined Lannister and Florent army has appeared right behind us. They've taken our ships at the Mander River with a surprise attack, and now they’re heading this way!"

Ned stared at the boy in disbelief. The Lannister and Florent combined army! What were they doing here? According to the intelligence Ned had received, the Tyrells had planned to march to Highgarden after learning that the Blackfyre army was advancing, but Tywin Lannister had refused, insisting on invading King's Landing. As a result, the Stag army had been divided into two parts, with the Florents joining the Lannisters.

The Blackfyre army celebrated upon hearing the news. With the armies split, it wouldn’t be much of an issue to destroy the Tyrell and Lannister forces piece by piece. But Ned found this news suspicious. Tywin Lannister wasn’t a fool—he must have known that splitting the army would lead to certain death. Why had he made such a decision?

Still, sharing his suspicions at that moment seemed unnecessary. Ned quickly devised a new plan to defeat the approaching Tyrell forces with minimal loss. His own army would be split under the command of Aedran and Ned. Aedran would march toward Highgarden, while Ned would wait in an advantageous position along the Rose Road. What happened next depended on who Mace Tyrell decided to attack. If they attacked Aedran, Ned would strike the Tyrells from behind. If they attacked Ned, the reverse would apply. The reason Ned based his entire strategy on buying time was that Aedran was waiting for the Blackfyre army.

They hit me with my own tactic, Ned realized then. The Lannisters had likely gone to Bitterbridge, but instead of laying siege, they had followed the river downstream. With a sharp strike, they had destroyed the Blackfyre fleet waiting at the Mander River, and now they were coming toward him.

"How many soldiers? When will they arrive? What kind of troops?" Ned asked the servant.

"About 23,000. Mostly cavalry. They'll be here in no more than twenty minutes," the servant reported.

Ned quickly thought about what to do. 23,000 soldiers were more than enough to take the hill he was currently occupying, especially if they attacked from behind. There was a forest in between, but it was a narrow area, and it wouldn’t cause much trouble for the Lannisters. Fleeing wasn’t an option; the cavalry would catch them quickly. A surprise attack to disrupt the enemy’s center? Too risky.

No, what he needed to do was stick to what he was doing now. Hold the hill, buy time, and wait for Aedran Blackfyre.

“All units on the hill, turn around,” Ned started issuing commands. “The infantry in the valley and the river will hold the center. Blackfish will lead the defense. All available archers will position on the hill to support them. Manderly’s cavalry will be on the right flank, Arryn’s cavalry on the left. The Karstarks, together with the Stark forces, will hold the center.”

The lords around him immediately set off to carry out their orders. The army began to move quickly, with all the units positioning themselves as fast as possible. Fortunately, the news had arrived just in time, giving them enough time to take their positions.

At that moment, another horn sounded from behind. "Blackfyre! The Blackfyre army has arrived!" reported Rickard Karstark.

Ned scanned the horizon and saw the faint fluttering of the black dragon banner. The Tyrell army, just like Ned had done earlier, was turning around to take up their positions.

In that instant, Ned understood. It was all a matter of time now. Would the Tyrells hold longer, or would the Starks? The answer to that question would determine the fate of the battle.

"Who is commanding the Tyrell army? Mace Tyrell is not experienced enough to have the forces set up so quickly," Ned asked the men around him.

"Randyl Tarly," answered Yohn Royce, his expression troubled. "I don't think he entered the forest with his own troops."

Ned swore loudly. Just then, another horn sounded, and in the distance, Lannister and Florent cavalry appeared.

Ned measured the distance in his mind. He calculated that they would begin their attack five minutes before the Blackfyre army struck the Tyrells. 

"Alright, gentlemen," he shouted to his soldiers. "We’re facing the Lannisters and Reach's green boys, the ones we’ve humiliated twice before. Let’s show them how real men fight!"

As the Lannisters surged forward, Ned's soldiers' cheers echoed across the battlefield.

Just then, another horn sounded. Ned cursed under his breath as he looked around. The horn sounded again. And again. Five times in total.

Ned's blood ran cold. The horn being sounded five times was a tactic he'd used when giving a signal to the traitors during the capture of Golden Tooth.

At that very moment, the united defensive line of the River and Vale armies, which had not yet clashed with the Lannister cavalry, began to falter. The traitor houses immediately withdrew, creating gaps in the defense and attacking their former allies to expand those gaps.

Ned quickly counted the traitor houses. From the Vale, Corbray and Grafton. From the Riverlands, Mooton, Roote, and Frey.

"Tell the loyal houses to retreat immediately and rally at the center!" he shouted urgently. "Arryn and Manderly cavalry will harass the Lannisters from the side. I repeat, don’t waste time fighting the traitors, fall back and regroup at the center. Blackfish will hold the Lannisters, Benjen will lead the retreat."

The orders were swiftly carried out. Thank the gods, the lords under his command were experienced commanders who knew how to relay orders to their soldiers.

At that moment, the Lannister assault began. As Ned had commanded, the Manderly and Arryn cavalry did their best to stall the Lannisters, while Brynden Tully fought desperately to keep them at bay. Benjen, on the other hand, was doing his utmost to pull the army back, shouting orders to the soldiers and commanders around him.

A few minutes passed as Ned did his best to organize the positions. Blackfish couldn't hold the Lannister army for long. Just then, another five horn blasts sounded. But this time, instead of reacting with alarm, Ned smiled in relief. The horns had been sounded by the Blackfyre army.

There were traitorous houses in the River and Vale armies. Why wouldn’t there be in the Reach? Ned and Varys had secretly negotiated with those traitors, convincing them with various promises. Right now, the Blackfyre army seemed to be losing, but for the traitors Ned had made deals with, betraying the Stag army was their only option. As a precaution, Varys had gathered solid evidence of their treachery. If they failed to betray and caused the Blackfyre army's defeat as planned, this evidence would fall into the hands of the Stag army's leaders, and they would face incredibly harsh punishments. The traitors knew this, which is why they had no choice but to betray the Stag army.

Ned turned around and briefly checked on the Tyrell army. Their defensive lines were also beginning to break. The Golden Company, showing no loss of discipline, launched their attack at full speed. The Storm Lords accompanied them at the forefront. In that moment, Ned made sure to count the traitorous houses of Reach as well—Blackbar, Oakheart, Caswell, and Vryrnel.

Randyl Tarly, just like Ned had done earlier, was trying to retreat and organize a defense, but he had a significant disadvantage. Ned's commanding position on the hill was something Randyl Tarly didn’t have. He was fighting on a flat plain.

Ned couldn’t remember what happened next. Had it been 10 minutes? 20? Maybe an hour or two? He couldn’t calculate the time. The only thing he remembered was trying to hold the defense lines tight as the Lannister and Florent cavalry charged at his army with all their power and fury. After a while, he noticed infantry reinforcements arriving behind the Lannisters. They were the Stormlords supporting Edric Baratheon. When Ned saw the flag of the Buckler house on the front lines, he cursed loudly. The Buckler house was the one that had broken through Dorne’s famous shield wall at the Battle of the Trident.

Eventually, order broke down for both the friendly and enemy armies. They no longer cared about holding formations or military tactics; they were simply focused on killing each other in a frenzy.

Ned didn’t know how long he had been swinging his sword Ice, but he was already covered in blood. He didn’t feel tired, and if he was injured, he wasn’t aware of it. His body was flooded with adrenaline.

“Traitor!” he suddenly heard a shout directed at him. He turned his head to see where the voice came from. It was Lyn Corbray, the famous knight who had killed Lewyn Martell, a Kingsguard, in single combat at the Battle of the Trident. He was almost as skilled with a sword as Jaime Lannister, and Ned couldn’t avoid fighting him.

The two fought for several minutes, and anyone who tried to intervene was quickly cut down. Ned saw a Hornwood and two Karstark family members lying dead on the ground. If the battle continued this way, Ned would be one of them.

“Traitor,” Lyn Corbray repeated confidently. “Robert Baratheon treated you like a brother. He gave you all the advantages and aid for the North, and yet you betrayed him.”

Ned couldn’t deny the truth of those words. He could make excuses, but the truth was what it was. After kneeling before the Blackfyres, his honor and reputation—built over a lifetime—had been severely damaged. If he had been the ‘honorable Ned Stark,’ he would have never accepted kneeling and would have died for House Baratheon. That was the truth.

Lyn Corbray made another quick move and feinted from right to left. He managed to strike a deep cut across Ned's leg. With a scream, Ned collapsed to the ground. He hadn’t checked the wound yet, but he could tell with certainty that he would struggle to walk for the rest of his life.

Ned, kneeling on the ground, looked up at Lyn Corbray, who was preparing to strike him down with one final blow. He accepted death calmly. He had been raised as a soldier; from childhood, he had been taught that death in battle was a possibility.

For a brief moment, Ned closed his eyes. Where had he gone wrong? Perhaps, like his father, he had succumbed to the southern ambitions. Maybe he should never have gathered the army and marched south. Perhaps he should have been content with what he had and lived quietly with his family. He had wealth, achievements that would be remembered in history, a wife who loved him dearly, wonderful children... Litheria. He had never seen her, and another child was already growing in Ashara's womb—one he would never meet.

Forgive me, Ashara, Ned thought as he waited for the final strike.

But it never came.

When Ned opened his eyes, he saw that Lyn Corbray was lying dead on the ground, and right next to him was his friend, Howland Reed, also lifeless.

For what felt like an eternity, Ned stared at the bodies of his fallen companions, lost in thought, unable to process anything. It wasn't until a hand gripped his shoulder and shook him that he snapped back to reality. It was Yohn Royce.

"Ned! Are you alright?" Yohn shouted. "Our allied forces have arrived. The entire enemy army has scattered. Tywin Lannister is dead, and the Lannister and Florent forces are retreating in panic. We’ve won, Ned! We won!"

Ned didn't say a word. He simply kept his gaze fixed on the body of Howland Reed, lying motionless on the ground.

Yes, they had won.

But at what cost?

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty," said Maester Haldon in a sorrowful voice. "The dagger struck directly into your intestines, and the poison has spread throughout your body. There is no escaping this. You don't have much time left. Thanks to the toxins I've given you, it will be a painless death."

Aedran took a deep breath. He had achieved everything he had ever dreamed of, but now, just as he held it in his grasp, he was losing it.

Still, he wasn't too regretful. He was in bliss. The Blackfyre dynasty had finally become the rulers of Westeros, just as they were always meant to be, and they had done so with an unbelievably great victory—one that would go down in history and ensure that the name Blackfyre was remembered forever.

In the midst of these thoughts, a wave of fear gripped his heart. What would happen after his death? If the Blackfyres did not sit upon the Iron Throne, all of this effort, all the blood and tears, would have been for nothing. Aedran knew he had only a few hours left to live, and before he died, he had to secure the Blackfyre legacy. If he failed, the Baratheons or the Targaryens might seize the opportunity to claim the throne—or worse. The Seven Kingdoms could shatter.

"Eddard Stark," he muttered with difficulty. "Bring Eddard Stark and Uncle Varys here. Immediately."

Maester Haldon had clearly grasped Aedran's intent. He nodded and swiftly left the room. Only a few minutes later, Varys entered.

"Your Majesty," he said with deep sorrow.

"Uncle." Aedran tried to smile. "I always thought I would outlive you."

"I had hoped for that as well, my nephew," Varys said in an emotional voice. "You would have been a great king… truly a great king."

"I suppose we'll never know," Aedran murmured. With time and energy running short, he saw no reason for pointless discussions. "Give me that damned wine."

As Aedran took a deep sip from the cup handed to him, Eddard Stark entered the room. He had clearly been informed of Aedran's condition, yet he displayed no emotion, keeping his stoic expression intact.

"Your Majesty," Lord Stark said, giving Aedran a respectful nod.

For a moment, Aedran simply stared at Lord Stark, trying to read his emotions. Was he sad? Or was he pleased? The man revealed nothing.

"Everyone except Lord Stark, Lord Varys, and Maester Haldon, leave the room," he said at last. "I will share my final words and orders with them. Maester Haldon will record everything."  

A brief murmur filled the room as people obeyed his command and began leaving. Meanwhile, Maester Haldon prepared his parchment and ink.  

"Isn't this an unbelievably shitty situation?" Aedran said with a mocking grin, turning to Lord Stark. "I won one of the greatest military victories in history. I defeated Barristan Selmy in single combat. I avenged my bastard great-uncle Maelys. I placed House Blackfyre on the Iron Throne, as it was always meant to be. And now this..." He gestured toward the wound on his stomach. "All the struggles of my life, all the sacrifices of my ancestors… wasted in a single moment of carelessness and exhilaration. While I stood over Barristan Selmy's corpse, roaring in triumph, some bastard struck me from my blind spot with a poisoned dagger. And you know what's worse? I didn't even see his face."  

"Your achievements will be remembered throughout history, Your Majesty," said Ned Stark, maintaining his stoic expression.  

Ah, this man never engages in conversation, does he? Aedran sighed internally. Well, I suppose that's the highest praise I’ll get from his lips.  

"After I die," Aedran commanded Maester Haldon, "I want you to take every measurement of my body and my image. Do you remember the lighthouse on that small island in King’s Landing’s harbor? Tear it down and build a colossal statue of me in its place. I want it to be like the Titan of Braavos. The entire city and every ship visiting King’s Landing must behold my magnificent image."

"As you wish, Your Majesty," said Maester Haldon, with deep respect.

"Very well, now about what will happen after my death," Aedran coughed up a few drops of blood and, while signaling with his hand for his uncle Varys to stop trying to help him, continued speaking. "It seems quite obvious that my marriage to Lady Sansa will not happen. My sons Maenar and Daemon will be brought from Essos. Maenar will be king, and Lord Stark will rule the kingdom as his regent until he comes of age, and Lord Stark's youngest daughter Litheria will become queen beside Maenar in the future."

"The War of the Three Bastards," Lord Stark said, with a hint of sarcasm in his voice. "The people have been calling all this madness over the past few years the 'War of the Three Bastards.' At the end of the war, all three bastards will be dead, but the one who sits on the throne will still be a bastard." Lord Stark laughed again at the irony of the situation. "The nobility won't accept this so easily."

Aedran felt a surge of anger at Lord Stark referring to the Blackfyres as bastards. Still, he couldn't muster the energy to respond, and historically, he knew this remark wasn't entirely unfounded. His ancestor and the founder of the house, Daemon Blackfyre, was a Targaryen bastard. "Maenar and Daemon's birth as bastards will be kept secret. Produce false documents for the so-called marriage with their mother and show the children as legitimate. Uncle Varys will handle this."

Varys nodded in agreement, while a skeptical look appeared on Lord Stark's face. He was probably questioning whether the so-called marriage was real, wondering if Aedran had lied to him from the beginning, but this worry was pointless. Maenar and Daemon's mother had been a Lyseni prostitute, a camp follower Aedran had kept by his side for a few years. Aedran wasn't foolish enough to marry a whore.

"I want the Reach to be split into two kingdoms. This kingdom alone can raise 70,000 soldiers, and to be honest, they are too powerful," he continued giving orders. "The area around the Hightowers, along with a few other lordships, will be declared a separate kingdom and will be known as 'Portland.' The Lord Paramounts will be of the Hightower family, and their loyalty will be secured through marriage. I think Baelor Hightower should still be unmarried." He turned to Lord Stark. "Your daughter Allyria will marry him and become the future lady of Oldtown." Lymond will hate me for doing this. He seemed quite infatuated with her when she visited King's Landing. "The Peake family will become the new Lord Paramounts of the Reach, and Highgarden will be given to them. Marry Lymond to Sansa, their ages aren't too far apart." He looked at Lord Stark. Do you see this? I made one of your daughters a queen and gave the other two the titles of future Lady Paramounts. Now, stop with that damn stoic face and show some gratitude. I'm doing all of this so that after my death, you will remain loyal to House Blackfyre.

"The Baratheons can continue to rule the Stormlands." Aedran thought that he should offer one last show of respect to the man who had overthrown the Targaryens. After all, even if the Lord Paramount title for the Stormlands were given to another house, Lord Stark would vehemently oppose it. "Renly Baratheon is still imprisoned, right? Get rid of him somehow, discreetly. Stannis' only child, his daughter Shireen Baratheon, will be the future Lady of Storm's End, and she will marry my son Daemon." Another marriage to solidify Blackfyre power, Aedran thought. I hope my sons don’t squander these gifts, or I’ll come back from the other side and deal with them personally.

"The Farmans will become the new Lord Paramounts of the West and will be rewarded with Lannisport." He continued, considering Crakehall House as an option, but they were related to House Stark. Aedran didn’t want to give the Stark family too much power.

Aedran amused himself by thinking about the new shape Westeros would take after his death; I believe it will have ten kingdoms instead of seven.

"There was a Reyne in the Golden Company, right? What was her name? Rogar Reyne? Give her Casterly Rock." Even Lord Stark smiled at this command. The Lannister legacy was being uprooted and destroyed, and it was being given to their old enemies, the Reynes. Surely, Tywin Lannister's bones would be aching in his grave.

"Alright, I think that's everything. As for the remaining rewards and punishments, you can handle them yourselves after I’m gone. Uncle Varys, Lord Stark, you should continue to assist Maenar as long as he remains loyal." Aedran said, particularly addressing Eddard Stark. "Now, everyone leave. Only Lord Stark should remain. I have something to discuss with him privately."

The command was carried out without any objections, and Aedran was pleased. He was growing weaker and didn’t have the energy to deal with people any longer. He could feel death’s breath on him more and more with each passing second.

"You." Aedran glanced at Lord Stark and didn’t waste any time. "You were the one who arranged for the assassin to stab me. You sent him, didn’t you?"

Lord Stark stared at Aedran for a while, and it was clear that from that moment, he felt no need to lie. "Yes," he simply replied.

"Well," Aedran sighed. "To be honest, you must have had dozens of reasons for doing it. But still, I feel the need to ask. Why did you do it?"

"Hmm, are you asking me why I did it?" Eddard Stark murmured. "You threatened to kill Ashara to make me kneel before you. You killed my friend Robert. You started this whole 'War of the Three Bastards' nonsense and caused the deaths of tens of thousands." He began tapping his finger on the table. "Maenar is only six years old, and while serving as his regent, I can use my authority to further strengthen the North. So yes, my political ambitions played a part in my decision as well." He looked at Aedran again. "And I know you committed fraud in the document that pushed Sansa to the bottom of the line of succession. Irregularities that could render those documents invalid."  

He stood up, his voice laced with anger. "What was your plan, Blackfyre? After finding a way to get rid of Robb and his children, were you going to make your second son with Sansa the Lord Paramount of the North?"  

Aedran sighed. Truthfully, he had already anticipated all these reasons. "Ah, I suppose today is a day for honesty," he murmured at last. "Yes, you're right. That plan had crossed my mind, but I hadn't fully decided yet."

"Will you keep asking why I sent an assassin after you?" Eddard Stark asked.

"No," Aedran said. "But I am curious—how did you do it? I was certain I had taken every precaution against assassins. Even the Faceless Men would have struggled to strike at me in that situation, yet your man somehow chose the perfect moment to attack and escape."

"Lymond Peake," Lord Stark said simply. "The one who stabbed you was Lymond Peake. Perhaps you remember—after I bent the knee to you, my daughter Allyria visited King’s Landing, and during her visit, Lymond saw her. He fell for her instantly, madly in love, and begged me to let him marry her." He shrugged. "I knew Lymond was your friend, always at your side during the war. So, I used that. Though, I must admit, I didn’t expect him to do such a thorough job."

Aedran cursed loudly and, in that moment, wanted to order Lymond's execution. But he stopped himself. Lymond was the only son and heir of his father, Laswell. If he died, the Reach’s Lord Paramount succession would become a mess, a problem that would undoubtedly cause trouble for House Blackfyre. Besides, he couldn’t disregard the Peakes’ century-long loyalty over one lovesick fool.

At least I kept him from marrying Allyria, he thought with satisfaction. He may have succeeded in killing me, but he will never have the woman he dreamed of.

At that moment, Aedran recalled the words he had once said to Lymond:

"Love would kill me."

Aedran had never fallen in love with a woman, yet somehow, love had killed him. If he had the strength left, he might have laughed at the irony of it.  

"Please," he murmured with his final breath. "Help Maenar. Aiding House Blackfyre will serve your own interests as well."  

"As you wish, Your Majesty," he heard Lord Stark say. "As long as he continues to support House Stark, I will ensure the Blackfyres’ seat on the Iron Throne remains secure."  

As Aedran surrendered himself to death’s embrace, Eddard Stark’s final words echoed in his ears.  

"After all, everything is for a stronger North."

Chapter Text

In the year AC 296, the bloodiest battle in Westeros history took place in the area now known as the "Bloody Plain," between the Mander River and the Roseroad. The Stag Army had 82,000 soldiers, while the Blackfyre army, with 78,000, emerged victorious. Even today, the exact number of soldiers lost by each side remains unclear, but the total death toll exceeded 64,000. The outcome of the battle was a Pyrrhic victory, and the cost was steep for both sides.

This battle remains the subject of hundreds of stories and songs, and undoubtedly, it will continue to be for hundreds of years to come. In the aftermath of the war, not only did Westeros' ruling house change, but the map of Westeros itself was critically altered. Two high lords were brought down, three rose, and some noble houses with histories spanning thousands of years were erased from the annals of history.

Among those who perished in the battle was this man, the victorious King Aedran "The Valiant" Blackfyre. Undoubtedly, it was a tragic event for Westeros, as King Aedran had clearly shown that he would have been a magnificent ruler. Had he lived, he could have prevented the severe damage the country suffered after the victory.

At the end of the War of the Three Bastards, the total death toll exceeded one hundred thousand, a stark indication of the significant drop in the male population of the realm. Many women were left widowed, and many children were left fatherless. All the kingdoms outside of Dorne suffered immense losses.

In the aftermath of the war, most of the houses that supported the Stag army were subjected to minor or medium-scale penalties. However, the same mercy was certainly not shown to three houses: the Lannisters, the Tyrells, and the traitors who had betrayed the Blackfyre army.

North

House Stark - Winter is Coming

The ruling lord paramount house of the North may appear to be the winning side in the war, but the losses suffered during the conflict were truly massive. A significant portion of those who returned home safely were already wounded, and the rest went mad, committed suicide, or became incapacitated due to the nightmares they endured.

Lord Eddard Stark governed the country as regent until King Maenar came of age, spending his regency years tending to the country’s post-war wounds. When King Maenar ascended to the throne, he inherited a relatively stable country and state hierarchy, which made his rule much easier.

Today, Lord Eddard Stark has many titles. "The Wise Wolf," "The Traitor," or "The Father of Westeros" are among them. The reason for the last title is well known. Today, all current lord paramounts, including the king, are his descendants, his grandchildren, with these individuals even adopting titles based on their maternal lines. The generation from Lady Catelyn Tully is known as "The Children of Duty," while the generation from Lady Ashara Dayne is known as "The Children of Love."

Under Lord Eddard Stark's rule, the North developed immensely. As a result of his efforts, the famine problems faced by the people during the winter months were largely resolved, leading to a dynamic increase in the North's population. The North alone has the capacity to raise an army of between 40,000 and 70,000 men.

The roads connecting almost all of the North's lordships to Winterfell were built. Although this project was incredibly expensive, it resulted in a significant increase in transportation and trade speed in the North.

Lord Stark purchased the Ramsgate port town, which was once part of the Manderly lands, and transformed it into a fully functional port city. While it may not be as important as White Harbor, Ramsgate is known as the second-largest port on the eastern coast of the North.

He fortified the lands of the Gift against wildling attacks, turning this area into the North's granary. Later, he gave the lands to his second son, Argilac, and a new branch of House Stark was founded in this region: House Daynestark.

In those days known as Sea-Dragon Point, commissioned the construction of an extensive port and shipyards. The purpose of this port, unlike others, was not trade, but to establish the North's naval power. Lord Stark later named this area Black Harbor, the opposite of White Harbor, and gifted it to his youngest son, Nodric Stark, placing him in command of the North's naval forces. No one could have imagined the consequences that would arise from this decision.

Nodric Stark was born in the month of the Bloody Plain battle (and according to some claims, even on the exact day it occurred), and this alone is a sign of what he would accomplish in the future. Few men in Westeros history have been as despised and respected as he was. It can easily be said that even "Rogue Prince"' Daemon Targaryen could not match him in this regard.

Although Lord Eddard Stark made great contributions to the North, if asked what his greatest achievement was, everyone with sense would undoubtedly give the same answer: the Fever Channel. This canal, completed after great efforts, connected the Western and Eastern seas and permanently changed the trade routes of Westeros. Thanks to this canal, the travel time between Westeros' western and eastern coasts was nearly halved, and it also made it easier for trade ships coming from Essos to reach the western coast. This canal is a legendary project that not only enriched the North and House Stark, but also all the houses along the western coast.

Westerland

House Farman - The Wind Our Steed

After the war, House Lannister was completely eradicated, and all of its holdings were confiscated.

The Farmans were rewarded with Lannisport and gained the title of Lord Paramount of the West. Casterly Rock, along with its former lands in Castamere, was granted to House Reyne. The remaining Lannister lands were divided among the Crakehall, Serrett, and Lefford families.

As soon as Lord Benjamin Farman became Lord Paramount of the West, his first act was to marry his son and heir, Paul Farman, to the daughter of Lord Rolland Crakehall. He also married one of his daughters to Lord Serrett, strengthening ties with the so-called Traitors' Alliance. This was undoubtedly the right move, as House Farman was not yet secure in its position as the ruling house of the Westerlands. Some remaining Lannister family members did not hesitate to scheme for the restoration of their former status and were supported by several houses, most notably House Marbrand. By forging an alliance with House Crakehall through marriage, Lord Farman also indirectly formed ties with House Stark, as the future Lady of Winterfell, Lady Alysanne Lefford, was the granddaughter of Rolland Crakehall.

In the years to come, the Farmans would have to endure many difficult trials to maintain their position as Lords Paramount of the Westerlands. After all, wiping out the deep-rooted influence of House Lannister, which had ruled the West for thousands of years, was no easy feat.

Reach

House Peake - Three Castles, One Will

After the war, the majority of the lands belonging to Houses Tyrell and Florent were taken from them, and both houses were reduced to the status of knightly houses. The lands of House Florent were granted to House Blackbar, while Tyrell lands were divided among other houses that had switched sides in favor of the Blackfyres during the war.

House Peake, as a reward for its long-standing loyalty to the Blackfyres, was elevated to the rank of Lord Paramount of the Reach, reclaimed its former lands, and was additionally granted Highgarden.

Unlike the Farmans, House Peake could not strengthen its ties with other noble houses through marriage alliances, as Lord Laswell Peake had only one child. His sole heir, Lymond Peake, was married to Lady Sansa Stark, yet the future of this union took an unfortunate turn. These misfortunes drew the wrath of Lord Eddard Stark upon House Peake, severely endangering their position as Lords Paramount of the Reach.

However, House Peake’s greatest advantage remained the unwavering favor of the royal family they had loyally served for so long. King Maenar Blackfyre was always generous toward House Peake, and not even Lord Eddard Stark could change that.

Portland

House Hightower - We Light the Way

Portland was a newly established Lord Paramount region, created following the war under the final orders of King Aedran. The necessity of this new region and the wisdom of King Aedran were later indisputably proven by the events that unfolded.

House Hightower had been part of the Stag army. Yet, instead of being punished after the war, they were rewarded with the title of Lord Paramount. This decision raised many eyebrows and led to numerous complaints. However, according to Lord Stark, there was no other suitable candidate to rule Portland.

Nevertheless, House Hightower’s opposition to the Blackfyre army was not forgotten. After a few hours of discussion between Lord Baelor Hightower—who had newly inherited his lordship after his father’s death—and King’s Regent Lord Eddard Stark, House Hightower agreed to pay off the Crown’s entire debt to the Iron Bank—a sum of approximately two million gold dragons. Additionally, Lord Baelor solidified his loyalty to the Blackfyre alliance by marrying Lady Allyria Dayne. This marriage sparked much speculation regarding Lady Allyria’s possible parentage, and Lord Eddard Stark’s refusal to comment on the matter only fueled the rumors further.

Unlike the other two Lords Paramount, House Hightower’s position was not precarious—they held their seat firmly. However, settling the Crown’s debt to the Iron Bank placed them under significant financial strain. Additionally, claims that the Lady of Oldtown was not a legitimate child but a bastard caused Lord and Lady Hightower considerable headaches.

House Hightower was a vast family, and not all its members were loyal to its leader. While House Hightower’s status as Lords Paramount of Portland was secure, the same could not be said for its head, Lord Baelor Hightower.

The Iron Throne

House Blackfyre - By Right, By Blood

King Maenar Blackfyre was personally trained in administration, politics, and military affairs by Lord Eddard Stark. Though he was neither a legendary figure like his father nor as masterful as his mentor, he successfully ruled the kingdom in peace for a long time. However, some of the mistakes he made during his reign would later cost House Blackfyre dearly, and the family's hold on the Iron Throne would face a significant test.

The most defining aspect of King Maenar’s reign was, without a doubt, his deep love for his wife, Litheria Stark. His devotion reached such an extent that, according to some, it was the queen who truly ruled the kingdom, not the king. Maenar never refused any of her requests and ensured that her desires were promptly fulfilled. Still, many did not see this as unfair, for Queen Litheria’s legendary beauty was known even in the farthest reaches of Essos. It would later become clear that her beauty was both a blessing and a curse.

It is worth dedicating a separate section to King Maenar’s brother, Prince Daemon Blackfyre. Prince Daemon was deeply unhappy in his marriage to Lady Shirren Baratheon, and the Stormlands' lords were equally displeased that their lady had been wed to such a man. This "unhappiness" would later bring great trouble upon House Blackfyre.

In the south, the Martells nominally accepted Blackfyre rule, but they continued to scheme for Princess Rhaenys Targaryen to claim the Iron Throne.

In the west, the Iron Islands began to stir with rebellion following the return of Euron Greyjoy, and this time, they would not be defeated as easily as before.

In the east, the Mad King Aerys’ daughter, Daenerys Targaryen, had subdued the Dothraki and awakened the dragons. After conquering Yunkai, she turned her gaze toward Westeros, her family’s lost legacy.

Yet none of these threats were as great as the one in the North. The enemy of the living. Demons of snow, ice, and cold. The ancient foe. The only enemy that truly mattered.

The rebellions, invasions, and calamities that began during King Maenar’s reign would have consequences that lasted for generations, affecting not just Westeros but even Essos. Some cities fell, while others rose anew.

This era would later be known as "The Century of Blood."

But that is a tale for another time.

I extend my heartfelt thanks to all the readers who accompanied me on the For a Stronger North journey. Some readers' comments were particularly helpful; they not only motivated me to continue writing this story but also helped me improve as a writer.

You might be wondering, When will "The Century of Blood" be released? To be honest, I don't know. Maybe it will never come out, maybe I'll start writing it in a week, or perhaps I've already written it, and by the time you're reading this, dozens of chapters have been published. It might be worth checking my profile.

My current plan is to continue writing What If one-shot chapters. If one of these chapters becomes particularly popular, I might develop it into a new fanfic—why not? If you'd like to share your thoughts on my upcoming fanfic and actively participate in the poll I plan to hold in the future, don't forget to subscribe to the What If series. Actually, the best way to stay updated is to follow me as a user—this way, you'll be notified as soon as I release a new fanfic.

Soon, I plan to release a Robert Baratheon version of this story. However, this Robert will be very different from the one we know: far more cunning, far more ambitious, far more intelligent… and he doesn’t care about Lyanna at all.

Does that idea interest you? A one-shot chapter will be published soon, so stay tuned!

Once again, I want to thank you for reading this series, and I’ll leave you with a small spoiler for The Century of Blood before I bid you farewell.

Here is Lord Nodric Stark's personal seal; I'm sure those who look closely will notice the detail immediately.

See you in the upcoming books! Stay safe and stay with me so we can continue sharing these adventures together.