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Chapter Text

When Ned first opened his eyes, he thought he was in Hell. 

 He didn’t believe in the Seven Hells as Catelyn did, but when he saw his men around him, dressed in their sturdy, worn armour, looking nearly twenties years younger and Ned just knew. 

 Memories of the Rebellion are ingrained into Ned’s mind like the embellishments a bladesmith puts onto swords. 

There’s no way that Ned could ever forget any memories of the Rebellion. Seeing his fellow lord’s faces, Ned remembers all too well the skeptical looks of the Northern Lords seeing their green boy become their new liege lord. Over time, after the rebellion, the looks had faded, but here? Ned can see it in every glance, every brush, and every muted conversation. 

 He is truly in the Seven Hells. 

 That can be the only explanation. This is his punishment for failing his family, for failing his King is to relive the worst moments of his life. His gods do not care to protect him. 

 He wonders, bitterly, how long it will take him to see Lyanna. 

 Will he see his father again? Surely the Lord of the Seven Hells will drag the corpse of Rickon Stark to Ned, and he will have to listen to his father moan that Ned could not even save Lyanna, the sister the rebellion started.  

 He failed his duty as the Patriarch of the Starks. 

 On the horizon, Ned can see the faint smudge of grey, denoting a Sept on the hill. 

 Ice fills his veins as dawns on Ned. 

 Stoney Sept. The Battle of the Bells. 

Ned is frozen, unable to tear his eyes away. Robert.  

 Ned’s mind whirls through everything that happened during his time as Hand to the King: Robert’s apathy, his spending, his whoremongering, Cersei Lannister. He became everything Lyanna had predicted. Is Ned truly nothing but a fool who allowed Robert to drag him to his death? 

 He’d been a fool of his own to trust Verys and Littlefinger. He’d been promised the Black only to be scorned. 

 And his girls—Sansa was trapped in the clutches of Cersei Lannister, blinded by her love of songs and princes. Ned can only hope that Arya made it to Winterfell safe. Yoren is a good man. He’ll see Arya safely. 

 Oh, Cat. Ned misses his wife dearly. He wishes that he could return to their home, locked away from the rest of the Seven Kingdoms. 

 But he is here, trapped in his memories of a battle of the days of yesteryear. 

 “Lord Stark.” 

 Painfully, Ned peels his eyes away from the looming Sept to the man in front of him. 

 Roose Bolton was a man that Ned never liked. He tolerated Roose but never liked him. Ned could not place his finger on why, but there was something that sent dread down Ned’s spine when looking into those flat, grey eyes. 

 “Yes, Lord Bolton?” His voice sounds scratchy and detached from him, nothing more than an echo in a ruin. What will his punishment be?

 There is that faint glimmer in Roose’s eyes, watching Ned, waiting for his failures. “We shall be joining forces with Lord Tully by midday.” 

 Ned waits, wondering what else Roose will say, but the man just stands there in silence, watching Ned. 

 What? 

 Ned grits his teeth. Does the Lord of the Seven Hells mean to have him act a mummer during his punishment? His gods never saw the need to mock their practitioners. 

 “Tell the others that we’ll be convening with Lord Tully and his men. They know the geography better, and I have a feeling that this coming battle will be difficult.” Ned looks towards the grey smudge in the distance. 

 Had he said that before the Battle of the Bells the first time? Ned cannot remember. He’d begun to forget the small moments, as the days and years blended; only the bleak destruction remained etched in his mind. 

 He does not remember his wedding, but he remembers the dead. How could he not? They kept piling up, more and more of his friends died, until it was finally Ned’s turn. 

 “I shall pass on the word.” 

 There’s a tense silence, as if Roose Bolton is waiting for something. 

 Ah. Ned remembers, a little belatedly, that manners are still appropriate even on the battlefield. What would Jon think of him? “Thank you, Lord Bolton.” 

 Roose hums and turns his horse around without another word. 

 Ned watches him go with a frown. Had Roose come to him last time? He cannot remember. 

                                                                                                                                        ****

 The Battle of the Bells starts just as Ned remembers. It’s loud and chaotic; the cacophony of bells echoing across the hills, and the dim noise of panicked citizens fills any gaps of silence left from the bells. 

 Somewhere, in a brothel, a sentiment that Ned isn’t touching yet, Robert is hiding, and Jon Connington is frothing at the mouth like a crazed hunting dog, trying to be the one that kills him. 

 Bells ring overhead, loud and brash, warning citizens to stay inside, as soldiers rush the streets, the clash of steel braying, and the smell of blood clogging Ned’s senses. 

  Welcome back, old friend, Ned thinks bitterly. 

 He shadows Hoster as they make their entrance into the town, the rest of his men pouring in from all sides, tumbling down from the low walls with such ferocity that they resemble the last group of Northern soldiers in the Riverlands, the Winter Wolves. 

 The fighting is disorganized and chaotic, resembling more of a street brawl than a formal battle. The streets swell with combatants, man could turn to find a brother at his back or a foe, but Ned pushes towards the town centre. 

 If memory serves him correctly, that is where Jon will be, howling for Robert to face him like a man, slaughtering anyone who comes into his path. 

 As Ned fights, he catches a glimpse of Hoster nearby, and he is struck with a memory of Cat’s tear-stained face after she received the letter of her father’s illness. She’d wanted to make the journey, but with Bran’s fall, they’d decided that it would be best if she stayed in Winterfell. He remembers her tears and anguish, and Ned cannot bring himself to allow this version of Cat to feel those hollowing emotions. Ned doesn’t know how long this torture will endure, but he wants to ensure Cat and Robb are taken care of after he’s gone. He cannot bring himself to part ways with Hoster and delve deeper into the frey, looking for Robert as he’d done before. 

 If Hoster notices Ned’s hesitance, he doesn’t say anything. 

 They do not speak. 

 They do nothing more than grapple with their opponents and desperately try to survive. 

 “Robert Baratheon!” Jon Connington’s voice is patchy and raw as he screams for his opponent. At his feet lies a groaning figure in blue, trying to crawl away from Jon Connington. 

  Denys. 

 Ned grits his teeth and surges forward, preventing Hoster from engaging with the madman. 

 Denys died , and Hoster nearly did too. Hoster lived with the consequences of those wounds for the rest of his life. 

 Ned will handle Jon. 

 The sword in Ned’s hand isn’t Ice, as it’s trapped in the bowels of the Red Keep with his father’s bones, but the great sword in his hand is good enough. 

 “Connington!” He yells. 

 Jon’s pale blue eyes are wild when he sees Ned. “Come to face me, traitor? ” He spits the last word, his once comely face split into a hideous sneer. 

 Is Ned truly a traitor? He was just trying to stay alive and find his sister. He didn’t want anything else. He did not seek acclaim or glory, but to ensure that House Stark continued to live. 

 Ned grips the pommel of his sword, staring Jon down. “Let’s end this, Connington.” 

 “With pleasure! I’ll send your head to the Prince!” 

 Ned is automatically on the defensive, raising his greatsword across his body as Jon lunges toward him. 

 Their swords meet with a storming ring. 

 It’s a struggle; Jon is, on average, an alright fighter, but his anger causes him to be unpredictable. Ned is forced to remain on the defensive as the man chips away at Ned’s protection. 

Due to the nature of the greatsword, the way the practitioner swings the blade is inherently different than the average longsword. The practitioner uses both hands and often employs underhand cuts to keep their adversaries off balance. 

 Ned manages to cause Jon to stumble back, the tip of his sword skittering against the cobblestones. 

 Jon snarls and lunges; Ned side steps, his sword raised. The resulting clash is deafening. 

 They circle each other for a tense moment before Jon comes back, again. Ned will not be the one who strikes first. He will let Jon Connington end himself. 

 They clash and circle each other for a few moments, almost teasing Jon. 

 The sword in Ned’s hand moves like a dancer, twisting and leaping as he cuts from above, cleaving through the air in wide arcs, thrusting when Jon gets too close. 

 Jon snarls, sword lashing out again, but Ned easily deflects it. Years of practice with Ice surging through his body as Jon's anger continues to unfurl his rationality. 

 The moments drag on as Ned and Jon trade blows. 

 Shattered screams break Ned out of his concentration. Across the square, Ned can make out the hulking figure in the faint torchlight swinging their warhammer without thought or care.

 Robert. 

 Always one for a dramatic entrance.  

 Across from him, Jon’s eyes fall upon his friend’s form, and a look of pure rage fills in face. He steps back from Ned, his body signalling that he’s moving towards the perceived bigger threat. 

 No. 

 Ned is ending this.

 Ned angles his sword and waits. 

 Just as Jon signals that he’s going to move, Ned strikes, plunging his blade downwards. 

 Jon collaspes, sword embedded in his thigh, and withers in plain. Ned pulls his sword free, staring at the man below him with apathy. How could someone be loyal to a man like Rhaegar, who abducted Ned’s sister, who is complicit in Ned’s Father and brother’s deaths? Pathetic. 

 Ned turns away from the withering figure, kicking his sword away from his outstretched hand.

 Denys is lying not far from Ned. Ned can see the slow rise and fall of his chest and is soothed. He’s alive, that’s what matters. 

 “Jon!” He yells, beckoning for the massive giant of a man. 

 “Stark.” Jon Umber jogs over, face set in a scowl. This is about as polite as Ned expects him to be. 

 “Get Denys out of here. Have someone assigned to watch over him.” Denys is the Heir to the Vale; without him, Jon Arryn’s family grows increasingly smaller. Ned thinks of Jon’s frantic attempts to father a child before his death. He can set things right for Jon, a token of thanks for protecting him. 

 Jon nods, bends over and picks up Denys, and runs off into the night. 

 Ned turns and runs to join Robert. 

 Just because Ned felled Jon Connington, doesn’t mean that they’re out of the wheelhouse just yet. Ned can’t let Robert loose this time.

 He doesn’t know what sort of punishment the Seven Hells has created for him, if his actions have any consequences in the grains of history or if what Ned is doing this for naught, but he cannot let his friend loose, just in case. He will not be the one who loses the Battle of the Bells. 

 Ned can feel Robert’s beam of a smile when he reaches his orbit. “Ned!” He yells, the sound muffling with the swarm of men around him. 

 He gives Robert a nod before sliding into place behind him. 

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Death is everywhere. Ned cannot seem to escape it. The battle was over, and the dead lingered. The citizens of the Stoney Sept left the relative safety of their houses and are tentatively stepping onto their streets, looking upon the littered bodies of the dead with abject fascination and horror. 

 Ned is dismayed at the stench of death coating the town, at the wasted lives. 

 They were just men, likely pulled from their farms and told to fight, not knowing why. If he blinks, he can see the dead of his household in King’s Landing, littered on the ground like trash at the hands of Jaime Lannister. Dead for the games that the men like Ned played. 

 What difference, he wonders, is there between Ned and Jaime? 

 He sent the farmers from his lands to their deaths as well. He doomed their lives the very moment he sent the message to raise his banners. 

 Was this what the Gods wanted him to see? Is this still the Seven Hells, or something worse? The battle felt so real. His muscles ache from hefting his greatsword, he can smell the iron-rich blood soaking into the cobblestones, and he can feel the stinging of the cuts he gained through the battle.  

 He notes his lords assembling amongst themselves a little way away. The North never truly associates with the South, even in the South. Ned should go and join them. 

 Were the gods showing him that he was no better than the rest of the great lords vying for power? That he, too, must accept his fate? 

 Ned thought he had. After the Rebellion, he’d return to the North and govern the best he could. He kept order in the North. What more could the gods have wanted from him? The North doesn’t partake in Southern politics; it never has. He learnt, painfully, that a Stark in the south is a death sentence. 

 “Ned!”  Ned blinks and looks up at the looming shadow in front of him. 

 Robert is what Ned remembers, not the broken husk of a king that Ned had been faced to contend with at Winterfell after so many years apart. He was tall with bright, clear eyes, still wild with the lust of battle. He wasn’t the fat, broken man, but still muscled like the great warrior he’s supposed to be. 

 Ned’s heart lightens at the sight of his friend in his full glory.          

 “You—Robert.” 

 Robert booms with laughter, clapping Ned on the shoulder, an action which would’ve felled a lesser man. “Why so formal, my brother?” 

 Ned gives him a hesitant smile. A swirl of emotions takes over Ned by storm. He’s pleased, a deep, loose-limbed rush of content going through him, to see Robert back where he was happiest. The lines around his eyes are gone. Lyanna’s death and his marriage to Cersei haven’t broken him yet. 

 Ned can save him. 

 Ned can save him, just as he did Denys. 

 He can fix his wrongs. 

 “Great job! I heard you slayed the Connington bastard.”

 Jon’s body was gone when Ned came back. Ned would like to believe that he’s dead, but something sits low in his gut, telling him that Jon isn’t dead. 

 Ned hums, not having the energy to match Robert’s energy. “He was rather unhinged.” 

 “Bah!” Robert waves Ned’s criticisms away. “You’re downplaying your abilities. I’ve seen you train! Rejoice!” 

 Ned’s traitorous heart stumbles at the compliment. He scolds himself for falling so easily. Robert has always been loose with his affection, especially towards Ned, his ‘goodbrother.’ 

 It doesn’t mean anything.  

 “Come now, let’s celebrate! I know several ladies who’d love to get with the hero of the battle!” 

 “I’m betrothed, Robert.” Worse of all, his future goodfather is right there. He cannot disrespect Catelyn like this, so openly. She’d been so angry about Jon, and no one knew of the woman who caused Ned to waver. What would she do if Ned did it again, this time, but this time in such a brazen manner? He’s certain that Cat would kill him… If her uncle didn’t get to Ned first. 

 “So? She’ll understand! We’re on campaign, you’ve earnt some measure of comfort! It’s not like you haven’t before.” Yes, because Robert dragged him to the brothel not too long ago after he learnt that Ned still hadn’t lain with a woman. Gods, Ned had forgotten about that; the memory had resurfaced, unbidden.  

 Hoster is watching him, and Ned is sure that the Blackfish is in the crowd somewhere, both of them waiting to judge Ned’s measure. 

 Ned shrugged off Robert’s arm, scowling at Robert’s lack of manners. “I said no, Robert.” 

 Has he always been like this? Ned frowns at his friend. 

 Ned tried to forget the Rebellion as much as he could, but it seems he’s forgotten Robert’s more flagrant flaws. Had it always been this bad? 

 Hadn’t Robert promised that he better? Or had Ned just said that to placate Lyanna? 

 Ned thinks of Cersei. Some part of him hates her. She and Joffrey killed him. She killed him, and his girls are trapped in King’s Landing thanks to her endless schemes. But however much he hates her, he pities her. He saw how her marriage with Robert ended, he remembers the humiliation Robert shoved onto her with his flagrant womanizing and actual blows it came to.

 Would he treat Lyanna the same? Would their marriage deteriorate to that point? 

 Ned desperately hopes not. He hopes that Robert’s love for Lyanna would abate the worst of his impulsiveness. 

 Who is he kidding? This, this, is what the Gods wanted Ned to see. They wanted Ned to see where he went wrong. He had not been a good lord. If Lyanna had survived, there was no doubt that Ned, after the Rebellion, would’ve wanted her to marry Robert, as planned. How could he not? Robert won a throne for her. But it was a mistake, all of it was a mistake. Robert was no better than those he’d deposed. 

 But who was Ned supposed to turn to? 

 He’d rather slit his throat than turn to Aerys. He liked Rhaegar even less. Rhaegar was complicit in the deaths of thousands. For what? Simple pleasure? 

 Why Brandon? Why must you charge so recklessly and leave Ned to clean up the messes? 

 The Gods were cruel. Couldn’t they have shown Ned what Lyanna’s path would be before the Rebellion started? Ned would’ve helped her. All he wanted to do was help his family. 

 Gods. All he did was fuck it up. He pushed Lyanna away with half-empty promises. 

 No wonder Lyanna didn’t turn to him for help. 

“Ned?” Robert looks confused. “What’s wrong? We won! You can relax.” 

 Relax? 

 How can Ned relax when Father and Brandon are dead, and Lyanna is suffering through her pregnancy in Dorne without any of her family around? How can Robert expect Ned to relax? 

  This war isn’t about Robert’s claim; this is about justice. Justice for Father, for Brandon, for Elbert, and all of the other men that Aerys slaughtered without thought. 

 How can Ned relax when their deaths demand justice? 

  “My Lord Baratheon,” Ned’s eyes snap to the owner of the breathless, sultry voice. Picking her way through the emptying courtyard is a young woman wearing a simple dress cut in the style Robert favours, extremely low-cut, with long, shiny brown hair. “You said you’d come back,” she whines, curling her lips into a low pout.  

 Ned rolled his eyes at the woman’s terrible acting. 

 “Celia…well…uh.” Robert, at least, has the decency to look ashamed. “Later,” he makes a pathetic attempt to dislodge the whore from his arm.  

 Anger flares deep in Ned. A deep-seated rage that he never thought he’d have towards his old friend. The leather of his gloves creaks as his hands curl into fists. 

 Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the Northern lords scowling at Robert for the blatant disrespect. Lyanna is a Stark, and her betrothed ought to be acting out respect for her station. Robert’s family isn’t the only one with a long and storied legacy. Gods, the Starks are even older than the Baratheons! 

 And Ned…Ned is the Lord Stark. He has to set this straight. 

 “Ned, it’s not what it loo— urk. ” Ned’s fist connects before he realizes that he’s done. 

 He nearly screams from the pain radiating from his fist, but the bloody look of shock on Robert’s face makes it worth it. 

 “Not what it looks like?” Ned snarls. Brandon used to joke that he stole all the Wolf’s blood from the womb, and there was none left for Ned, but right now, Ned feels a lot like his elder brother. “Not what it looks like? Because from where I’m standing, Robert, it looks like you are dishonouring my sister, your betrothed! Or have you forgotten what this war was started over? My sister, your future wife, is, gods knows where, and you are still FUCKING YOUR WAY THROUGH THE REALM!” 

 “DON’T YOU THINK THAT I DON’T KNOW THAT?” Robert belows, his look of shock morphs into one of anger, his hand itches towards his warhammer. “I love Lyanna! And that bastard took her from me!” 

 “You have a funny way of showing your love,” Ned sneers, eyes flickering over to the whore next to Robert. “I told her, once, that you were a good man, that you loved her, and that you wouldn’t dishonour her, and gods above, you have made me a fool, Robert! You have done everything that I promised Lyanna you wouldn’t!” 

 Ned had been such a fool. He loved Lyanna and Robert, but he didn’t realize what he understands now. He can love them separately and understand that they fundamentally don’t belong together.

  Lyanna, for her wild and bold personality, was a romantic at heart. She wanted her husband to have only eyes for her. The memories of all of Robert’s bastards confirmed that Lyanna’s worst fears were true. Robert would never be that man, and their marriage would become cold mere moons after their wedding. 

 Ned expected the blow. He stumbles back, stars dancing in his eyes, pain blooming along his cheek. 

 Ha. He deserved it. He deserved it for putting Lyanna through this. 

“I’M DOING ALL OF THIS FOR HER! Rhaegar, the bastard who took her, is going to pay! I will see him dead for this!” 

 “My father is dead! So is Brandon! Your beloved,” Ned sneers, the word anger thrumming in his veins. “Is missing, and yet all you seem to care about is getting your dick wet and getting one over Rhaegar than actually rescuing Lyanna!” 

 “Take that back,” Robert snarls, looming over Ned. Over the years, Ned had seen Robert become the Demon of the Trident a few times, but it’s never been directed towards Ned. It’s a little unnerving. 

 “No.” Ned has died; Robert no longer scares Ned. Ned knows what Robert is truly likely underneath his bluster: a coward. “You’re not my king, nor my commander. I shall say what I want. I do not fight for you. I fight for the injustice wrought upon my family. You ought to remember this.” 

 Robert looks like he wants to strike Ned down where he is, but he can’t. He's a Lord Paramount, and Ned is the Warden of the North; they're equal leaders in the rebellion. 

 “If you need me, I shall be in my camp.” Ned turns, striding from the town centre towards his lords. He notes many hands snaked towards the hilts of their weapons. 

 Bless them, he thinks fondly. Ready to fight for their liege family, even against their temporary allies.

Chapter Text

Ned had forgotten about the paperwork that came with running a military campaign. He’d also forgotten how long it takes for decisions to happen during a war. 

“You look cheery.” 

 Ned sighs and looks up to Willam; he’d done a double-take and nearly thrown up when he saw the sight of his old friend alive. Well, he was Brandon’s friend…Ned kind of inherited him. 

 It seems that Willam had taken it upon himself to be Ned’s appointed brother. 

 Willam had burst his way into Ned’s quarters after letting Ned ‘brood,’ Willam’s words, not Ned’s, for a morning before badgering him. Ned is…unsure of how he feels about Willam, but in the end, he accepts that Willam is not going to go anywhere and just deals with it. 

 Ned is unsure what to do. If the gods had sent him back to see what caused the Stark downfall, then why is he still here? What do the gods want with him? What do they want with him? Is this still his punishment? What does he need to do? 

 Willam is still looking for an answer. 

 He’s like Brandon in a way; once he’s latched onto something, it’s like a dog with a bone. Ned needs to give him some sort of answer. 

 “As of late, I’ve had much on my mind.”

“Robert, eh?” 

 Ned blinks at his friend. He can’t believe the casual disrespect Willam is heaping onto Robert. Although Ned doesn’t care enough right now to correct him. 

 Willam snorts and pours himself a healthy amount of wine. “I’m no fool, my Lord. We were all there. No offence to your late father, but we questioned his decision to marry out of the North. Some…louder than others.” 

 Ned can certainly picture the Greatjon’s reaction all too well. 

 “The matches are fine, politically, but…” Willam grimaces, slugging back his wine. “Many of us felt that Lord Robert saw Lady Lyanna for only her beauty and not her storied lineage, and treated her more like a parmamour rather than his future wife.” 

 Gods be damned. Ned sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Of course, no one spoke of this to Ned. It seems the gods are more than fucking pleased for him to continue to keep finding his endless faults to show him how terribley he fucked up. Did everyone hate Robert except Ned?

 Though he can now see why. 

 When Lyanna’s betrothal was announced, Ned wasn’t married. He hadn’t truly thought about what it would mean for his sister to be shamed, but in his marriage, he’d seen how Jon’s presence affected Cat, and the humiliation she felt was bestowed upon her. Ned had ignored it, for the sake of protecting Jon, but the guilt quietly churned inside of him throughout their marriage. Ned could only imagine what it would mean for Lyanna. Cersei had grown into a bitter husk of a human throughout the years of Robert’s flandering. Ned doesn’t think that Lyanna would act like Cersei, but it would certainly break her. 

 It’s a shame that Ned only learnt of this now, instead of when it mattered. 

 “Let me guess, they’re displeased that my bride-to-be follows the Seven?” He asks dryly. 

 Willam makes a face but doesn’t answer. Great. Ned knew that Cat’s role as Lady of Winterfell was tense, but he never thought it was this bad. “They appreciate that you’re fulfilling the oaths set out by your father.” What a neutral non-answer. Ned hates him for it. 

 “Lord Eddard, Lord Tully is here to see you.” Martyn Cassel ducks into the tent, giving Willam an unimpressed look. Ned hadn’t known Martyn Cassel very well before he died last time, but Jory served him perfectly until his death, and Ned knew that Robb and Bran would be well taken care of by Rodrik after his death. 

 Ned waves Hoster in. Hoster looks well. Ned hadn’t had much opportunity to see his goodfather often before his death, but the last time that he saw Hoster, the man had grown considerably older and weaker; his grip on the Riverlands became tenuous, at best. 

 But here, Hoster looks good. His hair is mostly grey, but there are still flecks of rusted brown around his temples and parts of his beard. His eyes are bright and keen, with no traces of illness. 

 “Lord Tully.”

 “Eddard, there’s no need for such formality.” 

 What a load of shit. The only way that they could get Hoster to join their ranks to fight against the illegal murder of a Great Lord and two different heirs was a marriage alliance.

 If Hoster could’ve weaselled a marriage arrangement out of the King, Ned is certain that he would’ve remained a loyalist. 

 Hoster only saw profit, not honour…

…but hadn’t Ned’s father done the same? Brandon and Lyanna’s engagements were born from his ambition. Ned’s fostering was born from the same line. 

 During his lonely years in Winterfell, Ned thought long and hard about his father’s actions and ought to follow them as Lord Stark or not. 

 In the end, Ned had done neither. He’d been pulled in both directions. 

 “Of course…goodfather.” 

 Hoster gives him a rare smile. “That is why I am here, actually. I’ve written to Riverrun. Catelyn and Lysa are preparing the Keep.” 

 Ned frowns, ignoring the jump his heart does at the mention of Cat. “Pardon?” 

 “Your wedding, son.” 

 Ned’s frown deepens even further. Why is his wedding date changing? Is it? Ned remains silent and does the calculations. No, it’ll be around the same time. But something about this conversation feels odd. 

 What are the gods playing at? Is Ned allowed to make different choices? Is that the point? That even though the choices he makes, he’ll still end up the same?  

 Hoster clears his throat, looking a little out of sorts. “After everything, Brynden and I thought it would be best for a Northern wedding. Your father would’ve insisted regardless.” 

 That’s not wrong, per se. 

 The Lord of Winterfell ought to have a Northern wedding. Ned hadn’t insisted last time because of the joint wedding issue and Cat’s own religion. She lost her betrothed; he hadn’t wanted to disturb her more. And, well, Ned didn’t want to lose Hoster’s support. 

 “Lord Blackwood, rather tactfully, brought up the issue of the wedding after Lord Baratheon’s attitude towards your sister and that we cannot afford to alienate an entire region.”

 Willam looks contemplative at the interaction, but doesn’t interrupt. Ned wishes he would. He hasn’t yet found the thread of the conversation.

 “Goodfather, I am…unsure of what you’re getting at.” 

 This feels rushed more than usual. Not that it’s saying much; Ned’s last wedding was held fairly quickly. 

 Hoster grimaces. “Son, I–uh, well…” Ned hasn’t seen his goodfather at a lost for words in a long time. “I applaud you for protecting your sister’s honour. I know it must’ve been hard for you to go against a man you call your brother. It, in fact, rests my soul to know that my Cat will be joining hands with a man like you, but…” 

 “Robert is pissed.” 

 Ned is all too aware of Robert’s temper. The morning had been suspiciously quiet; Ned waited for Robert to come roaring for a fight to settle their score. It seems that Jon has managed to keep Robert under control. 

 Hoster nods, looking abashed, and now Ned understands. 

 “And Lord Arryn and you are worried about Robert’s commitment to the war, and his departure would be extremely inconvenient because he is one of the lead commanders.” 

 Out of the four Great Lords involved in the war, Robert is the best figurehead. Ned is too Northern, and while his campaign for justice is honourable, he’s too foreign for the Lords to rally behind. Hoster and Jon are too old to be figureheads. 

 But Robert……Robert is in his prime, a great, muscled warrior with natural charisma. Men flocked to his banners for a reason. 

 It wouldn’t be out of Robert’s usual temperament to pull out if he felt insulted enough, and Ned certainly insinuated that he lacked any honour. 

 It’s difficult to tell what Hoster is thinking, but he certainly looks ashamed. 

 Ned sighs, rubbing his brow, ignoring Willam’s outraged look. It should anger Ned more, the fact that everything is catering to Robert instead of Ned, despite Ned being the one who saved Denys and is engaged to Hoster’s daughter. It should anger him, but he’s just tired. Ned wants this war over with. 

 They likely want him to lead his lords against Mace Tyrell’s in the Stormlands. 

 Ned doesn’t like it. The Battle of the Trident is pushing up against Ned’s consciousness. It was a decisive battle with numerous potential pitfalls. It gives him a full-body itch at the thought of not being able to stay for the Battle. 

 “Yes.” 

 Ned sighs as Willam cries in outrage. “Martyn.” Ned nods to Willam, queuing up a rant. 

 Brandon was like that. Once he got going, it was nearly impossible to get him to start. It’s what led to Brandon’s death after all.

 Martyn nods and pulls a cussing Willam out of the tent. 

 “Forgive Lord Dustin, goodfather. He’s quick to temper when he feels those close to him are wronged.” 

 “I was unaware that you and Lord Dustin were close.” 

 “He has taken my brother’s death hard. He tries to alleviate his pain by fussing over others.” 

 Hoster nods, but his faint smile drops. “I am truly sorry, son. I know that this situation is undesirable and a slight against you, but…” 

 “We’re trying to survive. Honour often leaves to make way for practical measures. I understand.” Ned’s more upset that Jon hadn’t come to deliver the news himself. He’s the one who saved his heir after all. Ned thought that they were close after spending so many years together. 

 “Lord Arryn and I are worried about Mace Tyrell’s force in the Stormlands. They’re trying to take Storm’s End. We’ve punched through the forces here in the Riverlands, but they’re scattered.” 

 And many houses in the Riverlands declared for the King, it's a fractured mess that they can’t afford to leave.”

“And with Lord Lannister…” Hoster looks frustrated. 

 “I wouldn’t worry much about him. He won’t join until there’s a clear winner.” Tywin Lannister doesn’t do anything until he’s assured that he’ll come out on top. 

 Hoster looks like he agrees, but doesn’t say anything. “Lord Baratheon is planning to take a Vanguard into the Crownlands and leave most of my troops in the Riverlands to clear out any loyalists.” 

 “Did you have a war council meeting without me present?” The idea causes anger to burrow into Ned’s chest. 

 How is it that Robert gets to act like a fool without repercussions, and Ned does it once and is immediately thrown to the wolves, metaphorically? It feels like they are planning on weakening the Tyrells by throwing the North at them. 

 “It’s not like that,” Hoster soothes, but it doesn’t calm the surge of anger bursting through Ned. “I went to speak to Lord Arryn, and Lord Baratheon was already there. They’d planned this already.” 

 The part of Ned that King’s Landing jaded is wondering if Hoster is lying to gain Ned’s sympathy. 

 Whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore. Ned is being sent away. 

 “Fine. I will gather the Lords needed for the wedding and head for Riverrun. We’ll proceed to the Stormlands afterwards.” 

 “Son…”

 Something about that placating attitude truly bothers Ned now. Hoster isn’t his father. His father is dead, and these men are still picking at his carcass all for the sake of politicking. 

 “It’s fine, goodfather.” It’s not, but complaining to Hoster isn’t going to help him. 

 Hoster is silent but eventually nods. “If you insist.” 

 The air is undeniably awkward, but Hoster remains for a bit longer, trying to cajole Ned into small talk, but in the end, it seems that Hoster realizes that it is pointless to linger.

 Ned barely gets a moment of peace before Willam comes storming back into his tent, followed by an apologetic-looking Martyn and a silent Howland Reed. Ned would be bothered, but honestly, Willam reminds Ned of the good parts of Robert, and finds he doesn’t entirely mind it. Howland, for all the appreciation Ned has for him, still makes Ned uneasy sometimes. 

“The nerve of these men! Acting like they’re our overlords.” 

 Ned grunts and goes back to his desk. 

 “Why should Robert be pampered? He’s the one who insulted us.” 

 “Lord Arryn wants to put Robert forth for a claim on the throne. He cannot afford to weaken his relation with the Stormlands.” 

 Ned is met with stunned silence. He blinks and silently curses. Robert doesn’t put forth his claim until after Ned’s wedding. This is brand new news to the men in front of him. Ned can see Willam rearing up for a rant. It won’t be anything Ned hasn’t thought about before. Even in the original rebellion, Ned had disapproved of the course of the war shifting from justice for the slain to Robert’s claim. 

 “I see.” Howland’s voice is soft. “He would be the best option. The King cannot continue, and the Prince has become increasingly unpopular.” 

 “Don’t tell me you’re rooting for him ! Lady Lyanna hated him!” If Willam was the friend that Ned inherited from Brandon, then Howland is the friend that he inherited from Lyanna. 

 Howland glares at Willam. The effect is diminished slightly by his slight stature. “I did not say that, Lord Dustin. I merely stated he was the best option. While his popularity in the North is fading, I surmise that many of the kingdoms would choose him rather than the Prince. The only kingdom truly in support of the Targaryens is the Reach. Even Dorne has expressed its displeasure at Lady Elia’s position as a hostage and the Prince’s actions with Lady Lyanna. Who else would we crown? Prince Aegon? A babe that has not reached its first name day?” 

 It would be a disaster for Prince Aegon to enter such a long regency. History has shown that the reigns of boy kings often suffer from long-term regency. 

 “What do you think, Eddard?” Everyone looks to Ned.  

 Ned grunts. “It doesn’t matter. Once this war is over, we’re returning North, and do what the North does best. Leave the South to the South.” 

 Willam looks displeased.

 “Is that wise?” Howland cuts in before Willam can restart his tantrum. 

 Ned shrugs. Ned lived through a Baratheon king, and the North never saw any benefit. He doubts he’ll see any benefit from Rhaegar. Besides, Rhaegar couldn’t inflict anything on the North without risking any balance he could achieve if he won. 

 The Starks survived the Targaryens when they rode dragons; they can survive the Targaryens without them. 

 “I want justice. I care little for who sits on the Iron Throne.” 

 “You could make a bid for an independent North.”

 Everyone looks at Willam like he’s grown a second head, but Ned considers it for a moment. His lords would like it. The North doesn’t fully consider itself to be a part of the Iron Throne like other regions. They are loyal because honour dictates it, but Rhaegar and Aerys’ actions have nullified any honour left in keeping their oath to their liege lord. 

 The North could survive on its own. It’s never developed a dependence on trade from other regions. It is nice to have trade at a lower discount, but they can survive without it. 

 The rebellion would be the best time to announce their seceding from the Throne. It’s even more tempting when Ned realizes that he wouldn’t have to deal with royal drama. “I could.” Everyone looks shocked at the admission. “But I will not; it is still winter. Our stores are near depleted, and the war has ruined them further. We do not know how long summer will last this time.” It will be ten years or more. The North is strong, but Ned worries that they are not strong enough. 

 “I dislike it when you’re reasonable.” Willam groans and slides into a slouch. An uncanny resemblance between Willam and a pouting Rickon strikes Ned. 

 “For every wild Stark, there is an amiable one.” Willam rolls his eyes at Howland’s sage words. 

 “We best be preparing for our departure to Riverrun. Willam, will you come as a resprenstative for House Dustin and Ryswell?” Ned has to figure out who else to bring and who wouldn’t be offended if he left them behind. 

 “Obviously.” Willam rolls his eyes. 

 “Howland?” 

 Howland shakes his head. “As acting Lord Reed, I will not be offended if I am not attended.” Ned is relieved; he likes Howland, but the Lords of the Neck are not as… domineering as some of Ned’s other bannermen, but he didn’t want to not invite Howland after inviting Willam. “Besides, I believe, in the eyes of the gods, your relationship has already been consumated.” 

 There’s a chill in Ned’s bones at Howland’s words. Ned ought to find time sometime soon to speak with the Lord of the Neck. He knows more than he should. 

 “R-right.” Ned clears his throat. “Martyn, will you stay and ready Winterfell’s host for me?” 

 “Of course, my liege.” 

 “Who else is coming?” Willam asks. 

 “Lord Bolton, Lo–” 

 “Can you not? Roose gives me the chills.” 

 Ned gives Willam a dry look. “The Boltons are one of my strongest Bannermen, Willam. I cannot sow discord amongst my allies in the middle of a war.” Willam makes a face and grumbles. “Anyways, Lord Bolton, Lord Glover’s eldest ought to be a fine replacement for his father, the Greatjon, someone from the mountain clans, Lord Karstark.” Ned didn’t think that he could get married without Lord Karstark without gravely insulting their loose familial ties. 

 “Not Lord Manderly?” 

 Ned shakes his head. “If it were a wedding under the Light of the Seven, I would ask Wyman. With many gone, I would like the oversight of the army to fall to someone who understands the politics of the south. Wyman will understand.” 

 The others don’t look convinced, but don’t argue with Ned. 

                                                                                                                                                                                       ***

 Ned’s wedding is a blur. Unlike his last wedding, it was over and done with in a matter of minutes. His people valued practicality rather than showmanship. He felt the aura of the godswood, the murky weight of his gods’ presence, slip over him like a worn cloak the moment he stepped before the weirwood. 

 However, Ned can see that Catelyn is growing increasingly uncomfortable under the weirwood.

 She is young, with her cheeks full of childhood fat and big blue eyes. Even though Ned is physically young, he feels disgusted with himself. It is as if he is lying with a child and not his wife. 

 If Ned is here, after the war, if the gods allow him to remain with his wife, he’ll do a second wedding for Cat, one for her under the Light of the Seven. 

 She is quiet throughout the evening, polite and charming as any lady is educated to be, but distant from Ned. 

 Ned doesn’t mind. She spent years planning to get married to Brandon. Ned is an unknown to her. Ned loves her, but she doesn’t love Ned. 

 It’s fine. Ned understands the situation. 

 When the Greatjon is deep enough in his cups and starts calling for a bedding, Ned takes Cat by the hand and pulls her into their chamber, leaving the drunk lords behind, much to their disappointment. 

 He did not want his wife to face that embarrassment. 

 He presses a kiss to her forehead after their consummation. It was awkward and unpleasant. Cat had prepared to do her duty, but it was obvious she was uncomfortable. “I know that you do not know me, my Lady, and I understand that you do not trust me. I was once meant to be your goodbrother, not your husband, but I promise that I’ll care and protect you.” 

 He said those words last time, but they felt hollow and broken then. This time, Ned truly meant them. 

 Cat gives him a sweet and shy smile, her face flushed with the evening’s festivities. “Brandon told me all about you, my husband. I feel as if I know you by proxy already.”

 Ned smiles at her soft admission. “I will build you a Sept in Winterfell, my dear, if you so desire. I want you to be comfortable; please do not hesitate to ask.” 

 “You are too kind, my Lord Husband.” 

 In Ned’s opinion, it is not kindness but decency. The North guards its culture fiercely, but it would serve them well to remember that some of its citizens follow different religions. The Manderlys have been part of the North for over a thousand years; the Starks should at least acknowledge this.

 Besides, the North follows the Old Gods, but Cat isn’t of the North; she shouldn’t be isolated from her home like that. 

 “My kind wolf.” Cat presses a kiss to his cheek, shuffling a little to be comfortable. “Come home quickly.” 

 “I will return, I promise.” The words taste like ash in Ned’s mouth, but he must say it regardless. 

 He cannot guarantee it; through war or through the gods, there is a chance that Ned will not live to see the North again, but right here, with his love in his arms, Ned wants to pretend that he can. He wants to pretend that this will be over soon, and he can go home.   

 Cat makes a pleased hum, and Ned draws her in closer, relishing this last moment with her. Soon, he’ll no long have her in his arms and he’ll be facing the long road of war. 

Chapter Text

 Ever since he woke up, Ned has felt a sort of nauseating sickness within himself, but seeing King’s Landing loom in the distance almost causes Ned to throw up. 

 There is nothing that Ned would like to do more than to burn that cursed place to the ground and cleanse it. So much of Ned’s pain stems from that city. His father and brother lay dead somewhere in the Red Keep; Ned died in the streets of King’s Landing. There’s nothing more sinister than seeing the red blight of the Keep against the backdrop of the cheery blue skies. 

 After the Rebellion, Ned came to associate the city with Robert and Jon, but right now, all Ned can think about is the Mad King. He is there, watching over the city, uncaring of the pain he’s causing. 

 Ned flinches at the reminder that the Mad King isn’t the only one in King’s Landing. 

 Unbiddingly, his mind conjures up the image of Elia Martell’s corpse and the two little bodies beside her. 

 She’s still alive right now, isn’t she? 

 Is Ned dooming Elia and her children to die again if he continues down this path of rebellion? 

 But what can he do? He cannot turn away from his path, his honour to his family and to the oaths of the North dictate that he must stay the course. 

 He frowns and continues watching the horizon. 

 For the first time in a long time, he wishes that his father were here to tell Ned what to do. He is at a crossroads, each path dooming someone to die. 

 “Lord Eddard!” Howland appears a top of his slender mare. “An army is approaching King’s Landing.” 

Ned had sent Howland and the other Crannomen out scouting, wanting to see if Tywin would follow the same path or not. “The Lannisters?” 

 “Yes, my lord.” 

 Ned hums, a low sound in the back of his throat. 

 Just like before. Suppose he lets them pass unmolested, then they will march on King’s Landing, likely sacking it just like in the past. 

 “Should we ride out to meet them?” Willam asks. Beside him, Mark Ryswell, Willam’s goodcousin, looks interested in the prospect of a fight against the Lannisters. 

 “No. The Lannisters have not yet announced their intentions. They could be our allies for all we know. They pass.” 

 Roose Bolton, his silent shadow, scoffs at the notion, and Ned smiles. It’s ironic, he knows, that he’s fighting on the same side as the same family that kills him, but Ned is certain that Tywin will choose the Rebels once again. The loyalists are scattered. 

 “We camp here for the night. Howland, I would like to speak with you.” Ned climbs off his horse. 

 Howland inclines his head and follows suit. Roose looks displeased, likely at the motion that someone else has his Lord’s ear and not him. 

 “Before my wedding, you alluded to the Gods,” Ned started the conversation, unsure of how to phrase this. 

 “I did. Before the Tourney of Harrenhall, I spent the winter on the Isle of Faces. The Gods blessed me with deep insight.” Howland’s face is serene as he gazes at to land in front of them. He looked at Ned, eyes sparkling with hidden knowledge. 

 Ned hesitates, trying to find the right words. “I do not know what happened. It is not the stories of greenseering, Howland. I lived an entire life; I didn’t watch it. I woke up not long before Stoney Sept.” 

 “Hmm.” 

 “Am I being punished, Howland? Are the Gods showing me my mistakes as some sort of…jape on my behalf?” 

 “The Old Gods do not punish, Lord Eddard,” Howland chides. He returns to his watch, looking over the fields. “Normally, I would say that they are the watchers of the world, letting men determine the affairs of men.” 

 “But something changed, as I am here. When I woke, I thought I was in the Seven Hells, doomed to relive my worst memories.” 

 “Does it feel like Hell?” 

 “Yes.” Howland gives him an amused look as he knows that Ned does not mean it metaphorically. 

 “I am no expert, Lord Eddard. The Gods keep their knowledge of the afterlife close. But even if you are dead, and you are reliving this part of your life, should you not try to act as best as you can?” 

 He is right. Ned hums, looking at the speck of red in the distance, thoughts rioting in his mind. 

 Ned has been so focused on his self-flagellation that he did not even consider that the Gods may be trying to help him redeem himself. There were plenty of times throughout the war when Ned wished he could’ve changed the outcome; perhaps this is his chance. 

 He has a chance, he can right those wrongs like he’s always wanted. 

 A half-baked plan starts forming in his mind as Ned tries to scrounge out information that he desperately tried to bury years ago. Information that’ll be vital for what he wants to do. 

 “Thank you, Howland. Could you spread the word to the others that I want to speak to them once camp is set?” 

 “Of course, my lord.” Howland bobs his head and scampers off. 

 Ned sighs, running a hand through his scraggly hair. He must be a fool for considering this, but what else can he do? He can only brace himself for Willam’s upcoming explosion and Mark’s quiet disapproval. 

                                                                                                                   ****

 “WHAT?” Ned winced at Willam’s volume. “Eddard Stark, I mean this in the most respectful fucking way, are you fucking insane?” 

 “Thank you for your concern, Willam, but I am perfectly sane.” Ned sighs; he’s been doing that a lot recently. 

 “This isn’t a time for jokes, Eddard. You’re proposing sneaking into the fucking Red Keep and kidnapping Rhaegar’s wife and fucking children. Do you hear how bad that sounds?” 

Ned looks around the room. Howland is unbothered by Ned’s proposal, albiet due to knowledge of Ned’s previous life. Theo Wull, who spent his childhood at Winterfell and connected better with Ned’s quiet nature rather than Brandon’s wild one, looks decidedly off-kilter. Ned feels bad, while the rest of the clans were marshalled under a different host, he’d asked his friend to join Ned’s. 

 Martyn and Mark look nervous, Willam is outraged, and Roose, who Ned didn’t want to be here, but needed if the plan was going to go the way that Ned wanted, looks almost uninterested, save for the calculated sheen in his eyes. Wyman Manderly, heavy set but not yet fat enough not to be able to ride, frowns at Ned’s plan. 

The only person missing from those who rode with him to save Lyanna is Ethan Glover, who is currently sitting in the Black Cells. 

 “I know it sounds bad,” Ned grits out, trying to keep his temper. Willam means well. The last Starks who went into King’s Landing died, and Willam is only trying to keep Ned alive. 

 “Sounds bad!” Willam laughed in outrage. “Eddard, it sounds fucking mad! How do you propose getting into the Red Keep?” He demands. “Aerys isn’t going to let you waltz in the front door!” 

 “There are passages beneath the Red Keep.” 

 “And you just happen to know them?” Willam mocks him. 

 Ned is so close to punching Willam, but keeps himself restrained. “Yes,” he grits out from clenched teeth, trying to stop the tears from springing up in his eyes. 

 While living in King’s Landing, Arya had taken to exploring the Red Keep. Ned hadn’t liked it, but he found it difficult to say no to the girl who wore his sister’s face. She had told him all about the tunnels branching out underneath the Red Keep and about the cats that filled them. Her swordmaster had her chasing cats and trying to catch them for whatever reason. Ned didn’t understand, but it made Arya happy, so he didn’t question it. 

“My Lord, I do not mean to be discourteous, but how?” Mark asks. 

 “It’s widely believed that after the Dance, even the Targaryens forgot about those passages,” Wyman interjects. 

 Part of Ned hoped that he wouldn’t have to speak of this to anyone outside of Howland, but it seems that his lords won’t be assuaged with a simple directive. 

 “I–well–I am not sure what truly happened, but the Gods…

“Don’t tell me, the Gods gave you a vision and you have to act upon it?” Willam snaps, jumping to his feet, his voice ricocheting off the tent walls. 

 “No.” Ned matches Willam’s glare. Willam backs off and sits down again. “It wasn’t a vision, Willam. I lived an entire life. Fifteen fucking years past the Rebellion. Robert won, Lyanna died, Aerys died, Rhaegar died, and everyone died. I was fucking excecuted for trying to expose Robert’s wife cuckholding him. My daughters ended up Gods knows where and one of my son’s was nearly fucking murdered by the same fucking Queen. And you know what was the worst of all this was? Gregor Clegane bashed Prince Aegon’s head against the wall and raped Elia Martell in the same fucking room before smashing her head into pieces. Her daughter was dragged out from under her father’s bed and fucking stabbed over fifty times!” By the end of his rant, Ned’s voice is booming. He takes a deep breath and calms down. His captive audience looks horrified, save for Roose, who has a formidable cyvasse face. “There are a lot of things that I wish I could’ve changed, and right now, the Gods are giving me a chance to do so, starting with stopping Elia Martell’s needless death. I do not care what you think of me, if you think that I have lost my wits like the Mad King, or if you wish I abdicate for Benjen or my future children, then so be it, but I will do everything in my power to save Elia Martell.” 

 Willam takes a second to register what Ned dumped on him. He looks shaken by the information. 

 “You’re our Lord, Lord Stark. We’re loyal until the end,” Theo Wull states as if he’s commenting on the weather. Benign and obvious. Beside him, Mark gives a quiet nod. 

 Ned gives him a thankful smile, grateful for the loyalty of his vassals. 

 “I cannot offer much for proof right now, but when you reach the Stormlands, you’ll see Mace Tyrell mocking the occupants of the Storm’s End by feasting and jousting in front of the starving occupants. And if asked, Maester Cressen will tell you that he warned Stannis Baratheon that desperate measures might occur and they may have to eat the dead.”

 “Disturbing,” Willam mutters, looking a little sick.  He takes a deep breath and nods. “Fine. I get it.” He scowls at the admission. “I don’t particularly like the idea of having a child’s death on my soul, but you’re not going alone.”

“I have another task for you. I may be saving Elia, but our goal, the goal of the North, is to rescue my sister and bring justice to the North.”

“......You know where Lady Lyanna is.” This is the first time that Roose speaks. 

 “The Tower of Joy, along the Prince’s Pass. Arthur Dayne, Oswell Whent, and Gerold Hightower are guarding her.” 

 “It seems as if the Prince,” Theo Wull scowls at the mention of Rhaegar. “Is almost deliberately weakening his side by sidelining not just Dayne but the Lord Commander.” 

 “Perhaps he is trying to weaken his father,” Wyman muses. “A war is a great cover for patricide.” Roose gives Wyman an amused look at his casual mention of kinslaying and regicide. 

 “I have never understood why the Prince chose this course of action.” Ned had often wondered in the past why Rhaegar had done it, leaving the Red Keep and his children vulnerable in the midst of a war. Was he so assured that he was going to win that he didn’t see the need to have more than one Kingsguard there? 

 It never made sense to Ned. 

 “Willam, Mark, Martyn, Howland, and Theo, I want you to split from the main army and start riding for the Prince’s Pass. Lord Bolton,” Ned turns to the silent man. He doesn’t like the thought of doing this, but he has to if Ned is going to save Elia. “I would like you to lead my army whilst I am unavailable, with Wyman’s aid. You will link up with Lord Karstark’s host once you reach the Stormlands, and I expect the two of you to be able to devise a plan on defeating Lord Tyrell.” 

 It feels wrong to leave his men in charge of someone else whilst Ned is able to lead them, but from his memories, Roose Bolton was a good commander, albeit a little brutal at times. During both the Rebellion and the Greyjoy Rebellion, Roose fought at Ned’s back, and he and his men came out victorious, bloody but victorious. Ned hopes that having to be accountable to Wyman will temper some of Roose’s worst tendencies. 

They’d split the Northern host in half to avoid detection. Rickard Karstark was leading the northern Northern lords while Ned’s leading the southern Northern lords. Ned is just silently grateful that he doesn’t have to listen to the Greatjon. 

 “Yes, Lord Stark.” Roose bows his head. Ned makes eye contact with Wyman. He understands Ned’s silent order to keep Roose in line and nods. 

 “No!” Willam cuts in. “You’re not going alone. You should at least have a sword to protect your back. I cannot say that I like your plan of going off alone, but I understand the need. However, you will have someone to keep watch.” 

 Ned looks around at his lords, and the rest of them look like they agree. He has a feeling that he’s not going to win this fight. 

 Thinking over the implications of having another sword by his side, and can’t come up with anything to counter it. It would help Ned, but more importantly, having another sword there would also help protect Elia and her children if needed. 

 “Fine.” They look surprised at Ned’s easy relinquishment. “Mark?” 

 “My sword is yours, my Lord.” 

 There is something that settles in Ned, knowing that he’s doing something right. The chances of him succeeding are low; he has no idea what to say to Elia when he comes face to face with her, and Ned has an idea of how the passages in the Red Keep work, but he’s never explored them. And his working assumption of where Davos, his getaway ride, is weak. 

 It doesn’t matter. He knows that Tywin is capable of, and he knows what Aerys is capable of, and he doesn’t want more innocents caught in the crossfire. 

                                                                                                                       **** 

 King’s Landing is a cesspit. It’s depressing that it doesn’t change in the years after the Rebellion, and it just remains a cesspit. 

 Ned can see Mark’s disgusted expression as they venture closer to Flea Bottom. 

 They’d traded their furs and very distinct Northern-style armour for average Riverlander armour. 

 It feels strange not to feel the weight of his fur on his shoulders. 

 There aren’t many towns in the North, but those that did crop up were spread out and maintained by their lords; that’s where most of their populations lived. If the people died or suffered the way that those in King’s Landing do, then it becomes a sickness that consumes all, lowborn and noble alike. The lords of King's Landing don’t care; they left the city to rot. 

 “Who are we looking for?”

 “A smuggler by the name of Davos. The captain of the Faithful . His family lives in Flea Bottom.” That’s all Ned knows about Davos Seaworth’s life before he became the Onion Knight. They never got a chance to meet, but Ned has to assume that Stannis wouldn’t hire someone who wasn’t trustworthy. 

 Mark and Ned try to remain as inconspicuous as possible, but wandering around Flea Bottom asking the same minuscule questions over and over again doesn’t allow for any chance of blending in. 

 Eventually, a rumpled, but as clean as could be for the situation, sharp-eyed boy spots them. “Why are yous looking for my da?” He demands, righteous fury pouring out of him. 

 “Allard!” Another boy marches over. He pushes his brother behind him and glares at Ned. “What yous want?” These must be two of Davos’s boys. Renly had told him that Davos had a whole brood of them. 

 “I am looking for Davos, the Captain of the Faithful. I would like to hire him. Do you know where he is?” 

 The boy squints, trying to figure out if Ned is being genuine. “Aye. I be telling him. He won’t be meeting yous at home. Go to the Wooden Dragon. If he’s interested, he’ll be meeting yous there.” 

 “Thank you, lad.” The boy grumbled and pulled his brother along. 

 “I like him.” Mark looks to the alleyway that the kids ran off into. 

 “Wait until you meet his father.” The Onion Knight was famous in Westeros after the Rebellion. By all logic, Davos didn’t have to intervene in the war. He could’ve remained in relative safety in Flea Bottom with his family, but he chose, despite his profession, to do something honourable. Without Davos, there was a high chance that Renly or Stannis wouldn’t have survived the siege. 

 They order their drinks at the Wooden Dragon, piss poor ale, and wait. 

 It doesn’t take long before a man enters the tavern and halts before Ned. “I hear you’ve been calling for me.” 

 Ned nods and gestures for the man to sit. Davos, soon to be the future Ser Davos Seaworth if Ned survives this, his an unremarkable man. He supposes that it’s a smuggler’s carefully crafted image. He’s got deep-set eyes with laughter lines along his mouth and at the corners of his eyes. His dark brown hair is turning into a crop of messy salt-and-pepper.

 “Before we start, you do understand that this conversation doesn’t leave this table?” 

 Davos gives Ned an unimpressed look. “I swear on the Seven above that this conversation will not leave this table. What may I assist you with, my lord?” 

 Ned is pleased that Davos is a sharp man. He pulled his signet ring from the pouch around his neck and laid it on the table. “I plan to break into the Red Keep.” 

 Davos’ dark eyes flicker to the ring and back to Ned, a deep frown pressing on his lips. “Never thought I’d be seeing a Stark dishonouring himself in such a way.” 

 “Honour is subjective, Captain.” Ned’s honour wouldn’t allow him to kill the Mad King in such a way. A Stark needs to be known and respected. If his vassals feared that he’d sneak into their keeps and slit their throats while they slept, he wouldn’t have any loyal vassals. Disloyal vassals led to unrest and the death of innocents. A leige Lord must be the example he wants his vassals to be, but Ned learnt from Littlefinger and Varys, he cannot trust that they will be as good-willed as he is. 

 Davos gives Ned a look that is even more unimpressed.

 Ned sighs. “I’m not enacting my family’s revenge. My father and brother’s souls wouldn’t find peace if the King were brought to justice that way. I’m breaking in for a different reason. I’m sure you’ve heard of the army just outside the gates.” 

 He isn’t sure why he’s trying to explain his reasoning to Davos, but Ned desperately wants the man to understand the importance of this mission. 

 “Aye. Lannisters. Folk don’t know if they’re here to protect or kill us.” 

 “Lord Lannister isn’t a betting man, Captain. He’s watching the war, waiting to see who’ll win. I worry for Princess Elia and her children.” 

 Davos studies him for a moment, dark eyes scanning Ned’s face. “You’ll think he’ll have the Princess killed.” 

 “And her children. Lord Lannister isn’t a betting man, and he holds grudges. Cersei Lannister was passed over for Elia Martell. Do you think that he’ll let a blight to his family’s legacy live?” That doesn’t convince Davos. Ned isn’t surprised. Davos is a common man, and the lives and personalities of the Great Lords are distant tales to him. 

 “The Mad King has right pissed him off. Took his son, and heir, as a Kingsguard and refused a marriage alliance,” Mark mutters. “Heard things got nasty when Lord Lannister was Hand. Ever hear the term ‘a Lannister always pays his debts,’ Captain?”

 “Aye. Ladies by the Fishmonger’s Square have a habit of swooning over the phrase.” Davos rolls his eyes. He sighs. “Yous ain’t wrong. News don’t trickle down from the Keep oft, but we heard. Heard about Duskendale too.” 

 “I don’t care about the King, but what I do care about is an innocent woman and her children being caught in the crossfire only because she married into the family. Work for me, Captain, and I will ensure that you and your family are well taken care of. The North can always use men like you.” 

 “Smugglers?” 

 “Sailors. Clever men. Hardworking men. Lord Manderly has been keeping track of the Faithful. ”

 “What if the Princess refuses?” 

 “You’re still paid, and the offer to relocate north is still on the table.” 

 Davos nods, accepting the terms. 

Chapter Text

Despite the hour, the night is bright; the moon sits heavy in the sky. Davos guides his darkened ship alongside the cliffs on which the Red Keep is built on. 

 Arya once told him that one of the passages that she explored went right down to the water. Ned forbade her from going down there. He was worried that she might drown in the high tide. 

 It must’ve been an old escape route that either Aegon I or Maegor had built into the cliffside. “There.” Mark’s voice echoes across the silent bay. He points to a small pier jutting out, it’s barely two planks wide. 

 Ned nods and moves to help Davos’ crew lower the small rowboat. “Take care, Captain.” Ned inclines his head in gratitude. 

 “I wish you luck Lord Stark.” Davos’s voice is grave. 

 Every splash the paddle makes causes Ned to flinch. He worries, rather irrationally, that someone will hear them. 

 Ned pulls out a small torch and shares a silent look with Mark. Mark looks as if he is being sent to the executioner’s block, which isn’t far from the truth. If they’re caught, they will be killed. 

 Their journey is silent and long. Ned’s memory of these catacombs is a hazy recollection of a nine-year-old’s retelling. 

 Eventually, their surroundings change from the simple, earthy tombs to more elaborate stone structures. 

 “What’s with all these barrels?” Mark mumbled. Ned frowned, looking around. There are massive barrels, almost as if the Mad King is using the passages as a cellar. 

 Arya never mentioned barrels. 

 Something about these barrels makes Ned extremely uneasy. 

 Who knows what the Mad King is up to?  

 “Unsure,” Ned answers. “Don’t touch them.” Mark grunts, falling into line behind Ned. 

 Now, the worst part of the night begins. Trying to find the right room. 

 Ned opens a door and sighs. It’s a nursery; this must be where Elia’s children are kept. “Wait here,” he orders Mark. 

 Mark nods, slipping back into the shadows of the secret door. 

 What does he say? Ned’s had days to figure out what to say to Elia, but everything he constructs falls short somehow. What can he really say to the wife of the man who stole Ned’s sister? His words just feel like ash in his mouth; they don’t feel genuine. 

 She’ll never believe him. 

 Why would she? 

 She’s never met Ned before. Her goodfather killed Ned’s father and brother. 

 There’s nothing that he could say that she would understand his desperation to save her. 

 The door creaks open, and Ned instinctively hides. “You’re dismissed, Lily. I can put my son to sleep myself.” The voice, likely Elia’s, sounds curt. Ned can’t imagine she’s having a good time living with the Mad King. 

 He hears the door shut, and Elia’s soul-sucking sigh, and the soft murmur of a sleeping baby. “Oh, yes, I’m terribly sorry, my little prince,” she coos. He hears her place Aegon in his cradle.

 Ned takes a deep breath in. It’s now or never. 

 He steps out of his hiding place with his hands up. “Princess…” He stops a good distance from her and the cradle, keeping very still. 

 Elia Martell gasps, her face draining with blood as she flings her body over Aegon’s cradle. 

 Ned winces, remembering the little bodies covered in shrouds. Did she do this last time? Sacrifice herself in vain for her babe? 

 Curse Gregor Clegane and Tywin Lannister. 

 “Are you here to kill me, Lord Stark?” She sounds resigned. Gods, how bad has her life become that she accepts death easily? She must’ve spotted his puzzled look and interpreted it differently. “You look like your brother.” 

 Oh. 

 She was present for their executions. Gods. Ned’s heart lurches painfully at the reminder. 

 No. He shakes his head, trying to clear his thoughts. “My Lady, I’m not here to hurt you or your son. Here.” He makes it obvious that he’s reaching for his sheathed greatsword. She watches him warily as he unbuckles the sword and tosses it to the ground. 

 They both pause when it skitters across the floor, landing not far from Elia’s slippered feet. 

 She looks tentatively hopeful. “Then why?” Her voice is quiet but still fearful. 

 Ned takes in a deep breath, his words running wild through his mind. “The Lannisters are coming. Their host has been spotted along the Goldroad.” 

 She gives him a shrewd look. “That doesn’t explain anything.” 

 “The Lannisters are coming, and Lord Tywin has no more love for the King. The King is a selfish man and will do anything to live. Where do you think you and your children will fall?” 

 He hates that he causes her face to turn ashen.  

 “My Lady, please, you must understand. Lord Tywin is ruthless and will stop at nothing to win.” 

 “B-but, if the King passes, then Rhaegar will become king. He’s been incredibly foolish, but he can see reason!” 

 Can he? 

 Ned understands that she needs to side with her husband, but does she really believe this? 

 “My Lady, the Lords have put forth Robert Baratheon as a claimant for the throne. It’s no longer a war against the tyranny of the King. It’s now a claimant war.” 

 Memories of Ned’s lessons on the Dance of the Dragons and the Blackfyre rebellion come to the surface unbidden. It seems that Elia is thinking along the same lines. 

“And no matter what Robert pleads, he cannot take Lyanna as his wife anymore. Robert Baratheon is Tywin’s best chance to get the crown he desperately wants for his daughter. He can’t assure his grandchildren’s ascension if there are rival claimants. Don’t tell me that Tywin Lannister isn’t the type to kill babes to ensure his legacy. Look at the Reynes and Tarbecks for how he deals with threats to his family.”  

 Tywin Lannister is not a good man. He killed Rhaegar’s children last time, and he’ll do it again if Ned can’t convince Elia to come with him. 

 Elia clutches the cradle, looking down at her sleeping son, and then back up to Ned. “If the Lords are championing for Lord Baratheon, then why are you here, Lord Stark? You are supposedly Lord Baratheon’s best friend.” 

 “I care not who sits on the throne.” Robert’s reign did nothing for the North. The crown never does anything for the North; the last time a monarch came North was Queen Alyssane, and she stole land from the Lords to give to the Night’s Watch. “I want justice for my father, for Brandon, and for Lyanna. They would not want innocent children’s deaths associated with their injustices. Brandon hated your husband for what he did to Lyanna, but he’d never kill his children. Nor my father nor Lyanna. My Lady, I may be on the opposite side of the war from you, but my honour demands that I try to save you and your little family.” 

 He can’t tell what Elia’s thinking, but her dark brows are furled in thought. Her eyes flickered to Aegon, to Ned, and back several times. 

 “Will you swear to it? It’s said that there is never an oath that a Stark forgot.” 

 Ned drops to his knees. His hands feel barren without his sword, but it’s irrelevant. “I swear on my name, Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, in the presence of the Old Gods who are always watching that I will not let harm befall Princess Elia Martell, her children, Princess Rhaenys, and Prince Aegon. If I fail in my duties, let my name be torn from history and cursed by my descendants. Do you accept my oath, Princess?” 

 He can see the tears gathering in Elia’s sorrowful eyes. “I accept.” She’s silent for a moment. “Thank you, Lord Stark, for risking your life to save mine.”

 Ned inclines his head. “No need for gratitude, but we must be off. The longer we tarry, the higher chance, we shall be spotted.” 

 Elia nods, jerkily, brushing off her dress. “I shall collect Rhaenys.” 

 “If possible, find a pair of sturdy shoes or a heavy dress. We travel by boat. It will not be warm.” Elia is wearing a light nightdress with a robe thrown over it. 

 “Yes.” Elia nods, distractedly. “Thank you.” 

 She hurries out, and Ned is left alone in the Prince’s chambers. He straps his sword back onto his back, and after a moment’s digging, he finds a small bag and begins filling it with what he thinks might be useful.

 He flinches and hides when the door opens again. He sighs when it’s just Elia with a bundle in her arms. She looks harried as she speaks quietly to her daughter. 

 “I couldn’t change. The King has my chambers and the children’s patrolled constantly. I thought I could, but…” She shakes her head despondently. 

 “It’s fine. We’ll think of something.” Hopefully, Davos’ ship has a fur blanket or something that the Princess can use. It’s going to be a cold ride. “Here.” He takes Rhaenys from Elia; she hesitates for a moment, but eventually relents, and she picks up the thankfully still asleep Aegon from his crib. 

 “Who are you?” Rhaenys asks, her dark eyes peering at Ned. 

 “Lord Eddard Stark at your service, my Princess.” He gestures for Elia to follow him. Mark opens the door and gives Ned a small nod. He gives Elia a deeper nod. After a flinch, the unexpected man must have surprised her; she gives him a grateful smile.

 “The one with the puppies?” 

 It takes Ned a moment to place her question, but he nods and grins. “Yes. The one with puppies.” 

 “Why are you here? Where are we going?” Rhaenys twists herself in his arms, looking at the dark passage. Her curiosity reminds him of Bran and Rickon, endlessly trying to figure out what’s going on around them. 

 “Lord Stark is helping us, dear. Grandsire is not feeling well, and we should let him rest…away from him.”

 Rhaenys frowns. “I want Balerion.”

 Ned frowns, looking at Elia. She sighs. “Her cat. Rhaenys, sweetie, we can’t take Balerion with us.”

 “No!” Rhaenys screeches, jerking so violently that Ned almost drops her. “I want Balerion. Grandsire is going to be mean to him! He needs to come too!” 

 In the dim light, he can see Elia’s pained expression, and Ned must wonder how much Rhaenys was exposed to. Did she witness the executions too? What else had the Mad King done to this child? 

 The volume between Rhaenys’ screeching and Elia’s desperate pleas for her to calm down is increasing. 

 Mark gives Ned a worried look. Ned doubts that there’s much soundproofing between the rooms and the secret passages. 

 Ned pauses, mid-stride. “Princess?” He asks, tone soft. He can see the tears welling in her dark eyes. “Can I tell you something interesting about cats?” 

 Hesitantly, she nods. Her face is flushed an angry red, and her little mouth is seconds away from trembling. 

 “Cats are very clever animals. They’re very hard to catch. I once heard a tale of a girl, not much older than you, tasked to catch the cats in a keep as part of her sword training. But the thing is? The girl had so much difficulty catching the cats that after her first day, she hadn’t caught any. It took her days just to catch one of them. And to this day, I hear, she’s still trying to catch the cleverest of all the cats. He was a mean and clever cat, with fur as dark as coal.” 

 “Like Balerion?” Her voice is soft. 

 “Just like your Balerion. Now that he doesn’t have to protect you, his favourite human, he can run and hide, protecting himself the best possible way.” 

 “Promise?” 

 “I promise. I’m a Stark, we don’t break promises.” 

 She nods sagely in the way that only young children can achieve. “Okay. You better be right, mister.” She curls up in his arms, her head resting on his chest. 

 “Thank you, Lord Stark.” Ned waves Elia off. Rhaenys is a child and is terrified. Unlike Rickon, afraid of Shaggydog and able to overcome his fear in a controlled manner, Rhaenys is faced with a monster, unafraid to kill anyone in his path. “Where’d you hear that story?” 

 Mark sharply looks back, his brow furrowing, and Ned silently tells him that he was correct. It was one of his memories. There’s a silent acknowledgement, and Mark goes back to leading their small party. After telling the story, Ned is faced with the horrible thought that the cat that Arya was trying to catch was the grizzled Balerion, lingering in the Keep where his owner died. And that thought makes Ned terribly sad. 

 “It was one told to me at Winterfell.” 

 They return to silence, carefully walking down to the waterfront and avoiding those dubious barrels. 

 “We’re here.” Mark’s voice is soft. 

 Mark hooks the torch to a small holder and steps into the boat, offering Elia a hand. She gratefully climbs in. Ned slides in next to her. 

 The closer they get to Davos’ ship, the more Ned relaxes. 

 He did it. 

 Ned lets out a pained breath. 

 Elia and her children are safe. 

 They aren’t going to die the same horrific death in Ned’s previous life. 

 He changed his past……he just hopes that it doesn’t destroy him later, down the line. 

 “Welcome, my Princess.” Davos bows to Elia. He takes note of the sleeping children. “My Prince. My Princess. Welcome to the Faithful. I’ve set aside a cabin for you, Your Highness, to rest. I took the liberty of supplying it with clothes from my wife, fit for the time at sea, and clothes for the little ones. They may not fit properly, but they’ll do for a pinch.” 

 Ned silently thanks Davos for his foresight and kindness.

“Thank you, Ser Davos.” 

 “I’m no Ser, Your Grace.” 

 Elia looks over to Ned, her dark eyes accusing. He shrugs helplessly. “I’m not a knight; I don’t think I could knight him.” 

 Elia sniffs, her arms clutching little Aegon, tightening, looking every inch the queen that she is. “Well, I have two brothers who are knights. I shall see you knighted, good Ser. I shall retire for the eve. Lord Stark, I shall see you in the morrow.” 

 “I look forward to it.” 

                                                                                                                                                                             ****

 Ned has forgotten how exhausting sailing can be. The constant rolling of the ship makes him incredibly unsteady and exhausted. He relegates himself to the back of the ship, sitting quietly on one of the built-in benches, watching the crew do their jobs. 

 He knows nothing about sailing, but Davos seems to have this well at hand. No wonder Wyman has been chomping at the bit to get his hands on the man.

 Davos doesn’t even lose his composure when Rhaenys, supervised by Mark, comes toddling up and bombards him with questions. Ned watches, with a small smile, as she turns to Mark and holds out her arms, the universal sign of a child wanting to be held. Mark complies, and Rhaenys stands shoulder to shoulder with Davos. He very reluctantly allows her to grasp onto the helm alongside him. 

 Elia arrives moments later, with young Aegon in her arms, swaddled in a mound of furs, and watches her daughter with an indulgent smile. 

 She looks leagues happier this morn. 

 Ned may be married, but he isn’t blind. Elia wasn’t a great beauty compared to those of her generation, Cersei Lannister, Ashara Dayne, or his Cat, but she has a certain mournful charm that draws men to her. Her dark hair, pulled into a simple bun, glints with red under the bright sunlight, and her bronze skin is warm and healthy compared to her ashen countenance last night. Her features are soft, with a rounded jaw, plush lips, and regal nose. Her eyes are still large and melancholic, but now a spark of hope has entered them. 

 “Lord Stark.” Her face falls into something more severe when she spots him. 

 Now, that isn’t the way to run a man’s day. Ned sighs and tries to give her an assuring smile. “Princess, how may I assist you?” 

 She marches over and takes a delicate seat next to Ned. Aegon, who was awake the whole time, gurgles in curiosity and waves his freed hand in Ned’s direction. Ned holds out his hand for the babe to play with. 

 Elia smiles slightly before affixing her wool shawl over her shoulders better. “Where are we heading? We seem to be heading southwards. Last I heard, the rebels were concentrated in the Riverlands.” 

 “We make for Sunspear, my Lady.” She looks at him in apt shock. Ned clears his throat. “I meant it when I said I wanted to keep you and your little family safe.”

 “But giving up hostages so easily?” Her look of disbelieve is back in full force. 

 “My Lady, did you come with me, thinking that you’d be my hostage?” Elia doesn’t answer, instead choosing to fuss over her son. 

 Ned frowns at the implication that she was more than willing to leave the relative safety, albeit barring the antics of the Mad King, of the Red Keep, with her children to become a hostage to the man whose sister was kidnapped by her husband. Sweet gods above, what the fuck was Aerys doing to his family?

 What makes it worse is that Ned can’t fault her for wanting to go with the random North man who appeared in her rooms. In general, the South sees the North as honourable, at least, more honourable than some of the other Southerners. 

 Ned isn’t sure if this is him looking at his vassals with an idealistic lens, but he trusts them, save perhaps Roose, and that is due to historical malcontent between their two families; even then, Ned doesn’t think that Roose would do anything to Elia or her children. He gains nothing. Neither Jon nor Robert would reward him with the position of the Warden of the North; Ned has stronger ties to them than Roose. 

 “Well, I cannot fault you there.” Ned rubs his brow in exhaustion. He sighs. “I could take you hostage, my Lady. I considered that, but that would only prevent your husband from fighting, and save, some of his allies. But would stop the king? I doubt he’d care that much.”

 “You’re not wrong,” Elia murmurs. 

 Ned swallows in a deep breath, trying to find the words. “The world is cruel, my Lady. I can recount oaths for hours about how I’ll keep you safe, but the reality is, war is cruel and unpredictable. Sunspear is the safest place for you.” 

 “If you didn’t want me in your camp, why aren’t you taking me to one of your allies?”

 “Where, my Lady? Shall I take you to the Eryie? Or Riverrun, a place rife with both allies and enemies? I can’t tell if they’d try to free you or kill you if you refused to leave. There are loyalists, rebels, and those working for their agendas in every keep.” 

 Elia glares at him. “Then don’t take me there, I thought you trusted your countrymen. Wouldn’t my children and I be safe in the North?” 

“I suppose I could take you North. White Harbour is roughly the same distance from King’s Landing as Sunspear. The Manderlys would take good care of you and the children,” he agrees. “But I would’ve thought you’d want to go home to your brothers.” 

 She flinches and looks to her son, anger slowly seeping out of her. “I do. I–just, I do not understand why you, Eddard Stark, would let me go so easily. What do you want in return? My hand in marriage? After all, even if Rhaegar dies defending his claim, I am still the sister of a Prince.” 

 Ned doesn’t mean to chuckle at her admission of fear. “My Lady, the Seven do not allow for polygamy. My Gods are less clear on that matter, but it's still frowned upon. Regardless of my religion, I think my wife would murder me if I tried.” 

 Elia’s brows draw together in confusion. 

 “I married Catelyn Tully not long before I left the Riverlands. If I am lucky, I may have a child on the way already.” He wishes that he’ll see Robb and his other children again. He doesn’t think he could bear to live again without seeing their precious faces. 

 She gives Ned a tentative smile. “Congratulations."

Ned returns her smile. He sighs and watches Rhaenys babble questions at Davos from the safety of Mark’s arms. “It is easy to hate, my Lady. I don’t want to be one of those people. My sister, Lyanna, is very adamant about the philosophy of ‘you get what you give,’ and I’d like to think that if I do good in this world that it’ll eventually come back to help me in a time of need.” 

 He no longer knows if he entirely believes in philosophy anymore. He died alone in King’s Landing, his allies turned against him, and his daughters were trapped. He wonders if this time, the situation is a gift from the Gods. 

 It doesn’t feel like it most days, but if he can reach Lyanna soon and get her help before the birthing bed fever takes hold, then maybe it would be a gift.  

 “I-I don’t know where he took your sister, Lord Stark.” Elia’s soft voice brought Ned back from his musings. He looks over and sees that Elia is close to tears. 

 Ah. He should’ve realized that mentioning Lyanna wasn’t a good idea. He clears his throat. “It’s alright. I didn’t expect you to know. I didn’t save you, thinking that you did. I did this because I thought it was right.” 

  She gives him a watery smile. “Thank you, Lord Stark.” 

 “Eddard. Call me Eddard. Or Ned, if you’d like. My friends call me Ned.” 

 “Alright…Ned.”

Chapter Text

“I don’t know men can live in such heat,” Mark mutters, taking a slug of ale that Davos had thoughtfully purchased for them. They’ve been docked at Sunsear for two nights already. Elia had passed on a message to her brothers through a trusted maid, but to be safe, she and her children stayed below decks as much as possible until they received a response from the Martells. 

 Varys has spies everywhere, and Ned is not going to have Elia die mere steps from her childhood home. He doesn’t trust that eunuch one bit. 

 “People say that of us, Mark.” 

 Mark grumbles, finishing his drink. “At least we have fire and furs to keep us warm. What can they do here? Take off their skin?” 

 Ned snorts at the image. “The Boltons would make a killing.” Mark gives him a sharp grin, and a bark-like laugh escapes him. 

 “Willam would be pleased; he’d throw a fucking fea–” Both of them paused when something settles into their gut. 

 It’s hard to explain, but something is just wrong. It feels like Ned is trapped in the vision of a predator, just waiting for him to make a mistake so they can snap him up. 

 Ned makes eye contact with Mark and silently tells him to go alert Davos and protect Elia and her children. 

 Mark shakes his head, gesturing with it for Ned to go. Ned glares back; he’s not going to get into an argument now of all times. Mark huffs and rolls back his shoulders. “I’m going to bed, goodnight.” He puts down his empty tankard and stomps off to the cabins. 

 Once Mark has disappeared down below, Ned puts down his tankard. He looks around the silent ship, looking to see if he could spot their mystery assailant. 

 Ned wanders down from the upper deck, down to the main deck, hand seconds away from unsheathing his sword. 

 He keeps his ears trained for any changes in sound. There wasn’t much wind tonight, keeping the natural creaks of the ship to a minimum. 

 After surviving two wars, Ned has gained a second set of eyes on his back. He dodges, throwing himself into a roll, just in time to miss the spear aimed at his head. The point sinks into the mast with an audible thunk. 

 Ned gets up from his roll, hand automatically going for his sword. 

 Just before him, swathed in shadows, is the youthful face of Oberyn Martell. Though Ned hadn’t actually seen Oberyn as an older man, he hadn’t left Dorne since his sister’s death, at least as far as Ned knew. This face was all that Ned knew about Oberyn. It’s confusing, really, to think about it. 

 “Oberyn Martell,” Ned carefully acknowledges. 

 “How dare you, you pathetic creature, use my sweet sister’s name in your despicable plot! I will have you hands and your tongue,” he snarls. 

 Ah, there’s the classic Oberyn Martell temper. Ned’s heard so much about it. 

 Ned dodges Oberyn’s spear again, reluctant to raise his sword against Elia’s brother. This just seems to enrage the man more. 

 He grimaces as he’s forced to employ an underhand strike to parry Oberyn’s lunge. 

 Their fight has put Ned on the defensive, and he starts backing up as Oberyn tries to take out Ned’s legs.

 He grits his teeth as they continue to trade blows. Oberyn is quick and not afraid to go in for the kill. Ned worries further after remembering that Oberyn might’ve purposely killed the previous Lord Yronwood with a poisoned spear point. Ned doesn’t want to hurt Oberyn; he’s innocent, save for his temper getting the best of him. The Gods know that Ned, at his age, is guilty of this. 

 He twists his arms so his blade is vertical, and the blade sinks into the hardwood of the spear’s shaft. 

 Ned grunts, trying to yank his sword free. “This is no plot!” 

 “Lies! You think I am a fool, Northerner? Do you think to blame my family for what the Prince did to your liege lord? We are innocent of his schemes!” 

 Oh. Right. Oberyn probably doesn’t know Ned’s identity. 

 “Come and fight me like a real man, you craven!” Oberyn yells as Ned dodges another blow. 

 Ned ignores Oberyn’s taunt and focuses more on keeping himself poison-free. 

 After an impressive block on Ned’s side, Oberyn’s temper snaps at Ned’s unwillingness to commit to the fight. He snarls, dropping his spear and tackling an unexpected Ned.

 Ned groans as his body slams against the thick wood of the Faithful’s deck. He wheezes in pain as Oberyn’s elbow slams into Ned’s stomach. He probably won’t have a bruise there, but it still fucking hurts.  

 He catches one of Oberyn’s fists and fights to keep him immobilized as Oberyn continues to try to strike Ned. 

 Oberyn’s other fist slams into Ned’s nose, in the same spot that Robert struck him nearly two moons ago. By the end of this war, Ned’s nose is going to change shape permanently, he thinks somewhat hysterically. 

 “Oberyn Nymeros Martell! You stop this instance!” Elia’s voice rings clear in the night. 

 Oberyn goes stock still, and Ned can see his dark eyes widen with surprise. 

 “Elia?” His voice cracks with emotion. 

 Mark is standing at the entrance of the deck with his sword drawn, and the faint moonlight highlights Elia’s slender body. 

 “Oberyn, I thought Mother taught you better than this!” 

 Oberyn scrambles to get off Ned, hurrying to get over to his sister.  Mark is hesitant to let him through, but after a prompt from Elia, he side steps. 

 The siblings crash together in a tight hug, Oberyn murmuring soft words to his sister. Ned can hear faint cries from Elia. 

 It feels wrong to intrude on such an intimate moment. Ned groans, rolling to his side. It’s going to smart in the morning. The Red Viper can fucking pack a punch. 

 Rather distractedly, he hears Elia gasp. “Ned!” 

 “I’m alright,” he grumbles, getting to his feet. “Facial injuries tend to bleed more. I am fine.” 

 “Ned, I am so sorry for my brother.” 

 “It is understandable, my Lady. I recognize the face of a man desperate to ensure the safety of his sister.” Something heavy settles over Elia’s expression at the admission, and she tightly nods and turns to deliver a lecture to her younger brother. Oberyn looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. 

 Ned leaves the siblings, under Mark’s watch, and ambles down to the cabins. He knocks on the cabin door where Elia and her children are staying. Their contingency plan was for Mark, Davos, and his eldest son, Dale, to barricade themselves in with the royals while Ned holds off their attackers. Mark was upset with the plan but didn’t go against Ned’s orders. 

 “All safe,” Ned calls out. 

 The door creaks open, and Davos emerges with a wicked-looking dirk in his hands, looking disturbed. “What happened.” His eyes land on Ned’s nose. 

 “Oberyn Martell was little overzealous in protecting his sister’s honour. She’s giving him a well-deserved scolding.” 

 Davos sighs and sheaths his dirk. 

 “The children?” 

 “Still asleep, thankfully. Dale, stay here,” he orders his son. Ned hears a muffled confirmation. 

 Back on the deck of the ship, Elia’s lecture is wrapping up, and Oberyn looks relieved to get out of it. Elia turns to fuss over Ned. “You alright?” She asks. 

 Ned waves her off. “Robert gave me worse when I called him out on his behaviour. Prince Oberyn.” He nods to the Red Viper in acknowledgement. 

 “Northener.” 

 “Oberyn! Give Lord Stark his proper due! Despite your horrendous treatment of him, he is still being curteous.” 

 “Stark, eh? What are you doing with my sister?” Oberyn’s hand sneaks down to his waistband. 

 “Oberyn!” Elia scolds him again. 

 Ned holds up his hands in surrender. “Why don’t we discuss this with the Prince of Dorne, so we don’t have to repeat ourselves.”

 Oberyn huffs. “Fine,” he grumbles. He peers at a baffled Davos. “Who’s this?” 

 “Oh! Oberyn.” Elia grabs her brother’s shoulder and shakes him. “You must knight Captain Davos! He’s been such a help through his journey!” 

 “Prince Oberyn.” Davos hesitantly bows. 

 “Off!” Oberyn squawks, trying to untangle himself from his sister. “I’ll knight him, okay! After we talk to Doran. He’ll kill me if I do it before running before him.” 

 “Fine.” Elia huffs. 

 “Should we collect the children?” Mark asks, breaking the silence. 

 “Oh, yes, thank you, Ser Mark.”

 “You’ve gotten friendly rather quickly,” Oberyn mutters. He shuts up the moment Elia glares at him. 

 They left the ship in the hands of Davos’s second and Dale and started to make the silent and rather strained journey up to Sunspear. Thankfully, both of the children were still out like a light. 

                                                                                                                                                              ****

Doran Martell is not pleased to be woken up in the middle of the night by his brother, and Oberyn receives his second lecture of the night, after the children had been sent to a proper bed. 

Unlike his brother, Doran Martell is not a martial-minded individual. He’s a slim man with deep lines in his face already, despite just passing his thirtieth year. He appears unobtrusive, but there’s a sharp glint in his eyes that makes Ned not want to be in the same room as him. 

 “Lord Stark. Welcome.” Doran’s voice is low and raspy. 

 “Thank you for the invitation to your home, Prince Doran.” 

 There’s a small crack of a smile on the man’s stoic face. “Before we get deep in our discussion, please know that you and your men are welcome under our roof as guests.” He gives Oberyn an indecipherable look. Oberyn scowls but says nothing.  

 Ned lets out a sigh of relief. There’s nothing like having guest right to relax a man.

 “Thank you for bringing my sister and her children home, Lord Stark. Her safety has been a most serious worry for us, but I must ask, why have you absconded with her from her home?” 

 Ned winces; his actions do rather reflect Rhaegar’s, and it doesn’t look well. 

 Also, what does Ned say to explain his past life? His lords were more understanding because many of them had known Ned since he was born. But the Martells? They won’t believe him. 

  “My host was heading to the Stormlands when one of my scouts told me that the Lannisters were coming down the Goldroad. And, well, Lord Tywin’s character is well known. I dreaded what would happen to Princess Elia and the Prince and Princess if she was caught in the conflict between Lord Tywin and the King.” 

 Doran hums in thought, mulling over Ned’s words. 

 “How did you get into the castle unseen?” Oberyn demands. 

 “Secret tunnels under the keep.” 

 “And you managed to get through them?” Oberyn looks at them in disbelief. 

 Mark grunts. “There were a lot of wrong turns. It took a while to get through.” 

 Neither Oberyn nor Doran look satisfied with the answer. 

 Ned chews on his inner lip, unsure of what to say. Should he just tell them? There’s not much that he can offer as proof, save for Lyanna’s location, but that would take time to prove; it doesn’t necessary validate his claims immediately. 

 Fuck it. Ned normally has a lot of patience, but now that he’s in Dorne, he’s itching to find Lyanna. He wants to go. If he gets there now, there’s a chance that he could stop her post-birth fever. He has a chance now. 

 “I doubt that you’ll believe me, and honestly, I don’t truly care if you do, but I, somehow, managed to come back to the past, or this is some sort of divine punishment the Gods have wrought upon me for my failures during my tenure as Lord Stark. Either way, it was not a pleasant future.” There were many good times. Cat and his family helped, but Ned had been weighed down by everything after the Rebellion. It got better over the years. He doubted that it got better for the Martells. Not with how Elia died. 

 Oberyn’s eyes narrow at the revelation. Mark, on the other hand, looks startled that Ned revealed his secret so easily. “How?” 

 “No clue. I was executed and woke up not long before the battle at Stoney Sept.” 

 “On whose orders?” Oberyn demands.

 “Joffery Baratheon’s, likely aided by his mother, Cersei Lannister.” 

 “Robert won the war then?” 

 It’s easier to focus on Oberyn instead of looking at Elia’s horrified face. 

 “Aye. He killed Rhaegar at the Trident, and Tywin Lannister sacked King’s Landing. The King dies at the hands of Jaime Lannister.” 

 “The Queen?” 

 “On Dragonstone. I believe the King sent her and Prince Viserys there for protection. She gave birth to a girl. Deanerys.” The second part of the answer goes unspoken. Everyone in the room understands why Elia hadn’t gone, as she could no longer be a hostage to the King. “She died, but the children escaped.” 

 Oberyn swears loudly. 

 The reality of what Ned had done was starting to weigh heavily on the crowd. Elia looks like she was about to cry. Oberyn, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to burst out in rage.

 “What happened to them?” Doran asks. 

 “Escaped before Stannis Baratheon could seize them. Last I heard, Viserys died at the hand of the Dothraki Khal, whom he married his sister to. Admittedly, I do not know much more about them; Robert was quite serious in his hatred for Targaryens. I resigned as Hand when he wanted to assassinate her.” 

 “What about my children?” Elia’s voice is soft. “You speak of everyone else, but my children.”

 Ned hesitates, not wanting to speak those vile memories into existence. He wants to forget the memory of the blood-soaked shrouds. What had Robert done with their bodies? Had he given them to the Martells to bury? Or had he burnt them in the traditions of House Targaryen? No course, he wouldn’t; Robert probably had them tossed into a pit and forgotten about them. 

 “Ned, please. Tell me.” 

 His fist clenches as he struggles to put the words out. He gives her a silent apology. “Dead.” He doesn’t speak about what happened to Elia; she doesn’t deserve to know her fate. 

 The room is silent, and then Elia doubles over and vomits. The sounds of her heaving and whining echo through the silent room. “I’m sorry,” she wails. “I–I didn’t mean—” 

 “Nonsense,” Oberyn scolds, pulling his sister into a hug. 

 “That’s why you were so insistent on getting us out,” Elia sobs. 

 “Yes. I had the chance to prevent what could have happened, and I took it. Tywin would never spare you.”  

 From the corner of his eye, he sees Davos studying him. “Is this why you requested me, directly, Lord Stark? Had we some connection?” 

 Ned shakes his head. “No, not me. Not long from now, you smuggle in a boat’s worth of onions and salted fish into Storm’s End for no reason other than to help the struggle occupants.” 

 “Is this true, smuggler?” Doran asks. 

 Davos flinches at the attention, but he bobs his head. “I planned to, my Lord. I hadn’t wanted to participate, but I heard about the poor Lord and his little brother starving. Seen plenty of that on my travels, bad way to go.” 

 “Aye,” Oberyn mutters. 

 “A kind soul for a smuggler.” 

 “Pardon me, but I was a man forced into this role. Difficult for one to make their way out of poverty.” 

 “Doran, you must knight the man!” Elia cuts in. “Without him, it would’ve near impossible to escape.” Elia pauses and furiously scrubs her face as the fresh onslaught of tears at the thoughts of the could-have-beens. 

 Doran looks to Ned. Ned shrugs. “I can’t knight him, I’m not one. I had planned to enoble him. Lord Manderly would love having him as a captain.” 

 “We’ll have a proper knighting ceremony in the morning,” Doran assures the flustered-looking Davos, who just nods in acknowledgement. Doran turns back to Ned. “I find your tale difficult to believe, Lord Stark. I hope you understand, but I am not willing to disbelieve. Regardless of whether you have returned to the past or not, you saved my sister. Even if it is from the King.” 

 “He’s written, hasn’t he?” Elia looks miserable at the mention of the king. 

 “Yes. Even from the short letter, I can tell that he has lost even more of his tenuous grip on reality.” Doran rubs his brow in frustration. “He believes that Dorne has betrayed him. He is calling for my head. And Oberyn’s.”

 To be honest, Ned hadn’t considered the greater political ramifications of his actions; he’d just acted. “Forgive me, Prince Doran, I hadn’t meant for this to happen.” 

 Doran waves him off, his expression stormy. “The King lost his mind in Duskendale. We’ve all been politely ignoring it. I am merely thankful that Elia is no longer there to be his victim.” 

 “What will you do now?”

 To continue fighting in the war means that Dorne will be considered a loyalist to Aerys. If they win the war and Aerys survives, then Doran and Oberyn will have to deal with the King, braying for their heads. However, if they switch allegiances, then Aegon’s, Doran’s nephew, inheritance will be stripped away from him.

 The rest of the Great Lords won’t support that long of a regency, and Ned doubts many will be pleased if Rhaegar is crowned King. 

 That’s if Robert allows them to live, Ned thinks sourly. He wouldn’t let the children of his rival live. Before becoming the Hand, he wouldn’t have thought that Robert had enough honour to allow children to live, given the circumstances, but now? Ned might have to help two more children hide from the king. 

 “I will need some time to think on this.” 

 Ned can read between the lines. He might’ve done something good for Dorne, but he is a war leader on the other side. Doran will not be telling him what he’s going to do. 

 Ned delicately clears his throat, branching out to the next hard topic at hand. The subject of the war. “Prince Doran, I have a favour to ask.” 

 “Oh?” Doran arches an eyebrow at Ned. 

 “If you don’t really believe me, then I have a way to show proof. My sister, Lyanna, is being held at the Tower of Joy. I am going to retrieve her, but it would be nice if I could move in Dorne unhampered.” 

 Oberyn looks apoplectic with rage. “He took her here? To our homeland?” He dissolved into a fit of swearing. 

 “He left three Kingsguards to protect her. Ser Oswell Whent, Lord Commander Gerold Hightower, and Ser Arthur Dayne.” 

 Elia looks shattered. 

  Ned doesn’t blame her. Rhaegar left the best and the bulk of the Kingsguard with Lyanna to stop her from escaping, all the while leaving Elia alone in the Red Keep.

 “I don’t believe you,” Oberyn denies. “No. It can’t be. He promised. ” No, it’s more like he’s struggling not to break down in rage. 

 “Come with me, and see the proof for your own eyes.” 

 Last time, Ned lost all of his friends, save for Howland, to the Kingsguard. With the Red Viper of Dorne, the scales might be evening out for the better. He feels bad for goading Oberyn into joining him, but Ned wants his people to survive. They don’t deserve the deaths that the Kingsguard inflicted upon them. 

 Oberyn flashes Ned a dangerous smile. “The Sword of the Morning is no match for the Red Viper of Dorne.” 

 For most of his life, Ned has thought the nicknames given to the various lords and knights are rather silly; he dislikes the moniker of the ‘quiet wolf,’ but right now, hearing Oberyn’s title sends a chill down his spine, and he’s grateful. 

 Doran frowns. “We’ll discuss this, privately, Oberyn.” Oberyn scowls at the order given to him. “I apologize, on behalf of my countrymen’s actions, Lord Stark. You have my word that you can pass through Dorne unmolested.” 

 “Thank you, Prince Doran. My companions and I will set sail in the morn if possible.” He looks to Davos, who confirms that it is possible. 

 “Don’t tell me, it’s just the two of you going against those three.” Oberyn scowls. 

 Ned arches an eyebrow at the young man in front of him. “Before saving your sister, Prince Oberyn, I had access to the best warriors of the North. Do you not think that I wouldn’t send men ahead?” 

 Oberyn colours at the rebuke and grumbles, whereas Doran looks less pleased about having unknown Northerners in his lands, but decides against speaking against it. 

 “We shall see you off in the morning,” Elia promises. 

 Ned smiles at the woman before him. He is pleased that he was able to save her. Not because her death was unjust, but because the world was worse off not knowing someone as kind as her. He cannot help but often compare her to Cersei, both women married into the Royal family, and he finds that where Cersei would have reacted with derision and anger, Elia tries to react with empathy and justice. Ned doesn’t like the idea of a world where Rhaegar is king, but if he does, then Ned is pleased that at least someone like Elia would be queen. 

 “Sleep well then, my Lady.”

Chapter Text

Despite Ned’s best wishes, he doesn’t set out to find Lyanna until several days have passed. Doran hadn’t wanted them to leave until he settled some affairs. Oberyn insisted on accompanying Ned, prompting Doran to request that a retinue be prepared. Ned had quietly told the prince that if he was preparing a retinue, then he could find some trusted midwives and a possible wet nurse. Doran hadn’t looked pleased at the notion, but agreed. 

 Thankfully, they’re able to set off without too much delay. 

 The various members of House Martell are there to see them off. 

 Elia gives him a harried smile, tension creeping up her spine once again. Aegon, who has just passed his first moon, waves cheerfully at Ned as he passes. Ned waves back. 

 “Bye-bye, Lord Stark!” Rhaenys calls. Her eyes look a little red. On their journey here, she’s gotten quite close with various members of their crew, happily pestering them with questions. 

 Arianne Martell and her cousin, Nymeria, give them perfect, ladylike goodbyes. Sansa, Ned thinks sadly, would be great friends with these two. Being around them has shown Ned that he was sometimes painfully indifferent to his eldest daughter. If he sees her again, he’ll have to rectify this. 

 Obara, every inch of her father, looks bitterly disappointed that she couldn’t join them. Ned heard her arguments with her father and worried that he would end up like that one day with Arya. 

 The two members not present are Tyene Sand, who’s come down with a vicious cough, and Oberyn’s youngest, Serella, whose mother had sailed into Sunspear and taken her daughter for the time she’s in port.  

 Ned feels like he’s been wrapped in a haze of half-memories of his long-lost but not yet born children as they make their way to the dock. 

 For once, Oberyn is polite enough not to call Ned out on this. Mark hustles Ned onto the ship. 

 Fuck. 

 Lyanna. Ned doesn’t know what to say to his sister. It’s been nearly twenty years since he last saw his sister. Their last true conversation was concerning Robert. What does she think of him? 

 And Jon! His son, his boy. It’s still too early for his birth, but Ned hopes that with his early arrival, he can offset Lyanna’s illness. This way, Jon can still have his mother. Ned knows that it bothered Jon constantly that he never knew his mother, but Ned could never find a way to explain to the boy about Lyanna and the circumstances of his birth without scaring the boy. He was already so sensitive about his parentage. 

 It’s not until Sunspear is in the distance that Ned is faced with an ambush. 

 “So, you asked for midwives, have something to tell us?” Oberyn drops into the seat next to Ned, whereas Mark stood at a respectful distance, looking intrigued. Oberyn reminds Ned too much of Willam. 

 Ned sighs, running a hand through his shaggy hair; he really needs a haircut. “It’s a boy. His name was Jon.”

“Not very Valyrian.” 

 “I named him. Rhaegar was dead, and Robert was king. I took him as my own. Better to be Ned Stark’s bastard son than the bastard of Rhaegar Targaryen.” Ned doesn’t mention that he doesn’t know what Robert would’ve done if he saw the physical manifestation of what Rhaegar did to Lyanna.  

 Lyanna made him promise, and so Ned did. 

 “He was a good boy,” Ned quietly assures Oberyn. “He loved his siblings dearly.” He won’t hurt his other siblings, he silently promises. 

 “We do not kill little boys and girls in Dorne, Lord Stark.” They hurt little boys and girls everywhere, Ned thinks. His own son was hurt in Winterfell, not by his hand, but by someone in the castle. Oberyn’s words don’t do much. 

 “Focus on saving my sister first, Prince Oberyn.” Lyanna is a child; she’s not yet a woman grown. She’s a child giving birth to a child. It was a miracle that Jon survived. 

 Oberyn lounges in his seat, the Dornish sun falling on him without complaint. “Don’t worry, Lord Stark. I don’t much like being shown up by others.” His teeth flash with mirth. “You saved mine, it’s only fair I save yours.” 

 Brandon would have liked Oberyn; they share a similar restless spirit. He wishes that his brother could’ve been here to meet the man. 

 Maybe they would’ve been insufferable together and left Ned to his peace. 

 “Thank you, Prince Oberyn.” 

 “Bah. Oberyn. We’re riding off to die, at least do it by my name.” 

 Ned gives him a tired smile, remembering another conversation in the same place with a different Martell.  “My friends call Ned, if you like.” 

 “Ned it is!” 

 A pit inside of him gnaws at him. Could he offer his friendship so easily when he’s turning his back on Robert? Is he? Ned’s just trying to save his sister, and Elia was innocent in all of this, undeserving of her death. It’s not like he didn’t send his lords to the Stormlands to liberate them from the Tyrells. 

 But what has Robert done for Ned? In their years of friendship, Ned cannot fully remember a time when Robert came to Ned’s aid. After the war, save for the Greyjoy Rebellion, Ned didn’t hear from Robert until he came crawling to Winterfell, dragging Ned down South. 

 Any information Ned learnt of the royal family was via Jon’s sparse letters. 

 Ned wasn’t much better, he supposed. He didn’t write often, only when Cat told him that it was required. He found that he never had the time, and when he had the time, he didn’t have the energy. 

 He supposes that his relationship with Robert was always doomed to end. 

 “Is he always like this?” Oberyn asks, pulling Ned out of his thoughts. 

 “Yes.” Mark somehow uses even fewer words than Ned.  Ned cracks a smile at Oberyn’s silent anguish. It’s amusing to see Oberyn realize that he’s signed up for a mission with two silent individuals. Ned wonders how long it’ll take for Oberyn to crack. 

                                                                                                                              ****

 Turns out, Oberyn lasts longer than Ned expected. It’s not until they’re past Kingsgrave, where they left the midwife and wet nurse for Lyanna, heading towards the Tower of Joy, that Oberyn cracks. 

 “Bah! You really live up to the name ‘Quiet Wolf,’ dear Ned.” 

 “I heavily dislike that name,” Ned mutters. Beside him, Mark laughs at Ned’s misfortune. 

 “Dear Ned?” A voice calls out. Ned looks up and sees a fine red stallion glowing in the evening sun. The day’s shadows cover the rider’s face, but he knows who that is all too well. “Who has earned the privilege to speak to you so sweetly, my Lord Eddard? Other than Lady Stark, that is.” 

 “Willam. It’s pleasant to see you in one piece.” 

 “In one piece? Eddard Stark, I should be saying that to you! You fucker! And who’s this calling you dear?” 

 Ned sighs, rubbing his brow as Oberyn looks delighted at Ned’s misfortune. “Willam, I have the pleasure of introducing you to Prince Oberyn Martell.” Ned sends a glare at Willam, who’s come trotting down the road. “Oberyn, I’d like you to meet Willam Dustin, Lord of Barrowton.” 

 “Prince? Ah, forgive me. Prince Oberyn, I got caught up in the joy of seeing my friend alive.”

Oberyn’s grin is all teeth as he leers at Willam. “Pleasure is mine, Lord Dustin. At least someone here has a personality.” 

 Willam’s laugh booms across the silent desert. “Ah, well, you got stuck with the dour Stark. I promise you we’re not all like this in the North!”  

 “I can hear you,” Ned mutters. It falls on deaf ears, save for Mark, who just pats Ned’s shoulder in consolation. “Willam. Where is everyone else?”

 “Over there.” Willam waves a hand to the outcroppings above them, and promptly turns back to his conversation with Oberyn. Ned rolls his eyes and makes his way over to the little camp. 

 “My Lord.” Martyn stands and does a little half-bow. 

 “Stark.” Theo stands as well, looking pleased at Ned’s return. 

 “Lord Eddard.” Howland’s soft, slightly musical lilt floats over. Ned resists the urge to flinch when he appears at Ned’s elbow. Howland gives Ned a rueful grin and moves to the campfire. 

 He and Mark slide off their horses, settle them alongside the others and join the men at the fire. As they’re doing so, Willam and Oberyn come sauntering up. “---fine piece of horse flesh, you have there.” Oberyn’s Dornish retinue follows behind him, watching them curiously.

“My wife gave it to me! Ain’t she got a great eye for horses? It’s the Ryswell blood, right, Mark?” Willam tosses over. Mark grunts in agreement before turning back to the fire. Ned laughs at Oberyn’s disgruntled expression. 

 It feels like Ned’s last laugh before he marches towards his death. 

He doesn’t know if this is going to be the end for him. This feels like a definitive ending; Elia is safe, and Ned is going to ensure Lyanna’s survival. What more could they want from Ned? 

 It’s fine, his death won’t be the end of the world. Howland was instructed to take Lyanna and Jon north if Ned were to fall in battle. Ned hopes that his other men will survive, and they’ll further protect Lyanna. 

 Winterfell will go to Robb if he’s born, and Benjen will do his duty and look after his nephew. There will be vassals who won’t like being subjected to a child, but there are enough loyal vassals in the North to protect his son. If Robb isn’t born, then Benjen will be an adequate Lord Stark. The North will be protected. 

 “Gods above, Eddard.” Willam claps Ned’s shoulder. “Chin up. Tomorrow we’ll have Lady Lyanna safe and protected. We can’t lose with the Red Viper of Dorne alongside us.” 

 Ned tries to smile, to let Willam’s confidence wash over him, but his nerves are gnawing at his stomach. He’s watched these men die before. How can he be at ease when he needs to figure out how to keep them alive?

From across the fire, Oberyn watches Ned with a calculating look, something that he finds incredibly uncomfortable. 

 Ned spared as much knowledge as he thought necessary to Oberyn and Mark, but certainly held back about the fates of his friends. He did not dare to speak such things into existence. 

 “Let the man brood. It seems to be his preferred method of preparing for battle.” 

 Ned gives Oberyn an annoyed look, but the man ignores him, pulling Willam and Theo into a spirited debate about something. 

 Ned sighs, stretching out under the stars, listening to the banter beside him. 

 Tomorrow he’s going to see his sister. A sister that he hasn’t seen in fifteen years. His stomach churns with anxiety at the thought, but a small part of him is giddy. His sister. He’s going to see his baby sister again. He hasn’t lost her yet. 

                                                                                                                     ****

 Morning came faster than Ned would’ve liked. He feels that he hasn’t had enough time to prepare for this showdown.

 “Are you really going to do this?” Willam demands. 

 Ned swings up on the saddle of his borrowed horse and looks to where the Tower is taunting him. “I have to. If I don’t give them a chance to stand down, then it’ll haunt me.” 

 He’s also preparing for if Rhaegar wins and figures out that Ned killed three of his Kingsguard and demands an explanation, a scenario that Ned finds very depressing. He’ll be able to say that he offered them a chance to stand down, but Ned’s honour to his sister outweighs any obligations to the Kingsguard. 

 It doesn’t matter that Aerys is king; loyalists won’t allow him to remain in power. 

 Robert won’t care if he wins. Ned won’t have to come up with any excuses. 

 “Stupid, if you ask me,” Willam mutters. 

 “No one asked you.” Mark pulls Willam away from Ned’s mare and towards his red stallion. “We follow orders, Dustin. Not make them.” 

 Theo grunts in agreement. “Trust in Lord Stark.” Beside him, Martyn nods his agreement. 

 “I fucking trust him, but I still think it’s stupid.” 

 “Do you always let your lords speak of you in this manner, dear Ned?” Oberyn asks, sauntering over to their small group. Howland had departed earlier to secure a good hiding spot; before, Ned hadn’t like the idea of Howland using deception to his advantage, it’s not the honourable way, but now, Ned doesn’t care. He just wants Lyanna and Jon back. 

 “Discussion is a vital part of ensuring goodwill,” Ned answers diplomatically. “Whether or not I listen to their advice is another thing.” Oberyn bares his teeth in amusement at the admission. “Ready?”

 “Arthur Dayne is going to die today.” 

 Out of the three Kingsguard, Oberyn took issue with Arthur abandoning Elia the hardest. Oberyn told Ned that part of Elia’s betrothal agreement was the assignment of two Kingsguard hailing from Dorne for her and her eventual heir’s protection. Lewyn Martell was one applicant…and Arthur Dayne was the other. Arthur’s seeming betrayal, choosing Rhaegar’s faction instead of protecting Elia. 

 It’s bad that Ned finds comfort in that. 

 Their group, an eclectic mix of Northerners and Dornishmen, ride out together.

 Trepidation swims alongside Ned as he rides, but he ignores it, instead listening for the thunderous beats of hooves behind him. It calms him, knowing that he’s got more men with them. 

 Doran eventually acquiesced to Oberyn’s rants and allowed their retinue to join the fight instead of remaining independent observers. Doran’s eventual reasoning is that the Kingsguard acted illegally, technically. 

 Rhaegar might’ve ordered them to stay, but he doesn’t have the right; he’s not the king. The Kingsguard in Dorne, according to Doran’s reasoning, had gone rogue. The King wouldn’t have allowed for three of the best knights in the Realm to disappear into the wilderness to guard some girl, that was said with a mild grimace to Ned from Doran. 

 The idea isn’t wrong, but it makes Ned a little uncomfortable using it. 

 It doesn’t matter now, Ned just wants Lyanna to survive. He doesn’t know if the Gods are going to continue his punishment or not, but now Ned is trying to plan ahead. 

 He hopes to have established a good enough relationship with Doran and the Martells to protect his family. Hoster will look out for his grandson if Cat gives birth to Robb, and Jon is honourable enough to step in if needed. That’s two, maybe three Great Lords looking out for his family. 

 “Stay back,” Ned orders. They’re close enough now that he needs to go on his own. 

 Oberyn’s jovial attitude thins, and he gives Ned a grim nod and hefts his spear. 

 The rest of Ned’s squad, Theo, Mark, Martyn, and Willam, give Ned grim nods as well. 

 It’s now or never. 

 Ned rides out, the heat of the Dornish morning heavy on his back. He takes in a deep breath and continues pushing forward. 

 Robert used to tell him about the thrill of battle and the anticipation that led up to it. Ned has never understood the thirst of battle that Robert talked about, and he certainly doesn’t feel it now. He just feels dread and exhaustion. 

 He always feels exhaustion when it comes to executing men. He does it because he has to. It’s expected of Lord Stark, and he will not fail his forefathers. 

 “Halt!” Comes the long-dead voice of Lord Commander Gerold Hightower. 

 Ned comes face-to-face with the three demons of his nightmares. Arthur Dayne, Gerold Hightower, and Oswell Whent, behind them looms the Tower of Joy. Beyond its walls is his little sister. 

 “Who goes there?” Gerold demands. 

 His anger, the Wolf’s Blood, which normally burns low, is searing through Ned’s veins. Who is Gerold Hightower to ask Ned of this? When he is the man who helped keep his sister away from him. 

 “Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, the Warden of the North.” Ned pitches his voice louder to make sure that Lyanna hears him, so she knows that he’s come to save her, Howland, and the knights behind Ned. “I stand before you with this demand. Release my sister, whom I know is in the Tower behind you, and I shall spare your lives. Resist, and this will be your grave.” 

 Ned might be hearing things, but he’s certain he hears yelling from the tower. Lyanna? 

 He doesn’t flinch when the men in front of him draw their swords. “We were ordered to stand guard, Lord Stark. We do not betray our oaths.” 

 “Ordered by your Prince or by your King?” Ned demands. 

 He can see the unease ripple through the men. They know that they are going against their king by listening to Rhaegar. Rhaegar is not their commander; the King is. The King wouldn’t allow them to leave his side. 

 They are traitors. 

 Ned sighs when their resolve hardens, so much for talking things through. “Fine. Memorize these lands, good sers. You shall see nothing else for the rest of your short, miserable lives. This is my judgment as Lord Stark.” 

  He dismounts from his horse, drawing his sword.

 “Arthur Dayne!” Oberyn bellows. “You die today!” The easy assurance the Kingsguard had shatters as Oberyn, followed by their Northmen and Dornishmen retinue, files in and rides into the dusty courtyard, and they realize that Ned isn’t alone. “I, Oberyn Nyermos Martell, sentence you to die for trespass upon Dornish grounds and for the abandonment of your King and his heirs!” 

 “I did as I was ordered.” Dawn, the ancestral sword of House Dayne, blinds Ned as Arthur sinks into a fighting stance. 

 That was the wrong thing to say as Oberyn’s face fills with rage. 

 It seems Oberyn has Arthur occupied. Ned silently commands his Northmen to focus on Oswell Whent. Out of the three Kingsguards, he’s the weakest, and they’ll have the highest chance of surviving. 

 That leaves Ned alone with Lord Gerold Hightower, the White Bull. Ned pities the man.

 “You have one last chance, Lord Commander. I have no ill will towards you.” Ned truly doesn’t. Unlike Arthur or Oswell, Gerold Hightower hadn’t been there when Rhaegar took Lyanna. He’d just become collateral damage in the end. 

 “Thank you, Lord Stark, but I shall decline. I will not leave my sworn brothers behind.” 

 “So be it.” 

 Ned unsheathes his sword, and, well, unlike Ned’s other fights, Ned charges first. 

 He’s impatient; he wants this fight to be over. 

 Gerold won’t be an easy opponent. He’s one of the best swords in the Kingdom, but he’s older than Ned. Ned’s body is in his prime, but he has the experience of his older self. The fight is closer to even than the last time he and Gerold crossed blades. 

 Gerold seems to understand this as well as he doesn’t block Ned head-on, but instead pivots to redirect the force of Ned’s attack. 

 The parry sends Ned lunging past him. 

 Ned curses, spinning on his heel to face Gerold. 

 He’s never been comfortable as an offensive fighter. He’d preferred to remain on the defence, allowing his opponents to open up their weaknesses to him. It didn’t help that his main opponents growing up were Brandon and Robert, both of them impulsive fighters. 

 But now, it’s Ned's turn to be on the offensive. He couldn’t taunt Gerold the same way he could others. He’s older and aware of these tactics. 

 They trade short blows, their swords ringing in the hot afternoon. 

 Behind him, Ned hears Oberyn roar in anger, but Ned doesn’t dare take his eyes off Gerold as they continue to trade blows. 

 Ned’s greatsword is slower, and it’s becoming a detriment to the fight, as he can’t land a blow against the man, thus ruining the effect of wielding one.

 Gerold’s sword is quick like water. He dances out of frame and easily deflects Ned’s blows. 

 Gerold snarls, deflecting a glancing blow for Martyn, allowing Ned to take a step back and have a small breather. 

 Martyn yells, Gerold slashed the man across his thigh, so hard that his leg went out from under him. Ned can see the deepening red line staining Martyn’s thigh. 

 “No!” Ned jumps in, his sword absorbing the blow meant for Martyn’s chest. Ned grunts, straining under the brunt weight of the sword. He grits his teeth, muscles screaming as he pushes Gerold back. 

 Ned pants, standing between Martyn and Gerold, his sword heavy in his hand. 

 He won’t let his friends die again. 

 It’s now or never. 

 If he lets the fight draw out much longer, Ned loses his edge. 

 He snarles and lunges, hoping that this barrage of constant blows will weaken the older man’s guard, and a gap that Ned can exploit will be created. He can win this. 

 Ned’s latest blow against Gerold finally breaks his guard, and Ned rushes in the fill the gap. Unfortunately, Gerold is expecting this. He ducks the wide swing and rushes Ned with a shoulder.

 The weight of the man’s white armour stings, and Ned is forced to drop his sword, tucking into a roll to prevent himself from landing flat on his back, completely defenceless. 

 He scrambles for his sword, hyper aware of Gerold’s. 

 His next stroke is wide and awkward, desperately trying to block Gerold’s swing. 

 Ned blinks in astonishment when Gerold roars in pain, dropping to his knees. Ned’s eyes drift lower and spots Howland’s two-pronged frog spear jutting through Gerold’s calf, pinning him to the ground.

 “I had him,” Ned mutters loud enough for the slender men to hear. Howland gives him a clearly unimpressed look. Ned still takes the advantage offered and slams his sword through Gerold’s throat, ignoring the man’s terrified eyes. 

 Gerold makes a horrifying gurgling noise as Ned pulls his sword free. Ned winces as the man scrambles to stop the blood for his last few seconds alive. He stills and collapses onto the dusty ground, still. 

 Ned pants, wiping the blood free from his face, looked to his other two opponents. Oswell’s prone body lays mere paces away from Gerold’s, and Arthur isn’t faring much better. 

 He’s still alive, but from Oberyn’s enrage expression, not for much longer. 

 Arthur is ragged, still fighting, but his white armour is stained red, and he’s staggering under the weight of a bad leg. 

 He dodges one of Oberyn’s jabs, but is still too slow to block the attack of Ser Manwoody, one of them assigned to their retinue. The tip of the sword sinks into the soft flesh of his arm. 

 Arthur pivots, trying to block Oberyn’s next attack, but fails as he’s trying to get away from Ser Manwoody. 

 Oberyn’s spear pierces his thigh, and Arthur crumbles. Oberyn yanks the spear out of Arthur’s thigh and, with both hands, drives the spear through Arthur’s chest, pinning him down. 

 Arthur gasps, trying to pull the spear out, but falls still. 

 He’s dead. 

 Instinctively, Ned searches for his friends. Theo is supporting a limping Martyn; Mark looks unruffled despite the obvious scuff marks and tears in his leather jerkin. Ned pleaded with him to wear something thicker, but Mark waved him off, saying his jerkin, paldrons and gauntlets would be enough for him. 

 And Willam. Willam, who’d had one of the worst deaths last time, is alive. He’s dusty and bruised, but alive. 

 Ned could weep with joy seeing him alive. 

 Also, weep with joy knowing that Barbery Dustin won’t try to murder him this time. 

 “Ned,” Oberyn calls over. He has Dawn in his hands, claimed from Arthur’s body, for a second before passing to Ser Mandwoody. Ned looks at him with his eyebrows raised. “Go.” He gestures to the door. 

 It’s almost as if Ned needed permission, because the moment he heard the word, he dropped his sword and books it to the tower.

 To his sister. 

 His steps ring in his ears as he walks up the stone steps to the tower. It’s yawning over him, and every step he takes, it feels like the gods are placing ten more before him, making it impossible for him to complete his task. 

 His heart is pounding in his ears. 

 He’s here, Lyanna’s here. He’s done it. He made it to Lyanna before her due date. He can save her. 

 The tower is deserted as Ned makes his way inside. 

 It boils Ned’s blood seeing this desolate tower. He hadn’t noticed before, or if he had, Ned blocked out those memories, but this place is pathetic. 

 Where are the maids? The cooks? The anything? Had Rhaegar made his sister do everything herself? 

 His sister has the blood of kings. She’s a Stark. Who was this pale-haired bastard to take her and lock her up in this bleak hellscape? Ned’s family had been kings and Great Lords longer than Rhaegar’s entire dynasty had been alive.  

 It’s cool in here despite the time of day. That’s the only saving grace of his accursed tower. 

 Lyanna is where she was last time. 

 Ned pauses in front of the door and takes a deep breath, trying to calm his pounding heart. She’s here. She’s alive. 

 He can do this. 

 He’s fine. 

 He did his duty. 

 He pushes open the door before he panics and pulls a craven move. She’s there. 

 Ned pushes open the heavy wooden door to her room, and it creaks open. He nearly collapses when he sees her. 

 Despite the poor quality of her housing, Lyanna is glowing. Her dark hair is frizzy in the heat, but it’s shiny and healthy. She’s glowing in the manner that pregnant ladies are wont to do; she looks to be around seven to eight moons along. Her hooded grey eyes are wide in shock when they come into contact with him. 

 She looks so young. Gods, Lyanna isn’t that much older than Sansa was when he last saw her. Ned can’t believe that Lyanna had a child this young. 

 “Lyanna?” His voice is scratchy and raw. She’s here. 

 She’s healthy . 

 “Ned!” She bursts into tears. 

  Ned bounds across the small room, collecting his sister in his arms. She’s smaller than he remembered. Was she always like this? Or had her kidnapping and pregnancy sapped her strength?  

  He doesn’t remember. 

  It doesn’t matter. 

  He’s here. 

  Lyanna latches onto him, uncaring of the blood on his armour. She tucks her head into the crook of his shoulder. 

 “Shhh.” Ned soothes. “It’s okay. I’m here now. It’s going to be all okay.”

 “He…” Lyanna sobs in his arms. “He told me it was going to be okay!” Her tears muffled what she was going to say. “He said…he said that he’d sort things out, and that she’d be okay with us… but I wanted to go back once we reached the Stormlands! Or, at least, send a message! But he didn’t let me!” Lyanna sobs in his arms. “I didn’t want everyone to worry…When I heard about Father and Brandon…” Lyanna breaks into a fresh round of tears, clutching onto Ned tighter. “I tried! They stopped me!” 

 “I know. It’s not your fault. I don’t blame you,” Ned consoles her, struggling to keep his anger in check. Last time, he hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with her, to hear about what that monster did to her, but now, Ned begins to understand Robert’s hatred towards the man. 

 Rhaegar forced himself onto his sister. Did Arthur hold her down while Rhaegar took her? Did Oswell? Ned wishes that they’ll burn in the Seven Hells. 

 He denied Lyanna her freedom. They all did. 

 He led Lyanna’s family to their deaths because of his actions. For his personal satisfaction. 

 Her innocence is gone, shattered, and she’s become a mother too soon. 

 Ned presses a kiss to her temple and rocks her back and forth. His anger towards Rhaegar is burning ever brighter. 

 Rhaegar must’ve deceived her with honeyed lies without a care for what happened to her. Lyanna’s a romantic, but she’s not that much of a fool. 

 Lyanna never wanted to marry Robert. Rhaegar offered an escape, using her reluctance as his tactic. Who wouldn’t say no to the seemingly sweet prince when he offers a seemingly reasonable alternative?  

 Why choose Lyanna, out of all people? What could Lyanna give him that no one else could? A child? He could’ve gotten it from any willing woman. He didn’t need to deceive them. 

 Ned’s anger towards Robert begins to grow as well. Ned warned him that Lyanna disliked his drunken foolishness and his wandering eye. He warned Robert to clean up his act once they were engaged, but what did the man do? Fuck his way through the Vale without a care towards his betrothed. 

 “Father and Brandon wouldn’t want you to carry this guilt. None of this is your fault, Lya.” 

 Ned doesn’t see a world where Brandon hates his sister. Brandon let Lyanna get away with more things than he should’ve. Father…well, Ned doesn’t remember his father well enough to make that judgment. He’d like to think he wouldn’t. 

 Lyanna continues to sob. “Do you hate me, Ned?” 

 “No.” Ned had a lot of emotions tied around his sister and the rebellion, but none of them were hatred. She was a child, and Rhaegar manipulated her. “No, I don’t.” It’s easy to hate, but looking at her, any hate he had for her running away evaporated. She didn’t know better. She had no one on her side and thought that this was her only way out. This was his fault. “I should be asking that question. I’m sorry about Robert and pushing it. I should’ve listened.” 

 He doesn’t know if Father would’ve listened to Ned, but maybe he would’ve. They were fostering together, and Ned knew him better than everyone else. 

 “I promise, I’ll never go against your wishes again.” Even if Robert wins, Ned won’t let him marry Lyanna. She’s been through too much. 

 That makes her sob harder in his arms. Her slender frame shakes in his arms as she valiantly tries to calm herself. 

“I want to go home.” Gods, she sounds so painfully young. 

“I know. Soon. I promise.” 

 She looks up at him with watery eyes, filled with hope. The moment she is well enough to travel, Ned plans to have Davos take her to White Harbour. She’s never leaving the North again. She and Jon will be safe behind the walls of Winterfell. Robert or Rhaegar be damned. He’s not going to let his sister be used in the machinations of men. 

 In his arms, Lyanna tenses. Ned frowns and looks around. He finds Oberyn lingering at the door, looking like he wanted to talk. Lyanna looks panicked at his appearance. 

 Ned nearly snarls at the thought. What had Rhaegar told her about the Dornish? Had he lied to her to keep her trapped? Told her that they’d kill her if she escaped? Gods, Ned wants to rip Rhaegar’s head clean off.   

 “It’s okay,” Ned promises. “He’s with us. He won’t hurt you.”

 Lyanna looks at him with wild eyes, not believing him in the slightest. Terror raking through her body. 

 “Lya. I swear. You and your child are safe.” She trembles when Ned distangles himself from her. “I’m just going to talk with him, okay?” 

 “Ned….” She looks like she wants to pull him back to her side and prevent him from leaving, but Ned forces himself to leave. It’s hard, but Oberyn wouldn’t come unless he really needed to talk to Ned. 

 “What is it?” Ned asks, remaining in clear eyesight for Lyanna’s peace of mind, but far enough away so they won't traumatize her by accident. 

 “What, dear Ned?” Oberyn teases, leaning into Ned’s personal space, leering at Ned. He does that a lot. “Don’t want to see your close friend?” 

 Ned gives him an unimpressed look. 

 Oberyn sighs. “I’m taking Dawn back to Starfall. Ashara, at least, deserves to have it back.” 

 Ashara. Ned hadn’t thought about her in years. Other than those speculating that she’d been the mother of Jon, Ned hadn’t heard her name since the Rebellion. She dies soon after the loss of her daughter. 

 Should Ned go? He could prevent Ashara’s death if he tries hard enough. 

 No, he doesn’t think that she’d appreciate his presence. 

 “Are you certain?” 

 Oberyn casts a dark look towards Lyanna’s room; a look that makes Ned’s hackles rise in defence of his sister. “Your sister is innocent, Ned. I know that. But everything…” he sighs heavily. “It’s a reminder of what that bastard did to my sister.” 

 Ah. He’s leaving before he hurts Lyanna’s feelings, lashing out at her instead of his true target, Rhaegar. Well, that’s considerate of Oberyn. Lyanna’s been through enough. 

 “I understand. Stay safe, Oberyn. And…” Oberyn looks intrigued by what Ned’s going to say. Ned squirms for a second, not liking airing Ashara’s private business. “Ashara’s child…doesn’t make it. I am unsure if it’s that, or Arthur’s death, but something leads her to the highest tower of Starfall.” 

 Oberyn looks grim at the words. “I see.” He nods. “I shall let her brother know. Thanks, Ned. I’ll send someone to Kingsgrave for the midwives and servants. Your sister will likely lose the child if she’s moved now.” 

 That’s what Ned figured, but he’d hoped to move Lyanna to someplace more comfortable than this. 

 “Thank you, Oberyn.”

 This time, Oberyn gives Ned a tired but genuine smile. “I hope to see you in Sunspear once this is over, with your sister and nephew, happy and hale.” 

                                                                                                                                                  ****
There was enough of a mental divide between Ned and Lyanna that made it difficult for Ned to converse with Lyanna. He’s mentally a man in his thirties, and she’s a girl of five-and-ten. Any of their reasonable topics, family, her old hobbies, and the North cause Lyanna to burst into tears. Ned had barely mentioned his marriage before Lyanna was convulsing in tears. Cat was supposed to be Brandon’s wife. For Ned to marry her truly means he’s dead. 

The days leading up to her due date are long and tough. 

 The moments between them are tense at best. He tried to keep her calm as much as possible as she approached her due date. 

 Howland became a blessing in disguise. 

 He often came in alongside Ned and spoke to Lyanna about stories of the Neck. They calmed Lyanna enough that Ned didn’t have to worry about her health. 

 The head midwife, a stern older woman named Cedra, had taken one look at the Tower and clicked her tongue in displeasure. Finally, someone who understands Ned’s aversion to this damn tower. She’d taken the task on with gusto, ordering the small army of servants that the Manwoodys had sent to make the tower livable. 

 It didn’t make Ned feel guilty about spending time with Willam and Mark, lowly discussing and planning about what the Northern army should do. 

Thankfully, Mark had been able to send a raven to Storm’s End to pass along a message. 

 The responding message from Stannis told Ned that Roose and Rickard had liberated Storm’s End, quite brutally, but Ned had long stopped caring about that and had been chasing out the Reachmen from the Stormlands, thus allowing for the remaining Stormlords loyal to Robert to collect their armies and for Storm’s End to stock up on much needed supplies. 

 They, alongside the Northmen, had begun chasing the Tyrells into the Crownlands. 

 Ned is pleased to see that both Renly and Stannis survived, although both are significantly weakened from the experience. 

 But all was not calm for long. 

 Lyanna’s due date eventually came. 

 Ned had been there for all his children’s births except Robb’s. Lysa hadn’t been able to come for her sister’s births, and Cat never wanted to be alone while giving birth. It was certainly an unconventional system, but Ned hadn’t cared. 

 But Lyanna’s birth is somehow worse. 

 She’s terrified and panicked, more so than Cat ever was. 

 Cedra hadn’t wanted Ned in the room, stating that men were weak at the sight of the woman’s battle, but Lyanna nearly broke down in tears at the thought of Ned leaving her. 

 Ned remains at her side, holding her hand, trying to support her as Cedra has her pacing back and forth, trying to kickstart Lyanna’s labour, and when her labour actually starts. 

 It’s long and gruesome. Lyanna is in pain the entire time, and Ned is unable to do anything to stop her pain. He feels distinctly useless at her distress. 

 The sun had long set, and torches were lighted when Lyanna began to push. Ned grips Lyanna’s hand as she screams while pushing. He watches Cedra’s expression as she focuses on the baby. She doesn’t look worried as she continues to order Lyanna around. 

 Ned’s thankful for her. 

 “Not much longer, dear. You’re doing well,” Cedra praises. “I can see the babe’s head.” 

 “Ned,” Lyanna cries. 

 “I’m here. Not much longer. I promise,” Ned assures her, wiping sweat away from her face. He continues to watch Cedra. She fusses a little, but doesn’t look concerned. 

 “Push,” Cedra orders. 

 This pattern continues for several more minutes, until Ned hears the wild cry of a newborn babe. Jon.  

 Lyanna gasps, her head falling back onto the pillow, exhausted with her ordeal. “You did great,” Ned praises his little sister. 

 She gives him a tired smile.

 “Would you like to meet your son, my Lady?” Cedra offers, after a minute. 

 There’s a faint panic in Lyanna’s face; the true face of a first-time parent. Ned wonders how much Lyanna resigned herself to being a parent. Did she believe that Rhaegar would take the child once they were born? Or is she just upset that he’s not here? 

 “Here.” Ned stands and holds out his arms for the baby. Cedra purses her lips but hands him over, fussing over his positioning in Ned’s arms. 

 Ned looks down at the small bundle in his arms. He smiles at the now-solemn face of his nephew. Even as a babe, Jon was a solemn one. It sometimes made Ned think that Jon was actually his son, given that he’d inherited his personality. Other than his colouring, Jon hadn’t shown much of Lyanna in him. 

 “Look at him, Lya.” Ned crouches next to the bed, offering his sister a view of her son. 

 Lyanna smiles tiredly at Jon’s little face. “He looks like me.” 

 “I don’t think he’s got your Wolf’s Blood. Probably a good thing.” Lyanna smacks Ned in the arm lightly. “Have you thought of a name?” 

 “Rhaegar thought it was going to be a girl. He wanted to name her Visenya.” He wanted all three of his children after the conquerors? How fucking pretentious. 

 “...Rhaegar isn’t here, Lya.” 

 Lyanna’s lips wobble. “ I-I don’t know. I can’t think of anything besides Dad’s and Brandon’s. I don’t want to name him that. Not after what happened.” 

 “What about Jon?” Ned feels a little awkward offering the name. He’d named Jon that previously, but that was after Jon Arryn. Lyanna doesn’t have a connection to the name. 

 Lyanna stares at her young son, thinking over the name. It’s a strong, Northern name. It would only be for Lyanna. It’s far from the Valyrian roots of his father. She slowly smiles again. “Jon. A good name.” 

 Jon. Ned is relieved that he doesn’t have to remember a new name. 

 Ned wants to ask Lyanna if she even wants Rhaegar to know about Jon. Does she want him to know she survived? She hadn’t spoken about the man in the moon since Ned had been here. Any time he tentatively brought up the Prince, Lyanna shut the topic down. 

 “Very good.” Cedra cuts in, taking Jon from Ned and waving him away. “The Lady has to push out the placenta and wash off the birth. The exciting part is over.” 

 “Get some rest,” Ned orders his little sister. She smiles at him as he is pushed out of the room. 

 Now that his watch is over, Ned wanders down to the lower level of the tower. 

 “Ned!” Willam cries. “How goes the Lady?” 

 Ned smiles, accepting the tankard of ale from Mark. “I have a nephew, Jon.” 

 Mark gives him a sly look, but doesn’t say anything as Willam cheers. “A good, Northern name! Unlike those bastard Valyrian names.” 

 “Aye.” 

 “Will the Lady and the new lad be joining us?” Theo asks. 

 Ned nods. “As soon as Cedra clears her, we’re sailing to Sunspear to give thanks to the Martells. Then I’m sending Lyanna and Jon to White Harbour with Howland and Martyn.” 

 He doesn’t know how the war will end. The Battle of the Trident was a deceive battle, and Ned isn’t going to be there for it. Honestly, he doesn’t even know if the Northern host will get there in time.

 Thinking it over, he doesn’t know who would be the winner. The Northern host is missing from the rebels at the Ruby Ford; however, because of their early intervention, the Tyrells won’t be able to supplement the loyalist and Dornish hosts as fully, given that Roose and Rickard apparently slaughtered a decent number. 

 So, in the end, the battle will be just as indecisive as last time. It makes Ned feel a little better, not by much. 

 Ned closes his eyes, taking in the evening’s ribbing. 

 All is well. 

 He can relax now. Lyanna is safe, and Jon is safe. In a few weeks, they’ll be on their way North, and neither Robert nor Rhaegar can ever hurt them again. 

 He’s achieved his goals. 

 He’s done it.

Chapter Text

It doesn’t take long for things to go to shit. Not long after Lyann gives birth, she comes down with the birthing fever, just like before. This is the scene that Ned’s more familiar with. A blotchy, sweaty Lyanna, desperately pleading with Ned to help her, or for Jon. 

It started as mild at first. Cedra wasn’t alarmed, which gave Ned confidence that Lyanna had beaten the curse. 

 But then Lya’s fever grew.  

At the twenty-four-hour mark, she started getting abdominal pains, which did cause Cedra to look alarmed, barking orders at her attendants, and furiously trying to bring down Lyanna’s fever rapidly. 

 Ned’s by her side, holding her hand, glaring at Cedra. “I thought that you were able to prevent this!” He snaps. 

 Cedra looks unruffled as she and her assistants work to break Lyanna’s fever. “If I had been consulted before the young lady had gotten too late for travel, I would’ve informed you that such conditions are not optimal for birthing. We did the best we were able to, but we are not Gods, my Lord.” 

 Ned scowls, but he can’t argue. This place is terrible. It’s in the middle of the desert, with limited access to water, food and supplies, and sand has gotten everywhere. Lyanna is not someone that Ned would call delicate, but this was her first time, and the Tower of Joy is a terrible place even just to live, let alone give birth. 

 “Ned?” Lyanna’s voice is small. 

 “I’m here Lya.” 

 “...If I die…” 

 “Don’t say that. You are going to live. You’re the strongest person I know.” Ned can’t handle the thought of watching his sister die again. “Please, Lya,” he begs. 

 He grasps her hand in his and prays. He begs the gods to spare his sister. If he wasn’t sent back to save her, then why was he here? 

 What purpose does he serve then? 

 Ned can’t bring himself to leave his sister’s side. He sits vigil with her, holding her hand, praying that she’d be able to escape the fate given to her last time. 

 At forty-eight hours, Lyanna is close to death. 

 “Ned,” she gasps, squeezing his hand. 

 “What is it?” 

 “Will you protect Jon?” Her voice is raspy, “Don’t...don’t let them use him in their games.” 

 Ned rests his forehead against hers, repressing the urge to cry at the feeling of her burning skin. He was so close. “You never have to ask me that, Lya. Jon will be safe at Winterfell. No matter who sits on the throne.” 

 “Thank you…Ned.” She closes her eyes, and this is the last time that Ned sees his sister awake. 

 He doesn’t know how long he has been sitting there, clutching his sister’s hand, begging for her to come back, but Willam eventually comes up, untangling Ned from Lya. 

 Ned can’t keep his eyes off of Lyanna’s still corpse as Willam pulls him out of the room. 

 “I tried.” Ned’s voice is cracked and hoarse, his body trembling with rage. “Why, Willam? Why couldn’t I save her?” 

 Willam hugs Ned, clutching him tightly as Ned sobs and shudders. 

 Why could he save his sister? 

 Wasn’t that why he was here? 

 He failed the one thing he wanted to do. 

 She’s gone. He’s made Jon motherless again. 

 Why? 

 Ned sobs, his face burning as tears carve down his face. 

 “I’m sorry, Ned.” Willam’s voice is soft. Ned doesn’t want Willam’s kindness; he wants anger. He wants to scream and rage, burning the world down to avenge his sister. He wants to smash Rhaegar’s face against the stones of the tower and smear his blood, warning the rest of the world against the wrath of the wolves. 

 Right now, Ned cares little for the rest of the realm. 

 He and Benjen are what’s left of their generation. 

 Brandon and Lyanna are dead. 

 Their father, who guided them so wisely, is gone, and Ned is alone. 

 Benjen is going to leave Ned again. He’s going to go to the wall, leaving Ned alone with the physical embodiment of Lyanna’s death, his young son, with a new wife to please and disgruntled vassals to deal with. At least this time, Ned will have the experience to help him. 

 “I’m so sorry.” 

 Ned doesn’t want an apology; he wants his sister. He wants his brother. He wasn’t meant to be alone. 

 “Let boys deal with it, okay?”

 No, Lya is Ned’s responsibility. It’s his duty to ensure that she’s interred properly. 

 Ned wants to fight against Willam’s hold, but can’t bring himself to care. He allows for Willam to retain his grip and steer him away from that door.

                                                                                                             ****

“What do we do, Lord Stark?” Theo’s voice is low, but it still irrationally irritates Ned. He clutches Jon’s sleeping form, unable to look away from the small crackling fire. He’d been sequestered away, spending most of his time by the kitchen fire, holding Jon. 

This isn’t a dream, or hell. This is real; Ned lost his sister again. He’s been given a second chance, and he lost it. He lost his sister. 

He lost Lyanna. 

Why? 

Why were the gods so cruel? 

 “Lyanna and Jon need to go North.” 

 It’s not that Ned doesn’t trust the Martells; he’s certain that Doran and Elia will ensure that Jon remains safe, but he can’t bring himself to fully allow himself to leave Jon, a vulnerable babe, in a place that’s not the North. Oberyn…Oberyn, too, gave Ned his assurances that Jon wouldn’t be harmed under his care. 

 “The Silent Sisters will need time to prepare her body.” 

 Ned knows. He can’t bring himself to move, send out orders. 

 “Lord Eddard!” Mark comes stumbling into the kitchen. “A letter from Storm’s End. All forces are converging at the Trident. Davos said that the weather is fine for sailing. We can resume control of the Northern forces if we dock at Maidenpool and ride for Whitewalls.” 

 “The Mootons declared for the King,” Willam argues. 

 Mark shrugs. “He’s a smuggler.” 

 Robert. 

 Ned had lost his sister once again. He should ensure that his friend survives again. He looks down at Jon, who’d drifted off to sleep. He didn’t want to leave Jon, but Ned doesn’t want to lose Robert. 

 Things are not well between them. Ned doesn’t ignore this. If he’s willing to be honest with himself, it will probably never be well between them again, but the thought of losing Robert on top of everything makes Ned ill. 

 “Theo, Martyn, and Willam, pack your belongings. We ride at first light. Mark, Howland…” Ned hesitates, looking down at his new son. 

 “They both shall be defended with our lives, have no fear,” Howland assures Ned. Beside him, Mark nods. Ned knows, but he finds it difficult to separate himself from the last bits of his beloved sister. 

 “Ride for Kingsgrave. From there…” Ned wants both of them in the North as soon as possible, but Jon is delicate. There is a difference between a day or so ride and a short sail to Sunspear and a months-long sail through a wartorn sea to the North. “Please request treatment from the Silent Sisters and charter a ship to Sunspear. Prince Doran and his sister will not turn away a plea for sanctuary.”

 At least, he hopes. Jon is Elia’s husband's bastard. It is an insult to the man’s Lady Wife to bring a bastard into her home. It was a major source of contention between him and Catelyn last time. But Ned hopes that since they knew about him ahead of time that it wouldn’t be too bad. 

 “Of course, Lord Eddard.” 

 Mark cracks a small smile at the mention of returning to Sunspear and the children. 

 Ned sighs, holding Jon closer. He doesn’t want to leave him. He doesn’t want to go back to the war. But the sooner it’s over, the sooner he can return to Winterfell with Jon, Cat and Robb.

Chapter Text

 Ned hates being this far from Jon. He’s only ever been this far from Jon when he accepted the position of Hand, and by then, Jon was old enough to fend for himself. Right now, Jon is just a babe. 

 He takes in a deep breath and quietly assures himself. Howland and Mark will care for him. Ned can trust them. 

 He can trust them. 

 Right now, Ned needs to focus on the war. 

 The further north they go, the worse the devastation gets. Villages are burnt shells of themselves, and as they pass through, villagers watch them warily, wondering what they’re here for. 

 They don’t stop and linger. 

“I see Bolton banners.” Willam doesn’t look enthused at seeing his goodbrother, well, his wife’s goodbrother. 

 Ned grunts, kicking his horse into a gallop. 

 Horns ring their return as they trot through the central war camp. 

 “My Lord!” Rickard Karstark calls when Ned climbs off his borrowed steed in front of the main command tent. He sees a smattering of other lords there. 

 “Lord Karstark.” Ned inclines his head in gratitude. “I’ve heard substantial praise from Ser Stannis about you. Same with you, Lord Bolton, Lord Manderly.” 

 He can see Roose looking smug at the praise. 

 “The Lady Lyanna?” Rickard asks. 

 Ah, it must’ve gotten out. He sees the Greatjon, Lord Jeor Mormont, and Harwin Glover, the father of Ethan, Galbart, and Robett; all snap to attention at the mention of Lyanna. Ned doesn’t mind too much that his lords know. They aren’t going to spill to outsiders; their loyalty is strong to House Stark.

 Though he’ll have to get a full understanding from Wyman later about how much they know. Do they know that he went to save Elia? 

 Ned takes in a deep breath, fortifying himself for the reactions. “Lyanna has passed. She had a terrible fever when I found her. The healers I found were unable to break her fever in time. Howland and Mark are with her and will transport her North when able to.” He doesn’t tell them about Jon. It was unavoidable with Doran, Oberyn and Elia, but Ned knows that they’ll keep it a secret. It’s one less claimant for Aegon’s throne. 

 He expects great uproar, especially from the Greatjon, but when he meets their eyes, they all look stricken. This is the third member of House Stark to die in this war, someone who shouldn’t have been at risk of dying. She shouldn’t have died. 

 “I’m sorry, Lord Stark.” Rickard does look apologetic. 

 “We’ll burn these murmur’s dragons to the ground,” the Greatjon snarls, his anger clearly leaking out of him. 

 Ned is tired of bloodshed; he just wants to go home. 

 “Yes, about that. Do we think that we will be able to reach the Trident in time?” He changes the subject. If they speak about Lyanna any further, then he’ll burst into tears, thinking of her cool corpse and orphaned son. 

 Wyman’s face morphed into something pinched. “That’s what we were discussing. Scouts and messages from the other allies forces tell us that the loyalist forces are much closer than they realized.” 

 “That’s why we should abandon the deadweight and push forward with just the men!” Greatjon argues. “We can make it in time if we take the necessities.”

 “Then what?” Wyman demands. “What happens afterwards? What’s to say that we’ll have supplies to come back to? Camp will be looted the moment we leave!” 

 “Our new Lady Stark hails from the Riverlands,” Roose argues. “Surely, her father would see to outfit us if necessary.” 

 “So we are to depend on the goodwill of Southners?” Rickard demands. 

 Ned hides a sigh and sits. Willam pathetically slinks into a seat next to him. This he remembers all too well from his time as Lord of Winterfell. The stench of politics is everywhere, even in warfare. 

                                                                                                             ****

 In the end, they form a sort of compromise. Jeor Mormont and Harwin Glover are splitting off from the main army and overseeing the movement of their supplies, and will reach the Trident a few days later than the rest of the main force. That way, the bulk of the Northern army is with Ned, but they don’t have to worry about losing and replacing anything. 

 Ned’s not worried about the smaller army getting ambushed. The Moments and Glovers are all strong, burly Northerners, folk that Ned’s not worried about falling easily in battle.

 They set out early in the morning, before the sun is fully up, in hopes of getting there in time. 

 Ned sleepily tunes out the chatter around him. He had a hard time falling asleep last night as they made their way through the dewy grasslands, making up the banks of the Trident. 

 The men around him seem excited for blood. Ned cannot understand why. The green boys, he understands, fighting for your home and Lord is exciting and heroic, but the others? The older men who’ve fought before, Ned cannot understand why they’re so excited. Many of them have fought Wildings and bandits before; they should know the weight of battle and the toil it leaves. 

 Ned just wants to go home. 

 He wants to lay his family to rest and hold Catelyn close. 

 “My Lords! On the hill crest!” A runner calls, charging towards them with a wild-eyed looking horse. 

 “What’s wrong boy?” Rickard snaps. 

 “Loyalists!” 

 Ned curses. They must’ve heard about the Northern forces and split off to stop them from surrounding Rhaegar. 

 Ned can only hope that Robert and Jon can hold out until Ned and his men can get there. 

 “Can you see who’s leading?” Ned demands. Half-buried names and commanders fly through his mind, and solutions to counterattack them. There’s Barristan Selmy, who’d run a typical strategy, unwilling to play with his men’s lives, or Randyll Tarly, who’s ruthless in his campaigns. There’s no way that Rhagar would lead this charge. 

 “Ser Martell of the Kingsguard!” 

 Ned’s stomach plummets. Not only does he not know how Lewyn Martell would attack, as he stayed under Rhaegar’s command last time, but he’s going against the Martells’ uncle. As in Doran Martell’s the man whose home his nephew is currently staying in. 

 He doesn’t want to attack Dornish lords; his fight isn’t with them. They’re bound by blood to fight for the Targaryens, unlike the Tyrells and other loyalists. Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon had been hostages to ensure Doran’s cooperation. 

 Ned assumes that Lewyn is in charge of the Dornish host, which means they’ll focus on cavalry and archery tactics, like hit-and-run or slash-and-burn. The North isn’t well-equipped to fend off their style of fighting. 

 It would be better if they had the heavy infantry of the Stormlands. 

 He cracks his neck, frowning as he listens to the scout’s report. They’ll have to make due. 

 “Willam and Greatjon,” he orders, turning his horse around. Willam was given control of the Ryswell troops as his goodfather was rather ill when Ned called his banners, and his sons were all in their minorities. “I need cavalry to draw in the Dornish host towards the treeline and fearless infantry to break the force into two sections, can I count on you?” 

 Ned’s hoping that their unconventional fighting style will weaken the Dornish unity. While the Dornish are known for their unorthodox tactics, their climate doesn’t allow for forest fighting, whereas the majority of Ned’s men grew up in the woods, fighting Wildlings and bandits throughout the trees. He hopes that this distinction is sufficient to give his men the edge. 

 “Aye! The swords of Dustin and Ryswell are yours!” Willam bellows, unsheathing his sword, grinning at a soldier in Ryswell livery. 

 Greatjon bellows, slamming his axe against his heavy shield. “The men of House Umber is will not fail!” His war cry echoes throughout his ranks. 

 “I want as many hostages as possible!” Ned orders. “Do you understand?” 

 There is no negotiating with Aerys. Ned is no fool, and won’t even try. But there is enough of a chance that he can negotiate with Rhaegar. He’s a selfish cow, but he can be reasoned with. Dorne is the crux of Rhaegar’s rule. If Ned can sweet-talk Doran to the negotiation table, then he can hook Rhaegar in. 

 Ned doesn’t know how the war will end. Last time they won by the skin of their teeth. It was only possible because Robert was victorious over Rhaegar. Even then, the battle was close and hard won. 

 Even with Ned’s foresight, the smallest of changes can have drastic outcomes. Ned will not be caught unawares again. 

 “Yes, sir!” He hears it echoed across the ranks. 

 Willam and Greatjon’s forces peel off, and Ned turns to the rest of his lords. “Take your men and fan out, find spots along the creek. Crannogmen, get to the trees!” 

 Out of all his men, the Crannogmen are his best archers; combined with their nets and slim builds, they’d be best positioned in the trees. It’ll minimize their losses. 

 He joins Martyn and the rest of the Winterfell levies, a ways back, unsheathing his sword. He casts a look around, and the rest of his men settle into position behind thick trunks, leaving the creek bed clear for the charging cavalry. 

 It doesn’t take long for the braying of horses to fill their ears. Ned spots William’s red stallion charging at the front. 

 They storm past Ned, leaving a sizable gap between the Northern cavalry and the Dornish. 

 “Archers!” Ned yells as he sees the Dornish forces. 

 He winces when he hears the screams of downed horses and the distant yells of soldiers in the distance; Greatjon is doing his job. Riders scramble to their feet, grasping for fallen weapons. 

 “Northmen!” 

 “For Lord Rickard!” 

 “For Ser Brandon!

 “For Lady Lyanna!” 

 Battle cries ring around the woods as Ned’s men charge forward. 

                                                                                                                  ****

 “Wyman, I want a list of those injured and one for the hostages,” Ned demands. The battle may be over, but they can’t leave just yet. A cursory glance tells him that they didn’t suffer many losses, but Ned still wants a list. 

 “It shall be delivered promptly, Lord Stark.” 

 Thank the Gods for Wyman. Unlike Ned’s other stubborn-headed vassals, Wyman does what Ned asks without complaints. 

 Ned walks along the edge of the battlefield, checking in on his lords, a nervous tick that Ned’s starting to develop. He now has this need to ensure that everyone is okay. 

 “Lord Stark.” Roose’s cool voice sends shivers down Ned’s spine. He’s standing in front of masses of kneeling men. “Hostages.” 

 “I see.” Ned stands beside him, looking at the men in front of them. It’s easy to tell who’s highborn and who’s not. Common men are equipped with sturdy leather armour with glints of metal, whereas the highborn are in sets of armour. 

 “We should execute them,” Roose says, unprompted. “They’ll only be a burden on our supplies.” 

 He’s not wrong. Their supplies are just slightly below maximum capacity. The Stormlands didn’t give them a chance to resupply. Storm’s End’s stores were empty, and half of the castles were either loyalists or were empty themselves, serving Robert in the Riverlands. 

 Ned’s eyes land on one figure, and the corners of his mouth quirk up. “Lord Bolton, I didn’t take hostages to be kind. They have value.” 

 “The King won’t listen.”

 “The King? No.” Ned shakes his head. “But what about those around him? His son? The regions supporting him?” 

 The one thing that Ned learnt from his time in King’s Landing, especially from Littlefinger, is that power comes not from the position, but from those around the position. Littlefinger, even as Master of Coin, had limited influence. He gained power through his connections with the Gold Cloaks and the men of King’s Landing. 

 Ned intends to undermine Aerys. 

 The Rebellion last time killed many good men, and Ned wants to mitigate the death toll. 

 Roose’s pale eyes narrow. 

 Ned turns to the Lord of the Dreadfort. “Have you not noticed? Ser Lewyn Martell is in camp with us, along with many Dornish lords. Prince Doran is a pragmatic man. Who do you think he’d choose? The man calling for his and his brother’s heads? Or the side willing to barter and negotiate the safe return of their uncle? The Kingsgaurd abandon their familial ties, but their familial ties do not abandon them.” 

 Roose silently evaluates Ned; Ned is starting to see why Willam complains about the man. 

 “You wish to sow descent between their ranks.” 

 Ned gives Roose a grim look, turning away from their hostages. “I already have. He does not say it outright, but Prince Doran already views us favourably. This is a further nudge.”  

 Roose grunts, scowling at the memory of Ned’s adventures. “I believe it foolhardy to just let the Princess free.” 

 “I prevented needless death and was rewarded with free access to the Dorne. Thanks to them, I was able to see my sister before she passed.” 

 “You were unable to save her.” The again goes unsaid. Roose Bolton is an incredibly annoying man; Ned wants to hit him. 

 “I brought healers to help her. They attended her night and day. Sometimes illnesses cannot be cured. The gods are cruel.” 

 Roose hums. 

 “I do not remember if I mentioned this, but you did well in the Stormlands. Stannis Baratheon was pleased with your campaign. Thank you for taking my burden so well.”  

 Roose, unlike some of his other vassals, doesn’t show his expressions well, but Ned still sees a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes. He’s neglected his vassals too much recently. It would be favourable to have the Boltons appeased. It’s one less issue Ned needs to take care of. 

 “Ned!” Willam pauses, glares at Roose, who glares back, and then turns back to Ned. “We need to set off soon, if we are to make it to the Trident in time.” 

 Ned looks up at the darkening sky, frowning. The battle was a long one. “We can’t move yet. By the time we start moving, it’ll be night.” 

 That’s not counting the hostages and their injured. They’ll be a liability on the move. 

 He sighs, scrubbing his brow. “Willam, prepare a rider. Tell him to report to Lord Glover that we were attacked and we have men out of commission and prisoners. We’ll camp here for the night and let them catch up.” 

 There’s still a couple of hours of daylight left. They should be able to close the gap between the two parties. At least close enough that Ned feels comfortable transferring the unarmed men. 

 “Aye. I’ll send Calon Peat. He’s a decent rider, for a Crannogman. Can’t say I want to spare any of my cavalry. We’re going to need them.” 

 “Good.” 

                                                                                                                    ****

  The Trident is the site of a massacre. The river is running red, soaked with blood, and the banks are stacked with corpses. The stench of death lingers heavily in the air as Ned and his company make their way towards the rebel camp. The weather reflects the sombre mood of the day, with pregnant, swollen grey clouds. 

 Crows screech and take flight as they trot past. 

 Grim-looking men in Stormland and Riverland livery watch them with dispassionate eyes. 

 They were late. 

 Ned can only hope that they won. 

 Cries ring up once the camp spots them. Men crowd around when Ned dismounts, alongside Willam and Wyman. Ned ordered the rest of the lords to stay with their men. 

 “They look like shit,” Willam mutters, his eyes darting around to the rough-looking men. 

 Ned silently agrees. 

 “Ned?” The sight of Jon Arryn makes Ned’s stomach revolt. He looks older. He was already an old man when Ned first started fostering at the Eyrie, but now it appears he has aged twenty years. His eyes are sunken in and tired, his skin sallow, and his grey hair is falling limply around his ears. 

 “Jon,” Ned croaks out, fear gripping his throat. This can’t be good. “What happened?” 

 Jon waves vaguely in the direction of the Trident. “Robert…” A fresh sheen of tears lines his eyes. 

  No. 

  No. 

 NO.

 Ned can’t breathe. His lungs close in around him. 

 First Lyanna, now Robert? 

 Why? 

 Why can’t Ned save those around him? 

 “He’s alive,” Jon’s voice his hoarse. “But just barely…Rhaegar…the Maester doesn’t have much hope.” 

 No. 

 No. No. No. 

 Robert can’t die.

 Things aren’t well between them, but Robert can’t die. 

 “I…I need to see him.” 

 There’s a heavy silence between the two of them that permeates the rest of the camp. No one speaks as Jon silently evaluates Ned. He sighs and steps aside, allowing Ned access to the tent. 

 It smells of rot and the cloying scent of incense. 

 Robert’s still form takes up most of the tent, his large frame covered with swathes of bandages. He looks wrong. Robert is a man who never stopped moving, always laughing, moving, fighting, and fucking. Seeing him like this makes Ned ill.  

 “Robert.” Ned collapses into the empty seat next to the bed, clutching his friend’s hand, praying to the Gods who sent him back to allow Robert to live. “I’m sorry.” 

 He’s sorry that their last words were a fight. He’s sorry that he wasn’t here to protect Robert and that he left even though he knew that the battle of the Trident was a horrible one. 

 He wonders how much of his past life he can put onto this Robert. Should he be equating what the previous Robert did to this younger version? If left alone, then he might’ve become like King Robert, but right now, he’s just Ned’s friend. 

 He’s Ned’s friend, and he’s dying.  

 “Ned?” Robert’s voice is raspy. 

 Ned looks up. Robert has the dopey look of someone on an incredibly high dose of the milk of the poppy. He struggles to make eye contact with Ned. Ned squeezes his hand. “I’m here.” 

 Robert coughs. “I’m dying, Ned.” 

 The milk of the poppy must be keeping Robert calm, because Ned knows that if Robert were in his right mind, he’d be roaring with anger, struggling to hunt down Rhaegar even with his copious wounds. Trying to get revenge for his death. 

 “At least I managed in a hit in the end.” Robert chuckles weakly. He wheezes and remains silent for a moment. “I was a shit bethrothed wasn’t I?"

 Ned pauses, frowning at his friend. He hadn’t expected this level of introspection from Robert. As much as he loves the man, Robert lived in the present; he hardly reflected on the past. 

 A stab of guilt pierces Ned, remembering that their last conversation was Ned yelling at Robert for being a terrible man. Had Ned distracted Robert from the war enough that it was his fault that Robert got severely injured? 

 Robert takes in a rattling breath. “Find her, will you? Make sure she’s happy.” 

 Ned swallows thickly, thinking of Lyanna’s still body and Jon screaming for a mother he’ll never be able to meet. “I promise,” he lies. 

 It’s a white lie. Ned is angry at Robert for everything he did, not only in his other life, but for what they did in the past, but he wants to at least give him a few moments of kindness. 

 Robert jankily nods, his eyes fluttering shut. It seems that this took all of Robert’s energy as he slips back into his medicated sleep. 

 Watching his long-time friend die in front of him is surreal. Never would Ned have guessed that this would happen again. A deep, shameful part of him is grateful. He’ll never trust Jon around Rhaegar, but at least Ned won’t have to live in fear of his nephew’s heritage being found out and have a King braying for his head on a spike, or a Queen manipulating the Kingdom to slit his throat in his sleep to prevent his claim getting in the way of her son’s. 

 He’s just so angry. 

 Why hadn’t Robert let Lyanna go? He barely knew her, and she loathed him. It was no grand love story. He never knew what caused Robert’s infatuation with her to have such a stranglehold over him. 

 Why couldn’t he move on and focus on the health of his kingdom and his family? 

 So much of Ned’s problems would’ve been solved if Robert had moved on. 

 Why had he so selfishly remained stuck? 

 It angers Ned. 

 It was his sister taken from him, and yet Robert continued to act like it was a personal affront to him. To the point where it ended with Ned’s death and his children’s safety compromised.

 Robert’s tantrums shattered the realm. 

But… 

 Ned doesn’t move. 

He continues to stare at his friend’s sallow skin, his heart sinking further. He’d done nothing right. He hadn’t been able to save Lyanna; her death had repeated from last time. 

 But Robert? Robert was Ned’s fault. He changed too much in his desperate greed to save Lyanna, despite her dying in the end. 

 He just ended the life of his friend. 

 Ned sobs, tears burning his cheeks. 

 What had he done? 

 It’s his fault. 

 He was too greedy. 

 Even at his lowest point, Robert seemed to be so full of life. It’s hard to see him like this now. Maybe, Ned thinks, it’s good that Robert goes out this way. Instead of wasting away at court, he dies how he wants, on the battlefield. 

 No. What is he thinking? 

 Robert can’t die. 

 He can’t . 

Chapter Text

 Robert lingers on the brink of death for the next two weeks. Nothing happened as people waited in tense silence to see what would happen. 

 Robert’s inevitable death means that their cause is going to change again. Ned privately thinks that it shouldn’t have changed in the first place, but he does have to agree that having to see either Aerys or Rhaegar on the throne makes him feel ill. 

 But that now forced Ned to deal with the question he’s been avoiding. Where does he stand? 

 Who does he back? 

 Aerys can no longer remain in power. 

 He would put forth Aegon, as he knows that Elia will ensure that her son does not inherit the arrogance of his father, but the boy has only just reached his first name day. A fifteen-year regency wouldn’t be ideal for a healing kingdom, and Ned can envision enough men like Littlefinger and Varys seeping into the foundations to ruin it. 

 Viserys would be the next in line. He’s about eight. The regency wouldn’t be long, but long enough that some lords would get a little too comfortable. 

 Then there’s Stannis. 

 Now, Ned likes Stannis. 

 He cares little that the man is dour, so is Ned, but compared to Robert’s undeniable charisma, Stannis falls flat. He’s a capable administrator, but that’s not enough for a king, especially for a king of a brand-new dynasty that’d usurped the previous one. 

 Another thing that Ned needs to keep in mind is that last time, after the Battle of the Trident, the last major battle was the liberation of the Stormlands, and Ned’s already done that. Now, he doesn’t know how long the war is going to last this time. 

 He’s tired. 

 He’s tired of all of this. He hasn’t seen anyone from his family since his execution, and he can’t bring himself to think of the girls and their small, terrified faces. 

 He is tired and he wants to go home. 

 He doesn’t care whose in charge anymore, just that it’s no longer Aerys. 

 Ned just wants to disappear back into the snow in peace and focus on Northern affairs and the question of the wildlings. 

 His lords, on the other hand, have a lot to say about what the future of the rebellion should look like and what the role of the North should be. 

 Ned doesn’t speak up, allowing them to voice their opinions without their lord talking over them. Well, truly, he just is tired of caring. He wants to see his wife and sons. 

 However, despite his lords' arguing, none of the proposed solutions is good enough, and no one can come up with a compromise. 

 At this point, Ned is willing to declare himself independent and not deal with the bullshit. He sighs, rubbing his forehead, trying to will away the headache forming. 

 “Lord Eddard! I come bearing news from Lord Arryn.” A young man strides into the tent…without permission.  

 “Silence!” Ned snaps at his grumbling Lords, although he would like to instruct this youth himself on proper respect. He eyes the young man, pursing his lips. He has the features of a Northman but is wearing a silvered steel plate filigreed in bronze with inscribed runes. A Royce. As expected. Jon tried to mitigate the attitudes of the Valemen towards Ned when he was fostered in the Vale, but Ned learnt very early that they didn’t like Northmen. 

 Ned heard enough about the North being barbaric and old-fashioned that he learnt to tune it out. 

 It’s disappointing to hear this attitude from a Royce, though. Yohn’s youngest was arrogant; Ned had chalked it up to being a young man rather than a superiority complex.

 “Speak,” Ned orders, trying to remember the names of Yohn’s son. 

 Ah. Andar. 

 Andar scowls at being addressed in this manner. He straightens his back. “Lord Baratheon…” His face wavers for a moment. “Lord Baratheon has passed into the arms of the Seven.” 

 Fuck. 

 Ned buries his head in his hands. 

 Fuck. 

 This can’t be real. 

 “There’s more.” 

 Ned looks up at the young man with bleary eyes. What now? “King’s Landing has fallen to Lord Lannister. King Aerys is dead by Ser Jaime Lannister’s hand.” 

 Ned had wondered if this would happen again. The mention of Jaime Lannister sickens him. 

 “What about the Queen and her son?” Ned silently prays that they didn’t take Elia’s place in the narrative. He can’t handle more dead children. 

 “There’s no mention.” 

 “And Princess Elia?” Willam cuts in, arching an eyebrow at Ned. Ah, right. Ned should be more diligent about keeping up this facade.

 “Rumour says that her brother, Prince Oberyn, secreted her out of the capital. The Mad King called for their heads.” 

 Ned leans back in his seat, tapping a finger against the arm of his chair, considering the information. Jon must have suppressed the information about Robert’s injury well enough that Tywin hadn’t heard about the severity and went ahead with his initial plan. 

 “I assume then Prince Rhaegar has been crowned then?” 

 “Aye. He aslo sends a messenger with news of brokering peace.” 

 That changes things. 

 “Lord Lannister holds King’s Landing, but the Redwyne and what remains of the Royal fleet has blocked off Blackwater Bay, and loyalist forces are congregating along the Rose, Gold, and King’s road, coming from the Stormlands.” 

 In short, Rhaegar is alive, but injured; Robert is dead. Tywin holds King’s Landing, but doesn’t seem to have the leverage to hold it. The roads are blocked off, and he now has to contend with the angry, starving citizens who want revenge for the sack of the city. And Ned knows that the Lannisters were brutal to the commoners, and they’d jump at the chance of revenge. 

 What to do? 

 “Thank you, Ser. Please inform Lord Arryn that I wish to speak to him regarding our future plans soon.” 

 Andar shuffles nervously. “I was asked to relate your opinion on the news upon my return…my lord.” 

 That…that irritates Ned for some reason. It doesn’t feel like it’s coming from a place of equals but of a lord demanding something from his subject.

 He’s sure that Jon doesn’t mean anything by it; he’s under a lot of pressure right now, and slipped a little when it came to Ned. It’s fine; it’s better to brush it off than get angry about it. 

 “I’ll send my own messenger when my lords and I have come to a conclusion, Ser Andar.” Ned is firm in his decision, dismissing a stammering Andar. 

 The moment that Andar is gone, every eye is turned to Ned. He takes in a deep breath. What he’s about to say is going to be controversial, but he thinks it might be their best chance at stability. 
      ****
 “Ned.” Jon’s expression is pinched when Ned walks into the command tent, flanked by Wyman and Rickard. He’d wanted to bring Willam, who has the uncanny ability to boost Ned’s morale when he needs it, but Willam’s attitude isn’t well-suited for moments like these. 

 “Jon.” 

 In the tent are Jon, with Yohn Royce and Allard Cobray, Hoster with Tytos Blackwood, and Jason Mallister, and Cedrik Estermont, Robert’s uncle, with Casper Wylde. All of them watch Ned with tense expressions. 

 “Glad you could make it, Lord Eddard,” Cedrik sneers. 

 Ned takes his seat, ignoring the barb. The man just lost one of his nephews. “Forgive me for being late, I had yet to reach a consensus with my lords about the topic that I assume we are gathered here to discuss.” 

 “What is there to discuss?” Cedrik snaps. “We’re continuing the war. Robert has passed, but he still has younger brothers to take up the claim. We’ve agreed to ignore this pathetic attempt at peace.” 

 Ned looks around at the rest of the lords, and they seem to be in agreement on this. He didn’t agree to anything. Once again, Ned was excluded from the real war council. When will they stop seeing him as a child playing war instead of an actual lord? 

“Yes, I’m aware of Lord Stannis’s claim.” 

  “I’m sensing a but there, son.” Hoster arches an eyebrow at Ned, looking tired. The Riverlands have been the central focus of the war for most of its duration. 

 “Can we keep the same momentum with him as the claimant?” The reason why the rebellion was so successful was Robert. The giant of a man possessed an unusual charisma that drew men together; he fought with such fever on the front lines that he really was the Demon of the Trident, and it inspired men to fight even harder. 

 “What? You want us to abandon the rebellion? Do you just want us to roll over to the Targaryens?” 

 Ned frowns at Cedrik, wondering why he’s being so antagonistic; it can’t be simple grief. 

 “Lord Estarmont, has your greed for the throne made you forget which family has suffered the most during this war?” Rickard booms, his face a mess of anger, slamming his hands against the table. “You may have lost your nephew, but Lord Stark has lost most of his family! Do you not think that he might be doing this for a godsdamned reason?” 

 Ned bades Rickard to take his seat. Rickard huffs and sits with his arms crossed. Cedrik Estermont looks suitably chastised. 

 Ned doesn’t want to abandon the rebellion; he’s trying to be practical. He once thought that fighting for his family’s honour and legacy was what he was meant to do, but what the gods showed him was different. 

 It wasn’t just about his family. It was about those who supported him. The good farmers and soldiers who did what was asked, the lords who supported Ned. He didn’t want to see them dead again. 

 He didn’t want to be like Jaime Lannister. 

 He turns back to the other lords. “My family has suffered greatly, my lords. Even the man I called my brother has now passed. My blood is calling revenge, but I can no longer follow my heart. I am now the Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, I must think about not just my family’s honour but my people’s best interests.” 

 “What do you suggest we do then, Ned?” Jon asks. 

 “King Rhaegar has offered peace. We sit at the negotiation table and ensure a way to prevent something like what Aerys did from happening again.” 

 The room falls silent, and everyone stares at him. His lords gave him the same stare when he brought it up. He knows that this is unpopular; the gods themselves can testify that Ned hates himself for thinking of this, but it has to be suggested. 

 He remains silent as the lords’ voices increase in rapid volume, trying to outdo each other. 

 “Is this the fabled courage of the Starks? Where’s the savage blood of the North?” Cedrik sneers. 

 “It’s been near year since the war started, and supplies are waning. I don’t think that we can hold out for much longer.” He sends a scathing look to Cedrik. “The Year of the False Spring has just been lifted. The North haven’t had time to plant crops before the Mad King called for my head. The North simply doesn’t have the resources to carry out like this unless we start stealing from the castles we pass. War cannot run without food, Lord Cedrik.” 

 Which they can’t since the Riverlands are their ally. 

 “Can the Riverlands?” He looks at Hoster, who’s staring at the table in front of him. “What about the Vale?” Jon is eerily silent. The Vale, like the North, experiences severe winters due to its mountainous terrain, making it more challenging to plant in the spring. Ned turns to Lord Estermount. “And I know that the Stormlands are already having problems with their supplies. Are you the lords of these lands, willing to sacrifice your men for honour and prestige?” 

 Ned had once thought that this was the right thing to do, to be honourable and just, no matter what. Now, all he can think about is what he left for Robb to clean up afterwards. His poor boy, not even six-and-ten and having to adjust to the reality of the world that Ned had wanted to protect him from. He’d failed as a father. 

 “Ned, son, are you serious?” Jon asks. 

No. Ned is jesting at a time like this. Of course he’s serious! 

He sighs heavily. “Why would I jest, Jon? If we don’t find a way to end this war now, it’s simply going to turn into a war of attrition. We kill one man, they kill two. This cycle will continue if we don’t stop. Robert’s already been lost. Elbert’s dead. Denys nearly died. Hoster, do you want Edmure to reach his adulthood and join you on the battlefield?” 

 The lords are taking this better than Ned’s. None of them wanted the white peace; they wanted to go until Rhaegar’s head was on a spike, and while that’s tempting, Ned had to be the voice of reason and point out that there was a limited number of able hands in the North for planting and protecting them from the wildlings. 

 “I find it very interesting that you go to the Stormlands on our side, and come back ready to lay down arms,” Allard Corbray pipes up. 

 Ned glances at Jon through the corner of his eyes. 

 Jon doesn’t do a thing to stop him; he’s just sitting there, watching Ned. 

 Does…does Jon think that Ned betrayed them? 

 No. 

 He can’t. 

 He’s…it’s just that Robert was more of a son to Jon than Ned ever was, and he’s taking Robert’s death hard. He can’t think that Ned would sell him and Robert out?  

 He has to know that Ned wouldn’t do that. 

 Things were difficult between him and Robert, but Ned wouldn’t betray them! 

 Saving Elia and her children wasn’t a betrayal. He was just trying to stop unnecessary deaths. Jon would do the same thing. 

 Beside him, Wyman and Rickard look a little pinched. Both of them know that Ned wasn’t actually in the Stormlands. 

 “Lord Corbray, do you not think that is precisely why I’m in favour of peace?” Ned is trying to keep his voice even. He can’t tell if he’s about to fall into a fit of crying or rage. “Stannis and Renly Baratheon were starving to the point where Maester Cressen said they considered eating people because they got swept into a war that had little to do with them. Have any of you stopped to look at how the war is affecting everyone else?” 

 “We called for the Northern forces to come to aid us at the Trident! You did nothing but come late! We could’ve won against the prince!” Lord Wylde jumps to the defence of his fellow lord, ignoring Ned’s point.

 “Did you not notice that I arrived with three-fourths of my host?” Ned’s voice is cold. He cannot believe that he has to reason out why he’s not a turncoat. “The rest of my host was behind us because they were caring for our injured and prisoners, because a loyalist host attacked us.” He turns to Jon, who is clearly the ringleader in all of this. “First, you order me to the Stormlands instead of not coddling Robert during his temper tantrum, weakening your force, then you have the gall to be mad at me when I don’t arrive fast enough for you? Did none of you stop and think to wait for the Northern host to catch up before attacking the loyalists?” 

 Ned knows that none of them dared to tell Robert to wait. 

 He wanted to fight, and the moment that he heard that Rhaegar was at the Trident, his fate was sealed, no matter what Jon or anyone else said to him. 

 Robert never could fucking wait. He acted first and left others to clean up his mess afterwards. The smart move, the strategic move, would’ve been to wait for the Northern forces to arrive, but Jon never taught Robert how to wait properly. 

 Now it’s Ned’s turn to deal with Robert’s leftover mess, again.  

 Even in death, it seems that Robert left shit for Ned to deal with. 

 “Ned…” Jon’s voice is creaky, but Ned can’t be assed to be sympathetic to him right now. Gone are the days of Jon just asking Ned to ignore the slights, as it was the more honourable thing to do instead of responding in kind. 

 Ned can’t ignore them now. He is the Lord of Winterfell, the Warden of the North, and he has a duty to look out for his people, no matter what form. 

 “Why didn’t you tell us about having prisoners?” Cedrik demands, cutting Jon off. “Who do you have?” 

 “Ser Lewyn Martell of the Kingsguard.” Ned takes great pleasure in seeing the shocked expressions on the men’s faces at the table. “Along with some other high-ranking Dornishmen, that I’m sure, Prince Doran and Queen Elia Martell, would like to have released.” 

Ned doesn’t like using his kind actions to further his goals; it wasn’t his intention when he saved Elia or when he saved Lewyn. Ned just hadn’t wanted to kill the uncle of those who’d helped him immensely, but he can’t pass up this opportunity. If it means that he must use Leywn to secure peace, then fine. But he’s a fool to let an opportunity slip by him. He was too passive last time, allowing others to pull him in the direction that they wanted. 

 This time, he needs to stand his ground properly.

 How else can he protect his family? 

 To stand his ground, he needs allies outside of the North, other than his goodfather, who has as much political presence as the North does, which isn’t much, and Ned doesn’t think he can depend on Jon in the future. 

 Robert’s death showed Ned that anything can change, and those whom he thought would be safe are now even more vulnerable than he Ned originally believed. 

 He needs protection for Cat, Robb, Jon, and Benjen. He cannot let them suffer for what he did. 

 “Why didn’t you tell us?” Jon asked. 

 “You didn’t seem forthcoming about details on your part,” Ned snaps. “Why should I?” 

 “It’s not the same!” Cedrik slams a fist on the table. “You should’ve let us know and handed them so we can deal with them and their ransom!” 

 “Why?” 

 “Why do you mean why?” Cedrik demands, going red. “We are in command, we are…” 

 “You are not in command, or have you forgotten, Lord Estermont, that I never formally agreed to cede control to you, or Lord Arryn. I never even formally agreed to join Robert’s claimant war. I wanted justice for my murdered family members. Justice for Elbert! Justice for everyone that the Mad King killed without cause. You all assumed this without any confirmation. I am not under anyone’s command, and will do what’s best for the North, and only the North. My hostages, that my men won, that my medics are caring for, that my quartermasters feed, will remain in my camp.” 

 “Ned, we are not trying to be unreasonable,” Jon soothes. “It’s just easier to have everyone in one area. That way no one gets lost.”  “We have a list, with every hostage, Lord Arryn,” Wyman interjects smoothly, pulling out a sheathe of paper. “It is organized in order of importance. I do believe that should do, don’t you think?” 

 Jon takes the paper and scans it. “I suppose,” he sighs. “Ned, we are only doing this for cohesiveness. Everything works better when we are all one unit.” 

 In other words, shut up and do what I ask. 

 It was something that Ned was willing to look over when he was younger, merely a second son to Brandon’s heir, but now, not just the pride of the North is on the line, but their lives as well. If they’re going to fight, then they fight for a good reason. 

 Ned stands, along with Wyman and Rickard. “I will give you a week to decide. Then, I will reach out to the King to discuss his offer, with or without you. Consider that for your cohesiveness, Lord Arryn. Send a messenger when you’ve reached an agreement.” 

Chapter Text

Despite the death of King Aerys, the Red Keep radiates a sort of intense manic energy no matter where Jaime goes in the keep. 

 He’s taken to wandering the Red Keep over the past couple of days, mapping out the halls in silence, looking at the ancient treasures of the Targaryens. He was a Kingsguard with no king to guard. Worse, he was a Kingsgaurd who killed his king. What would Ser Arthur think of Jaime now?

 Speaking of which, where is Ser Arthur? Jaime hasn’t seen him since the war broke out, and it’s very unlike him. 

 He’s so alone. 

 Even with his father and his vassals here, it feels like the castle is empty. 

 No one acknowledges him, no one speaks to him, nothing. Who wants to dirty themselves with a kingslayer? 

 Jaime hadn’t wanted to become one. He wanted to keep his oaths faithfully. Rhaegar had seen that in him, promised him that it was going to be okay. But the King…Jaime remembers the screams of Lord Rickard Stark and Ser Brandon’s pleas, and the awful stench it left afterwards. 

 The King loved it; he’d been so aroused at the sight that Jaime remembers that night and Queen Rhaella’s screams. 

 Jaime tried. He tried so godsdamned hard to be a good knight, but part of keeping his oath of knighthood is protecting the innocent and what the king was ordering went against every oath Jaime swore except that of the Kingsguard. 

 He finds his father holding court amongst his vassals in the Throne room, sitting atop the Iron Throne like it was made for him. 

 He scowls at the sight of his father there. He shouldn’t be there. He isn’t the Hand or the King. He’s a rebel who seized the city. 

 Jaime wished he were out in the field with the King, not trapped here. 

 His father notices Jaime’s entrance and scowls in return. Jaime stubbornly refuses to change out of his white of the Kingsguard. He’s a Kingsguard until the King decides that he’s no longer fit to be one. 

 Father laughed at him when Jaime refused, asking him if his pride was worth it that he signed his death warrant by asking for it. 

 Yes. 

 If Jaime didn’t have his honour, then who was he? 

 “Has he not responded?” His father demands, breaking Jaime out of his misery. 

 His uncle, Kevan, shakes his head. “He has. The King refused your terms. He says that he will not cast aside his wife.” 

 What?

 What was his father thinking? Why would King Rhaegar set aside his wife? Princess—No, Queen Elia is a good woman. She gave the King a son and a daughter, and she’s a good, virtuous woman. She’s always been kind to Jaime. 

 He hopes that wherever she is, Queen Elia is doing well. She and her children disappeared so suddenly, leaving no trace. It felt as if they just blinked out of existence. Not even the King could find out what happened, and he’d been thoroughly determined, too. Jaime isn’t an ardent believer in the Seven, unlike Uncle Kevah, but he prayed the morning he found them missing that it was the Queen’s brother or perhaps Ser Arthur had come in the cloak of night and stolen her. 

 “He dares?” Father yells. “I hold King’s Landing, and he acts like this? Ungrateful brat! After everything I’ve given his family?” 

 Demanding that the King set his wife and two children aside is a pretty hard term for the King to accept. Who in their right mind would accept this? 

 Jaime doesn’t think that it's even possible for a man to set aside his wife once she gives him a son. 

 It’s almost as…if…Father doesn’t want the Targaryen dynasty to continue. 

 Why does he want to doom the Seven Kingdoms? 

 Jaime knows that Father wants the best for Cersei and House Lannister, but this is going too far! 

 “Clegane!” 

 He then watches as the tallest man ambles to the front, his footfalls thudding the very ground he walks on, and falls to one knee in front of his father. “Yes, sir?” 

 “Find the Martell girl and her spawn and deal with her. Do you understand? Take out whoever you come across, no matter who it is.” 

 “Yes, sir.”

 “And find that wolf bitch while you’re at it!” Father looks apoplectic with rage. 

 Jaime…Jaime needs to do something. 

 He can’t just stay here. His father is ordering the death of innocents. The deaths of those he’s sworn to protect! 

 He needs to go. 

 Where?

 How? 

 He’s pulled further back into a small alcove behind him. Jaime grunts, hand going for his sword. He relaxes when he sees the golden hue of his family's hair. 

 It’s Uncle Tygett. 

 “Don’t.” He orders. 

 “Uncle! I can’t just…they’re innocent!” 

 “What your father is doing is for the good of our family. Remember this.” 

 “By ordering the deaths of children?”

 “Don’t question him!” Tygett snarls. “Now is not the time, Jaime. Friction in our house leads to cracks that our enemies can exploit.” 

 “How can you say this?” Jaime demands. “Do you not think that sending him after children and a woman won’t tarnish our house’s honour?”

 There’s a coldness in Uncle Tygett’s eyes. “Says the boy who killed the man he served. Stay where you are, boy. Or else you’d find yourself on your own trip to the cells.” 

 The pit in his stomach drops, and Jaime grows cold. 

 T-that’s not…

 Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes. 

 Jaime was trying to protect people. 

 He wanted to help.  

 Now it seems that he’s just a pawn…again. 

 Jaime looks over to the great windows adorning the Throne Room and sighs mournfully. When will King Rhaegar and Ser Arthur return? 

                                                                                                                                 ****

In the end, Jon and Ser Estermont agree to the talks, although rather reluctantly. Hoster goes along, unsurprisingly. Riverlands are the weakest of the rebels; Hoster is just trying to survive. Ned watches them from the corner of his eye as they ride towards the meeting point. 

Ned has become disappointed in Jon. Perhaps it was the result of blind faith in his former foster father, or this is the result of boys growing into men, but the Jon that Ned remembered wasn’t like this. He was honourable and kind. He always told Ned to keep his head high and remember his morals, that a man wasn’t good unless he kept his ideals close to his heart. 

 This version of Jon is different. Ned sees that he’s trying to uphold his values, but in a manner that Ned’s uncomfortably familiar with. He saw plenty of this in the capital. 

 It soured Ned’s opinion of Jon. 

 He understands that being and remaining the Hand for nearly fifteen years required some craftiness on Jon’s part, but Ned never thought that it would be turned against him. 

 Jon knows him; he should know that Ned was trying to be loyal and honourable and that what Ned proposes is for the benefit of all, not just him. 

 He doesn’t know why Jon has stopped understanding this. 

 Is it because Ned no longer wholeheartedly agrees with Jon’s decisions? Why? Jon always encouraged Ned to ask questions and engage in debate. Why this opinion change now?

 Why couldn’t Jon see what Ned’s seeing? 

 The other lords, save for Harwin Glover, keep a distance from Ned. Jon and Cedrik Estermont ride together with their witnesses, while Hoster and Lord Jason Mallister ride towards the back, away from the rest of them. 

 Ned’s more annoyed with Hoster than anything. They are bound in marriage. Ned spent the last several weeks sending out his men to deal with the mass of bandits that always crop up when the world is at war. The Riverlands are under siege, not just by the loyalists. As a good goodson, Ned lent his men, who were getting restless, to the cleansing of the land. 

 Yet, after all they’ve done, Hoster is still ambivalent towards helping Ned. 

 Cat must’ve gotten her fury from her mother, rather than her father. 

 Robb should be born soon; Ned hopes to see his son again. He hasn’t received any correspondence from Cat about a child or any letters in general. Ned can attribute some of the blame to his slightly erratic travel, but not all of it. He wonders why. 

 What did Hoster get out of holding back Ned’s letters to his wife? 

 What this Jon’s plan? Was it to keep Ned in line? 

 Hm. With what he’s shown Ned, Ned wouldn’t put it past him. 

 Was Ned blind to all of his allies until now? Ned can’t be that dense, can he? He knows that he doesn’t pay attention to most things outside of the North, but to this extent? 

 No. Ned’s overthinking this. He rubs his brow in frustration. 

 There must be a more reasonable reason at play. 

 “Son?” Harwin asks. 

 “Sorry,” Ned apologizes. “I’m just worried.” 

 “I must admit, negotiating with the King…” Harwin shakes his head in disbelief. 

 “I know,” Ned admits. He hates this, too. He wants to break Rhaegar’s face in half and drag his still, barely breathing body behind him whilst tied to his horse. “But I want what’s best for all our men. If swallowing my pride and playing nice is the price then fine. ” He bites out the last word.

 “Ethan…”

 Harwin’s youngest is in the Black Cells. Ned should’ve gotten him free when he broke into the castle, but Ned felt that, as horrible as the Black Cells are, Ethan would be safe from Aerys’s and Twyin’s wrath. 

 “He’ll be the first that we save,” Ned promises. 

 It’s a test of measure for Rhaegar. If Rhaegar truly means peace, then releasing Ethan without any concessions once they won King's Landing won’t be hard. If he pushes back, then Rhaegar is the type of king that Ned wants little to do with. 

 They’re meeting outside the walls of House Darry, not far from where their camp was hosted. It’s disturbingly close. 

 Ned spots the opulent tent almost at an instant. It’s decadent with velvet fabric and crafted with gold inlay. It’s gaudy and impractical. Ned’s command tent wasn’t this bad. Sure, it’s a little grander than the others, but that’s because it’s the central command tent. But the King’s? It’s impractical for the sake of looking pretty. 

 At least Robert’s kingly opulence was toned down. 

 That’s because he never gave a shit. 

 Ned drops from his horse with a heavy sigh, and Harwin follows suit. Looking at his fellow lords, they look as enthused as Ned. None of them are pleased about this, and neither is Ned. 

 “Bow before King Rhaegar Targaryen, first of his name, king of First Men, the Andals, and Rhoynar.” A herald proclaims. Coming in from the opposite end of the tent is Rhaegar, followed by Mace Tyrell. 

 None of the rebel lords kneel. 

 Ned doesn’t remember what the Lord of Highgarden was like when Ned passed; the last Ned saw of him, at Robert’s coronation. But he’s like what Ned remembers. Formally stocky but now fat from gluttony, with short curly brown hair. He doesn’t look like a commander, merely a lord playing war. 

 Now…Rhaegar. Ned has to stop himself from glaring at the man. He hates the bastard. His long silver hair is bound back, falling in waves along his shoulders. His pale skin is milk white, made even paler with midnight-black plate armour, with the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen decorated in rubies on its breastplate, and underneath the plate is golden ringmail. 

 His dark indigo eyes linger on Ned for a moment before he sits. Pretentious bastard. 

 “Please sit my lords.” His voice is soft like freshly fallen snow. 

 The lords who followed Ned take a step back. Jon gives Ned a look, telling him that this was Ned’s plan, and now it’s Ned’s responsibility to deal with it. 

 Great. 

 Ned takes a deep breath and takes the central seat. “Greetings, King Rhaegar.” 

 It’s polite and formal, but does not give Rhaegar the upper hand by addressing him as his king. It’s good enough for a king who became king during the war and a subject in rebellion against the crown. 

 He hates calling Rhaegar by his title. He wants to slit the bastard’s belly open and let the vultures eat his innards, but the North needs peace. His sons need peace. He hopes Lyanna can forgive him for making peace with her killer. 

 Mace Tyrell puffs up in indignation at how Ned addressed Rhaegar. Ned is surprised that he managed to live through the combined assault of Roose and Rickard. 

 “Lord Stark.” The title feels wrong in Rhaegar’s mouth. “Welcome.” 

 Ned sits, crossing his arms, waiting for the guest right to arrive. Rhaegar needs them; they don’t need him. 

 Rhaegar sighs, a little too dramatic for Ned’s taste, but waves to one of his servants. “While you are here, negotiating, you are under my protection Lord Stark. Rest east that you and the lords you came with will remain safe.”

 Salt and bread are given. Ned takes his offering. There’s a piece of him that settles when he eats the bread. 

 “Before we begin, King Rhaegar, I want an assurance.” Ned breaks in before Rhaegar can wind himself up. 

 “Oh?”

 “I want the release of Ethan Glover the moment that you have King’s Landing in your grasp.” 

 “Ethan Glover?” Rhaegar tilts his head in confusion. His dark eyes scan Ned’s. There’s something in his eyes that tells Ned that Rhaegar is looking for something. But what? 

 “The squire of my brother, Brandon. Your father, for whatever reason, didn’t think see the need for his execution. Ethan Glover has remained, unjustly, in the Black Cells since his arrest.”

 “A terrible deed, indeed,” Rhaegar acknowledges, but he doesn’t agree to release Ethan. 

 “Ethan has committed no crime; He is just barely a man. To keep him jailed is unjust and cruel.” 

 “I shall release him on the condition that you release my gooduncle and kingsguard, Ser Lewyn Martell.” 

 “Lewyn Martell was captured in an active combative in a war. Ethan Glover was simply following his master. It’s a totally different matter. I cannot release a man of such high standing right now with no garentee that you’ll release Ethan.” It seems that he isn’t the type of king that Ned wants to deal with, though he should’ve realized this after Lyanna died. When is he going to stop being a naive fool? 

 Ned feels Harwin glowering at his back. He promised to get Ethan released, but to let Lewyn go now ? That’s stabbing himself in the foot. 

 “It’s rather pitiful, Your Majesty. Ethan Glover has done nothing wrong. His family only wishes to have their son returned to them.” Ned wasn’t expecting Barristen Selmy to stand up for him. He appreciates it. 

 The old knight bent his knee to Robert when the time demanded it, but Ned never felt worried about the man protecting his old friend. He was like Ned, simply doing his duty as his oaths entailed. 

 Rhaegar considers the knight’s words for a moment. “You’re not wrong, Ser Barriston. You truly are a paradigm of gallantry.” 

 And Ned isn’t? He’s the one who wants Ethan set free! 

 He hides his frown, trying to keep his neutral composure. “So, will you swear to it? That Ethan Glover will be set free the moment you hold King’s Landing?” 

 “On the proverbial condition that Lewyn Martell is released without ransom.” 

 That’s fine on Ned’s part. He didn’t take Lewyn or any of the Dornish for ransom; he wanted a way to provoke Doran into action. Ned is just thankful that the King hasn’t caught on to this. 

 “I accept.” 

 Rhaegar gives Ned what he assumes is meant to be a pleasant smile, but it just looks obnoxious to him, while Jon and Cedrik look displeased, but what can they do? Ned never gave them Lewyn. 

 Rhaegar then turns to the rest of the lords. “I thank you all for gathering here, my lords. I am deeply pleased at you all for accepting my invitation for negotiation.” Rhaegar bows his head in a showing of compassion. 

 Compassion, his ass. Ned can see through his thinly veiled kindness. 

 “I am terribly sorry for the actions of my father. I cannot begin expresses the sorrow brought onto your families.” 

 What about the sorrow brought onto Ned’s family thanks to Rhaegar ?

 Ned grits his teeth in anger at the man’s arrogance.

 “As the King, I have elected to ignore my late father’s decrees. Your labels of ‘Traitors to the Realm’ has been rescinded and you’re no longer considered rebels.”

 That’s it? 

 Ned takes a look at the others. They’re equally outraged. 

 How did Rhaegar think that this was a good offer? 

 Rhaegar is…what? Twenty-four? His father wasn’t that involved with Rhaegar’s education, raising him to be a proper king. The former king was barely coherent enough to be king. Whatever Rhaegar scraped together was from tomes and the mouths of lords in the Red Keep. Gods, Ned feels old. 

 His lordly education was much like Ned’s. Poor…despite being the king’s eldest son. Under normal circumstances, Ned would feel sorry for the man, but right now, Ned can’t give a flying shit. 

 His opening offer was paltry at best, either due to arrogance or his limited education, or both. 

 Ned sighs, rubbing his brow. “That’s it?” He demands annoyance colours his voice. 

 “Take care of how you speak to the King, boy!” In an ounce of courage that Ned honestly didn’t think Mace Tyrell had, he spat the words at Ned. 

 Ned glares at the now cowaring lord, remembering that it was his forces, the brave men of the North, that soundly routed the Reachmen in the Stormlands. “He is not my King. I have sworn no oath of fealty.” 

 Honestly, Ned could declare independence without breaking any oath. 

 Torrhen Stark may have sworn in perpetuity to the conquerors, but as far as Ned is concerned, the Targaryens broke their side of the oath, and Ned is no longer beholden to them if he so chooses. 

 For a brief moment, Ned can see shock colouring Rhaegar’s face at the declaration, at the disrespect to the royal family. 

 It’s very satisfying to see. 

 Maybe it’ll shock some sense into him that he can’t just use them like little dolls. 

 “Now, Lord Stark, there’s no need for such words.” Rhaegar’s voice is soft, like trying to lull a screaming child out of their tantrum. 

 “Mayhaps my tone was severe, King Rhaegar, but my words are correct. I have sworn no oath of fealty to you or your father. And I may continue to act accordingly until you demonstrate that you not only recognize that what your father did was a horrendous breach of the vassal-liege contract, but the Crown makes up for what has been lost. The lords with me agree. We will not back down.” 

 Rhaegar frowns, a soft, almost delicate action. “Surely this is extreme, Lord Stark?” There’s soft murmuring within his courtiers, but the rebels are silent. 

 Ned doesn’t fold. 

 “Is it?” Ned’s voice is soft. 

 The room falls silent, as every eye lands on Ned. This isn’t exhausting at all . This is why Ned let Robert be the outspoken one in their relationship, and not him. 

 He takes in a deep breath, trying to gather his words. 

 He stares directly into Rhaegar’s eyes, the man who stole his sister, eyes, without flinching, breaking all sorts of royal protocol. “From your perspective, it may seem like a usurpation, and a simple pardon would be enough to compensate and have us fall back in line, as a manner of appeasement, but to us, this war was a matter of survival. Your father burnt mine alive, Your Majesty, for the simple crime of wanting his children alive. He strangled my brother for his own sadistic joy. He butchered Elbert Arryn for being in the same party as my brother when he went to retrieve my sister. He called for Lord Arryn, who’d just lost his heir, to give him my head, along with Lord Robert Baratheon’s, despite neither of us being involved in any of this, forcing Lord Arryn to decide weither to obey the demands of his king, or the oaths of guest right. Lord Robert Baratheon died fighting because he had no other choice. And my sister’s whereabouts are still unknown. Tell me, if you were in this position, would you lay down your weapons for a paltry pardon?” 

 The air grows sullen and awkward. 

 Rhaegar looks angry. No. That’s too simple of a word. He’s angry at being called out for his blatant misrepresentation of the facts, but also seemingly remorseful at the fates of the fallen. 

 Whatever. 

 Ned doesn’t need his pity. 

 Once, Ned tried to forget Rhaegar and everything he did. He wanted to focus on his sister, keeping her alive in his memories and the memories of his children. What use was there to be consumed by the anger of a long-dead foe? 

 But now? Ned is burning with anger at the presumptuous nature of his attitude. Rhaegar killed his sister. He took her by her hand and tied the noose around her neck the moment she stepped into the Tower of Joy. 

And he hates the simpering courtiers. 

 He wonders if the loyalists actually knew what happened to his family, or if they’d been given a watered-down tale. 

 “I see. Do you believe this as well?” Rhaegar asks the other lords. 

 “The King asked me to butcher my wards, sons in all but name. That action is an afront to the teachings of the Seven.” 

 “And you, lord Estermont?” 

 “My nephew is dead, King Rhaegar. I only wish for my remaining nephews to remain alive.” Cedrik 

 “And why did you join, Lord Hoster? As far as I know, none of your family was affected.” 

 “The Riverlands are centrally located. My people are divided and fighting rapidly escalated. I cannot go against my goodson, I had to choose a side.” 

 Hoster’s reasoning was flimsy at best. Out of all of them, he’s the one who had the least reasoning to raise arms against the King, but hopefully, Ned can protect him. He cares little about the Riverlord, Cat wouldn’t be happy if her father died, and Edmure is too young to govern properly if his father is executed. 

 “This is troublesome.” 

 Ned wants to roll his eyes at the King. 

 “Why did you accept my offer for peace then, if you so despise my family?” 

 “I love my people more than I hate your family.” 

 Ned lets him stew on those words for a few moments. There are not many people willing to blatantly admit their hatred of the Royal family, the Blackfyres excluded. 

 “Winter barely lifted, and I want my people to live. A drawn-out war would be destructive to them. I’ve already lost good men and good friends.” 

 “Surely you exaggerate, Lord Stark. We’ve already planted our first seeds,” Lord Tyrell cuts in. 

 “Lord Tyrell, do you not know how the world works? The North thaws later than the Reach. The Vale faces similar problems, and by this point, the Riverlands are in such a state of decay that they haven’t had a chance to plant either. Do you want to start your reign with such devastation, King Rhaegar?” The women of the North are being forced to take over the men's roles, and are forced to ignore their own responsibilities. The North needs to return to order. 

 Ned doesn’t know what Rhaegar wants out of his reign, either to be a conciliator like Jaehaerys I or a martial king like Maekar the Anvil, or a scholar like Aerys I, but all Ned knows is that Rhaegar needs a united realm to achieve whatever he wants. He certainly wants to accomplish something, given that he wanted to name his children after the conquerors. 

 Right now, nothing is united. Tywin was doing whatever he wanted; four of the regions are united here against him, and Rhaegar only has the Reach and the Crownlands to help him. Support from Dorne, hopefully, is waning. 

 So long as Ned has Lewyn and the Dornish lords he captured, one of them was Lord Yronwood’s heir, he doesn’t think that Doran will strike against him. 

 “Lord Stark is right.” 

 “Your Majesty! It’s not that I don’t think that leniency ought to be offered to the rebels, it’s just….aren’t you allowing too much?” Lord Tyrell cuts in. 

 “No. We need to be united,” Rhaegar shuts Tyrell down. 

 United for what? 

 Ned spoke those words for him to spare his people, his allies. Rhaegar seems convinced of something. Is this why he took Lyanna? Did he want her and their child to unite them? From what? The Wildlings? No. They don’t pose enough of a threat for a Prince to do such a thing. 

 That is something for Ned to ponder on later. 

 Rhaegar turns back to the group, his eyes pinning Ned in place. “You say that pardons aren’t enough to set aside your differences, then what is?” 

 Again, Ned is getting very odd reactions from the King, Anger, at perhaps them not folding to his demands, but a sort of desperation? Why? So he can reclaim King’s Landing from Tywin? 

 Even then, why? Elia and his children are safe, as are Queen Rhaella and Viserys. Why is he so desperate? 

 Things aren’t making sense. 

 “What do you want?” 

 Nothing Rhaegar can give him will ever give Ned what he wants. For what he wants is dead and gone. They’re all gone. Expect Jon. Jon is safe. 

 “Boons. For all those the Great Lords lost.” 

 Rhaegar narrows his eyes at the demand. It’s lofty, and Ned didn’t set any outlines for what the ask can entail. A royal marriage, money, anything. 

 Ned isn’t much of a negotiator, but he knows some things. Setting up a high demand and whittling it down to an agreed-upon price is a standard undertaking when writing a contract. It’s why Rhaegar’s offer of just a pardon was so offensive. 

 Ned wants nothing to do with the South or the Crown, so he’s taking his boon in coin, as much as he can drain. 

 “You ask a great deal, Lord Stark.” 

 “A great deal was taken from us.” Ned lost most of his family because of the Targaryens. Why can’t he demand reparations? “House Stark is down to two male members, same with House Arryn, and Baratheon. House Tully has three male members, but only one in the younger generation. Because of your family’s actions, our families’s positions are weakened; shouldn’t you pay for what your father has incited?” 

 Further, doesn’t Rhaegar want them to like him? If he doesn’t offer gifts and positions in his court, then he’s bound to make enemies for himself and then for Aegon in the future. 

 “Asking this much will be a burden on the crown!” Mace argues. 

 Ned looks to Barristen. The old man frowns, considering Ned’s words. “Your Grace…” He gives the king a silent look, the two of them drawn into a silent conversation. Surely, he, the most politically aware of the Kingsguard, is aware of how desperately Rhaegar needs to stop the rebellion. 

 Taking King’s Landing is going to be tiresome and long. Putting down one of the two open revolts will certainly bolster resolve, even if it’s through a means of diplomacy. 

 Ned stays silent, waiting for Rhaegar to crack. 

 It doesn’t take long. 

 “I will accept this offer if the rebel forces aid in the recapturing of King’s Landing. Each great house will get a boon for the member that they lost.” Rhaegar looks as though he’s spitting out the words, clearly upset to have to agree to such broad terms. 

 That means Ned gets three. One for Father. One for Brandon. And one for Lyanna. 

 He doesn’t mind participating in lifting the siege of King’s Landing. House Lannister is rotten to its patriarch, and he is more than happy to put them in their place. Jaime Lannister killed the King in two lifetimes. Cersei aided in his death. Even Tyrion Lannister likely had a hand in harming his son. Those events won’t happen this time, but that doesn’t mean there won’t be other victims in the future. If they cut the rot now, then the world will prosper with one less cruel family hanging over them. 

 But the others? 

 Hoster looks like he’s ready to accept the offer. He’s not getting a boon, but at least the fighting in the Riverlands will stop, and he’s not getting in trouble for his rebellion. 

“However, Lord Hoster, your son is old enough for squirehood, am I correct?” Barristan asks. 

 “...yes.” 

 “Ser Barristan has been looking for a new squire to take on. I’m sure that your son can fulfill this role faithfully.” 

 Ah. Ned supposes that Hoster isn’t escaping entirely unscathed. He supposes he should’ve predicted that. 

 Hoster doesn’t look pleased. “My son will be thrilled at the news, Your Majesty.” He bows his head, accepting the punishment. It’s a prestigious position, the squire of a Kingsguard, after all, even if Edmure is a hostage. “The men of the Riverlands will be yours. All I ask is for the ones who defected to your side to be returned to me.” 

 “Granted. I thank you, Lord Hoster, for your prudence. Lord Arryn?” 

 Ned doesn’t know what Jon will do. Ned’s perception of the man has undergone a significant change. 

 Jon sighs heavily. “My dear Elbert was not one to hold grudges. If there was a chance for peace, he’d want me to take it. Very well, I accept your offer, my king.” 

 Rhaegar gives Jon a benevolent smile. “I am pleased to hear such wonderful news. Now, Lord Arryn, I’ve always been impressed with your stewardship of the Vale. With my father’s passing, I am in need of new blood on my council. Would you join my council as my Master of Coin?” 

 Yet another hostage disguised as a position of power. It’s certainly something that Jon won't turn down. It’s not as powerful as the Hand of the King, but it’s still a position on the Small Council. 

 “You honour me, my King. If this is what you desire, I have no objections.” 

 “Lord Estermont? What does House Baratheon say?” 

 “As the representation for the Stormlands, I agree to this arrangement.” Cedrik grits his teeth, anger radiating out of him. 

 Ned doesn’t think that Stannis would particularly like the idea of bending the knee, but he’ll do what’s best for Renly. Despite the snub of giving Dragonstone to Stannis instead of letting him keep the Stormlands, Stannis remained loyal to his brother, the head of his house, steadfastly doing what he was ordered with gritted teeth. 

 “Hm. Yes, that seems alright. Lord Stark?” 

 “So long as my sister is returned to me, the men of the North will do what is asked.” 

 There’s that pinched expression again. Rhaegar doesn’t want to give up Lyanna. But it also tells Ned something important, he doesn’t know. Doran hasn’t told him. As the King’s goodbrother, he’s one of the most politically powerful men in the realm, but he’s not using that to support Rhaegar. 

 If Doran really wanted to remain entangled in Rhaegar’s sphere, then he would’ve told him about his son, but he hasn’t. Meaning, Doran’s trust in Rhaegar is waning. 

 Rhaegar’s reign is weak. 

 That’s good for the North. 

 “The Lady Lyanna will be well rewarded with a position at court, don’t worry, Lord Stark.” 

 “The Lady Lyanna will be returned to her family.” Ned has to fight for this. He had prepared for Rhaegar to find out that Ned was there when Lya died, but he really didn’t want to deal with that. He has plenty of political justifications created to block Rhaegar from demanding his head for killing his Kingsguards, but he’d rather not. It’ll just be a headache. 

 “Fine.” Rhaegar scowls. “But any children brought forth from our union will remain in King’s Landing.” 

 There’s only one child brought forth, and Ned’s already secured his protection. There’s no way that Jon will be raised in King’s Landing. 

 Ned hides a smile and tilts his head. “Fine.”

 And when Rhaegar finds out that Lyanna is dead, Ned will use that panic to extract more out of the crown. Before, Ned had just wanted justice, and when Rhaegar and the Mad King died, he felt fulfilled, but it was an empty feeling. He’d let his guard down, and House Stark suffered once again at the machinations of the crown. This time, despite his desire for a quiet life with his children, Ned isn’t going to fade into the background once the war is over quietly. He’s going to strengthen House Stark and make sure no one takes them again. 

 He doesn’t want to use his sister’s memory, but he’s using it to secure Jon’s future; he hopes that Lyanna, wherever she rests, accepts this and is cheering him on. 

 “There is one more thing, my King.” Jon cuts in. 

 “What is it, Lord Arryn?” 

 “We desire the ability to form a Great Council to depose the King if there is another King like your father,” Jon cuts in. 

 What? 

 Ned snaps his head to Jon in shock. This wasn’t in the brief! 

 Did Jon just think of this now? 

 Having a Great Council convene and be able to depose of King with a legal justification is something tremendous. The King, if it ever got to the point where said council was needed, wouldn’t listen, but the others would. Uniting the realm against him would save so many lives. 

 Ned just wishes that Jon had confided in him about this plan, because it’s what’s needed to protect the future generations. He would’ve supported this. 

 “That is a weighty demand Lord Arryn.” 

 “Yet, if we had such a system, the actions of your father would not have come to pass. If they had, we would not have to go to such great lengths to defend ourselves. If rumours were true, you, yourself, were concerned with your father’s reign, King Rhaegar.” Jon is putting on his wizened old man act, the one that deceived Ned for so long. “Am I not correct?” 

 “...you are. My father’s mental state concerned me for a great while. I’m ashamed of how he led his life and how it ended.” Rhaegar shakes his head, his gaze forlorn. 

 There’s a kernel of pity somewhere inside Ned for Rhaegar, having that man as a father, and having his actions reflect on him for the rest of his reign, but then he remembers that Rhaegar himself isn’t innocent, and that pity goes away. 

 “However,” Rhaegar continues. “What you’re asking is too much, Lord Arryn. How do I know that you won’t take this opportunity I offer you and take it to depose me? How can I trust that my descendants will retain their inheritances? I do not wish to be the one who destroys my family’s legacy?”

Ha. If only Rhaegar knew. He and his father scorched the name Targaryen off of Westeros. What was left was a small girl in the Dothraki sea. It’s unfortunately, thanks to Ned, that Rhaegar is here to present peace terms. 

 “Have the Kings of the Realm not called for Great Councils in the past? Kings stripped their grandchildren of their inheritances to try to maintain the stability of the realm. King Jaehaerys the First did, and so did Lord Rivers under the instruction of King Maekar. What is the difference between determining inheritance via a Great Council and determining if a King has pushed beyond the borders of acceptable?”

 “I heard rumours that the Tourney at Harrenhall was meant to be an unofficial Great Council before the King decided to attend,” Cedrik cut in, with a nasty grin. 

 Rhaegar’s eyes flicker to Ned, silently asking him what his opinion is.

 He sighs. There is a fine line between fighting for your family’s legacy and honour, and sitting in silence to ensure the longevity of your people, common and noble alike. “King Rhaegar. You speak of your family’s inheritance, but what inheritance will they receive if they rule over ash and ruin? The King answers to no one, unlike the rest of us. If there isn’t something to prevent him from staying inside the line, then when will he ever stop? We need to protect our children and grandchildren’s future.” 

 King Brandon the Shipwright answered to no one and sailed into nothing, taking the lives of his crew with him. Ned wonders if something was stopping him from acting in such an erratic manner, then maybe the North wouldn’t be the way that it is today. 

 “I greatly admire your devotion to being forthright, Lord Stark.” 

 The King asked for Ned’s opinion, and Ned gave it. 

 If he didn’t want it, he shouldn’t have asked. 

 “What do you think, Lord Tyrell? You’re a Great Lord yourself.” Rhaegar looks over to his courtier. 

 Ned never met the Queen of Thornes personally, but he’s heard of her clever mind and sharp tongue. For so long, he wondered how she managed to give birth to a simpleton like Mace, but now, Ned can see a glimpse of Olenna Tyrell in her son’s eyes. 

 Now he understands the Tyrell motivations. 

 They weren’t loyal for the sake of being loyal. They’re grasping for power. In the power vacuum that Robert’s Rebellion left, the crown they were trying to squeeze out as much influence as possible. 

 Mace Tyrell blindly agreeing with the King would probably keep him in the circle of influence, but not a close confidant. If Mace voiced a note of concern, it would show Rhaegar that they aren’t lickspittles and could be considered for potential advisor. 

 “The Lords have a valid point, my King. While my Lords and I called our banners to respond to your father’s call…there has been some worry. Not too long ago, your father called for the heads of your goodbrothers, our allies, without evidence that they were the ones who helped Princess Elia escape. If…if there was a system in place to curtail some of your father’s worst tendencies…” 

 “Hm. You’re not wrong, Lord Tyrell.” 

 “Perhaps it would be for the best. If your father had abdicated after Duskendale, then he’d spend his years in a relaxing environment, and his paranoia wouldn’t have become so severe.” 

 “The stress of being King did not help your father, my King. He thought that everyone was out to hurt him because he was king,” Ser Barristan agreed. “He would’ve reacted poorly at the forced abdication, but I think it would’ve helped him if he’d been relieved of his duties.” 

 “You both make excellent points. Lord Arryn, I do truly understand this request.” King Rhaegar takes in a deep breath. He’s silent for a couple of minutes and then nods. “While I find the idea of allowing such a concession, you all raise valid points. Great Councils are not new territory for the Targaryens. This is my condition, in return. To have the legal dispensation to dethrone a King, a Great Council vote needs to have seven out of eight of the Great Lords voting to depose a king.” 

 He’s saying that the whole realm needs to unite against the King. It’s virtually impossible under the conditions that he set. One Great family that pays even less attention to the politics of the realm than the Starks are the Greyjoys. 

 And getting them involved in anything is virtually impossible. 

 The last time that a Greyjoy participated in a war or anything regarding politics was the Dance, and that was a thinly veiled excuse for Dalton Greyjoy to raid the Westerlands. 

 So with Rhaegar’s conditions, they’ve already crossed off one of the Great Lords from the get-go. 

 Great. 

 “And with the consent of the heir.”

 “Your Majesty, these conditions are nearly impossible to fufill. The Heir as well?” 

 “If you’re planning forcing a King to abdicate, then shouldn’t you seek the permission of the heir you’re trying to crown? What if he disagrees with your choice?” 

 Ned crosses his arms, trying not to scowl. Rhaegar isn’t wrong, but Ned doesn’t want to admit it. 

 “You’re not wrong, Your Majesty,” Jon agrees. “If you’re adding the demand of the Heir weighing in, then perhaps we can leave it at six of the Great Lords? Not all of the Great Lords weigh in on politics.” The biggest offenders are the Starks and the Greyjoys. 

 “Seven. If it’s severe enough to warrant a Great Council, then one of the apolitical Great Lords ought to way in, don’t you think?”  

 “Fine.” Jon doesn’t look pleased, but accepts the deal. 

 They sit and discuss a few more conditions for their submission, largely the trade deals and tax policies for the various regions, to help them get back on their feet. Ned isn’t entirely pleased with the deal offered to the North. Most of their imports come from the Vale, as it’s more accessible rather than the Reach. The cost and ability to get grain to the North outweigh any advantages. 

 He can’t trust the Tyrells to uphold their bargain diligently. Ned will have to find ways to refill their low stores. If summer lasts as long as it did in his last life, he needs to start working now. 

 Rhaegar nods, looking pleased with himself. “Now, for the issue at hand: Kingslanding.” 

 Ned recalls reviewing the city's defensive measures with Jory and some of his other household guards when he first arrived in the city. If Tywin has control of the gates, then it only leaves one option: the bay. 

 It’s risky; they’ll be at a disadvantage when disembarking from the boats, even if they survive. Tywin will likely fortify the bay. 

 Speaking of the man, it seems almost illogical for him to be acting in this manner. Why hasn’t he surrendered and tried to minimize the damage to the Lannister reputation? Tywin may be proud, but he, annoyingly, is intelligent enough to know when to rein back his arrogance, unlike his twins. Unlike last time, Elia and the children are alive. Tywin would be able to remain relatively unscathed, given that Rhaegar wants the realm to be united so desperately.

 There must be something more going on. That’s concerning; Ned needs to keep this in mind. 

 Back to the issue at hand, even if they assault the bay, they have to post regiments at each of the gates to prevent the Lannister forces from escaping. They need to keep it contained to the city. 

 Calvary regiments like the Ryswell troops and the Knights of the Vale would suffice. Ned’s sure that the Tyrells have their own cavalry. The Stormlands troops are mostly made up of Heavy Infantry and would be effective in the city, but Ned isn’t sure that Cedrik would be willing to be part of the ground troops. 

 Ned’s troops would be the most effective in an urban situation. They’re light and used to fighting in complex settings, either be the woods or towns during Wildling raids. Maybe he should offer to split his troops. 

 Who should lead the ground troops then? Roose? He’s effective, but Ned worries that he’ll be too brutal.

 Plus, they’ll be fighting alongside the Tyrells, and Ned doesn’t want there to be any bad blood. 

 Should Ned volunteer himself?

 He hides his scowl as he listens to the other lords offer their opinions on the assault on the city. 

 The meeting lasts for not that long. Nothing is solved as neither Jon nor Cedrik is truly willing to participate in the meeting. 

 “May I ride with you, son?” Hoster asks. 

 “Of course.” Ned isn’t going to refuse his goodfather, even if he doesn’t really want the company. Hoster’s position right now is tenable, and despite Ned’s growing dislike of his southern peers, he’s still looking out for the Riverlords, for Cat and their children. 

 The fresh breeze and weak sunshine are a welcome respite from the exhausting ordeal Ned’s dealt with today. Rhaegar offered them lodgings for the night, but they declined. None of them sat easy with the idea of sharing a roof with the man they had just been at war with. 

 “You must be pleased. Your lands are returning to order.” 

 Hoster bitterly laughs and nods. “Order, yes.” 

 Scores of bandits have risen since the war started, due to the lack of overseeing from the local lords. Ned sent out bands of men to help combat the problem.

 Besides, the Riverlands will be far from stable, even with the return of the loyals. Hoster will have to deal with internal politics for years to come. 

 Not to mention the Freys, who are on neither side, but still a thorn enough in Hoster’s side. 

 “I’m surprised, Ned, that you spearheaded this negotiation. I would’ve thought that you, out of all the lords would be seeking for the king’s head the loudest. It was your sister afterall, who he took.”

Ned scowls. The truth is a lot more complex. Every single fibre in his being is calling for Rhaegar’s head. Ned wants justice for Lyanna. Rhaegar took her by her hand and led her to her death; he should not be able to get away from justice this easily. He hopes Lyanna will understand the path he took. He doesn’t want more death. 

 “If I condemned him, who would be king? We need stability.”

 “Surely, we would’ve been able to find a compromise, Ned. I’m surprised a Northerner would be interested in the stability outside of the North.”  

 The North is part of the Seven Kingdoms. Issues affect the North as well. 

 “I’m not just of the North anymore, am I, Lord Hoster? My family rules the Riverlands.” That’s the problem. Hoster or Edmure may not be Ned’s blood, but he’s Cat’s. And Robb’s, and all of Ned’s other children’s. 

 Even if he just cared for the North and the Riverlands, when winter comes, they need the help of the other kingdoms, especially if it’s going to be the long winter that Ned’s predicting. 

 “My father told me, that when the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. How can I remain ensconced in the North when I know that members of my pack are alone? You may survive for a summer, as it’s time for squabbles, but when the winter winds blow, we need our family.” 

 There’s a softening to Hoster’s brittle expression. “You’re a good lord, son. I did not wanted what happened to your brother to happen, but I cannot say that I’m disappointed in the goodson I received. I meant to tell you this earlier, but I worried you’d end up distracted, but Catelyn’s given birth.” 

 That causes Ned to freeze. “Really?” 

 Hoster nods. “We tried sending letters, but we weren’t sure if you ever got them. She named him Robb, after Robert. Takes after her. Got the Tully hair and her blue eyes, though, they’re a little grey.” 

 Robb. His little boy. He’s here. 

 Ned wants to cry. His son has been born. 

 He’s healthy and safe. 

 “Thank you, Hoster. I–” The words died in Ned’s throat as memories of his son came rushing through his mind. He wants to cry at the thought of seeing him again. 

 Hoster claps Ned on the shoulder, smiling. “I know, son. I know. He’s healthy and robust, already causing his nursemaids hell.”

 Ned laughs. Robb was a curious babe. He always tried to shove everything he found in his mouth, despite Cat’s attempts to stop it. 

 “This has brought me an untold amount of joy in such harrowing times. Thank you, Hoster.” 

 “This war has had a toll on all of us, you most of all. I’m pleased to hear that I could offer some levity. I’d offer to bring them…” 

 No. Ned doesn’t trust the Riverlands with his son. He wants them safe in Riverrun until they can leave for Winterfell. His men would protect them well enough, but the rest of the Riverlands is too dangerous for his wife and son. 

 “No. I’d rather they be safe than for my selfish pleasure.” The Tully guards are loyal; they’ll protect them. 

 “I sent my brother back to Riverrun to watch over them. The heir to the North is safe.”

 Ned doesn’t care about Robb’s position. He cares that his son is safe. Having the Blackfish watching over his son puts him at ease. 

 “What about Edmure and Lysa? How are they holding up?” Ned wonders who Hoster is going to marry Lysa to this time. Jon doesn’t need a new heir, after all. 

 “Edmure wants to play war.” Hoster sighs, looking exhausted. That’s the trouble with extolling war through tourneys and jousts. Green boys make the mistake of thinking that it’s one grand story. “I worry about Lysa. She’s still pining after the Baelish boy. I’m not sure what to do.” 

 The mere mention of Petyr makes Ned’s blood boil. He needs to keep him away from the Tullys as much as he can. Petyr betrayed him and sold him out to Cersei at the first chance he got. 

 “Forgive me if I overstep, but she should marry into the Riverlands, securing your loyalty to quarelling vassals. Same with Edmure. The Mallisters, perhaps?” Hoster should think about his rebellious vassals as well, not just the loyal ones. 

 “Yes, you’re right. Part of me wants to marry her to Petyr and be done with it.” 

 If Hoster does that, then Ned bets that Edmure would meet an early end and Rhaegar would get a petition to have Lysa’s children be heirs because Catelyn’s children are heirs to the North. 

 “She deserves more than just a minor lord.” 

 Hoster laughs. “Yes, she does. Though, she makes it difficult at times.” 

 “Is that not all daughters?” Ned thinks of Sansa and Arya’s squabbles, which grew worse over time as they matured into their own personalities. Sansa was a sweet girl until her temper flared, and Ayra was as wild as Lyanna was. 

 “Was Lady Lyanna that difficult?” Ned’s mood sours a little at the mention of his sister. He’s surprised that Hoster didn’t hear of Lyanna’s recklessness. 

 “She wa—is as wild as Brandon. Just hid it…somewhat,” The number of times that Ned knew that something that Brandon got into trouble with was actually Lyanna’s fault is astronomical. 

 “You know, when Cat was younger, Bryden and I just had to fish her out of the rivers constantly. She truly embodies our sigil.” Ned thinks about his wife, always proper and dignified, without a hair out of place, and tries to match that image with a young, wild girl. Maybe Arya and Rickon got their willfulness from her instead of Ned’s family. He’d laugh if that were the case. 

 It’s nice to have this moment with Hoster. Ned wishes that he could have more of these peaceful moments. Maybe he should spend time in Riverrun with Cat and Robb before they go North. 

 His heart is aglow when he reaches the Northern outpost. He bids Hoster goodbye and heads inwards. 

 Everyone is waiting for him. “So?” Willam, the bravest out of all of them, asks. 

 “An agreement has been reached with the King. All ‘rebel’ lords have been given pardens, and after King’s Landing has been secured, we are free to return home, and Lady Lyanna will be returned after the city has been retaken.” There are sighs of relief amongst his men. For the time being, they are all operating under the fiction that Lyanna is still alive, in order to ensure that they can return home with minimal hindrance. Ned is pleased that his vassals agreed to this desire. Ned doesn’t want Rhaegar prying into his family. “And,” The murmurs stop. “I have son, Robb Stark.” 

 That causes the classic Northern ruckus. Loud cheers erupt throughout the crowd. He hears Willam yelling about cracking open their ale stores and having a celebration. 

 Ned smiles at his men, enjoying the crowd’s enthusiasm. They need something to celebrate after everything. 

 “Where are you doing, you dour old man?” Willam demands, draping an arm around Ned’s shoulder. 

 “To speak to Ser Martell, and then to write to my wife. I owe her a letter, and then some. Enjoy the evening Willam.” 

 “Ugh, come on. You’re always working. Rest!"

 Ned knows that Willam is looking out for him, which is why he doesn’t get angry at his whining. Ned gently pushes Willam away. “I’ll rest after talking to Ser Martell. I am looking forward to writing to Cat about my son. Don’t worry about me.” 

 “Take Martyn. You might like the Dornish now, but don’t forget how trickey they can be.” 

 The Martells weren’t the ones who cuckholded the king, killed two different Hands, and decided that holding a little girl hostage was a good thing. Ned is plenty fine with remaining diplomatic with them. 

 Ned waves Willam off but doesn’t object to Martyn caustiously following him.

 Lewyn Martell is kept separate from the Dornish soldiers to ensure that he doesn’t inspire any daring escapes. “Ser Martell.” Ned bows his head when he enters his tent.   

 “Lord Stark.” Lewyn doesn’t look pleased to see Ned. He doesn’t rise him from his bed, glaring at him petulantly like Rickon would. 

 Ned pauses, examining the man in front of him. He’s not angry, ripping at the seams to get back into the fight, as many soldiers would be. Instead, he looks deflated, as if he has failed. Ned supposes Lewyn failed; he got captured, and the Dornish host is scattered, but Ned is certain that it’s more than that. He’s reminded of Oberyn’s anger at Arthur’s betrayal. “Your niece is alive, Ser Lewyn. She’s residing in Dorne currently. You haven’t failed your task.” 

 Leywn’s face contorts into anger. “You don’t know what I think, Lord Stark. ” 

 “My sister is missing, Ser Martell. You may trust the King, but I do not. Believe me when I say that I know the terror of the unknown when it comes to your family.” 

 Leywn’s face flushes at the reminder of what happened to Ned’s family. He slumps in his cot. “Forgive me,” he murmurs. “I–You are certain that Elia and her children are under Dornish protection?” 

 “Yes.” Ned doesn’t try to elaborate. Lewyn searches for something in Ned’s eyes. He finally finds something that confirms Ned’s words. “I’ve come from negotiation with the King, the North has agreed to peace with the throne. You are to be released after we’ve seized King’s Landing. I ask that you refrain from causing trouble with your guards while we are fighting.” 

 Lewyn is quiet, mulling over Ned’s words. 

 “I sincerely hope that your fellow Dornish will follow your example and not cause trouble. Once the fight for King’s Landing is over, we shall be allies once more, all under the same banner. I won’t ransom allies.”

Ned doesn’t want to have to divide his host in two, worrying about the ones left behind while he’s fighting. That’s a death sentence. 

 “Truly?” 

 “I will swear upon my gods if you desire.” He truly doesn’t care about ransoms and whatnot; he just wants to go home. It’ll anger some of his vassals, but Ned is certain that they’d understand once they return. 

 “That’s not necessary,” Lewyn sighs. “I’d rather be on the front lines, fighting alongside the king, but I’ll ensure that my fellow countrymen don’t cause trouble, Lord Stark. Let this war be over.” Ned is pleased to see that Lewyn inherited the Martells’ shared intelligence.

 “Thank you, Ser Martell, for your understanding. I’ll let you rest.” Ned inclines his head again, leaving quickly. The conversation was quick but productive. 

 He dismisses Marryn and secludes himself in his tent. He can hear the merriment of his soldiers around his tent as he collects a sheath of paper. 

 His heart skips at the thought of his wife, banishing the thoughts of the war and politics from his mind. He sits down, allowing himself to enjoy a cup of wine as he writes. 

  Dear Catelyn, 

 It is disappointing that I have not had the chance to write you these past couple of moons, but that’s the nature of war. I hope you’ve been well. Your father told me that you have given birth to a healthy child. I am beyond pleased to hear the news. Our little family has grown one size bigger, and nothing makes me happier. I hope that you and Robb are healthy and happy. The war will hopefully be over soon, and I can meet my son in person. 

 Give my thoughts and regards to your sister and brother. 

 Take care, your loving husband, 

Ned Stark.   

Chapter Text

Never in his lifetime would Ned have thought that he’d be fighting beside Rhaegar Targaryen, but here he was, greatsword in hand, on the deck of Firestorm, the lead ship of the Crown’s naval forces, beside the King. 

 Fighting is a loose term. Each of the regions was left under the command of its respective commander, and they weren’t given further instructions. 

 Ned can’t exactly fault Selmy and the Crown’s other commanders. There hasn’t been any urban fighting in decades, and they don’t know how to prioritize the men under their command. 

 The King wasn’t any help, given that he had little battle experience.  

 Ned left most of the Winterfell levies guarding the prisoners and split the rest of his forces in half. He’s given command to Roose again, with the condition that Roose stays near Cedrik at the northern King’s Road gate. There’s something that Ned can’t put his finger on about Cedrik, but he can’t bring himself to trust the man. Happy to receive command again, Roose accepts the condition. Willam and the Ryswell cavalry were sent to help bolster the Tyrell levies at Southern King’s Road gate. The Knights of the Vale covered the Gold Road gate. This way, the Vale and Stormland lords who are still upset about the white peace don’t have to enter direct conflict, but still participate. The rest of the troops boarded ships at the port of Duskendale. 

 The entire time Ned was there, shivers kept running down his spine. The whole place felt ominous, a monument to the creation of Aerys’s madness. 

 “It’ll be a brutal fight, best be prepared, Lord Stark.” Ned looks over his shoulder at Randyll Tarly. He’d come alongside the bow to where Ned was standing, watching the glimmering lights of King’s Landing waking up. They’re attacking at dawn, so the sun is at their back. 

 “When is a fight not ever brutal?” Ned asks. He’s impressed with the man. Unlike some of the other Reach Lords, Randyll’s armour is well-worn and simple. It wouldn’t be out of place in the North. 

 Randyll scoffs. “You’re not wrong.” 

 Ned watches the man with curiosity.  “Do you not hold a grudge for what happened in the Stormlands?” He asks. Roose was rather vicious, and it was Randyll’s host that took the brunt of it as Mace Tyrell took the opportunity to retreat.

 “The current of politics changes rapidly, Lord Stark. One shouldn’t hold onto grudges.” Ned frowns at the words. It’s more than just politics. Randyll’s men died. All men in war go into battle expecting to die, but to be this callous? These are the men who work his fields, make his goods, serve him. They are an integral part of his life, and he just forsakes them? 

 “I see.” 

 “Your commander, Bolton, was it?” Ned grunts. “He was rather effective. Is he willing to take wards? My son, he is quite young, but could use a rounded martial education.” 

 Ned isn’t sure that he wants to subject any children to Roose’s tender mercies. Even his own son lived outside of Bolton territory for most of his life before he died. 

 He retracks any kind thoughts he had about the man. He’s like the other Reach lords, only looking out for a chance for political advancement. 

 “Lord Bolton is indeed a formidable commander, however, he doesn’t strike me as a teachable type.” Randyll Tarly doesn’t look pleased at the decline, but Ned stops the conversation before he can protest by leaving. They’ll be docking soon. 

 The battle has arrived. 

 They come upon a scene of fire and chaos. 

 From their position on the bay, Ned can feel the heat of the siege already. 

 The Redwyne fleet had begun its siege not long after they set off from Duskendale. It seems that Rhaegar doesn’t want to sit around and watch the walls of his precious city crumble and burn. 

 Their boat lurches as the sailors try to avoid flaming retaliation. Ned swears, clutching onto the railing, missing Davos’s smooth sailing. 

 They run aground, and Ned hustles off the ship and towards the Mud Gate as fast as he can. Rhaegar can stay in the back with the Reach Lords; Ned is going to end this war. He is going to declaw the Lannisters and throw them back to their desolate rock. 

 He finds the teal and silver of the Manderlys’ host easily. Around them are other Northern levies, waiting for their chance to break free. 

 The massive Umber men wait in the vanguard with massive wooden shields, made for this purpose. 

 Jon gives Ned a wild smile as the Muddy gate falls. “Northman! Forward!” Ned yells. 

 “Let’s show these weak-willed southerners what we Northerners are made of!” Jon bellows. War cries echo throughout the men. 

 Ned unsheathes his great sword, following seconds after Jon shoves his way through. 

 It’s desolate inside the city. The Fishmonger Square, in a past life, was a bright and bustling market for the middle-class commonfolk. Now it’s an abandoned wreck with empty houses and soldiers in crimson livery salivating at the thought of killing them. 

 Ned frowns, searching the soldiers for the mishappen shape of the Mountain That Rides. He’s bound to be here. 

 Why would Tywin keep a war dog chained?

The fact that Ned can’t find the Mountain worries him, but he can’t let this distract him. 

 “Cranogmen, to the walls!” Ned yells. They need to get rid of the Lannisters’ ranged forces. They can’t afford to have an enemy at their back. 

 He turns and slashes through the thin jerkin of the foot soldier who was wildly lunging at him, continuously pushing forth alongside Jon to cleave a path towards the Red Keep. 

 “For King Rhaegar!” Ned hears cries behind him. He takes a moment to watch as the rest of the Reach soldiers and the Riverlanders pile through the sizable gap, rushing to catch up with the North men. 

 The fighting has begun to spill out of the square and into the neighbourhoods. Ned hopes that the city's residents were wise enough to take shelter beforehand. 

 He can’t afford to be distracted by innocents. 

 Ned grits his teeth, swinging his sword in an underhand arc, cutting down a Westerland knight. He doesn’t recognize the sigil. It’s no one he knows. 

 The fight is a slog. 

 Their approach to the Red Keep is slow and arduous. The urban terrain forced them to watch the darkened streets and dilapidated awnings of the buildings. Who knows where there might be forces lurking in the dark? 

 The Westerlands have no idea of honour. They’ll happily strike an opponent in the back, caring little for the devastation that they leave in their wake. 

 The stench of the city is overwhelming. The sticky iron smell of blood doesn’t improve it one bit. 

 “Ned!” Hoster cheers, pushing to the front, striking down the man creeping up on Ned. Ned supposes that Hoster wants to return to the good graces of the King.  

 “Hoster,” Ned pants. He can feel the ache of the battle in his bones already. He wipes the sweat from his brow. “You’re in good spirits.” 

 Hoster gives the Red Keep a grim look. “Lord Tywin’s dues are coming to collect. I, for one, am pleased to see it.”
 
 It’s pleasing to know that Ned’s not the only one who wants to see Tywin humiliated. 

 With that, Ned turns back to the fight. 

 His men are holding up well. Using the Karstark and Umber men for the Vanguard was the best choice. They’re used to fighting in disorganized terrains. Perhaps not to this size, but Wildlings attacked wherever the North found them. 

 He doesn’t care that the King is somewhere behind them. Coward. It’s amazing that he was able to defeat Robert at all. 

 The Hook stands before them, steep, dangerous, and lined with men in Lannister colours. 

 Twyin nor his son are anywhere to be seen. 

 Same with the Mountain. 

 Where is he?

 Are they all cravens, cowering in the Red Keep? Pathetic. 

 “My Lord, what do we do?” Jon calls. 

 They can’t just run up the hill. Fighting uphill is dangerous, and…Ned casts an eye about, looking at the ramparts of the castle. There could be ranged fighters waiting for them. 

 Ned doesn’t want to cast aside his men’s lives ceaselessly. 

 …wait. 

 “Jon!” There was a tactic used by the Unsullied that Ned learnt of when looking into the Targaryen siblings for Robert. Their masters called it the phalanx technique. They’d form battle formations, with the men at the front holding their shields out, while those at the sides protected the flanks, and the men in the middle lifted their shields above their heads to shield everyone else. Ned quickly explains the tactic to Jon. He doesn’t expect it to be perfect, but good enough to mitigate the damage that may occur when they fight uphill. 

 Thankfully, Jon takes the idea well, and his troop leads the charge. 

 Ned doesn’t have a shield and would only get in the way. He stays back, guarding the base of the hill, ensuring that the Lannister men will trap his men in any underhanded techniques. 

 Storming the castle will be another problem. 

 Something that Ned will leave to the King. He can be responsible for the destruction of his home, not Ned. 

 “Milord!” Jon calls. 

 That can’t be good. Jon sounds puzzled rather than victorious. 

 Ned jogs up the hill, sword loose in hand. 

 The portucile is rising. The archers that should be on the ramparts are missing. 

 What? 

 “Be careful. Go slow, ” Ned warns. Jon is too much like Robert for Ned’s comfort, eager to rush in and steal the glory before the others have arrived. Robert died. Ned will not allow for Jon to die like him. 

 A lone figure in white and gold shambles off the ramparts. 

 Ned raises his sword, his teeth gritting. “ You, ” he spits. 

 Memories of Jory’s, Heward’s and Wyl’s broken bodies rise to the surface of Ned’s memory, his leg throbbing from where the Lannister spearman drove a spear through it. 

 The hate and anguish that he’s been trying to bury this whole fight are bubbling over, the fear of his impending death and what it would mean for his girls, and Ned’s finding it hard to keep his composure seeing that gods-awful blonde hair. 

 He wants the Lannisters to pay. 

 He wants Jaime Lannister to pay. 

  The Starks had been nothing but good vassals, and yet the Kings and their scheming bootlickers seem to take their compliance for weakness. 

 He is going to show the rest of the kingdoms what it truly means to feel the North’s anger. 

“Me.” Ned falters when he sees the youthful face of Jaime Lannister and nearly becomes sick to his stomach. 

 Had Jaime really been that young when the Rebellion broke out? 

 He barely looks older than Robb when Ned last saw him. 

 And Rhaegar left this child alone with the king? 

 Beside him, Jon scoffs. “I’m surprised a lion welp has turned his back on his masters so easily.” 

 Jaime sneers at Jon. “I’m a Kingsguard first, and a Lannister second, Northman. The King has returned home, I merely opened the way.” 

 “Kingsguard? More like Kingsl—”

“That’s enough, Jon.” 

 Privately, Ned agrees with Jon. It seems that in two different timelines, Jaime Lannister cannot help but kill the king himself; it seems that Kingslaying runs in Lannister blood. It disgusts Ned to be breathing the same air as Jaime Lannister, after all, he’s done to Ned and his family.

However, the Red Keep hasn’t been secured. Tywin the Mountain and Lorch haven’t been accounted for. That means Ned’s job isn’t done. 

 “Ser Jaime. I won’t ask you to fight your father.” It’s not that Ned is sparing Jaime’s feelings in this matter, but he doesn’t trust the man to be around Ned and his soldiers. “But, I ask you to remain here to ensure the King’s forces can acess the keep. I’ll leave behind forces to help you.” Ned is final. He won’t allow Jaime to stalk off in the night. He will be held accountable. 

 Ned watches as the youthful arrogance of a Lannister boy fights with the pragmaticness that knights are supposed to carry. “Fine,” he grits out. “I do this for the King, Stark, not you.” 

 Fine. 

 Ned directs part of the Glover host that’s caught up to the vanguard to secure the ramparts, and indicates for the rest of them to follow him. 

 Memories of walking through a similar Red Keep after a Lannister occupation flood Ned’s mind. He shivers at the thought of what he’s going to find in the Great Hall.  

 The halls are empty and foreboding. The Red Keep is empty, which is wrong. There are no servants or courtiers, but more importantly, no forces. 

 Where are they? 

 Ah. 

 It seems that Tywin is planning to make his last stand in the Great Hall.

 Ned’s stomach twists as he steps into the Great Hall. Where had his father and brother died? Is he standing in the spot where a previous Stark died? 

 “Lord Lannister.” It also seems that Tywin wasn’t expecting them to break through the gates so quickly. Ned was, too. He’d been expecting to free the city but starve out the Lannister men. 

 “Stark. I’m surprised that you’ve become the King’s dog after what he did with your sister.” 

 Ned watches the man, unamused. It’s a rather poor attempt to undermine Ned’s position. “Do not be so smug, Lord Lannister. It’s unbecoming of you, after all, it was your son who raised the gate for us.” 

 Ned fucking enjoys seeing the beet red that Tywin’s face becomes as he processes that his son betrayed him. 

 “It seems that a parent’s job is never done,” Tywin sighs, drawing his sword. “I shall have to reeducate that fool once I’m done with you.” 

 Tywin’s ruthless nature doesn’t come from his swordsmanship ability, like his son's, but rather from the decisions made after battle. Ned is reasonably confident that he can defeat him. 

Ned’s biggest problem is Tywin’s armour. He’s wearing a full steel plate, enamelled in deep crimson and highlighted with gold, and its rondels are golden sunbursts. Tywin's heavy cloth-of-gold greatcloak is clasped with gold miniature lionesses, and his greathelm is decorated with a roaring lion with ruby eyes. What a gaudy mess. 

 Ned is going to have to persevere. His men need to defeat the Lannisters, while Ned tires out Tywin. 

 Once he realizes that he’s been trapped, it’ll be too late, and Tywin won’t be able to escape.

 The doors to the Great Hall open once again, and out of the corner of his eye, Ned can see the liveries of the Riverlords. 

 Tywin’s self-assured expression shifts now that Ned has more soldiers. 

 It’ll be cramped, but this will have to do. 

 Ned raises his great sword, facing Tywin. 

 It’s time to put an end to the Lannister arrogance. 

 Tywin strikes first. 

 He is both impatient and patient at the same time. Tywin rapidly slashes at Ned, trying to overwhelm him at once. Ned plants his feet and braces himself. 

 The resounding clang drowns out all other noises. 

 Ned swings his great sword in an underhand strike, pushing Tywin back, his heavy plate armour causing him to stumble harder. 

 Twyin grits his teeth and grips his sword in a half-hand manner, and lunges, trying to drive it into Ned’s more flexible and less defensive armour. 

 Ned dodges and drives his sword into the palm of Twyin’s non-dominant hand. 

 He howls, backing off, glaring at Ned with pure hatred as blood drips down his armour. 

 Ha. Finally, a valid reason to have red armour. 

 Ned presses his advantage and deploys a series of overhand and underhanded strikes, trying to keep Tywin on his back foot now that he has him there.  

 Tywin is already flagging. He is already forty, wearing heavy armour, and injured, whereas Ned is in his prime, wearing lighter chainmail and uninjured. 

 One lucky swing catches on Twyin’s crossguard and sends Twyin’s sword clattering across the stone floor. 

 Ned pants, his sword pressed against the thin sliver of Tywon’s exposed throat. 

 He could do it. 

 He could end Tywin’s life here and now. Ned can put an end to the Lannister schemes here. 

 He should do it. 

 No one would blame him if Tywin died in the middle of battle. 

 The Realm would be better if there were one less lion in the pride. Cersei is a weak, unmarried woman, far from the throne, and Ned doubts that Rhaegar would allow Jaime back into succession of the Westerlands. As far as Ned is aware, Casterly Rock is going to Tyrion, who’s nine currently. Let the Lannisters murder themselves for a modicum of power. They’ll be doing Ned’s job for him. 

 Tywin takes advantage of Ned’s hesitation and lunges toward Ned with a hidden dagger. 

 Ned swears, ducks at the last moment and brings the pommel of his sword up, slamming it against Tywin’s exposed skull. 

 He crumples like a discarded cloak to the ground. 

 “Tywin!” A blonde-haired man yells. Unlike Tywin, who is more lean, this man is a stocky, well-built man with long blond hair. 

 Ned grits his teeth, readying his sword.

 This will be a more difficult fight. He looks likes a proper knight.

 Before the Lannister knight can reach Ned, his tabard is grabbed by the Greatjon, and he is violently slammed into the ground. The Greatjon looks down at Ned with a bloody smile. “These Lannister cunts have nothing on us!”

 “Great job, Jon,” Ned manages weakly.   

 He looks around the Great Hall, and the Lannister forces are slowly being depleted. Ned takes a breath and allows himself a bitter grin. They’ve won. He’s got Tywin at his feet, and his main forces are scattered. 

 “Jon, can you…” He gestures to Tywin’s pathetic form. 

 Jon nods and slings Tywin’s fom over his shoulder and grabs his fallen opponent by the back of his tabard and drags him out of the Great Hall. 

 Rhaegar has finally graced the Red Keep. 

 His armour looks fairly undisturbed and gleaming. 

 Jaime Lannister is kneeling at his feet. 

 Has he given up on fighting personally now that Robert’s dead and he has other men to do his job? Ned purses his lips, struggling not to sneer at the King. He gestures for Jon to put down their prey. 

 “Tywin Lannister, Your Majesty,” Ned says as Jon tosses Tywin to the ground. 

 Rhaegar looks down at the crumpled figure in front of him. Jaime Lannister looks like he’s going to shit himself seeing his father in this manner. “Well done, Lord Stark.”

Ned bets that if it were any one of Rhaegar’s commanders, he’d be singing Ned’s praises. He bets that the King hates that it’s Ned who won him the war. 

 Everyone now looks to Jaime. He’s the son of the worst of the rebel leaders and the Kingslayer. 

 “Your Masjesty, King’s Landing is yours.” Barristen looks like he wants to murder Jaime right now. 

 “Jaime Lannister.” Barristen’s sword is at Jaime’s throat. Rhaegar says nothing, just silently judging the cowering knight before him. “Your charge was to protect your king. Not only did you fail, but you were the reason for his death. You allowed the King’s home to fall into the hands of a rebel.”   

 “I did.”

 Ned’s eyes narrow. This is far from the arrogant youth from his first life. Is it because of his defeated father? Or is it because it’s Rhaegar that won, and not Robert? 

 But why did he kill the King? Unlike last time, Aerys’s death didn’t benefit the winner. He died not long after Robert was severely injured. Surely, if Jaime were a loyalist, he wouldn’t have done this. 

 Why? 

 Ned never asked last time. Why would he? He found Jaime Lannister seated on the Iron Throne with a dead king, princess and her children by Lannister's hands. 

 But…

 Fuck. Ned hates himself for this, but he can’t ignore a boy not much older than Robb being put to death without an explanation. He at least gives his criminals a chance to explain before executing them. 

 “Wait.” 

 He cringes when they all look at him. “What is it, Lord Stark?” 

 Ned takes in a deep breath. He can’t believe he’s going to defend a Lannister. “If it weren’t for Ser Jaime Lannister, then we wouldn’t have made it through the gate. He raised it for us. I do not understand his actions, but it warrants asking.”

 Rhaegar hums, his cold eyes flickering to Jaime, who’s staring at Ned with barely disguised suspicion. “Why did you kill my father, Ser Jaime?”

 “He was going to burn us.”

 What?

 Rhaegar looks thrown off kilter. “What do you mean?” He demands. His face is flushed with panic. Ned tries very hard not to think of his father. He grimaces and looks away when his mind conjures images of his death. 

 “After the Battle of the Bells, he replaced the Hand…with lord Rossart. He’s a pyromancer, Your Majesty. The King…he didn’t want the city to be taken. He thought it would be more befitting a king and his subjects to die in flames of wildfire rather than at the hands of the rebel swords.” 

 Fuck. 

 The barrels. 

Ned had seen the barrels of wildfire in the catacombs of the Red Keep. He walked by them. 

 He’s going to be sick. 

 Did Jaime tell anyone last time? 

 Were Ned’s children at risk of burning in wildfire? 

 The courtyard is painfully silent as people start to register Jaime’s confession. They’re standing on a potential mass grave. 

 Ned stares at Jaime. He betrayed his oath, yes, but Ned can’t fault him. What Aerys wanted to do was………Ned doesn’t have any words. If he were in the same position as Jaime, well, Ned wonders if he would’ve done anything different. Becoming an oathbreaker would be more preferable than watching countless innocents burn. 

 Gods be damned. 

 He can’t believe he’s sympathizing with Jaime Lannister. Fuck him. 

 “---the king truly lost his mind.” 

 “I knew he was bad, but this—”

 “What should the king do? Ser Jaime killed the king.”

 Ned tunes out the whispers and steadies himself. This doesn’t change what they need to do. “Your Majesty.”

 Rhaegar looks up, his cold eyes narrowing at Ned. “What is it, Lord Stark?” He asks. 

 “What Ser Jaime told us is horrendous, but we need to secure the city. Westerland soldiers are scattered across the city, and they still hold the gates. The Wildfire is secured, for now. If we don’t stop the Westerlands then we risk loosing the city and the wildfire.” 

 “Lord Stark is correct, Your Majesty.” Randyll Tarly steps in. “Each passing moment we allow these traitors to live unpunished, the better chance they have to mount a counterattack.”

 “We will need the men to help guard the wildfire. Ser Jaime, where did the King plant the wildfire?” Hoster asks. 

 Jaime, still looking bewildered, looks from Ned to Hoster, then to Rhaegar. He clears his throat. “Uh–in the Keep, the Great Sept, the gates, and the Dragonspit.” 

 There are a few murmurs at the revelation.  

 Ned closes his eyes and sends a silent prayer to his gods that they didn’t accidentally trigger a wildfire cache when they broke through the Mud Gate. 

 “Lord Tarly, Lord Hoster, take your men and start clearing the gates,” Rhaegar orders. “Lord Stark, send out your men to start marshalling order.” 

 Ned doesn’t like the sound of this order. It seems the King wants Ned’s opinion on something. 

 Ned nods and turns to the Greatjon and Wyman. “Wyman, take Flea Bottom. If there’s going to be any rioting, it’s going to start there. The people must be starving and in need of medical attention. Find as much food as you can purchase and start handing it out. I don’t care about the cost; once our troops are supplemented by the ones outside, ride out to camp and get supplies there.”

 Flea Bottom is one of the worst areas of King’s Landing, where unity is barely a word. The South is supposed to be the land of abundance, yet the people of the Flea Bottom had nothing. It is not to say that the North is better; there have been plenty of lords who hoard their resources during the winter, and resources are scarce naturally, but communal property is not an uncommon trait in the North. 

 “While you’re there, find a woman named Marya with at least two sons, Allard and Matthos, whose husband is named Davos and is a sailor, and protect her.” Davos has done so much for Ned so far; it is only right to ensure that his wife and children are looked after. 

 The people of Flea Bottom will be the hungriest and the angriest. Food and medical help will go a long way in soothing disgruntled citizens. 

 “As you command, Lord Stark.” Wyman nods and strides off to his waiting men. 

 “Greatjon, rally up the others and start securing the area around the Dragonpit and the pit itself. Do not enter the pit, do you understand?”

 “Aye. We’ll see to it.” Jon nods. He turns to his waiting men. “Our fight ain’t over, lads!” There are some scattered cheers from the Umber men as Jon leads them out. 

 Rhaegar doesn’t speak until most of the courtyard is cleared. He beckons Ned over as Barriston is taking a limp-looking Jaime Lannister away. 

 “I would have your opinion, Lord Stark.” 

 “About what?” Ned keeps his hands clasped behind his back to keep his urge to fight the King in check. It would not look good for him to be seen attacking the King so soon after their white peace. 

 “About what to do with Ser Jaime, the wildfire, Lord Tywin.” 

 So he wants Ned to do his job for him. Ned’s not on his council; he shouldn’t have to do the work for the king. But whatever gets him home faster, he supposes. “Give Ser Jaime the option of taking the Black or execution. What he did cannot be forgotten.” Jaime was hated for killing Aerys the last time despite Robert’s indifference. Ned supposes it might change after the truth of the wildfire plot, but it’ll still be a violation of the law; a sentence must be given. “He meant well, but that cannot change what he did. Giving him the choice would show mercy rather than plainly executing him.” 

 Rhaegar doesn’t answer, merely humming at Ned’s words. “The Wildfire?” 

 Ned’s never dealt with the substance; he has no clue. “Find an alchemist you can trust and get their opinion.” Wasn’t this the obvious thing to do? Ned feels old giving this sort of advice, and he’s not even reached his fourtieth year. “Regarding Tywin, it is necessary to diminish his House’s influence. Jaime, regardless of his decision, will no longer be the heir; instead, his second son, Tyrion, will assume the position. Your decision to appoint Edmure as a squire to the crown can be applied to Tyrion. Raise him to be loyal. Tywin may desire to disinherit Tyrion in favour for Cersei, but the crown can ensure Tyrion’s ascension. I do not think that is enough. House Lannister prides itself on its wealth, and they’re the ones who did the most damage during the rebellion. I would make them pay the crown back for the destruction they caused.” 

 Personally, Ned would just execute Tywin and take Tyrion as a ward, but Rhaegar’s actions suggest that he doesn’t want to start his reign with bloodshed.

 To cripple the Lannisters, they need to be brought to heel. They think that they’re better than the rest of Westeros, even the crown. Tywin, Cersei, all of them, need to be reminded that they are still servants, just like the Starks and Tullys, to the King.  

 “A well-reasoned and thought-out argument, Lord Stark. I’ve heard rumours of your just and honourable nature. Would you consider joining my council as my Master of Laws?”

 Ned would rather voluntarily move to Casterly Rock than stay in King’s Landing. 

 “Forgive me, Your Highness, but no.” 

 Rhaegar looks shocked. Who wouldn’t? Ned is turning down a prestigious position. “May I ask why, Lord Stark?” 

 There are numerous reasons why Ned doesn’t want to accept this position, most of which Ned can’t tell the King. “One of the first things that my father taught my brothers and me was that there must always be a Stark in Winterfell. I cannot fulfill my oath to my people and ancestors if I am here.” 

 “Is your brother not at Winterfell currently, Lord Stark? Surely he can fulfill your father’s teachings while you serve me.” 

 “My brother is five-and-ten , Your Majesty. This has been an extraneous circumstance that I do not desire to repeat. I am the last of the adult Starks. Further, I wasn’t meant to be the heir. My vassals are expecting me to return North to handle this painful transfer of succession.” Ned vaguely hopes that the reference to his father and brother will curb the king’s desire to have Ned on his council. 

 He doesn’t know why Rhaegar wants Ned on the council. Is it a means to make up for what happened? Is it to control and monitor Ned? He dislikes the idea of being watched by the King. He just wants to pick up his son and wife and go home to Winterfell. 

 “I see. It’s a shame, truly. You would’ve made an execellent Master of Laws.”

 Perhaps to a different king. Ned refuses to do anything that’ll benefit Rhaegar Targaryen. All he wants to do is return to the North. 

 “May I inquire about the releasing of Ethan Glover now that we have control of the Red Keep?” 

 “Ethan Glover will be released once Lewyn Martell is.”

 Ned resists the urge to scowl. “The condition, Your Majesty, was that Ethan Glover was to be released once we seized King’s Landing from the Westerlands, on the proverbial condition that Lewyn Martell will be released without ransom. I will not stand for one of my vassals to be unjustly imprisoned.”

Rhaegar looks over to Ned with an unreadable expression. Ned attempts to keep his face neutral. This shouldn’t be a hard ask. He’s the one who led the vanguard with Jon. He’s the one who captured Tywin Lannister. 

 Ned’s reached his limits with Kingly arrogance. “I entered in this agreement in good faith, Your Majesty. I have done what you’ve asked. Now all that I ask is to have what we agreed upon returned to me.”

 “Fine.” Rhaegar looks… disappointed? Ned must be misreading his expression. Disappointed in what? “I shall have him removed from the cells and delivered to his father. I expect to see Lewyn soon.” 

 “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

 Ned is done with King’s Landing, again . He’s done with Southern politics. 

 However, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to leave until he knows where the Mountain and Lorch disappeared to. Their absence greatly concerns him. 

                                                                                                                                                            ****

 Spending her days in Sunspear, enjoying the warm sun and spiced dishes alongside her dear brothers and their daughters, is a luxury that Elia didn’t think she’d ever get to enjoy again. She holds Aegon to her chest, walking between the large windows, overlooking the bay. It’s peaceful here. She wishes that she could spend the rest of her days here and not have to return to the capital. 

 Elia looks down at her son’s soft, downy silver locks, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

 Despite her reluctance to leave again, she knows she has to. Aegon’s inheritance lays in the balance. If she doesn’t go back, then he might lose it. She has to fight for it in whatever form possible.

 A soft gurgle pulls Elia from her musing. 

 She looks over to the other small occupant of the nursery. 

 Jon Snow. 

 Her heart aches at the sight of the boy. It aches in anger and pity. Despite her origins, Elia never had a paramour, and she didn’t think that Rhaegar would have one, either. She didn’t want someone else in their relationship. His actions towards Lyanna Stark show that he isn’t serious about them. She was…she was just a vessel to him. It angers her; she didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be subservient in the relationship. She wanted to be equal. It turns out, Rhaegar didn’t have the same thoughts as she did. 

 Her anger runs through her veins like poison, but when looking at little Jon Snow, Elia can’t bring herself to hate him. 

 He’s an orphan in all that matters. Rhaegar might be his father, but Ned is determined to keep his nephew away, and Elia can’t bring herself to blame him. 

 She misses Ned. 

 He looks so severe and savage, but on the inside, he’s very kind. He’s simply a man who misses his family. His love for his sister was so evident that it made her tear up a little. 

 Now, Lyanna Stark is gone. The bright, wild girl who most defiantly was the knight of the Laughing Tree is gone, and what’s left is this small boy, looking for his mother. 

 She doesn’t hate Jon Snow. She pities him for the struggle he’s going to face in the future. He might be the King’s son, but he’s still a bastard in a world that hates bastards. Maybe Ned would be okay with allowing Jon to be raised in Dorne. At least here he’d have a fighting chance. 

 Jon stares up at her with big, soulful, grey eyes silently. He’s such a quiet babe, it’s a little worrisome. 

 “Jeyne, is that you?” Elia calls, without turning, when she hears the door open. 

 There’s silence. 

 Elia turns and stumbles, her eyes going wide. 

 That’s…that’s not Jeyne. 

 Standing in the doorway, blocking her exit, is a man taller than anyone she’s ever seen. He’s massive with broad shoulders and arms thick as the trunk of a small tree. In his hand is one of the biggest swords that Elia has ever seen. His chest is devoid of any sigil or any identifying markers.  

 Panic clouds her as Elia clutches her son closer. 

 What does she do?

 There’s no way that she could ever stand against such a beast, not with her weak body and feeble training. 

 “Hand over the child.”

No!

 Elia shrinks back farther into the room, clutching Aegon tightly to her bosom. 

 Her heartbeat rings in her ears as she desperately tries to find a way around this man. 

 A small figure darts into the room with a shriek, and the monster in front of her grunts and swings an arm, sending the figure flying into the wall opposite Elia. 

 There’s a terrible crack as the slender body embeds itself in the wall. 

 “Obara!” Oberyn’s eldest daughter, fiercer than her father, struggles to her feet, with her teeth set in a snarl. She clutches one of her shoulders, her eyes burning with hatred. 

 No! Elia can’t let this sweet child die because of her. 

“You!” The man rumbles, his voice sounding like two stone slabs grinding together as he pulls a wicked-looking dagger out of his thigh that Obara managed to lodge in there. “I shall take you first.”

“You cunt!” Obara snaps back, struggling to her feet. 

 The man laughs, a sound that paralizes Elia with fear and tosses Obara her dagger. Obara snatches it up, readying herself for what is going to be a futile fight. 

 Elia needs to get out of here. 

 She needs help. 

 She needs Oberyn. 

 A roar snaps her out of her fear, and Elia sees yet another body fling themselves at the man. This time, it’s a man, thankfully, a bigger, more appropriately matched opponent. Mark Ryswell, the knight who accompanied Ned when he saved her and who’d remained to watch over little Jon and Lady Lyanna’s remains. 

 Whenever Elia had come across the Northerner, she’d gotten the impression that he was a gentle giant, especially when he held Jon and spoke to the boy of the North, but seeing him charge at the intruder, bare-handed with a look of utter rage, changed Elia’s perception of him. 

 “Auntie!” Obara tugs at Elia’s sleeve. 

 The poor dear looks terrible. There’s a trickle of blood going down her face from where her skin had broken on impact, and she’s still clutching her shoulder. 

 “We need to go!” 

 But Mark!

 Elia looks over and sees the two men wrestling for control of the sword. 

 No. Elia won’t be any good here. 

 To help Mark, she needs to leave. Elia shoves Aegon into a flustered Obara’s hands and scoops up the now-wailing Jon. His little face is red with distress. “Come on!” 

 Elia averts her eyes from the fighting, just keeping the door in sight as she makes a run for it. 

 Where is Oberyn when she needs him?

 She nearly screams when she sees poor Jeyne’s corpse lying on the stones below. Her head is almost gone from how hard it was smashed against the wall, and blood has seeped into the stones around her. 

 Elia swallows and hurries. 

 Mark doesn’t have a weapon. He charged there unarmed to save them. She needs to get him help. 

 “Princess!” Elia nearly cries when she sees the sight of one of the castle guards. 

 “Intruder!” Elia can’t breathe. She sucks in air as quickly as she can, her lungs screaming at her. 

“My ladies?”

 “What’s going on?” Elia is not ashamed to say that she did start weeping at the sight of her brother’s worried brow. “Elia! Obara!” 

 “Intruder! In the nursery! Please Obi! Mark needs help!”

 Oberyn snarls, yanking the spear out of the guard's hand. “Take them to my brother’s office. Make sure they’re safe!” 

 “Yes sir!” 

 Oberyn runs off down the hall to the nursery. 

 Elia watches him go, worried that she’s just sent her brother to his doom. He doesn’t have any armour. 

 “Don’t worry Auntie,” Obara tries to soothe her. 

 “Thank you dear…” Elia still can’t help the throb of worry in her heart. 

 “No, seriously, don’t worry Auntie.” Obara looks strangely calm. Elia frowns at her. “Father gave me a dagger. He told me to never take it out of its sheath, but always wear it for this reason. It’s coated with Manticore venom.”

 Obara is a child! Elia is going to have words with her brother once they get out of here. 

 “Nym got one too.” 

 Nymeria…oh gods. The girls! Arianne had whisked away Rhaenys and Tyene to play Princesses with her and Nymeria. 

 They don’t know what’s happening.

…If someone is targeting Rhaegar’s children, then Rhaenys is next on the list. 

 “Auntie?” Obara calls as Elia pushes Jon, who is wailing uncontrollably again at being shoved into someone else’s arms, into a passing maid’s arms. 

 “I need to get Rhaenys!” Elia calls, picking up her skirt and running in the direction of Arianne’s rooms. It’s not far from the nursery. Elia hears the sound of battle happening as she races to Arianne’s room. 

 She stops suddenly when she sees an unfamiliar man in the entrance, leering at the trapped children within. She sees Nymeria standing at the helm, a small dagger drawn, with the little faces of her cousins and sister peeking out.

 No!   

 Who dares?  

 Elia will not let her family become victims! 

 She grabs the large, decorative vase that’s outside the hall and slams it as hard as she can over the head of the second intruder. 

 The sound of the vase crashing fills Elia’s ears. 

 It doesn’t do much to stop the man, other than a slight stumble. Elia scrambles to grab a shard of pottery; it’s better than nothing, and tries to stop him from advancing on the girls. 

 He’s no beast like the other man, but he’s still armoured.

 She hears the girls scream but forces herself to ignore them, keeping her eyes on the man.

 He lunges at her, but Elia side steps him, faintly remembering the footwork that Oberyn drilled into her years ago. Now she has her back to the girls, and he’s blocking the doorway. 

 Elia tries to keep the shard steady. 

 The man, a short, stout man with small pigish eyes, also devoid of any markers, snarls at her, intending to lunge right at her when he stumbles and chokes. The tip of a blade protruded from his throat. He gasps, his hands dropping his short sword as he scrambles to dislodge it. 

 Seconds later, he drops to his knees, his breathing already laboured. Standing behind him is the slender figure of Lord Howland Reed, the other companion that Ned left behind, watching them with shrouded eyes. 

 He bows when he sees Elia, ignoring the dying man in front of him. “Are you alright, Princess? I heard the screams of intruders.” His soft, nearly musical voice chimes. 

 Elia tears up, dropping the vase shard, and nods. “Thank you, Lord Howland.”

“It is my duty. Come, let us get to safety.” 

 Yes. 

 It was foolish of Elia to run off, but she doesn’t mind it. Her daughter is safe .

 “Mama!” Rhaenys runs up, her tears in her eyes. 

 “It’s okay, darling,” Elia soothes, picking her up, pressing Rhaenys close. She closes her eyes, inhaling her daughter’s scent. She’s been so close to losing her children today. Rhaenys sobs, clutching Elia like she’s going to disappear. Elia wants to cry too; she can feel her tears pricking at the edge of her vision. She desperately wants to cry, but most hold it together for the children. 

 “Are you alright, Princess Arianne?” Lord Howland asks, picking up Arianne and carrying her over the corpse. 

 “No. I want my mother.” Elia’s sweet niece is trying very hard not to let her emotions show. Elia can see her mouth trembling despite her attempts to keep her composure. 

 Lord Howland smiles kindly at Arianne as he holds out a hand for Nymeria to take. She delicately lifts the hem of her skirt and steps over the body. She has recently experienced a growth spurt, and she’s beginning to enter the stage of being all elbows and sharp angles. She also looks rather distressed.  

 Little Tyene just holds her arms out for Lord Howland to take. 

 Elia nearly laughs as Lord Howland just accepts his fate. She curls up in his arms, looking up at him with her deep blue eyes. He gives her a kindly smile, herding them away from the corpse. 

 “I want Papa, Mama.” 

 It hurts to hear that, not that Rhaenys wants her father, but that he’s not here to comfort her. He’s off fighting a war that his actions started. A war that almost got his children killed. This is his fault, and he’s not even here to comfort his dear daughter. 

 “I know, darling.” Elia kisses Rhaenys’s forehead. “I know.” 

 “Elia!” Doran pulls her into a tight hug when he sees her. “What were you thinking running off like that?” He demands. 

 Elia looks around at the squashed study. Obara is tucked up on a sofa, being tended to by a Maester, and Aegon and Jon are still wailing for comfort, and two very nervous-looking maids are trying to hush them. 

 “Father!” Arianne cries, tugging on her father’s tunic. 

 “Are you alright, sweetling?” Doran picks up his daughter. Arianna clings to him. 

 “A strange man came into my room!” Arianna cries. Her composure finally breaks, and large tears well up in her eyes. 

 Doran’s eyes open in panic. He looks up to Elia in a panic. “They were going after my children…and Arianne took Rhaenys to play…” Elia tries to explain, but she can’t seem to compose proper sentences. 

 “As I was making my way to Jon’s nursery, I heard a commotion, and found one in the Princess’s room. Princess Elia valiantly put herself in front of the man to protect the girls.” Lord Howland puts Tyene on the couch next to her sister. 

 Obara gently kicks Tyene in the side. Tyene kicks back in retaliation. 

 “If it weren’t for Lord Howland…” Elia clutches Rhaenys tighter to herself, not daring to let her go. Rhaenys squirms, and Elia is forced to put her down next to Tyene. Elia sighs, then picks up Aegon; she needs to have one of her children with her. She rocks him a little. Aegon stares up at her, his tears stopping in sheer confusion. 

 “It seems we have the North to thank again for saving my family.” 

 Lord Howland smiles gently, taking Jon from his maid, trying to soothe the babe. He tempers off, his wails turn to soft sniffles. “Your sister saved my charge. It is the North who ought to thank you.” 

 “Oh! Mark! Doran…have you…” Elia trails off, her mind going to the worst possible scenarios. The man was a beast. 

 The door slams open, and Oberyn comes stomping in, favouring his left leg, looking murderous. “He’s dead.” He looks to Obara and gives her a nod of approval. She glows under his attention. “You did good. You remembered your training.” 

 Elia ought to scold him for giving his thirteen-year-old a poison-tipped knife and his ten-year-old one too, but right now she’s just too grateful that they’re all alive. 

 “Training?” Doran asks. 

 Oberyn gives Doran a sharp grin. “I’ve…instructed my girls on what to do if they found themselves against an opponent they can’t win. They’ve got knives laced with manticore poison. After all, it takes only one scratch of a poisoned knife to kill a man.” 

 That was insane, but the level of parenting Elia expected from her brother. The girls were looked after, but were encouraged to engage in more reckless behaviour. 

 “Mark?” Elia asks. The man had gone charging in without a weapon to save them. 

 “A Maester is with him. He…he took some blows meant for me, but that Northern constitution of his will have him pull through.” Oberyn uncorks a bottle of wine and takes a healthy swing. “Stubborn bunch, the lot of them.” 

 “It takes a talent to live how we do,” Lord Howland hums. “Something I’m sure you’ll adapt to quite well, Ser Snow.” He rocks little Jon, who gummily waves at the attention. 

 “You are quite adept at handing children,” Oberyn remarks. 

 Lord Howland smiles, first at Jon, then at Oberyn. “I have a daughter, not much older than the young Prince Aegon. We in the Neck split labour equally. Hands are needed everywhere.” He hums, rocking the quiet Jon. 

 Doran sighs, taking his seat again with Arianne crying still in his arms. “It seems we have much of the North to thank.”  Oberyn looks over to Doran in curiosity. 

 Doran sighs. “Rhaegar dispatched Lewyn to deal with rebels near the Trident. He came upon the Northern host. They were soundly defeated, and Uncle Lewyn’s been taken prisoner, along with several of our countrymen. Despite their loss, the casualty rates are low from the numbers the Prince sent, and we know that Uncle Lewyn is safe.” 

 Elia hasn’t been paying much attention to the war; at this point, she doesn’t care if Aegon will get his inheritance; she just wants him to be alive to enjoy what life has to offer. 

 She’s thankful that Ned was kind to her people. She knows that he must fight, lest he be branded a traitor by his allies, but she’s glad he’s chosen to give mercy to her people. By saving her, Ned put himself in an impossible position. 

 “He’s trying to force our hand, isn’t he?” Doran asks Lord Howland. 

 Lord Howland shrugs. “I do not know my liege’s mind, but I do know that he desires peace above all.”

“And because he’s an unchatty bastard, he’s showing us his devotion through actions rather than his words,” Oberyn mutters, looking faintly amused. 

 “Hm.” Doran matches Oberyn’s amused look. “Well, I do not dislike this development.” Of course, he wouldn’t. If Lord Baratheon wins, then Dorne will have the ear of the King’s closest friend, hopefully relieving any punishment Dorne would receive. 

 Oh. 

 Wait. 

 Did Lord Baratheon order this attack? 

 No. It’s too cowardly a plan. He’d prefer a more frontal attack than anything. 

 “Um, Lord Howland, may I ask something?” Elia asks. All eyes turn to Elia. She clutches Aegon close to her. “D-do you know who those men were?” 

 Lord Howland shakes his head. “I do not. Forgive me, Princess.” His face falls into a troubled look. “I suspect Lord Stark might have an idea.” 

 “Oh? How would Eddard know?” Oberyn asks. Does Lord Howland know? How many people has Lord Stark told about his mystical experiences? Seven above, Ned needs to learn the art of subtlety.  

 Lord Howland gives them a mysterious smile before returning to playing with Jon. 

 Elia looks over to her brother, tiredly nursing his bottle of wine. “Do you recongize him?” 

 Oberyn frowns, obviously thinking it over. In the end, he shakes his head. “He looks familiar, but I cannot place him. There was nothing on him that identified him. I’ll have to look into this further.” 

 Elia soothes Aegon, but more so herself, her heart clenching that she’s been targeted and she doesn’t know who wants her dead. She’s terrified. How can she protect her children if her attacker is still shrouded in shadow? 

 “Please do,” her voice warbles. 

 Oberyn takes her in his arms. His head resting atop hers. “I promise you. I’ll protect you, even it means felling dragons to mountains for you.” 

 Elia sobs, clutching him closer. She’s scared, she’s so scared. She loves her children, won’t give up anything for them, but she regrets marrying Rhaegar. She hates the Royal Family. She hates Rhaegar for leaving her. She hates him.

 She wants to stay in Dorne with her brothers. She wants to stay in the sunshine and the warmth.

Chapter Text

 Despite the war being over and the city under control, Ned still hasn’t left King’s Landing. Rhaegar’s been delaying court for some time, meaning the trials of those captured during the sack of King’s Landing haven’t been conducted, and Ned hasn’t been able to demand the crown pay reparations to his family. 

 To be fair to the King, most of his time has been spent on the safe removal of the wildfire caches. Ned can’t fault Rhaegar for wanting to deal with that first. What Ned can’t fault him on is the caches he removed first. 

 Rhaegar insisted that the ones from the Red Keep be removed first, whereas Ned thought that removing those from the Great Sept would be a better idea, as it would inflict more damage to the commonfolk if one were to go off accidentally. 

 But that court has finally arrived. 

 Ned is standing in the Great Hall, distinctly unpleased about having to be here, waiting for court to begin. Rhaegar is atop the Iron Throne, not wearing a crown. Ned wonders at the choice of forgoing the crown. What is the King trying to convey? He’s watching silently as guests are announced. 

 His remaining kingsguards, Lewyn and Selmy, stand to attention at the base of the throne. Ser Darry, who’d been absent from the negotiations, Ned had honestly forgotten about the man, stood alongside them.   

 “Lord Stannis Baratheon, Lord of Storms End, and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands.” 

 The air sharpens when Stannis makes his way into the Great Hall. 

 Ned faintly hears some courtiers gasp at his appearance. 

 He looks terrible. Stannis has always been tall, and at eight-and-ten, he’s tall and gangly. The effects of the siege are evident; he looks positively skeletal. His face is sunken and gaunt, his dark blue eyes beady and distrusting. When he sees Mace in a place of honour, his lips curl in displeasure. 

 Like Ned, who unleashed the full story of what happened to his family to Rhaegar’s likespittles, Stannis is a visceral reminder of what they did. An uncomfortable reminder that they were not the heroes of this story. The Lannisters did horrible things to King’s Landing, but the loyalists weren’t much better. 

 “Your Majesty.” Stannis’s voice rumbles. He kneels before the King and bows his head. “The Stormlands are yours.” 

 “Your oath is pleasing to hear, Lord Baratheon. I am grateful to see that the Baratheon and Targaryen families are allies once again.”

 Ned purses his lips, knowing that Stannis is never going to be a true ally to the Crown. Stannis, as Ned was informed by Robert years ago, is an expert at holding a grudge. 

 “Your faith in our family ties is striking, sire. The Stormlands shall be there when you call.” 

 “Your brother Robert was lost at war, Lord Stannis. As it was my father’s demand that spurred Lord Baratheon to war, I offer a boon to House Baratheon as a paltry means to reimburse you for your lose. Is there something you wish to request of me?” 

 Ned wonders what Stannis will ask. He thinks about what he knows about the man. He’s a man of duty and justice. If he were born of the North, then he wouldn’t blink twice about swinging the sword. Stannis is equally fiercely protective of his family and their honour. He doesn’t think that Rhaegar could have anything to would satisfy the man.

 Stannis is quiet for a couple of seconds, thinking over Rhaegar’s offer. 

 The whole room is tense with anticipation.  

 “I wish to take Prince Viserys as a ward when he is old enough.”

 Ned eyes the man curiously. Why had he chosen that? Was it to remind Rhaegar that life and family are precious? Is it a warning? That House Targaryen is weaker than ever? After all, Viserys is second in line for the throne. 

 Rhaegar assesses Stannis with a blank look as Jon Connington, fresh from his temporary exile, exclaims in anger. Yet another reason why Ned is thankful for not joining Rhaegar’s Small Council. The glare that Jon Connington sent him when they first locked eyes was exhausting. 

 “I would gladly have a friend of the crown take part in raising my brother. Varying experiences will, I’m sure, help shape him into a befitting Prince of the realm.” 

 “Your Majesty!” Jon Connington cut in, looking absolutely outraged. 

 Uneasy whispers fill the room at the easy acceptance of Viserys’ wardship. Ned himself is a little surprised. If it were him in Rhaegar’s place, he would refuse. 

 “You are unmarried, correct?” Rhaegar asks. 

 Stannis nods. “Yes, Your Grace.”

 “I have a bride in mind befitting your station.” Rhaegar’s eyes sweep over to Mace. “Janna Tyrell, Lord Tyrell’s youngest sister, is young and still unwed. She’ll be a pleasant bride and Lady of the Stormlands.” 

 Ned now understands Rhaegar’s easy acceptance. There’s no way that the Queen of Thorns would allow her youngest to go into enemy territory by herself. Soon, the Stormlands will choke under the vines of golden roses.  

 Viserys won’t be going into a hostile environment, but rather one that will quietly support Rhaegar. 

 Ned can hear Stannis’ teeth grinding from his position. “I accept your offer, Your Grace.” 

 Rhaegar waves Stannis off, and Mace shuffles up, next in line, practically begging for praise. 

 “I hear that you’re the reason why I don’t have a throne.” Stannis stops next to Ned, watching the throne with bored eyes. 

 Ned snorts. Those words sound disturbingly like Cedrik’s. “I did what I had to do to stop our people from suffering, Lord Baratheon. The well-being of my land is more important than my honour. I hope you can understand.” 

 Stannis hums. He doesn’t look particularly pleased, but he’s not angry. “A good steward works to increase the profit for his people, not his own coffers.” 

 Ned’s pleased that Stannis understands his approach. “Perhaps we can speak more about this at a later time?” Ned doesn’t want to continue this conversation in such an ill-suited manner.

 “I would accept this.” Stannis nods, turning back to the throne. 

 Mace had left, securing a future marriage promise between the two houses, with money and honours piled onto his contributions in the war, something that made Stannis grit his teeth in anger. Jon had stepped up and was slowly needling out a larger and larger lump sum of money to help rebuild Gulltown. Judging by Jon Connington’s face, it’s more than what he thinks the Crown should be paying. 

 “Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North, please step forward.” 

 He’s got a vaguely nauseous feeling having everyone’s eyes on him, but Ned steps forward and kneels before the King. 

 He knows that he’s not going to like the shit that the King’ll spew to justify his reign. He has to grin and bear it. Once he gets this over, he can leave. 

 Ned kneels in front of the Throne, his head bowed. “Lord Stark.” Ned clenches his fist, trying very hard not to react. “This war has come at a great cost for one of the oldest and loyal houses of this Realm. House Stark has served my family faithfully for generations, and your family didn’t deserve to be repayed in such a manner. This is not a gift to give, merely a King trying to respect his vassal. I, King Rhaegar, first of his name, present to you, Lord Eddard, Ice, the ancestral sword of House Stark.”

 Ned looks up and finds one of Rhaegar’s servants holding a familiar sword. His heart clenches at seeing it. 

 Last time, he’d gone wading through the castle to try to reclaim it. A relic near and dear to his family’s heart. 

 “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Ned takes Ice, grateful to feel the familiar weight of the great-sword in his hands again. 

 “There is no need for thanks, Lord Stark, as I said, I am merely returning what is your family’s possession…” Rhaegar obviously hesitates for a moment before waving forward a couple more servants. “I do not know the bural traditions of House Stark, so I had the Silent Sisters cleanse the bones of Lord Rickon and your brother in preparation for transport.” 

 Sitting in front of him are two simple dark magogany boxes. They’re simple but well-made with the emblem of the direwolf etched into it. Simple and practical, just like how his father would’ve liked it. 

 Ned’s at a loss for words, tracing over the direwolf, tears press up against the corner of his eyes. He wishes that the Gods could’ve sent him back earlier. 

 Distantly, he hears Rhaegar clear his throat. “As I’ve told the other Great Lords, Lord Stark, as compensation for your loss, I am prepared to offer boons to those you’ve lost in this war.”

 Ned knows. Ned has thought long and hard about what he wanted to request from the crown, but he can’t bring himself to speak, to say the words. His eyes are still caught on the still boxes in front of him. 

 He clears his throat, steeling himself. “I would like the Crown to return the New Gift to the North.” 

 It was one of the most hated choices that the Targaryens made in the North. The Night’s Watch didn’t have time to watch and maintain the fields of the New Gift, unlike the Lords who’d previously owned it. The Umbers and Karstarks had to watch as their land, good farmland, was slowly abandoned and returned to the earth. They hated it.

 Ned has always had respect for the Night’s Watch, but he’s not blinded to their faults. 

 “Lord Stark,” Rhaegar sighs. “This is a hard ask.”

“I know.” Ned doesn’t care. It’s in memory of his father. His father wanted more for the North, and Ned wants to help fulfill his dreams, just in his own way. “But the Night’s Watch’s power has slowly receded since Queen Alysanne gave the land to them. The land has not been utilized 

since. In the North, we need to utilize any available land for crops. Please return the New Gift.” 

 He doesn’t remember who the current Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch is, but Ned is certain that the man isn’t going to care. Ned wasn’t wrong; he stated that the New Gift was essentially abandoned. The Umbers and Karstarks have been quite determined to get it back. 

 Both the Greatjon and Rickard have helped Ned immensely in the Rebellion. Even if Ned has the same number of children as last time, he’ll only be able to give out a number of marriage alliances, so he needs to start thinking of other means to appease the lords who fought so fiercely for him. 

 “This is a great ask, but I shall see what I can do, Lord Stark. Is there something else?” 

 If Rhaegar thought that the return of the New Gift was shocking, wait until he hears the next ask.  

 “I would ask the crown to sponsor the rebuilding of Moat Cailin.” 

 The castle is a great ruin, left in this condition ever since the conquest. There’d been half-hearted attempts before the conquest to rebuild the castle, but the projects had been abandoned for one reason or another. 

 Ned wanted the Moat to function similarly to the Bloody Gate and the Keeper of the Gates of the Moon; the Lord Stark would choose the best commander, who would then handle the daily tasks, and the castle would still remain under Stark control. 

 Ned no longer knows what the future holds. He’s changed too much, but he’s learnt this. The rest of the realm underestimates the North. His quest from the Gods is still uncertain. He believes that since he hasn’t moved to the afterlife yet, he will remain here. 

 To continue his father’s dreams to strengthen the North and ensure that Robb’s inheritance is robust, Ned has to work. His mistake last time was not putting in the effort. 

 He did what was demanded of him as a lord, but he did not listen to his ambitions.

 Now, Ned has plans. He’s going to protect his family and the North. 

 “Are you planning on rebelling against the Crown again, Stark?” Connington demands. “The only use for Moat Cailin is as a chokepoint!”

Connington isn’t wrong, but Ned isn’t going to admit it. It’s mostly been used as a chokepoint to stop Andal invasions in the past, but Ned hadn’t planned on using it to foment a revolt. 

 It’s a matter of pride. A great castle of the North that the Kingsroad goes through is in abysmal condition. Ned hates it. It’s an embarrassment to the North. 

 “The Bloody Gate and the Goldentooth are also natural chokepoints, Lord Connington.” Ned glares at the Hand. He still hasn’t gotten over his defeat at the Stoney Sept. “I do not see the Crown demanding the Arryns or the Lannisters to let these places fall into disrepair.” 

 Connington glowers, flushing at the admonishment. 

 Ned turns back to Rhaegar. “The Kingsroad runs past Moat Cailin. It’s been a concern for many previous Lord Starks that the instability of the castle will inevitably injure merchants travelling upon the road.”

 It’s not an entire lie. 

 The conditions are bad, but previous Lord Starks haven’t been terribly concerned. The true benefit of rebuilding is the ability to collect tolls. 

 “The preservation of the quality of the Kingsroad is tantamount,” Rhaegar agrees. 

 It’s amusing. Rhaegar can’t truly turn down Ned’s demands, as it was part of their negotiations. His act of generosity is all it is, an act. Watching Rhaegar find the words to fit his narrative is hilarious. Ned wonders how he’s going to try to twist it to his benefit. 

 “I cannot allow for such a sum of money to leave the treasury so soon after the war, and as we are rebuilding other parts of the realm, but rest assured that you will have the amount needed to ensure that Moat Cailin is presentable condition.”

 There it is, presentable. Rhaegar won’t give Ned enough money to put it into working condition, just good enough condition to make sure it doesn’t kill any unsuspecting travellers. 

 Ned’ll have to front the money for the rest of the renovations. 

 Asshole.

 “Your magnanimity is very generous, your Majesty.”

 Before Rhaegar's responses, the doors to the Great Hall creak open. Ned stands in surprise, joining everyone in looking at the entrance. 

 At the entrance is an entourage dressed all in red and gold. In the center, looking vibrant as Ned’s ever seen her, is Elia. Her skin is warm and healthy. Her hair is thick and shiny, loose under a red translucent fabric with golden embellishments, and glittering rubies twinkle through her dark locks. Around her throat and waist are thick strands of golden chains studded with rubies and orange topazes. Her dress is warm red, the thin layers of fabric lying neatly on top of each other, secured by a thick golden belt emblazoned with a sigil of a burning sun. 

 Aegon is sleeping in her arms, swaddled in a matching red blanket with his silver hair peeking out. 

 Oberyn is on her right, escorting her, wearing a similarly bright outfit, attempting to show off the might and wealth of Dorne. 

 An older woman is carrying Rhaenys, likely a nanny, wearing a simple red and black dress with golden accents. Her dark hair is braided out of her face, and her warm brown eyes are watching the Hall with fascination. 

 “My Lord Husband.” Elia’s tone is warm, but there’s an edge of bitterness to it. She and her entourage bow before the Iron Throne. “Forgive us for being late, but your wife and children have returned home.” 

 Oberyn must be seething with rage to bow before Rhaegar. Ned’s wondering how he can cope with it. 

 “Hi, papa!” Rhaenys calls. 

 Ned watches Rhaegar get up from the Throne. He doesn’t look particularly happy or displeased. More as if he was going through the motions of what’s required of him. “Hello, my dear.” He takes his daughter from her nanny. 

 There’s an audible coo from the courtiers. Ned grits his teeth. These people don’t know that Rhaegar pretty much abandoned his children. 

 “My dear, it heartens me to see you and our children hale and safe. My thanks, Ser Oberyn, for ensuring the safety of my Queen.” 

 It seems that the realm at large accepts that Oberyn braved the rage of the Mad King and saved his sister. 

 Ned’s grateful. He’d resigned himself to becoming the center of attention and probing questions about his allegiances, but he’s grateful that he doesn’t have to deal with that. 

 “Of course, Your Majesty.” Oberyn’s voice is cold but polite. “I’d do anything for my dear sister. ” Ned wonders what their relationship was like before the war, because now it was irretrievably ruined, judging by the pinched look in Rhaegar’s eyes. “I’ve brought gifts.” 

 “Oh?” Rhaegar looks worried. 

 Ned catches sight of servants holding oaken boxes, and his stomach sinks. It has to be done, but he’s not ready for it. 

 “While patrolling the Dornish passes, my retinue found something most disturbing. Kingsguard cloaked in secrecy, haunting the Tower of Joy!” Oberyn tuts, there’s a vicious look in his eyes when he spots Rhaegar’s visible flinch. “When confronted, I was worried that your father had ordered these men to infiltrate Dorne with the mission to remove the heads of myself and my brother’s, crippling your support. The truth, unfortunately, my King, was much worse.”

Oberyn has the hall enraptured. Everyone knew that the King had lost his mind. Courtiers and lords love hearing these sorts of stories. It also helps that Oberyn is a rather beguiling man, used to the attention and able to use it to his advantage.

 “These traitorous Kingsguard, instead of protecting your wife and children, your heirs! They chose to uphold the decrees of their previous commander.”

Ned can hear Doran’s words coming from Oberyn’s mouth. Pinning the deaths of the Lord Commander and two Kingsguard on Aerys is a neat way to wipe Oberyn’s culpability for his actions. And Rhaegar won’t be able to refute it without severing ties with one of the few regions that support him. 

 “And what command was this?” Rhaegar’s voice is painfully calm. 

 “The King had commanded these men to detain…the Lady Lyanna Stark.” Oberyn gives Ned a painfully apologetic smile. Ned swallows but doesn’t say anything, not yet. “It seems that he did not want the Lady returned to her family, an excuse, I suppose, to continue the war.” 

 Every eye turns to Ned. It seems that it’s his turn. “Where’s my sister?” His voice his rough, and he hears it waver. He’s playing along with the Dornish murmmer, but the feelings are real. 

 Oberyn’s impervious face wavers. He’s a good actor. 

 “Where is my sister, Ser Martell?” The tears that Ned’s been fighting to keep under control after seeing Ice and his family’s remains surge up. Oberyn’s solemn face is blurred from the tears. 

 The Dornish retinue parts, and Ned sees a gorgeous box. It’s made of dark wood with silver inlay curling around the corners, creating winter roses on the lid. Lyanna. 

 He sees the man holding Lya’s remains and jolts. It’s Mark. He’s wearing a Dornish-style helmet that reveals his face but covers his neck with chain mail, with an orange and red turban wrapped around the helmet. 

 What’s he doing here? A sliver of dread runs down Ned’s spine. 

 Was Jon okay? 

 Where’s Howland? 

 Gods. He knows that Lyanna is dead. He was there. He held her as she died, but seeing her reduced to just this box is gut-wrenching. For the remainder of the war, he’d been able to ignore the pain of losing his sister again and was able to focus on winning, but now he can’t. He’s forced to live with the knowledge that he was a failure of a brother all over again, with nothing to distract him. 

“The child?” That’s what Rhaegar cares about? Not the fact that he ended the life of a five-and-ten girl to merely state his lusts? 

 Oberyn silently shakes his head. 

 “You promised.” His voice is hard as he tries to keep his emotions under control. He looks to Rhaegar, who is frazzled at Lyanna’s appearance. “You promise my sister was safe!” He roars, his anger seeping into his words. 

 “Lord Stark—” 

 “The reason I agreed to peace was to have my sister back! And yet, I see I’ve been duped!” Ned grits his teeth, uncomfortable with the eyes on him. 

 “That is not what happened!” Rhaegar retorted, his pale face flushing. 

 “Then how did rogue Kingsguards find and steal my sister?”

At that, Rhaegar has nothing to say. He cannot tell Ned, in front of everyone, in front of his wife, that he’s the one who stood by and allowed the Kingsguard to keep Lyanna locked away. That he, for some godsforsaken reason, demanded that some of the best knights in the realm sit out of the war. 

 “And what will the Crown offer House Stark, for yet another loss to our house?” Ned demands. “My sister’s life had no reason be in danger, yet I find that she died in the deserts of Dorne!” 

 He’d thought about pressuring the crown to let him build a naval force on their eastern shores. The West was already filled with naval forces, from the Ironborn, the Lannister fleet, and the various coalitions of the Reach. However, the East doesn’t have a strong naval force, just the Royal Navy. Ned isn’t sure if he’d give command to the Manderlys or the Karstarks. The Manderlys already have a stranglehold on the Northern maritime trade, and Ned wouldn’t want to add to it. But it wouldn’t make sense to give it to another house that lacks the necessary experience. 

 However, Ned would like to give whatever he gained from Lya’s death to Jon, as a sort of inheritance, a pitiful means to make up for the lack of a mother.  Perhaps he should negotiate with the Karstarks or the Umbers to acquire a piece of land for himself and grant a keep to Jon to establish a new household. 

 “Aegon!” Elia cuts in before Rhaegar could say anything. 

 Ned blinks in confusion at Elia. What about Aegon? He looked down at the babe, who was somehow still asleep, then back to Elia, who looks worried. 

 “House Stark shall have the honour of Prince Aegon’s wardship as a means to apologize for what happened to Lady Stark.” 

 “Your Grace!” Jon Connington cuts in. “This is preposterous! As Lord Hand, I cannot sit by and allow this offer to be made. Do remember that Lord Stark was a former rebel. ” 

 “Lord Stark,” Hoster cuts in, glaring at Jon Connington. “Was the Lord who pushed for peace between the rebels and the crown. He has shown admirable restraint and a capacity for forgiveness that many Lords do not care to develop, Lord Connington. Prince Aegon would do well learning these traits.” 

 The idea of raising the Crown Prince sounds exhausting, and this offer would benefit Elia more than Ned, but seeing her desperation, he can’t bring himself to say no. He understands, he too, wouldn’t want his children raised in the capital. 

 “I accept,” Ned says gruffly, cutting off the King before he can speak. 

 He’ll have to procure the funds for Jon’s keep somewhere else.

 “I will take Prince Aegon as a ward when the time comes. Thank you for honouring House Stark and the North for this honour, Your Graces.” He bows to the King and Queen. 

 Rhaegar can’t exactly say no, now. Peace is fragile. Ned is the reason he has this peace, and he knows it. Ned bargained with the other rebels for peace, and he’s the one who captured Tywin. Combined with Ned’s demand for Lyanna back, and unable to commit to this act, Rhaegar has to say yes to the wardship without going back on his word, a terrible look for a lord, in such a public setting. House Stark suffered the most during the Rebellion, and it was House Stark that won Rhaegar his crown. 

 “The honour is ours, Lord Stark.” Rhaegar appears enraged beneath his calm façade.

 “Don’t worry, Your Majesty,” Oberyn cuts in, looking dangerous as ever. “Because of our actions, my brother and I have found a replacement for Ser Dayne on the Kingsguard. He was one of ours, after all. May I have the honour of introducing, Ser Mors Manwoody. One of the finest knights I have met, and loyal to the bone.” 

 He waves someone forward, and a man steps out that Ned recognizes. He was one of the knights who accompanied Oberyn to the Tower of Joy. He kneels in front of Rhaegar. 

 Rhaegar looks stuck. He likely does not want someone loyal to Dorne in the Kingsguard, but, again, it would be hard for him to turn Ser Manwoody down in front of everyone lest he accuse the Queen’s brothers of plotting against him.  

 He gives Oberyn and Ser Manwoody a tight smile. “Ser Selmy shall have the final honours of deciding if Ser Manwoody is a right fit for the Kingsguard.” 

 “Of course, Your Majesty,” Oberyn simpers. “We only wish to help fill the vacancy that we caused.” 

 Ned is certain that both Martell siblings will be pushing Rhaegar to accept Ser Mandwoody as per the terms of Elia’s betrothal contract. 

 The court took some time to settle after the arrival of the Queen; her children were sent off to their nurseries before the Kingsl—no, Jaime is brought out. Ned has to deviate between the two mentally. The Kingslayer was an arrogant cunt, who thought that because his sister was Queen and his father had his back, he could attack Ned and his household without repercussions. Jaime Lannister, the boy in front of him, was seven-and-ten and frightened. 

 He’d been stripped of his white cloak and armour, and his golden curls were dirty from sleeping in the Black Cells. His emerald eyes, once bright with fury, are now glassy with resignation. 

 The court erupts in whispers at the sight of the son of the proud lion now humbled. Ned wants to feel pleased at the humiliation he caused the Lannisters after all the grief that they’ve given him, but looking at the former heir of Casterly Rock, he feels none of it. 

 He hates politics so much. 

 “Jaime Lannister.” Rhaegar looks regal from atop the Iron Throne. He peers at the crumpled knight before him. “Do you know why you’ve been brought forth?”

 “I do, Your Majesty.” Jaime keeps his head bowed. Elia, from the base of the Iron Throne, looks at the man with pity. “I killed my king, King Aerys, forsaking my oaths as a Kingsguard. I freely admit to my treason. Take my head, Your Majesty and do not feel troubled by it.” 

 Rhaegar looks troubled despite Jaime’s plea. “You committed treason, for the sake of the Realm. What you did was abhorrent, but without your actions and later confession, we would not know of the wildfire that my father hid. Nor would we have been able to take the Red Keep with so minimal casualties. For these actions I would pardon you, however, the Oaths of the Kingsguard prevents me. I wish to give you the chance to reclaim the honour that you’ve lost for what you did was the epitatmy of how a knight is supposed to act. So, I give you a choice. Face your execution or take the oaths of a member of the Night’s Watch and stick to them.” 

 So, Rhaegar took Ned’s advice in the end. He offered Jaime a chance at redemption. A chance, judging by the look on Jaime’s face, that most kings would not give. 

 “I–” Jaime frowns, heavy with contemplation. He clears his throat and looks up to Rhaegar. “If Your Majesty believes that I can redeem myself through the Night’s Watch then I shall trade my soiled white cloak for a black one.” 

 “Very well. I do hope you redeem yourself, Ser Jaime. You had such potenial.”

 Jaime hangs his head, accepting his fate as guards pull him away from the Great Hall. 

 There’s a hushed tension in the room as everyone waits for Tywin Lannister to appear. 

 Unlike his son, Tywin was given a modicum of respect while in captivity. He was stripped of his armour and anything deemed dangerous but was provided with a room, perhaps not as luxurious as he was used to, but any room is better than being in the Black Cells. 

 Ned wasn’t given the same treatment, despite being a Great Lord himself. 

 The guards force Tywin to his knees in front of Rhaegar. Tywin doesn’t cower; he just remains kneeling there, glaring at the steps of the Iron Throne. 

 What worried Ned was that the Mountain and Lorch were still not accounted for. 

 Where are they? 

 It lasts a second, but Ned sees Tywin glance at Elia. he flinches in surprise…as if he didn’t expect her to be here. Had Tywin sent them after her in a desperate attempt to make Rhaegar a widow? 

 “Tywin Lannister.” There’s no empathy in Rhaegar’s voice. “Explain yourself.” 

 “I was at war, Your Majesty.” 

 Please, Tywin had no reason to join their side. Tywin was like Hoster; he’d only join when it became profitable for him. Hoster’s redeeming quality is that he’s not an insufferable, arrogant toerag. 

 “So were the other rebelling lords. However, I don’t think that you rebelled for the same reasons. You were not affected by my father’s madness.” 

 “My son was stolen from me,” Tywin argues. Ned can hear it in his voice that Tywin is enraged by this spectacle. “Your father…his slights to House Lannister were discreet, but still happened. I have dedicated years to his service, and have been constantly belittled and ignored for my efforts in keeping the Realm together. He made a fool of me!” 

 “Your son voluntarily joined the Kingsguard, Lord Tywin, and you have another son to take his place as heir. To argue that you suffered to the same degree as the other great Lords is arrogant beyond reproach. Yet, out of all the rebels, your actions were the most grave. Further, if you speak the truth, and your actions were against my father, why did you not agree to peace when I sent terms?” 

 The Hall is silent as a grave as everyone waits for Tywin’s response. 

 “I was promised,” Tywin grits out. 

 “Promised what?” Rhaegar demands. 

 “That my daughter would be queen if I held the city!” 

 “Promised by who?” Rhaegar looks incensed. He slams his hands against the throne and stands, his face blotchy with anger. 

 Tywin says nothing. The implication is clear. Someone wanted the rebellion to continue, put Stannis on the Throne, and have Cersei as his Queen. 

 There are two names out of the most likely suspects that Ned can summon who would want this. Jon Arryn and Cedrik Estermont. 

 “Your Majesty!” Stannis colours with rage. “I rebuke this accusation! I bent the knee, and I mean it. I do not wish the Iron Throne. Remaining the steward of the Stormlands is all that I desire!” 

 Rhaegar raises a hand to stop Stannis’s rant. “I know, Lord Baratheon. The war was hard on the Stormlands. This plot would only continue it. I admire your dedication to your people.”

 All things considered, it might’ve been Cedrik. He was the most reluctant to bend the knee and the most vocal about Ned turning traitor. Promising Cersei to Stannis would be a way to get Tywin on side. 

 However, how did he manage to send a message to Tywin? 

 Ned sighs, shaking himself out of this train of thought. It’s not his problem anymore. It’s Rhaegar’s. 

 Rhaegar is silent for a couple of moments and then sighs. “An investigation shall be undertaken to determine the veracity of your statement. However, Lord Tywin, it does not erase your actions. You are still culpable for what you did, and you shall be punished.”

 Ned hopes that Tywin will be executed, but given how Rhaegar acted, it’s likely not going to happen. The execution of a Great Lord would drastically alter his reign; Ned would never recommend it. 

 “Your son, Tyrion Lannister,” Tywin snarles at the mention of his dwarf son. “Shall be named heir, and will remain your heir. Further, effective immediately, he shall become a ward of the Crown. You and the rest of your family, your daughter, your brothers, nieces and nephews, cannot be married without Royal permission. Your nephews shall become squires of one of my knights once they becomes old enough, to ensure their loyalty to their future Lord and their King.” 

 While making Tyrion Tywin’s official heir and making him a ward of the crown, and then further limiting the rest of Tywin’s family, is a good way to stop Tywin from scheming, it’s not enough, in Ned’s opinion. 

 “The Crown shall take over collecting taxes in the Westerlands, while Casterly Rock’s taxes will increase ten percent for fifteen years.”

 A lord’s tax is based on movable goods that his estate produces and then sells, things like timber, wool, stone, and, in the Lannisters’ case, gold. Typically, the tax is set at fifteen percent of the market rate of the item. It varies, lords like the Hightowers and those who largely live in urban areas are decreased to about ten percent. The Crown’s tax is, normally, fifteen percent of the Great Lord’s revenue, along with a percentage taken from the rest of Westerland’s taxes paid to the current Lord Lannister. Rhaegar is demanding an astronomical amount from Tywin. Ned doesn’t think he has ever heard of a case where personal taxes were raised by ten percent for such a long period of time. 

 It’s surprising, actually, that Rhaegar hasn’t put a land tax on the others, essentially lords having to pay tax to keep their land, rather than just the movable goods. It’s not a common tax; however, King Jaehaerys I and Daeron II placed rather unpopular land taxes on the lords to help rebuild the treasuries after they claimed their thrones. 

 Ned’s not going to say that the Lannisters are going to go broke, but they’re going to suffer financially for the rest of Prince Aegon’s minority.

 “An audit done by men of my choosing shall be done at random at my pleasure, to ensure that you are remaining loyal to my decree. If you are found to be shirking the burden of your punishment or scheming against the crown, then all of your claims shall be forfeited, and you will be exiled upon pain of death, never to return to the Seven Kingdoms. Do you accept this?”  

 “I accept your conditions, Your Majesty.” It looks like it pains Tywin to say those words. It must anger him that he was the only one of the rebelling lords to be punished to such a degree. Rhaegar is using him as an example. He can be merciful if he chooses, but it will not be the second time. 

 “Be thankful, Lord Tywin. That my wife and children were not here during the sack, or else your head would be adorning Traitor’s Row.” Rhaegar stands, glaring at the man. “Court dismissed!” He yells, walking off, with Jon Connington following him. 

 The whisperings grow, and despite being dismissed, Ned still feels the eyes of everyone on him. 

 Oberyn walks over with Elia on his arm, giving Ned a genuine look of apology. “I am truly sorry, Lord Stark, about your sister. The idea of losing one's family…” he looks over to Elia, who gives Ned a sad smile. 

 “Thank you, Ser Martell, for giving me the chance to bring her home. Lyanna would appreciate being able to be put to rest in our ancestral home.” 

 “I shall have someone deliver her to your rooms for you,” Elia says, beckoning a servant over to help Mark. Mark gave him a silent nod, taking Lyanna before ambling off. “Thank you, Ned, for agreeing,” Elia whispers. 

 Ned gives her a nod in return, still a little bewildered. He can only watch as Elia moves to join her husband. 

 Oberyn gives Ned a little nod before following his sister. 

 He sighs, rubbing his face, turning and coming face-to-face with Stannis. He sighs. Yet another thing he must deal with. He doesn’t want to leave the South before speaking with him. Stannis lost his brother and unexpectedly became the Lord of the Stormlands. The loss must be hard on him. What’s worse is that Ned deprived him of a good man and friend in Davos Seaworth. To make up for what Ned’s done to Stannis’s life, he wants to make sure that his mind is clear before returning home. 

 “Will you dine with me tonight, Lord Baratheon?”

 Stannis bows his head. “I accept the invitation, Lord Stark. It seems we have a lot to speak on.”

 Ned’s grateful. He then turns to the present Northern Lords. All of them look excited. Ned isn’t entirely pleased to know that his Lords are pleased at the prospect of his family’s suffering, but he understands where they’re coming from. 

 It’s been too long since the North has received any attention from the rest of the realm; now, they’ve got heaps. 

 “Stark!” Greatjon cheers. “Never in my lifetime would I dream to see the Gift returned!” Beside him, Rickard looks pleased as well. 

 Ned gives him a tight smile. “I appreciate all that the Night’s Watch has done for us, but that does not change the neglect those lands faced. It’s a thanks. To you and Rickard, for fighting so valiantly in the war.” 

 “Ned!” Greatjon claps Ned on the shoulders, hard. Ned tries not to tumble from the force of it. “You don’t have to do this.”

 Yes, he does. If Ned hadn’t weaselled anything out of the King, then his vassals would’ve looked at him with scorn, undermining Ned in the years to come. 

 He knows his vassals too well. They would’ve resented him for being weak and gaining nothing in return. 

 Torrhen Stark knelt, and he’s still mocked in the North for his actions, despite it saving so many. 

 With the return of the New Gift, he’s placated the Umbers, who’d be the strongest detractors after the Boltons, and brought the Karstarks, who have blood claims to Winterfell, no matter how distant, to his side. 

 Now, Ned has to figure out what to do for the rest of his vassals. 

 His main concerns, other than the Boltons, are the Ryswells and the Manderlys. Wyman’s support was crucial in this war. The Manderlys are loyal, but Ned can’t overlook them simply because they’re loyal. 

 As for the Ryswells? Ned has simply no idea what to do for them. 

 “Who will get the Moat?” Roose asks. 

 Of course, it’s him who asks. “As of yet, no one, Lord Bolton, but do not let this be a slight. I will ensure that each of you is rewarded for your efforts in this war.” 

Ned wouldn’t say that it mollifies Roose, as there’s still a sense of hunger deep in those eyes, but it patches the wound for now. Ned will have to figure out what to do with Roose. He was a vital commander in the war, and if he neglects him, then he’s sure to grow to resent Ned, and no Stark wants a resentful Bolton at their doorstep. 

 But what can Ned give Roose? He can’t give him Moat Cailin, that has to stay in Stark hands. 

Maybe Ned could offer wardship of his son? From what he remembers, Domeric spent part of his youth as a page for Barbrey Dustin before becoming a ward of Yohn Royce. Maybe Roose would be amenable to having Domeric in Winterfell instead? Ned is hesitant to offer any marriage proposals. He doesn’t know if he’ll have his children again, and even if he does, he’s unsure about their suitability. He doesn’t know if Sansa would thrive in the Dreadfort. The better solution would be to propose Arya and Dromeric, but the age gap is too much for Ned. 

 Willam shoves his way to the front. He slings an arm around Ned’s shoulders. “Enough politicking! Come, let us celebrate.” 

 Ned gives his friend a tired grin, allowing him to be ushered out of the Great Hall, trying to ignore the eyes of the envious lords. The North was handed one of the most elusive gifts, which, as far as Ned knows, has never happened. 

 He’s going to have to start saving. 

 Raising the next King… the idea is daunting. Ned hopes that he has what it takes. Elia trusted him with this over her brother. While he dreads educating the prince, Ned remembers his last Crown Prince all too well; he is pleased, deep down, that he could see what kind of man he’d become and possibly correct some of his behaviour before it has a chance to become unwieldy. 

 He wants Prince Aegon, sixth of his name, to become a good king, for the sake of his mother. Elia’s been nothing but kind and gracious. He doesn’t want to disappoint her. 

 Ned’s got ten years to put the North in order. He can do this. 

                                                                                                                                                                                        ****

 Stannis is punctual. Ned likes that about the man. He doesn’t waste others’ time. The servant on loan to Ned, probably one of Varys’, though Ned hasn’t seen the eunuch since they retook the castle, rushed to answer the door. 

 “Lord Stark.” Stannis inclines his head. 

 “Lord Baratheon.” Ned sighs. “May we do without formalities?” He asks wearily.

 “If you insist.” Stannis doesn’t look bothered either way. He takes his seat, indicating for Ned to take his spot. 

 It doesn’t take long for the servants to come with their dinners. They eat in uncomfortable silence, the sounds of their cutlery filling the air. Ned eyes the servants, waiting off to the side. He doesn’t want to say anything in front of them. The spider has ears everywhere. Ned doesn’t know where this conversation is going to head. 

 Neither of them speaks until their plates are cleared and they’re sipping on wine. Ned indicates to Stannis to join him on the small balcony provided. 

 He doesn’t know how to broach the topics he wants to discuss. He and Stannis were never close, even in Ned’s last life. 

 “I would like to extend my condolences, Stannis. You must be incredibly infuriated with this situation.” 

 “I am.” Stannis puts down his goblet with a heavy thud. “My brother dies, and yet you make peace. It angers me beyond belief that he can be forgotten in such a manner. His character is being besmirched, and Lords who’ve never met him think that they are qualified to speak about him without reproach. It angered me when I first got the letter speaking of peace, that Robert’s dear brother, Eddard Stark, was the lord leading the charge. You took my place as his brother in his heart, and you sued for peace after what your lords saw in the Stormlands. I hated you, and it angered me that you chose this option.” He lets out an aggravated sigh, running his hand through his already thinning hair. “What makes me the angriest is that I cannot fault you, Lord Eddard for your choices. My people are starving.” 

 “Robert and I’s relationship was complicated towards the end, but I’ll always cherish the memories we created in the Vale. I never wanted to……I just wanted the fighting to stop. Call me a craven, a bastard, I deserve it, but I just wish to return home.” 

 Stannis’s eyes flicker to where Ned’s family were gently placed in a place of honour and nods. “I do not doubt your bravery, Lord Stark.” 

 Ned clears his throat, looking over Blackwater Bay. “Robert loved you. I will not argue that he loved you more, for I do not know the contents of his heart, but I know this, Lord Stannis. Not once did Robert ever fear that you’d usurp him. He trusted the care of the Stormlands to you once you came of age. He never spoke of worry or acted in fear. Looking back, I could say that he took you for granted, but he trusted you. It may not be the love that you crave, yet, it ought to count for something.” 

 Stannis is quiet for a couple of moments. Ned lets him soak this in peace, sipping his wine as Stannis thinks. 

 “He called me reliable once.” He laughs. It’s more of a scornful laugh than anything. Robert was foolish for mocking his brother. Ned never understood why he gave Stannis Dragonstone after the war. Stannis failed to capture Rhaella and her children, but Stannis was still his brother. Robert should’ve been fucking over the moon to end the war with both of his brothers alive. “Reliable Stannis,” he mutters. 

 Ned isn’t sure what to say. He’s not good at comforting. 

 Stannis sighs. “I suppose that it is time to be reliable once again.” He taps his nails against the railing. “What of his bastard in the Vale?” 

 “Mya?” Stannis nods. Ned frowns, thinking of the little girl. “Her mother was a commoner. A serving girl, if I remember correctly.” Robert lost interest in her mother quickly, but still expressed affection for his daughter. They visited her often. It was because of Mya that Lyanna cooled in her affections for Robert. “Why do you ask?” 

 “She may be baseborn, Lord Eddard, but she is still Robert’s daughter. She is a member of House Baratheon. I would see that she is comfortable.” 

 “Will you legitimize her?” 

 “No. At least, not for now. It would not do her good for the King to know that there is an available bride from our house. I would keep his legacy safe.” 

 Ned blinks, taking a couple of moments to register, and then smiles. “If you speak with Jon Arryn, I’m sure that he could arrange to have Mya and her mother,” he looks pointedly at the man. “Sent to the Stormlands. Though if you were to speak with him, I’d advice leaving my name out. He’s rather upset with me.”

“Yes, he rather is. He spoke to me after court. Him and my uncle.” 

 Ned scowls, draining his wine. He doesn’t know what to think of Jon anymore. He wants to believe that Jon is being honourable, but his actions chafe at Ned. It was only Hoster who truly helped Ned. Jon, despite agreeing to the peace and accepting the king’s boon and a position on the Small Council, did little to help reclaim King’s Landing. 

 He rubs his face, trying to ignore his frustrations with Jon. “Back to Mya, be careful. The Queen of Thornes isn’t going to gamble with her daughter’s safety.” 

 Ned has never met Olenna Tyrell, but he has heard the stories. He doesn’t know if they’re true or not, but he doesn’t want to gamble with Mya’s safety. 

 “Yes…” Stannis scowls. “My blushing bride.” 

 “I don’t mean to be condescending…but…” Ned winces. He doesn’t. Stannis is a clever man, and Ned is doing this for his own guilty conscious, he’ll freely admit this. “Treat Lady Tyrell kindly. Her brother is vicious and cruel for what he did, but she’s not her brother.”

 “I know.” Stannis looks displeased. Ned hopes that it's more because the King ordered his marriage rather than the lady herself. “She is a pawn in their games. She’ll be a Baratheon soon, away from their scheming.”

 Ned wants to point out that taking her away from her family may be as bad as being stuck in their scheming. He doesn’t voice those thoughts, not wanting to overstep.

“Robert wouldn’t have an issue,” Stannis mutters.

 Robert would take Janna Tyrell to bed easily, but he wouldn’t treat her well. He’d rage at being forced to marry against his will to a girl who wasn’t Lyanna. He doubts that Janna would act like Cersei, exacerbating Robert’s attitude, but it would not be a marriage of love.  

 Ned believes that Stannis may have a skewed perception of his brother…much like Ned had.  

 “I dare say Robert’s response would be to take up his warhammer and smash through his enemies, not particularly applicable in this scenario.” 

 Stannis snorts, a sound unbecoming of a man of his gravity, and inclines his head. “He was not one for diplomacy.” 

 There’s a spark of mirth deep in those dark eyes. Something that wasn’t there earlier. It makes Ned feel a little better knowing that Stannis had a chance to alleviate his burdens, even if it was for a little while.  

 “This is little consolation to the brother you lost, Stannis, but if you wish to have a sympathetic ear, send a raven north. We both…” Ned thinks of Brandon’s empty room and the courtyard that’ll be too silent once he returns. It’ll be impossible to replace the brothers they lost. 

 “We are both second sons who inherited great burdens.” 

 Ned gives the other man a tired smile. “I couldn’t have put it better myself.” 

 “I will…take it into consideration.” No doubt it would upset Stannis to turn to the man Robert liked more than him for advice, but Ned simply just wants to help. He does not care if it comes across as overbearing or meddling; he just wants to help. That way, he can close the book on his life with Robert and move forward. 

 Ignoring the hurt doesn’t help. He’s tried that, and he doesn’t like the result. It is time to become something new, and change for his family.