I do not own ASOIAF, and this will be my first attempt at an ASOIAF fanfic. The point of this story is to write of a different dynasty ruling Westeros, or rather two separate ones. These first few chapters will act as a prologue to what I have in Mind. The goal is to set up two Kingdoms, one of the North, and one of the South.
283 AC
Eddard Stark
Ice was his father's blade for decades, the blade of his brother by right, and now his blade by duty. Ice was far more than dragon forged steel, more than a priceless artifact, and much more than a tool of war. Ice was the North. As northern as the Starks of Winterfell or the Old Gods. Ice was the family blade of the Starks, the Lords of the North for centuries. Before that, the blade of Kings of Winter for thousands of years.
Every Stark Lord held the blade at some point in their life. Bran the Builder was the first Stark, and likewise, he was the first to wield the blade. Theon Stark, the Hungry Wolf, held the blade in hand as he fought back the Ironborn. Every king of Winter, every lord of Winterfell, and every Stark used Ice. Eddard Stark was not different to them in any notable way. Except, he was different than one Stark. Torrhen Stark, the King who knelt.
Near 300 years ago, Torrhen Stark knelt to the Targaryen invaders. Eddard is the first Stark to stand against the Dragon Lords in 300 years, and the first Stark to break his oath to the Targaryans.
Now on the Trident, a literal hellscape, he fought with Ice for the North, and for his family. He fought valiantly and with courage, yet he was hardly the only one.
The Greatjon Umber, Roose Bolton, Maege Mormont, Rickard Karstark, Howland Reed, Lord Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell, all followed him into battle. Half the Lords of the North were with their liege lord. They fought for the North, and they fought together.
They should be fighting for Brandon or Father, but the Mad King gave them no choice, Ned thought solemnly. Now they stood in the ruins of their enemy's vanguard. There was no time for contemplating the past, only in preparing for the battles to come.
Ned Stark always hated battle. The smell of shit and death invaded his nostrils. He had little previous experience with war. But even in his youth, the stories horrified him to a certain extent. In the past, he could never comprehend the point of sacrificing thousands of lives for power. Now he understood war a bit better, this wasn't a war for power. It was a war for justice. Justice for his father, his brother, and his dear sister Lyanna. Justice for the North, and justice for the Stormlands. At least that's what he always thought. Now, his blade dripped with blood, his shoes were dirtied with shit and death, and he couldn't help but wonder about his definition of justice. The farmer he just killed, was that justice? Was it justice to kill the men who fought bravely for their King? He frankly couldn't say.
"My Lord," Roose exclaimed, even now his voice barely above a whisper, "We should head back, were too far ahead of our own forces. If we're not careful, we'll be surrounded." His sword was glistening crimson, and his doublet was ripped and torn in the front. Just like Eddard, he only wore light armor, which consisted of ringmail and dark boiled leather. The Flayed Man of House Bolton was emblazoned on a leather sash which fastened his Cloak.
"Piss on that Stark, you're no Craven." The GreatJon Umber exclaimed. In the brief period, they knew each other, Ned found the man extremely honorable and loyal to a fault. The only issue was the man was a bit too eager to prove himself. "If we keep this up, there won't be an Army left to stop us. After we shatter these flowery southerners, we can march straight to King's Landing. We'll end that tyrannical Bastard like he did Lord Rickard." His voice dropped off, unsure if he should mention his former Liege Lords tragic Death. "Pardons, My Lord," He mumbled softly.
"Possibly, or someone could get Lucky and deliver a spear to Lord Stark's Chest." Roose Bolton made a point of ignoring the glares his fellow northerners sent his way. "Regardless, all of us would be safer by our own lines. I rather be an alive craven, then a dead hero."
"We all know you rather be a craven Bolton," The Greatjon growled out.
"If you wish to be dead, you might get your wish sooner than you think Umber" Bolton stated calmly, not even turning to meet the Greatjon's gaze.
"Aye, you both have valid points." Ned stepped in before the argument could spiral out of hand. His father always taught him, it was a lords duty to keep the peace. "We'll move back, but we won't go behind our own lines. Our men won't fight for us if we won't fight for them." His fellow lords nodded in agreement. He gestured for his men to fall back with him.
As Ned turned his back on the battle, something felt amiss. Maege Mormont let out a gasp of surprise, her hand rising to cover her mouth as soon as it was released. Ned simply looked over, eyes widening slightly as he turned. Ned's grip on Ice tightened, his knuckles turning white as he did, he ran forward ignoring the yells of his bannerman to wait. A feeling a shock and fear surged through the lord's body as he ran forward, ignoring the weight of his armor, and pushing himself harder than he ever had before.
Prince Rhaegar stood triumphantly, his sword raised in the air. The blade slashed downwards cutting deeply into the injured form of Robert Baratheon. The man Ned considered his brother was dead on his feet. Instead of parrying the slash with his Warhammer, he simply stepped back. It wasn't lethal, but it certainly ended the fight. Robert's antlered helm was knocked to the side, and the sigil on his chest was more red then yellow at this point. The last slash of Prince Rhaegar's blade cut through his armor like cheap tin. The glint of Valyrian steel shone from Rhaegar's blade.
Ned's feet bounded forward, reinvigorated with a strength he didn't know he had. Ice cut through foe after foe as his bannermen began to trail behind. As Ned moved forward, he caught a glimpse of a white cloak heading towards his side. He had no time to turn and meet the member of the Kingsguard head on. Luckily, Maege Mormont's morningstar swung out, forcing the knight to move back. Before the Kingsguard could strike again, Roose Bolton joined the fight, followed by the other Northerners.
Lewyn Martell, Barristan Selmy, and Jon Darry clashed with Ned's bannerman. It was ten against three, and Ned still didn't like their odds. Ned continued to run past the Kingsguard as his own men clashed against them. He only stopped briefly to block a strike by Lewyn Martell, right before the Greatjon took the young Prince on as an opponent.
He blocked out the fear he had for his men's safety, he would also forego worrying about Robert, for the first time in his life, Ned Stark made the conscious decision to be selfish. He would only worry for his own well being.
Ice swung at Rhaegar's face. The Targaryen took a step back, allowing the blade to coast past its intended target. Violet eyes widened when Rhaegar realized who he was fighting. He blocked the next few strikes of Ned Stark effortlessly. He opened his mouth a few times to try and speak, but it was evident couldn't find the words.
For all of his faults, which there were many. The crowned Prince was no coward or craven, in spite of what Robert too often claimed. Rhaegar fought like a man possessed. In Spite of the princes many wounds and how tired Rhaegar must have been, he stayed on the offensive against the Warden of the North. Rhaegar's swings were barely deflected, and he continued to push Ned back.
"Lord Stark." Rhaegar began as they crossed blades again. " This was never supposed to happen, Lyanna."
"Enough!" Ned shouted as Ice slammed downwards, stopping Rhaegar's words in his throat. "After everything that has happened, do you think you can speak her name to me? You honestly believe you can address me with niceties, talk of Lyanna like your old friends, and explain yourself?" Ned's sword strikes didn't stop, similarly, Rhaegar never stopped parrying. "The Time for words has long since passed prince," Ned said the title with disgust, "and no matter what you say, there is little to nothing you can do to change the outcome of this war."
The two were stuck against one another, blade to blade. " On that, you're wrong Lord Stark." the Prince swung out slightly, his blade cutting through lord Stark's leather armor, but not quite reaching the skin underneath.
"Am I?" Their blades clashed again, suddenly Ned's fist struck out. Slamming into the side of the Prince's face. Rhaegar stumbled back, a tinge of blood dripped from his lower lip. Ned pressed his advantage. "You caused this," Ned bellowed. His blade slashing at Rhaegar's arm and slicing through his dark armor into the flesh underneath. Another parry, and then Ned was able to get a slice at Rhaegar's thigh. Both blows were nothing more than shallow cuts but still succeeded in slowing down the Prince.
"Enough!" The Prince shouted, and suddenly changed form. A blow would have decapitated the Lord of Winterfell if he didn't move at the right moment. Instead, it left a shallow cut on his cheek. Two more parry's, and then Rhaegar struck out again, slicing through the back of Stark's leg, and nearly bringing the young lord to his knees.
"Ned!" Robert shouted, but it sounded more like a death wail. "Don't! You can't die, fall back, think of Benjen!" The man continued to shout, although he was beginning to lose the strength in his voice. Out of the two of them, Robert has always been the better warrior. Throughout all the duels they had throughout their childhood, Ned has never beaten Robert. A fact that stayed in the back of his mind as he fought Rhaegar. The only man he knew of, that had ever beat Robert.
Rhaegar's valyrian steel blade bit into Ned's left shoulder, causing him to gasp in agony. Ned parried another few blows only using his right hand but found he was only tiring himself. Rhaegar struck out again at his leg, this time slicing through the back of his knee to the bone.
Ned's right knee collapsed, and Ned found himself in the dirt. Fighting the Prince of Westeros one handed in a desperate attempt to avoid the same fate as his father and brother. The Stark lord was losing, that much was clear, and Roberts shouting in the background only served to distract Ned.
Rhaegar moved quickly, and with a few precise movements, knocked Ice out of Ned's hands. The ancestral blade flew away, embedding itself into the ground, Ned wasn't positive, but he was sure he could hear the Greatjon cursing in the background. Ned ignored the cursing of his friend and bannerman, instead, he stared at his blade. It felt like he was watching his family die.
Eddard's cheek dripped blood, dripping into his mouth and giving him a bitter taste of defeat. Ned's left arm was nothing more than dead weight and screamed in agony when he tried to move it. Ned's right leg was even worse than his arm. Rhaegar cut down the appendage nearly to the bone, and if he went an inch or two deeper, lord Stark would likely never walk again. Ice was gone to him, an odd but accurate metaphor of the state of his family. A small dagger was his only weapon, fashioned to his belt, suddenly Ned remembered it was a gift from Lyanna the last time that he saw her. Eddard stayed still, unsure of what to do.
"Yield?" Rhaegar asked, his blade pointed at Ned's throat.
"Ned!" Robert's booming voice grabbed their attention. No one truly expected the injured Baratheon to charge Rhaegar, especially without a weapon. It came as a surprise to Ned when Robert tackled Rhaegar to the ground. The dragon and the stag collapsed to the muddied floor in a tangle of limbs. Robert lay on top of the Prince. The young Baratheon was still bleeding profusely from his chest, and a bit of blood and spit dribbled from his mouth. Even so, the Baratheon lord hammered the prince with blows. Striking his massive fists into his prince's face with apparent glee. Robert continued yelling the entire time, yelling for his chosen brother, Ned Stark, for his love Lyanna, and for vengeance.
"You think you get to take him from me too?" Robert asked after particular savage strike to Rhaegar's face. "Not fucking likely!" Barristan Selmy and Lewyn Martell stared shocked, and mouths agape. Ned's remaining bannermen stood in their way, preventing them from helping their prince.
As Rhaegar made a move to reach for his blade, Ned threw himself forward, wrestling the Prince's arm down.
The two lords and their prince struggled on the ground together, the lord of the North still on Rhaegar's arm. Laying in a state of near exhaustion as his injuries began to take their toll. Robert continued brutalizing the young prince with his grieved hands.
Rhaegar jerked slightly, thrashing violently, and succeeded in knocking Robert off him. As Robert fell, Rhaegar acted swiftly, slamming his hand into Ned Stark's face, breaking Stark's nose in the process. Rhaegar's sword arm was now free, and he made a mad dash for the blade that was out of reach a second ago. On his way to his sword, he essentially crawled over Ned Stark.
As the heavy weight of Rhaegar's body pressed on him, Ned reacted without thinking. The dagger Lyanna gave him was in his hands before he knew it, and Rhaegar's throat was split ear to ear before either man fully comprehended what was happening,
The dagger slashed through flesh and veins. The Prince's neck became enveloped in crimson rain as blood gushed forth from the open wound. A soft gurgling noise managed to escape Rhaegar as he tried to speak, but words just wouldn't come. Violet eyes shone with anger, and Ned could have sworn he saw a look of betrayal. As he collapsed to the ground in a pool of his own blood, Ned and Robert would later swear they heard him whisper the name, Lyanna.
It was over, yet it wasn't. The prince was defeated, killed by his own hand, but Ned could hear the clash of blades continuing. The Stark lord looked over to see Robert flat on his back, laughing with apparent joy at his enemy's death.
The laughter ended suddenly, a Dornishmen ran forward, kicking Robert squarely in the jaw, chipping a tooth in the process. The Baratheon lord's head sprung back, crashing to the ground, knocking the once gleeful man into unconsciousness. Ned's apparent surprise at the situation, quickly turned to dread, suddenly the Dornishmen began to charge him. Just before the Dornishman reached Ned, Roose Bolton tackled the man to the ground. Roose's blade was slick with the blood of Barristan the Bold as he stabbed in the throat of Ned's assailant.
Ned's bannermen appeared as suddenly as the Dornish. The Greatjon was bashing in the head of a man, even as a dagger shifted into his shoulder blade. Howland Reed and Maege Mormont were equally vicious, slashing men to pieces with skill and grace more suited to a faceless man of Braavos then a Northern warrior.
It was true that the Northern Lords had the advantage in skill, had better equipment, and had a clear advantage in experience. Yet, the Dornish had numbers. For every one killed, two would take their place, and it became clear the Northerners would have to fall back if they wanted any chance of survival.
Maege Mormont and Howland Reed grabbed Ned's arms, they then began the arduous process of bringing him back to their own lines. The other Northern lords covered they're less than graceful retreat, and it wasn't long until they were surrounded by allies.
No one grabbed Robert, Ned thought suddenly. Panic filled his body, and his heart hammered in his ears. We have to go back, Gods know what they'll do to him.
"Howland, I need yo... Uhh" He let out a pained groan. Maege bent down to expect his wounds, a face of concern drifted across her features, very much like a concerned mother.
"None of that, My lord," Maege examined him with concern, "Everything will be okay."
"We can find Ice later, My Lord." Roose appeared by his side suddenly. Blood dripped down from his arm, and the Leach lord gripped his arm tightly to slow down the bleeding.
Ned tried to speak again, but all that came out was another pained grunt. Darkness began to dance at the edge of his vision as the adrenaline left his body. His last thoughts were of his dearest friend before darkness took him.
...
His left arm felt as if it was being scorched by fire. The pain washed over him, making coherent thought impossible, The Stark lord struggled to open his eyes, but couldn't manage the simple task. He tried to open his mouth to speak, instead of words, a horrible sound escaped from his throat. A horrid mixture between a grunt and a wail. Ned comforted himself by assuming someone would hear his distress, and come in to help him.
When no one came, he made an attempt to move. Pain shot through his right leg, and the memory of his fight with Rhaegar came back to him in between the waves of pain. He stayed like that for longer than he could tell. It was possibly hours or minutes, all he knew for sure was that every second was agony.
Ned let out another gasp of pain as he tried to call for someone, anyone. His throat was dry and felt constricted. He heard what sounded like voices and footsteps.
The people were talking right beside him, but he couldn't truly comprehend what they were saying. He knew at least one had to be a Maester, or at least he hoped.
A hand felt his shoulder, and for a moment he truly believed that the stranger would take him. When the hand drifted lower and examined his injured knee, Ned honestly wished the stranger would take him.
His mouth was opened, and a liquid entered it. Milk of the poppy. In a matter of moments, he felt himself drift off again.
...
It took no effort to open his eyes the next time he awoke. Ned looked around, glancing for anything that would reveal his location. A few bookcases and some basic furniture. The room he was in was somewhat damp, and a few traces of moss could be seen in the stone walls. Ned knew from past experiences that he was in some holdfast or another. A serving girl was cleaning in the room's far corner.
"My.. Lady," Eddard spoke, it took some effort to speak. The girl jumped and looked around with curious brown eyes. "Fetch a Maester," he stated calmly. The girl looked shocked and slightly curious. She nodded and ran out of the room without responding.
It took no time for the Maester to appear. A fat man and Ned recognized him as Jon Arryn's personal Maester from his time in the Vale.
"My Lord," The Master began. "You've been asleep for a long while, the other Lords were worried about you. it was believed you would not pull through. I'm sure they will be relieved to hear of your recovery." His face remained passive. The brown eyed serving girl from earlier stood behind him, and she peered curiously from behind the Maester's robes. "My Lord Arryn was especially concerned for your wellbeing."
"My Men," He asked, his voice felt heavy, and sounded weak.
"Lords Dustin, Glover, Cassel, Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell were all slain in combat, my Lord." Their deaths were heavy on Ned's heart, but he allowed the Maester to continue. " Lady Mormont, Lord Umber, and Bolton were all injured as well, but have recovered. You will be happy to hear that Jon Darry was slain by Lord Umber. Barristan Selmy was similarly defeated by Lord Bolton. It's also said that you killed Prince Rhaegar yourself, an admiral feat if I do say." Ned was relieved by their deaths in truth, but he still felt it was a needless slaughter. "Prince Lewyn Martell survived the battle, and rumor has it he is currently leading the Loyalist army."
Ned frowned at that. He had a question but was almost afraid to ask. "What of Robert? Did he survive the battle?"
"He did, My Lord, but he's currently being held hostage at Riverrun." The Maester stated calmly as he continued to check his wounds. "It's my understanding that they don't wish to move him to King's landing until his wounds have healed to a significant degree."
"At Riverrun?" Ned Exclaimed in shock. " How Long have I been under?"
A voice interrupted before the Maester could speak, "Far too long my lord." Howland Reed stood at the doorway, the same as Eddard remembered him, except he now wore a cleaner set of clothes. There was also a thin red cut across his cheek which had yet to fully heal. "Lord Arryn and the others went straight to the meeting hall as soon as you awoke. It would be rude to keep them waiting." A ghost of a smile played at his lips.
It was odd for them to call a meeting so suddenly, even with him able to attend. The situation had to be dire. He grunted and moved to get up. It took the aid of the Maester, the serving girl, and Lord Reed for him to get ready. The clothes he wore were not his own and hung on his frame, it was only then that realized he was much skinnier than he once was.
"It would not be well viewed being carried in by me." Lord Reed smiled. "I and a few others had this made for you, My Lord." He handed over a cane, fitted with a silver direwolf head.
Ned let out a sound between a scoff and laugh, "Neds fine,` Howland, there's no need for titles. You should know that by now." They began to walk out the door, Howland making sure to walk beside his liege lord, in case Ned needed assistance.
"I Know, My Lord," Howland shook his head," but I can't do that, it's a respect thing." The two continued to walk together towards the meeting hall. The hallway was crowded with soldiers. Those who saw them stopped and gave a slight bow of their head.
The door to the Great Hall of the Twins was opened for them. Inside all of the Lords of the Vale and the North were arranged at tables. The Northerners sat to the left of Jon Arryn, while the men of the Vale sat to his Right. No lords of the Trident were present, not even lord Tully. Lord Stark walked into the room slowly. Lords of both sides greeted him as he entered. Some by name, some with a polite nod, and some with a small cheer or even with relieved laughter.
One of Ned's lords made to grab him a chair, but he waved him off. It wouldn't look right to sit in this scenario, no matter how much he wanted too.
"Ned," Jon smiled a true smile that touched his entire face. Relief was clear on his features, but so was a pain. "Words cannot express how relieved I am to see you walking around again" His smile disappeared suddenly, and disappointment took its place on the lord's face. "I wish I could tell you that things have been going well in your absence, but things couldn't be farther from the truth."
"I was told that Robert Baratheon is held captive in Riverrun." Ned Stark decided to go straight to the point. "What happened? The last thing I remember is fighting Prince Rhaegar, and now you're telling me that Riverrun has fallen."
Jon Arryn looked truly defeated for a moment but found his strength in a matter of moments. "Lord Frey happened." The name was said with disgust, and Ned noticed how some grimaced when they heard his name. "The Battle of the Trident was effectively a stalemate. It was a draw, but it killed our momentum. Rhaegar and two of the Kingsguard are dead, and that helped break the loyalists. Yet, when Robert was captured, the Stormlords broke, we couldn't convince them to stay without Robert. With you so injured, and a third of our forces breaking, we had to retreat. Lord Hoster led his men to Riverrun to regroup, and we headed North in order to resupply. As we did, Lord Frey Marched his men to Riverrun and offered aid. As soon as Lord Tully Lowered the gates, the Frey's turned on Tully's men. It was a slaughter, we heard no word from Lord Hoster since the attack, but we know he managed to escape. With Lord Frey and the majority of his host south, there was no one to guard the Twins. We took the castle with few casualties. The Twins are under our command, but I'm afraid we lost contact with most holdings south of our location."
It was worse than Ned could have thought. The Stormlands were effectively lost to them, without Robert. Even worse, the loss of Riverrun, and Lord Frey's betrayal, the Trident was worse than lost. A good number of Lord Hoster's southern bannerman already fought for the Targaryens, now with Frey taking the region's capital, a good number of Lord Hoster's Northern bannerman would flock to Lord Frey. Those that remained loyal to Lord Tully were in a bad position, cut off from their allies, and surrounded by enemies. Yet, they had the Twins.
"That's a poor trade off in all honesty." Ned frowned, his face grim. "The Stormlands are gone. The Trident gone. What do we have left? How many men?"
"Our own men remained relatively intact. The north suffered some 2,000 casualties, and my own knights even less than that. I have close to 12,000 men with me, and I believe you have around 13,000 Northerners."
Ned gripped his direwolf cane tighter. "The Targaryens, how many men still fight under the banner of Aerys?"Jon hesitated for a moment before answering.
"We can't be entirely positive. Yet, I have sent outriders to gauge the enemy's forces, their reports are troubling, to say the least." The lord of the Vale spoke solemnly, revealing no thoughts on their situation. "The army approaching the western gate of the Twins is said to be made of 30,000 men. Some 20,000 Dornish, and the rest are made of men from the crownlands. It's rumored said they are led by Prince Lewyn Martell, of Dorne."
"30,000 men from the east?" Ned asked in disbelief. "What of the West, how many men?"
"A slightly smaller army, but still numbering above 25,000. This army is definitely the weaker of the two, made of more farmers than Knights. My scouts report that their banners signify Lords from the Riverlands, Crownlands, Stormlands, and even a few mercenary groups from across the narrow sea." Jon Arryn resisted the urge grimace at the mention of the mercenary groups. There were few things Lord Arryn despised more than sellswords. "There are many banners, but my scouts report that the most prominent features the heraldry of the Freys."
"Lord Frey, would he dare lead the expedition himself?" Ned asked, uncertain.
"He's an old man, older than myself in fact. Yet, he's also a proud man and would see our actions as the greatest insult. I have no doubt that he will be there." Jon Arryn stated calmly, the other lords in the room simply nodded in agreement.
Ned thought of Jon's words before speaking. "Our situation is a dire one, it seems that we're outnumbered. Half of our forces our lost to us, and our position isn't exactly a stable one."
"True enough, there's only one question that remains, what do we do now?" Jon asked.
There was silence in the hall, no one dared said a word for a moment. A soft shuffling noise could be heard as the lords looked between one another. After what seemed like ages, the silence was broken.
"We have to sue for peace, were outnumbered two to one. If we plead our case to King Aerys and swear fealty. we'll be able to return home." A lord from the Vale spoke up. His plea was met with murmurs of agreement from both sides of the room.
"It pains me to admit, but the war is lost, maybe we can offer an exchange to get Lord Baratheon back," Lord Cerwyn spoke. It was noticed by Ned, that Robert was no longer referred to as his grace. They no longer saw Robert as King in the making, as they viewed their cause as lost.
"Perhaps it's time to end this," Jon Arryn spoke again, he seemed to age before Ned's eyes, "We have lost this war, and to continue would be our deaths. I see no point in sacrificing any more lives for nothing."
"Jon?" Ned turned his head to look eye to eye with the man that raised him. Gray eyes met with blue, both held a certain resolve. "Do you know what will happen to the two of us if we lay down our arms? If we bend the knee to Aerys, I assure you, we will never rise again. The only thing that awaits us is a shallow grave."
The Northern Lords looked at their liege Lord with bewilderment, similarly, the Vale lords looked at Jon Arryn with concern.
"You can't possibly mean?" Lady Mormont stood up as she spoke," Aerys wouldn't kill you, Ned, he'd need you to keep the North in line. You think we'd follow some blasted dragon, no, us Northerners only follow wolves." Other northerners voiced their agreement.
Across the room, the lords of the Vale spoke of their support for Lord Arryn.
"He'd kill us both without any hesitation, I know that for a fact." Jon Arryn spoke calmly, turning his back to the lords in the room as he did. Silence descended, a feeling of shock seemed to come off the lords in waves. Both lords of the Vale and of the North assumed they would be safe if they gave in to Aerys demands, now they weren't so sure. " Yet our deaths our preferable to the slaughter of our people. I am the Warden of the East, you, my friend, you're the Warden of the North. That means, more than anything, that we protect those who can't protect themselves. If giving our lives means my loyal men might live to father children, to marry, to truly live, then I will make that sacrifice without hesitation."
Ned began to walk towards his friend, slowly, his direwolf cane sounded heavy on the wooden flooring. When he reached Jon, Ned put a hand on his shoulder. "If it were only that simple." Jon turned to face him, once again their eyes met. "He won't stop at us, every lord who fought beside us, my brother Benjen, Lord Hoster, and both of our wives will join us in death."
"He wouldn't dare, I would never stand for..."Jon's face dropped. Then, he let out a bitter laugh, "You're right, I forgot who we were dealing with for a second. The Mad King won't forgive this."
"I guess we only have one real course of action then?" Ned stated calmly.
"I suppose, we're going to have to win this war," Jon spoke equally calm, seemingly getting over his distress.
The noble lords who seemed content to sit out the conversation once again became involved at the mention of fighting. "Lord Arryn, firstly, I wish to say I will stand with you no matter your decision. However, I'm forced to wonder, what do we do? In our last battle, we had twice as many men, yet we still lost." A lord of the Vale spoke, he seemed to fidget under Jon Arryn's gaze.
"You're right, we don't have enough men for this war. So our answer is simple, we need more!" Lord Umber shouted. "Give me leave My lord, I'll gather a second host, one twice as strong as the one we left with."
"Lord Umber, your loyalty never ceases to impress" Ned praised his most trusted bannermen. The giant of a man beamed at the praise." I believe I have a plan, at the very least, the makings of one. You're to take Lady Mormont, and Lord Bolton with you North. You three are to gather everyone who can wield a sword. I also want you to ask the mountain clans for aid, normally I wouldn't involve them, but we need everyone we can get.
"You'd leave the north undefended?" A northern lord shouted
"If we lose this war, none of us will ever return to the North!" Ned shouted suddenly, catching everyone off guard. Silence filled the hall, Ned Stark stood tall, every inch a lord even with the cane holding him up, Jon Arryn stood by his side, looking as composed as ever. Lord Stark looked down on the assembled lords. Ned rarely showed any emotion, anger was something that even Jon Arryn never really saw in Ned. "My Lords, you forget yourselves, my father was burned alive by the Mad King. My brother was forced to watch his father burn while struggling to free himself." Ned's voice suddenly died in his throat. "I refuse to think of what that monster they call a prince did to my sister. So I ask all of you, does any man here truly believe that the Mad King will allow us to return home. I killed his son, I will never regret that, but the truth is that Aerys will never forgive my actions. So I ask all of you, what will happen to us if we surrender?" Silence greeted the question he posed. "He won't forgive us, and I won't forgive him. If we don't win this war, we will all die, that is the truth. So that leaves one path available, we have to win."
A long silence greeted Ned's outburst. The Vale lords looked at one another, seemingly unsure of what to say. The Northern Lords, however, seemed almost inspired. Even Roose Bolton looked at Ned with some form of respect.
"I said earlier that I would die for my people, there's truth to that," Jon spoke in a soft voice, one that seemed out of place following ned's outburst. "However, I would gladly die for you as well Ned, you and Robert are like the sons I never had." Jon turned his head to the right, glancing at the Lords of the Vale. "Lord Royce?
The Lord in question turned to him, "My Lord?"
"Return to the Eyrie, bring me every man who can raise a sword. For better or for worse, this war is ending in the coming months. I don't plan to be on the wrong side." A smile seemed to grace his face, "We'll have to find Lord Tully, he'll be able to raise a few more swords to our cause."
"What chance do we have?" A lord mumbled to himself.
"We're at the twins, are we not?" Ned asked to no one in particular. "Does anyone know what that means? Any army laying siege will have to hold both ends. His army is already split in two, when they lay siege to our forces, they won't be able to help one another. If we can hold the twins until Lord Umber and Lord Royce gather another host, we can butcher the eastern camp with our reinforcements.
"We'd be fighting two armies of 30,000 rather than one army of 60,000." Jon Arryn stated. "We would have the advantage in numbers if we can gather sufficient reinforcements. We'd also have the superior position. Lord Royce, once you gather then the men from the Vale, March to Moat Cailin. When Lord Umber has gathered all he can from the North, march back here. We should be able to take down the eastern encampment, and from there Prince Martell will be outnumbered."
"What of our foodstuffs?" Ned asked curiously. " Our the granaries filled enough to survive a siege.
"Aye, but not with 25,000 men at the Twins. Perhaps I can take my men and some of yours to Seaguard, Lord Mallister still holds the place. From there, I should be able to strike out and damage supply lines for Prince Martell's western camp."
Hours were spent planning for the coming siege. They estimated they had a week until the loyalists arrived at the Twins. It was decided, Ned would stay and hold the castle with 10,000 Northerners. Lord Arryn would march west to Seaguard with 11,500 men from the Vale, and 2,500 Northers. At the same time, 500 men would go to the North to gather a second host. 500 men would also head to the Vale to gather another army. When the levies were fully gathered, they would converge at Moat Cailin, and then march on the Loyalists camp to the east of the Twins.
"Who are we fighting for?" Lord Redfort said after everything was decided. Lord Redfort was to accompany Lord Royce to the Vale, in hopes of gathering a sizable force. "We were fighting to put Robert on the throne, but he's been captured, and for all we know dead. So what now?"
"MY LORDS!" The Greatjon Umber bellowed, "Here is what I say of this talks of Kings in the south." He spat on the floor earning looks of disgust from some, and confusion from others. "Robert was a decent enough man, and he would have made a fine King, but he would never have been my King. I had enough of bowing to some throne in the south. What do those men know of the Wall or the wolfswood or the barrows of the First Men? Even their gods are wrong. The Others take the Targaryens, I've had a bellyful of them. Why shouldn't we rule ourselves again? It was the dragons we married, and the dragons are all dead! There sits the only king I mean to bow my knee to, m'lords. The King in the North!" His shout directed all eyes to Ned Stark who stood still as a statue. Jon Arryn had to fight a smile off his face.
"My Lord," Roose Bolton stood up, focusing all of his attention on Ned Stark. His dark eyes seemed almost amused with his Liege Lord's discomfort. "My father died for your own many years ago. He warned me in the past about getting too close to a Stark of Winterfell." His voice was only a whisper, but rose suddenly, "Fortunately with some luck, you'll soon be a Stark of King's Landing. I Pledge my blade to you, the King in the North!" His roar, while not as thunderous as the Greatjon's, still stunned those in attendance.
"Generations ago It was the Kings of Winter who freed my people from a lifetime of slavery. From that day on, my ancestors pledged the Bear would always follow the Wolf. We Mormonts remember our oaths" Maege Mormont stood up with her fellow Northerners. "To the King in the North!"
Soon all the Northerners were shouting, along with a few Valeman.
"Ned, I raised you like a son," Jon Arryn's voice cut through the shouting, "We already lost one King to this war, you should know we can't afford to lose a second." Jon smiled suddenly, "That being said, I pledge my life to yours, your Grace. To the King in North!" He shouted, which was met by a roar of approval from the Northerners.
Swords were drawn and raised to the heavens as the shouting continued. Soon, the men of the Vale were cheering with the Northerners, standing as a unified force. Not a single man noticed the look of dread on Ned Stark's face, except Jon Arryn. The Lord of the Vale simply put a comforting hand on his ward's shoulder.
As Jon Arryn and the King in the North's lord all departed from the Twins, Ned came to terms with the weight of his new position. He decided, he wouldn't let his lord's down, and he would not let Robert, Jon Arryn, or his family down either.
One week after being declared King in the North, the siege began.
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