A.N. Here is a Christmas present for all my followers: a new story for A Song of Ice And Fire.

Catelyn

"Innkeep," a servant's voice called out behind her, "we have horses that want stabling, and my lord of Lannister requires a room and a hot bath."

"Oh, gods," Ser Rodrik said before Catelyn reached out to silence him, her fingers tightening hard around his forearm. At the same time, she motioned with her other hand for him to move along the bench until they were as close to the kitchen door and as far out of the way as possible. She forced herself to look away from the Imp as he entered the room, pulling on her hood to keep as much of her face hidden as possible.

Behind her, she heard Masha Heddle greet Tyrion Lannister, trying to explain that her inn was full, that there was no room for him, but then she heard the jingle of the Imp's coin purse. Almost immediately, she heard the sound of one of the men offering up his room to him. It took all of Catelyn's self control not to turn to see who it was.

"Now there's a clever one," the Lannister crowed, his happy, cheerful attitude making her teeth grind with fury at the heinousness of his crime, a crime he had yet to answer for. "Tell me, what is your name, my good man?"

"Bronn, milord."

"…Bronn... what?"

"Just Bronn, milord."

"Ah, a sellsword," Lannister said quietly, his tone thoughtful. "Are you looking for a patron?"

"Always, milord."

Catelyn heard another coin being pulled from the Imp's purse and tossed through the air. "Well, then, you've found one. You will have to sleep in the stables with my two companions, I am afraid."

"You keep being so generous with your coin, milord, and I'll sleep wherever you like," the man named Bronn answered, and Catelyn heard two sets of footsteps walking away, the heavier set from Bronn exiting out the front door, while Tyrion Lannister could be heard climbing the wooden steps, after giving instructions to the innkeep and the musician who had accosted Catelyn and Ser Rodrik earlier, the former to send food up to his newly acquired room and the latter to please sod off. Soon after the new arrival was out of sight, the room quickly returned to normal, as the patrons returned to their food, ale, and conversations.

Immediately, Ser Rodrik turned to her and whispered, "We should take him now, my lady!"

As tempting as her knight's words were, and there were few enough things Catalyn had found to be more tempting then those words, she forced herself to grit her teeth and reply, "No, Ser Rodrik. We cannot take the Imp. Not now."

"Look around you, my lady," the knight insisted. "This inn is full of your father's sworn bannermen! At a glance, I can see the sigils of Whent, Bracken, and Frey on no less than thirty armed footmen! The Imp has a handful of servants, one sellsword, and a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch who will more than likely proclaim neutrality. Make your presence known, proclaim your intent, and each and every one of these men will gladly help you seize the would-be murderer!"

"And THEN what, Ser Rodrik," Catelyn hissed. "And then what would we do? We are still well within the Riverlands, nowhere near Winterfell, and have no place to hold him. And Tywin Lannister would never allow such a slight against his house to go unpunished; he would declare war on my father the instant he learned that his bannermen had seized his own son. He can field nearly twice as many men as the Riverlands, and with my father bedridden, it would fall to my brother Edmure to lead, and while I love him, he is no leader of men." Shaking her head in despair, she looked the knight in the eye and said, with complete finality, "No, Ser Rodrik, seizing Tyrion Lannister now would only invite disaster."

Briefly, her companion looked as though he was about to protest, but closed his mouth, and nodded grimly. "I suppose you have the right of it, my lady," he said reluctantly, taking a sip from his tankard. "So, if we are not taking the dwarf into our custody now, what is your intention; should be leave now, and head north immediately?"

"No," she said, checking to make sure that no one was listening in on their conversation. "We cannot risk raising suspicion. We will finish our food and drink, return to our room, wait out the night, and leave just before the dawn. We have been away from Winterfell too long." Pausing, she lowered her gaze, thinking of her two youngest sons; Bran, likely still in his seemingly unending sleep from his fall, and Rickon, who was like to still be screaming out for her, and clinging to his eldest brother Robb's leg, who still a boy himself, but the closest thing to a parent that the child of three name days could find in the fortress. "I have been away from Winterfell too long."

Eyes softening, Ser Rodrik took her hand in his. Finally coaxing a small smile from her, Catelyn withdrew her arms and the two returned to their meal, keeping their heads low as they ate. As soon as they finished their meal, they immediately returned to their rooms with as little word to anyone as possible. After they had returned to their room, they remained there for the rest of the evening, not leaving for any reason, though she wished otherwise after using the chamber pot. That night, she slept in the bed, farthest from the doorway, on her side so that her back was to the entrance. Rodrik rolled out his bed roll on the floor, a good deal closer, with his weapons in easy reach. While it was unlikely that they would face danger from any of the current residents in the inn, let alone Tyrion Lannister, neither of them wished for a footpad to sneak in, slit their throats, and make off with their valuables.

Still, the two slept little, and what sleep they got was light, restless, and often broken. Ser Rodrik because it was his duty to serve and protect Lady Catelyn of House Stark, and every moment he closed his eyes was a moment he was not keeping watch for her, and Lady Catelyn because her son's would-be murderer slept soundly scarcely feet from her, and she could not seize him, and so her heart filled with black hatred.

It was in the hours just before dawn that the two finally made their leave, so as to alert as few people as possible. If they were caught, they could be mistaken for thieves, but Catelyn decided that was a risk they must take; she did not wish for the Imp to learn of their presence, as he would undoubtedly report his sighting to his family, and that could compromise her husband's investigation into any number of other Lannister plots, as well as Jon Arryn's death and Bran's attempted murder. And on top of that, if the Lannister did see her, and greet her in his horribly cheerful voice, as though he had done no wrong, she might very well bid her farewell to reason and bind him in chains right then.

Gathering their belongings and supplies, the two travelers crept out of their rooms and down the stairs as quietly as possible, leaving a few coins at the inkeep's till for their early departure. Entering the stables, they quickly saddled their horses, being as quiet as possible to avoid waking the Imp's servants and sellsword, who were snoring loudly nearby. Finally, all preparations were finished, and they lead their steeds out of the stables, mounted them, and were swiftly on their way.

They kept riding from the time they started to dusk, stopping only to eat and when they needed to relieve themselves. Throughout the morning they pushed the horses at speeds approaching a gallop, slowing only whenever they saw other riders or travelers on foot; Catelyn wanted to put as much space between herself and Tyrion Lannister as possible. After their noon meal, which consisted of little more than some bread and water from their skins, they slowed their pace somewhat. Finally, as evening fell, they reached a second inn, smaller than the last, but still having a room to spare. Sadly, they had missed the evening meal, and were left again with what they had brought with them.

After settling into their new quarters and eating their rather poor meal, this time with no unexpected Lannisters in sight, Catelyn asked Ser Rodrik, "How long shall our return to Winterfell be?"

Taking a moment to think over his answer, Rodrik leaned his back against the wall, and answered. "From here, I believe it would take approximately two weeks to reach Moat Cailan, my lady, and another two to reach Winterfell."

Catelyn groaned at the distance they had yet to cover. "If only we did not need to sleep or rest our steeds, and could ride at all hours of the day and night. We could cover the distance in half the time."

oo-00-oo

Eddard

Eddard Stark, former Hand of the King, awoke in his bed, and was almost immediately he was in motion. Quickly, he pulled on his cloths and boots and on top of that a set of leather and chain-mail armor, and at the same time gave out orders to the guards outside his room to rouse his daughters. He was taking no chances; it had been barely a day since he had resigned as Hand of the King, and Robert had declared him a dead man; it was difficult to find leeway in "I swear, I'll have your head on a spike."

Thus, he was not taking any chances with his life or that of his daughters. Yesterday, before "Littlefinger" Bealish had brought him to his whorehouse to meet with the young girl who had born Robert's youngest bastard child, he had arranged for Sansa, Arya, himself, and a small group of his personal guard transport back to the North by sea immediately. He had received protests from both of his daughters, but Ned had quickly overridden them. Their safety was his first priority, and it was clear to him that King's Landing was no longer even remotely safe for them. His investigation into Jon Arryn's death, as well as the King's illegitimate children, had certainly incurred the ire of whatever force he was in search of, and with the loss of Robert's favor, one of his greatest shields against retaliation was gone.

Taking the stairs down the Tower of the Hand, he was quickly flanked by his chosen guards, Arya, Sansa, their Septa, and Syrio Forel, Arya's "dancing master." When he had asked the Braavosi if he wished to continue with the contract he had taken with him, Ned had been almost certain that he would refuse; why would anyone at King's Landing want to leave everything they had known behind in order to travel hundreds of miles to Winterfell, in a land so different culturally it may as well have been an entirely different world, and where it could snow in the middle of summer? He had been surprised, therefore, when the water dancer agreed to follow him back to the North immediately.

"You have charged this man to teach your daughter to be a water dancer," Syrio had told him when he asked why he had chosen to travel with them, "and the First Sword of Braavos does not leave tasks unfinished."

Unfortunately, this had the unintended consequence of driving further ire between his two daughters. Sansa had been purple with rage when she had found out, shrieking about the fact that her distinctly unladylike younger sister got to keep her instructor, but she had to give up everything she had in the city. He knew that he would have to redouble his efforts to get his daughters to behave in a civil manner towards each other. Again.

However, as their group reached the final chamber of the Tower of the Hand, he was faced with Jory Cassel, the captain of his personal guard, and the expression indicated that things were not well. "My Lord," he said, bowing slightly. "His Grace, King Robert is without. He is demanding we allow him within the tower, so that he can have words with you."

Ned felt the blood drain from his face. He had thought that he would have more time to evacuate his family before Robert could be roused from the Red Keep to direct his anger at him directly, that the king would be too deep in his fury to take such action so swiftly. Instinctively, he tensed, preparing for whatever Robert intended to do.

"How many men are with him," he asked Jory.

"Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Jaime Lannister," the captain replied, "along with a dozen gold cloaks."

Ned remained taunt with anticipation, but inwardly he relaxed somewhat. His personal guard outnumbered Robert's party by a huge margin, and while Selmy and the Kingslayer were two of the most formidable swordsmen in Westeros, he was confident that, if it came to bloodshed, they would be overwhelmed. Loosening Ice from its sheath, he nodded, and said, "See his Grace in."

Bowing his head, Jory turned and marched back to the entrance to the Hand's Tower, four more of the Stark retinue flanking him. Within a few moments, he heard heavy footsteps, and Cassel and his men returned, with King Robert and his white cloaked guards in tow.

Ever disdainful of proper procedure and established courtesies between royalty and lords, Robert immediately began blustering in his usual boisterous manner.

"Seven hells, Ned, just what do you think you're DOING!"

"I am returning my family and myself to Winterfell, your Grace," Eddard answered, his voice polite, yet so formal and cold it could have passed as ice. "As you bid me to do. Unless you have come to administer the death sentence you passed on me after the last meeting of the Small Council."

Robert rolled his eyes and threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "Come now, Ned! You don't really think that would every do such a thing to you, do you?"

"Given what you have ordered done a mere day ago, Robert, I would not think you incapable of anything."

"Oh Gods, Ned," the monarch swore, apparently already out of patience, which he had in very little supply to start with. "Don't start with this again." Gesturing vaguely to a nearby doorway, he continued, "Let's take this elsewhere, Ned; I'd like to do this in private." Ned held his gaze for a full minute before nodding his assent, and he and the king left through the doorway. He was vaguely aware of Jaime Lannister and Barristan Selmy taking up positions at either side of the doorframe, and Jory Cassel arranging his own retainers in a semi-circle around them, ready to come to his aid if need be.

The room the king had chosen was the small chamber that Vayon Poole, his personal steward, used to manage the Hand's personal finances. Within was a single table, with two chairs opposite each other, with several shelves meant to house the ledgers and sums of Ned's party, but with the hast of his current attempt to leave the capital, the shelves were empty, and the table bare. Robert sat farthest from the doorway, the chair groaning the king settled his immense girth onto it. The former Hand took the seat opposite him.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Baratheon and Stark sat stock still, trying to stare the other down over the table. Robert bearded face gave of waves of incensed rage, indignity, and hurt. Ned's, by contrast, was cold and calm, but if one looked him in his eyes, he would see that his anger was no less strong than the king's, and was mixed with disgust, and disappointment.

Finally, after a tense moment that seemed to last hours, Robert reached into a pocket on his person, and pulled out a silver clasp. As he held it out in the palm of his hand, Eddard recognized it; it was the clasp that identified the bearer as the Hand of the King.

"Put the damn thing back on, Ned," Robert demanded.

Eddard turned his gaze upward to meet the king's.

"No."

"Take this godsdamned badge and put it on, Ned," Robert demanded again, his face beginning to turn red with anger. "That is a direct command from your king."

"I will not," Eddard said. "As I told you before, I will not fix my seal on an order to have innocent children murdered, nor will I serve as Hand to a king that would have not only condone such an atrocity, but order it done, and without even the decency or willingness to do the deed himself."

"Seven hells," Robert groaned, rubbing his forehead with his free hand. "This about Rheagar's brats again, isn't it? That was nearly sixteen years ago, damn it all; when are you going to let that go?"

"I was more focused on his still living brother and sister, your Grace," Eddard answered. "But thank you for reminding me of that crime; I had such focus on this new atrocity you have planned that the old had slipped my mind. And as for when I shall 'let it go', as you so eloquently put it, I shall do so as soon as those responsible for their murders receive the justice due to them."

"Damn it, Ned, for the last time," Robert began, preparing for a long-winded tirade on this touchy subject. "What the Lannisters did was-". Just as abruptly as he began, the king stopped, shook his head, and then muttered, "No. No, I am not going to have this conversation with you again, Ned. We have danced this jig many times before, I know it by heart now. Both of us will give the same opinions, the same arguments, the same counter-arguments, neither of us will back down from our stance on the matter, and the only thing that will be accomplished is that we will have wasted both of our time and become needlessly furious with each other. Now please, take the badge, and put in on your chest, and if you ever take it off again, I swear to you, I'll pin the damn thing on Jaime Lannister."

Eddard's eyes went wide, and for the first time real heat entered his voice. "You would name that honorless oathbreaker Warden of the East and Hand of the King? The same man who killed the last king he swore to serve, and who is also the eldest son of the Warden of the West? You would give control of half your kingdom and the power of your own voice to a single house that has shown that it will do even the most base and despicable of acts to reach for even more power and glory? Have you no brains at all, Robert Baratheon? You may as well take off your crown and give it to Tywin Lannister now; it would save the both of you a great deal of time and trouble."

If almost any other man had said those words, or if Eddard had said them to a different king, he would have faced dire consequences for such an outburst. Robert however, mearly smirked, pleased to have finally gotten an emotional reaction from his usually dour friend. "Well, Ned, if you are so concerned about the Lannisters grabbing for power, there is a very simple way for you to prevent it from happening," he said, lifting up the Hand's clasp.

So that is what he is playing at, Eddard thought darkly. Robert was playing with his fear that the Lannisters would swindle power away from the Iron Throne, if not usurp it outright, to keep him the position as Hand, and even as he realized this, he also knew that it would work. As much as he detested what Robert had become, and what he was planning to do, he would never allow a usurper to plunge the realm into war for something to which he had no right. Finally, slowly, he reached out and took the clasp from the king's hand, holding it as if it were a piece of filth.

"There," Robert said, satisfaction evident on his face. "That wasn't so hard, was it Ned?" Stark offered no response, apart from staring at the pin with undisguised loathing. After waiting for a few minutes, and receiving no response, he huffed, and lifted himself out of the chair. "Well, if you have nothing else to say, Ned, I be on my way; I have a expedition to finish planning."

"What for?" Eddard asked, lifting his gaze back to the king, but his tone indicated complete disinterest.

"For the hunting trip," Robert clarified. "I'll be spending some weeks in the Kingswood."

By this point, Eddard Stark was beyond being angered by Robert's actions. "You put your seal on an order to murder a girl and her unborn child, and now you go hunting as though nothing is amiss?"

"Killing things clears my head," the King said, anger evident in his voice. "And right now my head needs clearing. If you learned that a Dothraki horde may be poised to invade your kingdom, you would need to clear your head as well."

"In that case, perhaps you should travel to the Dothraki Sea, and hunt for Targareans," Eddard said, voice scathing. "I've heard that the Small Council is offering a lordship for every hide."

Snorting, Robert opened the door, saying nothing, and left the chamber. As he crossed the threshold, the Kingsguard members who had accompanied him immediately fell in behind him, the Stark guards moving to the side to give room.

For several minutes, Eddard remained still. Finally, slowly, he lifted himself out of the chair and to his feet, and exited the room himself.

"Jory Cassel," he said, calling the captain's attention back to him. "The King has reinstated me as Hand of the King, and bid me to remain in King's Landing. Please spread word to the rest of my household staff that we will be remaining in the capital, and that they should cease all efforts to return the household to Winterfell. Also, send a message to the captain of the vessel I had planned to take informing him of this development, as well as a personal apology on my behalf; he may keep the coin paid to him for his trouble."

"You mean… we're staying," Sansa asked, her face beginning to light up with hope, ignorant of what was being done, and the try nature of this city and its leaders. Beside her, Arya also had the same expression, though it was not as strong.

Looking at his daughters, Eddard managed to force a small smile, which he hoped was convincing, and said, "Yes, my children; we are staying." Immediately, he was inundated with his daughters' hugs and squealing joy, thanking him profusely, running back to their rooms to unpack their belongings again, their incensed septa chasing after them, trying to rein them in. Just as quickly, his guards and other servants went about their tasks, and soon, Lord Stark was the only person left in the room.

Eddard sighed, and let his shoulders sag in depressed resignation. Lifting up his arm, he once again looked at the Hand's pin.

Robert, he thought, grief flooding threw him that extinguished any other emotion, even his immense fury. My friend, my brother… how could you have allowed this to happen? Do you not remember the man you were nearly two decades ago? You inspired half a continent to overthrow a three hundred year old dynasty. Where has that man gone? And how did he ever allow this shadow, this snake, to steal away his life and accomplishments, then endlessly destroy and make a mockery of all of it?

As he thought these words, Eddard realized his mission, to protect his friend Robert Baratheon, had failed before it had even begun. The Robert that had just coerced him into remaining in the Capital was not the friend he had known for so long. Catelyn's words from before he had left Winterfell entered his mind; You knew the man. The King is a stranger to you.

So his wife had said, and so it was. This king, this man of vile acts, was not a man he wished to serve. It was one of the hardest things he had ever had to accept, but now that he had, he could not look at Robert in any other light. Eddard knew this feeling; this was exactly how he had felt toward Robert after he had refused to punish the Lannister's crimes in King's Landing at the end of his rebellion, the murder of Rhaegar's children and wife, the sack of the city and the slaughtered smallfolk, and, the greatest crime in his eyes, Jaime Lannister's betrayal of the king he swore to lay down his life to defend. And now Robert was not merely preventing justice from being done for such crimes, but ordering them done himself. And now he expected Eddard to serve as his Hand, ruling the kingdom for him as went off doing as he pleased.

Well, very well then, he thought, rage entering his thoughts again. He would rule as Hand, and he would serve the throne as he always had. He would also keep watch over the king's two bastard children in the city, out of respect for his friend who had clearly already died, and his son when he came into the throne. But he would no longer concern himself with the man who sat upon it now. Let the bootlickers and power mongers swindle Robert out hearth and home and influence. He was unworthy of it anyway.

Slowly, deliberately, Ned fixed the pin to his breast again.

He would be Robert's Hand. And nothing else.

A.N.

I am aware of George R.R. Martin's opinion on fan fiction, and if I receive word from him, I will remove it from the site as soon as I figure out how to do so. (Although, I am of the opinion that he who writes of Red Weddings has forfeited the right to complain about such things. That might just be me, though.) However, I will say that learning about his opinion on fan fiction WAS an enlightening experience for me; up until now, the only author whose opinion on the matter was clear to me was Christopher Paolini, author of the Inheritance Cycle, and he loves this stuff. He even liked the god-awful movie they made simply because they changed things from his books!

I really hope that I got the characters down correctly, especially with Ned. If you see anything glaringly OOC, please let me know, so I can avoid doing the same things in the future.

Have a merry Christmas, and a happy new year!