Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF and I make no profit writing fanfics about it.

(AN): Another burble.

Ned I

Not even the slight breeze ruffling past Ned Stark's face could mask the stink of Fishmonger's Square.

Their open carriage clattered over the cobblestones, bouncing faintly over the uneven road as they began the journey up The Hook to Aegon's Hill High.

"Is Robert well?" the Warden of the North asked quietly once the noise of the city was loud enough to conceal his words from the coachman. It wasn't like his old friend to miss his arrival, and Robert had never had the patience for the minutiae of ruling. So being absent for reasons of state was unusual to say the least.

Renly huffed a laugh, lounging against the backrest and waving at the smallfolk they passed. "Don't worry your head about it, Ned. My dear brother is just sleeping off last night's wine. You know how he can be. It's nothing unusual."

Indeed it wasn't. There was nothing Robert Baratheon enjoyed so much as a good fight followed by a night of wine and whores. But that didn't mean Ned was going to disrespect the King by voicing his agreement. "What can you say about the Princess?" he probed instead, changing the topic.

"Myrcella?" Renly blinked, sparing a side glance for a northerner. "My niece is a sweet girl." He offered after a moment. "Very pretty and very clever, with none of her mother's poison. Your son is going to be a lucky man. Unlike whichever poor girl ends up marrying Joff. Let me tell you, that boy's mother has spoiled him beyond belief."

"Is that so?"

Humming an agreement, Renly crossed his leg over his knee and turned in his seat to better face Ned. "But that's enough gossip. I wanted your opinion on something." He slipped a hand inside his doublet and pulled out a gold gilt locket. "What do you think?"

Ned cocked an eyebrow in confusion when Renly popped the locket's cover open to reveal a small portrait of a brunette with long curled hair. "A fair girl, I suppose. Why do you ask?"

Rather than appease the Baratheon lord, Ned's short comment only made him look dissatisfied. "Is that the only thing that comes to mind?" he asked cryptically, snapping the locket closed and tucking it away. "I suppose it was a bit of a long shot regardless." Renly muttered more to himself than to Ned.

The grey light in Ned's eyes sharpened as he wordlessly sought Renly's blue gaze. There was no need for curt words, since after a heartbeat the younger man caved under Lord Stark's forbidding mien.

"There's no need to look so suspicious Ned." Renly chuckled, running a hand through his dark hair and settling the other on his knee. "It's just been said that Margaery Tyrell bears some resemblance to the Lady Lyanna, and I thought if the rumors were true that you would recognize it instantly."

"I see." Ned said coolly, resisting the urge to twist his fingers into the dark cotton of his trousers. It was understandable for Renly to want to satisfy his curiosity, but thoughts of his sister still hurt after fourteen years. He still dreamt of blue winter roses, desperate promises, and the bed of blood.

Finally they clattered through the front gates of the Red Keep, moving through an arch of dark sandstone and into a courtyard stuffed with nobles and servants.

"I'd try not to act shocked." Renly forewarned cryptically as the carriage swayed to a stop, and then the Lord of Storm's End was leaping from his seat to seek out a comely young lad with curly honey-shaded hair.

Ned stood at a more sedate pace, glancing back to confirm that the carriages bearing his son and his luggage were safe and close at hand. Call it prejudice or healthy suspicion, but the Lord of Winterfell hadn't felt safe since the moment their ship had begun to sail up the Blackwater. The Capitol might be the seat of the King, but it was the Lannisters who held power in the streets.

And to think Ned was commanded to leave his son here when he returned to Winterfell.

Then a voice he hadn't heard in years boomed "Ned!" and he was just barely able to conceal his surprise by taking a knee. "Your Grace." He returned numbly, barely hearing when Robert exasperatedly demanded that he get off his 'frozen knees'.

By the Gods! The last time Ned had seen his foster brother had been during Greyjoy's Rebellion nine years past. Back then Robert had been clean shaven and heavily muscled with only the odd streak of grey in his coal dark hair.

In the time since the King had gone to seed; he must have gained eight stone in weight. Formerly smooth cheeks were covered by a fierce black and grey peppered beard, and Robert's blue eyes were ringed with dark shadows. Robert was even sweating through his silks like a pig, and Ned felt a great wave of disappointment and pity rear in his chest.

Time was cruel.

"It's good to see you again, Ned." Unlike Robert, Jon Arryn was all skin and bone. The Lord of the Vale's blond hair had gone white many years ago, and during the Rebellion he'd only had half his teeth. In the decade and a half since Jon had lost almost all the muscle on his frame, and his mouth was nearly toothless. The wrinkles in his face were deeper, and the liver spots on his hands larger, but Ned was still glad to see him.

"Jon." Ned greeted back, disregarding propriety to wrap the spindly man up in a brief embrace. With Jon before him and Robert by his side, Ned almost felt like a boy in the Eyrie again. "It's been too long." But the faint tremble of exhaustion in Jon prevented the fantasy from being more than a brief thought. Jon Arryn would never sweep his two wards up into his arms and hug them fiercely as a proud father would. It was doubtful Jon could even do so with his own six year old son at this point.

After another quiet moment, Ned released the older man and turned to beckon Robb closer. "I'll reintroduce you to my son."

(AN): As you see, this isn't going to be constrained solely to Robb/Cella POVs.