THE STAG'S HAND

Jon Arryn furrowed his brow upon hearing that gods damned tune. "Seven hells Ser Vardis, it's not even that catchy. The meter is nonsense, the melody is haphhazard, and it annoys King Robert and myself. Why, then, does it always insist on finding its way into your throat?"

His guard had frozen, visible fear overtaking him as he realized what he had done... again. "Oh m-my apologies, Lord. I did not realize..."

Jon could never stand his own men being afraid of him; he raised his hand. "Calm yourself, I am not angry with you, just..." He would have said "annoyed", but the truth was he was more perplexed than anything as to why this clumsy tune could so defy his authority. It had started shortly after Robert's forces had taken King's Landing; the smallfolk in the city had heard of how the Mad King had died, and how the wife and daughter of the Crown Prince had been saved, and it seems one of them, at least, had thought to start singing about it.

Kingslayer and Dragon's Fool,

They put an end to the Mad King's rule,

And saved our Queens from giant cruel.

Kingslayer and Dragon's Fool!

The rest of it was no better than the chorus. It wasn't the quality of the song that had bothered the King's Hand, though, it was the choice of words - "our queens". Whenever the beggers of Flea Bottom, or whores of Street of Silk, or the knights of the Red Keep sang, they sang, knowingly or not, of Rhenys and Elia as "queens". Oh sure, more like than not it was the bad writing, "queens" fitting the poor meter far better than "princesses", and Jon knew full well that most who sang the song meant little by it, except perhaps to praise a man of the Kingsguard, as countless other songs did... but still, he couldn't help but worry.

And he had enough to worry about as it was. To start, there was the issue of the King's brother, specifically his pending marriage. Mere weeks ago, Jon had preliminary plans for tightening alliances between the Houses through marriage of which Stannis was to be an important part. Initially, he had thought the middle Baratheon could support his brother by marrying the former Crown Princess, further ensuring the loyalty of the Martells, or placating their newest ally Tywin Lannister by marrying his daughter. Robert himself, Jon knew, would take no one but Ned's sister for his wife, else he would be the perfect solution to either predicament. (Although, he thought, even aside from that, the Martell girl is about as far from Robert's tastes as a woman could be.)

But that was before Dragonstone. Now that his brother had decided to take a Targaryen girl to raise like his own (and to marry quickly in aid to such an end), these plans, Jon knew, were for naught; any woman who played a role in raising a daughter of the Mad King would have to be of indisputable loyalty to the new king; that meant the Martells were right out, and Jon was sure that giving the Lannisters a dragon with no crown was not likely to end well. When Jon had heard that Stannis was exchanging letters with a woman who happened to be both a daughter to a loyal Baratheon bannerman and a former handmaiden to Elia Martell, he considered the match as good as could be expected. (Or am I misrembering?, Jon thought; he recalled that the woman had been taken captive by the Kingswood Brotherhood only a couple years prior, as they had also attacked the Princess; perhaps that had confused him? No matter, it's still a good match.)

Since it was the groom's intent the marriage take place as soon as possible, and since King Robert would naturally be attending - and since he insisted on bringing his beloved Hand with him - Jon Arryn was taking measures to make sure the city and court would be in good hands while he and the king were away. It was in this position that his master of arms found him, humming that bloody tune.

"It's just" Ser Vardis explained "you hear the song sung so often, down in the city streets, it gets in your head no matter what you think of it. I care for it little myself, but still..."

Jon Arryn waved his hand again. "Yes yes, I know what you mean. Was there something you wanted?"

"Begging your pardon Ser, you said you wished to know when Lord Eddard was arriving."

"Ah yes, thank you." He had indeed asked for that. When word had reached him last night that his former ward was approaching King's Landing from the south, Jon had been relieved. He had been concerned for a short time that Eddard had gone straight home to Winterfell without even informing the King; the Lannisters had heard reports from the Banefort that a ship bearing the lizard lion sigil of House Reed had been spotted by Ironborn not a week prior, sailing into the Saltspear. If Howland Reed has gone home to Moat Cailin, more like than not his fellow Northern host are with him, including Ned, he had thought, somberly.

But it seems Lord Banefort was mistaken, because now the Lord Stark was confirmed to be here in King's Landing, on his way to the Red Keep. Or more likely in the Keep by now, Jon thought, as he made his way down the Tower of the Hand to the Small Hall. Still, he managed to arrive before his guests.

Ned Stark came first into the great room. He looked well traveled, with his beard untrimmed and his clothes well worn, but he was still the boy Jon had known for years. With him were some of his men, Martyn Cassel, Theo Wull, and Ser Mark Ryswell. Jon threw open his arms and cried out to the man he thought of as a son. "Ned! It has been too long. Come over here, and-"

It was then that Jon noticed the other man with them, one of the last men he had ever thought to see again, but standing there nonetheless, wearing his white cloak as prominently as ever. At first he was at a loss for words; "Ser Gerold Hightower" the Hand finally said. "What brings you back to King's Landing?" It was about the most polite way that Jon could think to put the question.

"Lord Hand, two of my sworn brothers have been kept in service for the new king; it is my intention to do the same." Lord Arryn was taken aback by how forward Ser Gerold was in this declaration; Sers Barristan and Jaime had been kept, it was true, but first they had sworn new oaths to their new king.

"Yes, two have been kept in his service. And two more have died doing their duty to the old king. And you are here now. But tell me, Ser Gerold, what of the other two?"

The White Bull gave no delay in answering: "Ser Arthur Dayne has declared that he will go North to take the black. As to Ser Oswell... I understand he has fled to Essos, though to what destination I know not."

The King's Hand eyed Ser Gerold and then Eddard with fair suspicion. "If a former member of the kingsguard is to join the Night's Watch, then no doubt we will soon be hearing news of it across the Seven Kingdoms. Castle Black would not be quiet about such a recruit."

And Ned did not disappoint, responding calm and confident that they no doubt would.

That was enough to satisfy him for the moment - the question of Gerold Hightower could wait - and Jon allowed himself to smile, which Ned returned, and the two resumed embracing. "So Ned, how did you find your sister? Will she be joining us soon?"

The smile fell from Eddard's lips at that. "My Lord..." he began. This was ominous; Ned seldom ever referred to Jon so formally, and only then on dark occassions. And surely enough, he saw sadness flow into his ward's eyes, like dry tears. "My Lord, Lyanna Stark... my sister, she's dead." At this moment, Jon could feel the silence in the room; he wondered, years later, if he had felt anything else. He knew he should say something; "I am so sorry" came to mind, but his mouth would not move at his command, hanging there dumbly. Ned continued, "It was my intention, on returning here, to tell the King... among other things."

"Of course, of course, Robert should know." Strange, those words came easily enough. Ned nodded and began to turn, and Jon's arm must have had a mind of its own in that moment, because it reached out and grabbed the mourning Lord of Winterfell. Jon looked at him a moment, and embraced him again. They must have remained this way, in each other's arms, for some time, because before either let the other go, Jon heard Robert enter the Small Hall, laughing.

"So there he is! There's the son of whore, Ned Stark, finally come to see his friend and brother! We were beginning to think you had sulked home, and-"

This time, Jon spoke; those two words, two awful, awful words. Once again, a smile fell; once again, there was silence. Though years later, Jon thought he might have remembered something else right then, possibly a dampness on the cheek.

…

The hall was empty now, aside from the three men, aside from Jon Arryn and the two boys who he helped raise at the Eyrie. One of them was now Lord of Winterfell, the other King of the Andals and the First Men and Protector of the Realm. The latter was seated some distance from the other two, tending to his bloody hand, damaged as it was from punching the stone walls.

The death of his bride to be had been bad enough; but that she had died bearing the son of the man who abducted her was worse. And, to Robert, worse still was that his most loyal friend had sent this babe to Winterfell, with the intention of raising him... because she had asked him. Because the woman Robert loved in turn loved the babe who killed her in being born. Because of Rheagar.

"He still won", Robert eventually managed to say. "I defeated his armies, I killed him, I took his crown... and he still won. He's dead, and he still took everything from me, and got everything he wanted."

"Not everything", Ned softly corrected him. Robert gave him a furious glance, but he continued, "Ser Gerold told me that Rheagar had wanted a daughter. Something to do a prophecy about three heads, or..." he trailed off at that. "I don't understand it."

"What's to understand?" Robert replied, "The man was a fucking lunatic." At that Robert managed something like a grin, and gave something like a laugh, though neither of those things did anything to quell his tears. "Seven hells Ned, can you imagine him King now? He kidnapped and raped my bride because of a prophecy, could you..." Robert's laughter died with that, and his face went solemn again. Once more the room was quiet.

Ned had looked like he wanted to say something to Robert, as if to correct him on something or other, but decided against it. Jon couldn't help but think that, until recently, everybody had been picturing Rheagar as King, many or most thinking him likely to be better than his father, the man who would save the dynasty. If they had only known...

Jon didn't know how long the three had sat there before they heard a knock, and saw Grand Maester Pycelle enter. "Humbly begging pardon, your Grace, but I had heard you had... injured yourself?" For a moment, Robert simply stared at the intruder; then he looked down at his right fist, and the gaping, bleeding wounds it housed. "Your Grace, shall I..."

"Very well, do it quickly." But as he approached the King, Robert raised his bloody hand; on his face, Jon thought he saw some odd inspiration. "Actually no; I've changed my mind. Maester, bring me a parchment and some ink. I would write something."

Pycelle had clearly not expected this answer, as Jon certainly didn't, but he nodded and scurried out of the room. After some time, he returned with the parchment, ink, and quills; the King took them as quick as one dared, and began scribbling. When he was done, he rolled the paper, and turned to the Lord of Winterfell.

"Ned, I wouldn't care if I had to fight my way past the Neck, across your snows, and burn Winterfell to the ground; the only reason, the only reason I'm not going to kill this, this..."; he swallowed. He means to say "dragonspawn", Jon thought; that was the only time he ever saw that kind of rage in Robert's eyes. "The only reason is because of her." The two near brothers were looking right into each other's eyes. "It's only out of my love for her that I'll let the boy live. To that end..." he handed over the parchment, "I've decided to give him the name of 'Stark'. Because if you do raise him, I want him raised as her son, and not his bastard."

Eddard solemnly nodded and took the parchment. And for the fourth time in hours, Jon could feel the silence. This time, he gave in to his urge to speak: "Has he been given a name yet?"

"If it pleases my Lord..." - once again, he is being formal with me - "I had thought to give him yours."

Lord Arryn couldn't help but smile at that; he thought he saw Robert's lips turn as well, approving as they spoke: "Jon Stark it is then. And may he honor the name."