Eddard had read about wars back in Winterfell. Great battles fought by brave and fearless warriors in long forgotten kingdoms, or conquest filled with blood and fire and glory. He had never expected to live through one. To start one. To feel it emptying him inside as it began.
He had spent three days locked in his room when the news arrived, barely registering the servants coming in and leaving food for him. He barely ate, barely drank. Didn't bother answer Jon and Robert when they came to try and soothe him.
They had told him Brandon was dead. They had told him Father was dead. They had told him Lyanna was a prisoner still.
Lies. He had wanted to believe they were lies.
But then Jon had come on the morning of the fourth day, and there were dry tears on Ned's cheeks when the man had sat next to him on the floor.
"The Mad King asked me to hand you over. You and Robert. He claims you are part of a plot to get him off the Throne. He claims that's why Rickard and Brandon…" He had made a long pause then. "If Aerys thinks I'll do it he's madder than the stories say. I've called for my bannermen. Let that king know no one will be touching my boys."
Eddard had looked at him then, red eyed and still shaking, as if he had never ever seen him before. He had looked at that man who had taken care of him for so many years and known that beside him he would always be safe.
"What happened?" he had asked then. But no one knew, not really.
Some said Brandon had died first, hanged. Some said he was still alive while Rickard burned before the Iron Throne. Some said he had also burned. All of them agreed Lyanna had been there, screaming for them.
The thought of it made Ned's stomach turn and his blood boil.
Long after Jon left, he let it, let that anger overtake him, that sadness fill him. And then he let it harden in his veins, change, turn into the ice of the North he had been born into. The North that he loved. The North that had shaped him and his siblings from the moment they left their mother's womb.
Ned had stood, called for a servant to draw him a bath and then changed into clean clothes before eating the breakfast that had been prepared for him. And then he had started writing letters.
The first one was for The Water Gardens and he didn't even bother to write down his name nor explain himself. Oberyn would understand, he knew. If he didn't, he'd take care of him once Lya and Ashara were safe.
The second one was for Ben. He all but begged his little brother to stay at Winterfell, to defend it and protect himself within its walls should anything happen to him. They both knew Ben would be the only hope left for House Stark if Ned failed to save his loved ones.
The other letters were for his father's vassals–his vassals. The Glovers of Deepwood Motte; the Mormonts of Bear Island; the Umbers of Last Hearth; the Manderlys of White Harbor; the Flints, Wulls, Norrey and Liddle of the Mountains; the Karstarks of Karhold; the Blackwoods of the Wolfswood; The Boltons of the Dreadfort; the Dustins of Barrowton; the Ryswells of the Rills; the Reeds of Greywater Watch…
To all of them, he wrote, and from all of them he demanded allegiance. And this time, he signed as Eddard Stark of Winterfell, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North.
The name did not seem his own, and as he gave them to the Maester and watched as the ravens carried them away, he felt like a boy in need of his father's counsel and embrace. But his father was gone.
No, he told himself, not gone. Murdered. Murdered by the man who now held his sister, his beloved, and his unborn child hostage.
The thought of it only was enough to make him shake in fear, but he pushed it back, knowing it would be of no use giving into it, and steeled himself as he walked down the stairs of the Eyrie and to Jon Arryn's chambers, where Robert and the Lord of the Vale awaited, sitting at a table.
His best friend surveyed him with a worried look and Ned nodded at him, not ready to express his feelings out loud at the moment. He wasn't sure he had the words, after all, to explain the mess that was his still weeping heart.
He didn't sit.
"I've sent letters," he told Jon Arryn. "The northerner lords should rally their soldiers as soon as they receive them. I have given instructions for them to meet me at The Twins."
"Smart. Walder Frey will not let them cross without your word."
Even as the man nodded at him in agreement Ned could feel the look he gave Robert and the tension around them. Looking from one to the other, he asked:
"What is it?"
After a moment, Jon placed his blue eyes on him again.
"The Mad King is not wrong when he speaks of a plot meant to dethrone him," he confessed. "There was talk of it, alliances arranged to make sure that when Rhaegar finally took his father away from King's Landing and took him to Dragonstone to spend the rest of his days in peace and away from the public eye, no one would complain."
"My father knew."
It was not a question, but a stunned statement. Still, Jon offered, "Yes. He knew."
That was why Lyanna had married Oberyn, Ned understood then, and why Brandon had been set to marry Catelyn Tully.
He already has you in Sunspear, he had told Lyanna once, almost a lifetime ago, why would he want me in Starfall? And his father had not agreed to allow him to marry Ashara until he had heard of her pregnancy, even after Tywin Lannister had refused to marry his daughter to him. As if he had still expected to strike another betrothal.
"So my father was a traitor."
Jon shook his head as Robert said, "No. Don't say that."
"Your father was one of the best men I've ever known," Jon added. "Everything he did, everything we all did, was to make sure we left a better world for you than the one we were living in."
Eddard almost replied by reminding him how nicely that had turned out, but there was pain in the man's eyes, so he kept his thoughts to himself, as he did so well. Instead he said:
"You are telling me this now. Why?"
Robert tensed at that and, even before Jon answered; his stance let Ned know he already knew the answer to that question.
"I wrote to Hoster Tully the moment you locked yourself in your chambers to grief. With your brother…gone, I wondered if he'd be willing to stuck an alliance with me, as I'm a man in need of heirs and he had been promised a wedding."
Ned frowned at that. "He said no?"
The Lord of the Vale stood at that and placed his hands on the table before him, face stern. Once again, he shook his head.
"No. He agreed and offered his daughter Lysa to be my wife. He also reminded me his daughter Catelyn was promised the title of Lady of Winterfell." He sighed. "He still wants her to have it."
The words hanged between them, as sharp as a sword, because even if Jon didn't say it Ned knew what he meant. Knew what was expected of him.
"I offered myself," Robert said then, fixing his sky blue eyes on Ned's grey ones. "I told him I'd marry his Catelyn and make her Lady of Storm's End, but he would not to hear it."
There was truth and almost sadness in his words, and for all his wrongs Eddard knew his friend was being as honest as he had ever been. He put a hand on his shoulder in thanks and reassurance. And to hold himself steady too, because he understood, what those men he considered family didn't want to say out loud.
What this war would demand of him.
Lya's smile came to him then, as he had last seen her, ridding away from Winterfell to her new family and life. And Ashara's dancing violet eyes, shinning with sadness as she rode beside his sister and looked back at him, dreaming as he did of a future they would soon achieve.
Somewhere on the Red Keep he knew they waited for him. And he wondered just what amount of himself he was ready to give for them and for a future in which they'd be happy and alive. The answer was an easy one. And it devastated and strengthen him at the same time.
Because he would give everything he had and more for them, never mind what it cost him.
Days, he had been riding for days.
There was nothing but darkness around him and, above him, Nymeria's Star and her ten thousand ships seemed to mock him, reminding him of what little time he had, and of the soldiers that were surely chasing him at that very moment. Still, he knew he had been smart, because while riding through the sands in the darkness was rather reckless, it would have been stupid of him to bring a torch and show his persecutors the way they had to follow.
As much as he didn't want them to, his thoughts wandered back to the Water Gardens and how they had been when he'd left. He wondered if Doran had been surprised to hear he had escaped the palace. He wondered also if he had discovered Nehemia had helped him.
The truth was that he wouldn't have been able to do it without her, not with his brother's men watching his every move. But in the end Doran had been too busy handling the mayhem that were the gardens to pay him much mind. His daughters were to blame for it; he knew it in his heart.
While Nymeria had cried her eyes out at them, screaming that they had left her mother and aunt alone –which filled Oberyn's heart with no little amount of pride–, Obara had faced them both directly, and openly, letting every man, woman and child on the gardens know that the Mad King and his son were holding two dornish princesses hostage in their Keep.
It had been impossible to keep the situation a secret after that, and when the letter arrived telling them of what had befallen Rickard and Brandon Stark…Oberyn himself had faced his brother then, courtesy and politeness be damned. But even then he had known there was nothing Doran could do without risking Elia, Rhaenys, Aegon and Lyanna in the process. It would be impossible for any of their ships to reach King's Landing without being wrecked at Blackwater Bay by the Targaryen fleet.
An army was not an option, Doran had declared, not when they had an alliance with House Targaryen. Not while Elia was in the Keep. And Oberyn knew his brother felt for Lyanna, could see the pain in his eyes, but he also knew that he would let her die if that meant saving Elia. He should have hated him for it, but he understood. Still, it angered him.
More letters arrived and the whole world seemed to have turned on its axis. Aerys Targaryen had demanded Eddard's head as well as Robert Baratheon's and the Vale had raised his banners against him. There was no one to tell them what the North was doing, but they didn't need a raven telling them Winterfell had risen up in arms, not when a letter from Ned's own handwriting arrived days later. It contained but a sentence, and it had moved Doran to move the army to their borders, but Oberyn was not about to wait and see how everything developed.
Honor my sister, Eddard had written. No signature, no mention of his new title as Lord of Winterfell, only the wolf seal to remind the Viper of the promises he had made. Of his very own she-wolf now trapped in a tower.
The thought of Lyanna made him wrath in a way he wasn't sure he had ever felt before, because whatever Rhaegar was doing to her…he'd have blood for it.
"If he dares touch a hair on Lyanna's head," he had warned Doran the last time they had spoken, "I will lead against him a war so bloody it will put what the Conqueror did to Harren the Black to shame. Which means that of him, his soldiers, his allies and his servants I will leave no survivor."
Doran had stared at him as a mother might look at her misbehaving child, knowing that there was something she should do to change his behavior but without a clue of where to start.
"Maybe when the crown seats upon our sister's head and she's cheered as Regent you'll see things the way I do."
"Regent? You'd curse her by binding her to the Iron Throne." Doran's voice had been low and harsh, and there was anger in it, Oberyn knew, but surprise and disbelief too.
"She's the most capable person I know." And she was the only one in that God's forsaken place –save his wife, nephew and niece– that mattered to him. "And she's been bound to the Iron Throne since you married her off to that oaf of a prince."
His brother had all but kicked him out of his chambers, and Oberyn had run to seek the tigress' help to get away from the Water Gardens.
Days later, he found himself riding through the desert, certain that the ravens he had instructed Nehemia to send had reached their destination and making his horse ride harder and faster and swifter. He was a traitor now, had betrayed his prince's command of staying put and doing nothing, and knew that law dictated Doran had to lock him up if caught, and there was no way he was letting himself be captured when there was so much he had to do.
And then, he saw it, a fire in the distance and he would have thought it a mirage if he hadn't been expecting it. The prince was able to catch sight of the tents as he approached and a fuss arose on the camp at his arrival. Before he could explain himself, though, a slim figure walked toward him, ordering the soldiers to stand down.
She was dressed in brown leathers with a dark veil covering her hair and a sword to her hip, and Oberyn had never been happier to see Larra Blackmont. The vulture grinned up at him as he dismounted.
"You are late," she spat. "We will need to leave right away if we want to make sure the prince's men won't find us."
The Viper frowned. "I didn't leave a trail, Larra; it would be a miracle if they were to stumble upon us."
The heir to Blackmont didn't answer him and, instead, lead him further inside the camp. Wary now, Oberyn followed her into a tent, only to mutter a curse when he saw who waited inside.
"What?" Delonne smiled at him, "You thought you could call in old debts to march on the capital and I wouldn't find out?"
He understood then why Larra had complained he was late and why she had been so eager to leave. If Delonne Allyrion was here, there was no way she hadn't sent word to Doran about it.
"I know what you are thinking," Larra nodded, "and yes, we had to warn Doran."
"Letting our prince think us traitors didn't sound like a good plan," Delonne added, her dark eyes finding his own.
The Viper of Dorne nodded at them both, because he knew both ladies were risking far more than he was on this, and he was grateful to have them at his side. "How many men do we have?" he asked, and walked toward the table where Delonne was sitting to accept the water Larra offered him.
"Fifty, as requested. A larger force would not go unnoticed," the Lady of Godsgrace answered, a smile never leaving her lips. If the situation had been different, Oberyn may have remembered the times he had spent in her city, enjoying the pleasures that both her palace and her body had to offer, but right now they were nothing but friends and allies and he felt no kind of lust toward the older woman. "Most of them are loyal to me. The others belong to Larra's personal escort."
"They follow us and we follow you," the Blackmont lady stated, offering him a plate full of fruits and meat that the prince willingly accepted.
"Yes," Delonne laughed, "you should eat, Viper. We'll be leaving as soon as your horse rests." And she left.
But Larra was not done with him. She took of her veil, cleaning it of sand, and fixed her hazel eyes back on Oberyn. There was cunning in them he had always admired.
"Your sister's husband took your wife," she said, as lovingly as a maid might talk about her favorite dress, "and his father murdered her brother and father. Now you aim to fight him and save both her and your sister…It will be an epic tale."
Taking another long sip of water, Oberyn replied, "If we win."
She shrugged. "Either way it will be a bloodbath. Let's hope we survive it."
Larra sighed and stood to leave but Oberyn called for her again. "Your mother will let us cross?"
She didn't turn to him but the prince could hear her grin in her words. "And she will deny that she did when asked."
Nodding, Oberyn hoped Doran could forgive him. Wait, he begged Lyanna and Elia in silence, I'm coming. I'm coming.
It had not been easy to change his assignment so another would guard the King's chamber, but since Rhaegar had taken three of his sworn brothers when he had left King's Landing, Arthur had managed to get Jaime Lannister to guard Aerys' door that night instead of Lyanna's. There had been a warning look in the youngest of the white knight's eyes, as if he feared Arthur would do something stupid, that the Dayne had decided to ignore.
He stood in the corridor for hours as the sun came down and the noises in the castle went out, until there was nothing around him but freezing silence and the feeling of the world being lost to darkness. Down the corridor, the fire of a torch casted shadows in the wall, and the smell of the burning wax filled his nostrils, reminding him of another fire.
When he was sure everyone was sleeping and no one would come near there, he shifted from his defensive stance to grab the door handle.
He could still hear Ashara's screams when he had gone to Elia's chambers the morning after Rickard's and Brandon's execution. She had blamed him for allowing it to happen, for serving a king who had at last proven to be beyond mad, for not protecting those who really needed. There had been no need to tell her that was what he had aimed for, what he had wanted, what he had dreamed of when he accepted to be knighted as a member of the kingsguard. She already knew, but that hadn't stopped her from accusing him. And Arthur couldn't blame her, not when Aerys had called for the head of the father of the child his sister was expecting.
Taking a deep breath, he opened the door to Lyanna's room.
He was not sure what he had been expecting, but what he found was certainly not it.
There was no light in the room, no chandelier or candle to light up the place, but even in the semi darkness Arthur could see platters on the wooden table and smell them as the food they carried rotted away, uneaten. It took him a moment to notice there was no air coming from the outside, and he saw the crystal doors that lead to the balcony were closed.
"They put a chain on the doors. I think they were afraid I'd jump."
Arthur turned slowly toward her voice, barely able to make her small figure in the massive bed she was sat upon. It sounded broken, as if her throat were shore. It wouldn't been impossible for that to be the reason behind her low and hoarse tone, since he was sure she had broken her voice that night in the throne room.
Before he could answer her, she said, "Are you here to finish the job?"
The white knight gave a taunting step toward the bed.
"Lya−"
"You can't call me that now," she cut him off. He nodded, even if the princess could not see him, because he understood.
"I'm not here to harm you," Arthur promised, even if deep down inside his heart he was sure she wouldn't believe him.
Lyanna made a sound that could have been a laugh but resembled a sob before she replied, "I've already been hurt. I have lost my father. I have lost my brother."
It was not only sadness in her words, but also resignation, as if she had already given up on life. For a moment, Arthur waited. Waited to see if she asked him about her other brothers, about her husband and her brother in law.
He knew that Ned, Jon Arryn and Robert were wanted men, and Aerys would not rest until he had their heads, and he knew the three of them had called for their armies, had heard about the battle Jon Arryn had raged at Gulltown against the only bannermen of his after the he refused his call and about how the battle had ended when Baratheon had slayed the man.
And he knew Dorne have heard of what had happened, he had made sure of it, sending Oberyn and Doran a letter to warn them. But no one had heard anything about the Martell armies.
"Your other brother lives," he decided to tell her. "The King considers him a traitor to the crown. He has Arryn and Baratheon at his side."
Arthur didn't speak of armies, of alliances, of war. He didn't need to.
He heard the mattress protest as Lyanna moved forward on the bed, closer to where he stood at the foot of it. The knight couldn't make her features but noticed the sigh she let out, and against heard her sob faintly, as her long dark hair fell unbound down her shoulders. His white cloak, the one he had wrapped her in after she broke down at the throne room, was on top of her covers.
"I told Rhaegar, you know? That Ned would come for me, and for Ashara and her child." Before Arthur could register her movements, the princess reached for him, her left arm closing around his right forearm as if she could summon claws and break the skin beneath his shirt. "Take care of Ashara and Elia. If Ned comes…Aerys'll think they have something to do with it."
There had been few times in his life in which Arthur Dayne had found himself stunned by someone, and this was definitely one of them. Because Lyanna Stark had been locked up, hurt, and put through something that he was sure would have broken him, and still she cared more about those she loved as sisters than she did about herself.
"I'll take care of them," he vowed, and intended to keep that vow. And then he moved his free arm to unsheathe a dagger from his belt. Lyanna didn't even flinch, but he could feel her stare burning against his flesh. Turning the dagger around in his hand, he offered it to her. "And you take care of yourself."
As she took the weapon he offered, the knight didn't dare wonder for what she might use it or against whom she might wield it.
"I wouldn't worry if it were only I I needed to take care of."
Lyanna finished the sentence abruptly and closed her mouth after that, as if she regretted what she had just said. Arthur frowned and narrowed her eyes, not quite understanding what she meant.
"Lyanna−"
"I understand," she cut him off once again. "I understand that you made a vow when you entered the kingsguard. You must keep it, no matter what."
And he knew she meant it, because both she and Ned were so damn honorable that none of them would blame him for doing nothing and staying put as Aerys Targaryen burned Rickard alive and tortured Brandon to death. As Lyanna was forced to watch.
But he blamed himself. For all his years, he would blame himself.
"It does matter," the knight replied after a moment of silence.
"We would both be dead if you had tried to get me out of there. We would both die if you tried to take me out now."
The truth, raw and aching and horrible, but the truth nevertheless.
"Keep the dagger hidden," he told her. "Do what you must, and try to sleep."
With that, Arthur turned around and left the room, mindful of not making any noise as he closed the heavy wooden door, and Lyanna was left to stare after him, and then at the dagger still burning cold between her fingers.
As dreadful silence fell around her once again, the princess let her other hand rest on her belly. She hadn't wanted −hadn't dared− ask about Oberyn, because she didn't want him to come to this hell but at the same time she yearned for him to do so. To come and join Ned and kill them all for what they had done to her and to her family. For keeping her in there.
Taking a deep breath and blinking to keep the tears away –she had already cried enough− she laid back on the bed.
She had laughed when the servants had chained the balcony doors, because if she truly wished to end this hell, to end her life, she'd just jump through those glass doors, never minding the pain it would cause her, and then throw herself into the abyss.
They hadn't understood why she laughed. They hadn't known her enough.
And then once they were gone she had cried; for herself, and for her weakness and inability to do anything; for Bran and Father; for the brothers she was sure she'd never see again; for the husband she knew would go mad with rage if anything happened to her; and for the child growing inside of her.
