EDDARD

Before they left Casterly Rock to set about liberating the remainder of the Westerlands, news of Catelyn's having given birth to Robb Stark, future heir to Winterfell and the North, reached them by way of a raven. Upon hearing that he was the namesake of the child Robert had sought Ned out to have a drink with him, adding a promise to name one of his own sons after Ned. It was later when the conversation took a less jovial turn that Ned began to wonder if Robert had mayhaps drunk too much ale.

"I don't think I can keep doing this, Ned," admitted Robert.

Ned automatically assured his friend, "You're a fine King, your grace, far better than your predecessor."

Robert had laughed at this, replying, "And a pile of horse shit can smell better than Aerys too—but no, I wasn't talking about that."

"Then what were you talking about?" queried Ned with some confusion.

Robert took a large swig of ale before speaking and refilling his cup with a flagon that had been brought for the purpose. He said, "Before your sister went north, she told me that she would marry me, if I could prove to be loyal to her bed alone, and I promised to be damn celibate for our year apart."

Ned had to admire his friend's willingness to agree to such a plan, despite his well known appetite for women—if Robert could stay true to his word, then Lyanna and he could have a much better foundation to start their marriage upon. And the entire peace and safety of the kingdom would be on better footing than it was at the moment.

"The other night, I came back to my room to find a beautiful woman laying on my bed in naught a thing—naked as the day she were born—and she told me to take her, that her body was mine to do as I pleased…"

"The woman?" questioned Ned, with some curiosity.

"Some Lannister or other—they all look similar to me with their hair of yellow and eyes of green," Robert answered dismissively.

Ned then asked, "And what did you do?"

"I damn well threw her out! That's what I bloody well did. But as I did, I couldn't help but notice that I wanted her… I wanted that woman so badly. All the songs when they speak of love speak of a love which erases all thought of others…a love which is all consuming… I thought I had that for Lyanna… that my love for her would burn off any and all other loves. But it isn't, Ned… Seven Hells, how am I going to survive this year—or all the years to come?" asked Robert

Ned thought long and hard on Robert's words before answering him, saying, "What we think does not matter as much as what we do. A true man can chain his desires if he believes that to do so would be the right and noble thing—the honorable thing. The fact that you could fight off your baser thoughts and desires, even when given the most opportune moment to employ them with none-being-the-wiser speaks far more to your good character."

And Lyanna clearly does not deserve you.

"Truly Ned?" asked Robert with a bit of a whimper.

Ned kept his distaste for his sister's actions to himself and replied, "Aye, every day we're all offered temptations of what we desire. That we are tempted means that we're human. That we're weak, fragile creatures prone to mistakes and follies, but if we struggle against our frailty, striving for something better than our weak-willed desires, then we can call ourselves men."

"And when has the honorable Ned Stark ever been tested, eh? If there's any man whom I could count among the resistant, it would be the frigid Bloody Wolf."

Ned cringed once again at the use of that damnable name he'd been given, but sighed, knowing there was little he could do to escape it now. To Robert's point, he thought back to when he was a boy of eight, just newly sent to the Eyrie, and the few nights he had been jealous that Robert—like Brandon—would one day inherit the home he had been born in. He had never wanted to be Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, he just merely had longed to have the ability to return to Winterfell as his true home once again. They were the weak jealousies of a boy of only eight namedays born a second son—the spare—missing the home and family he had so recently left and knowing that even when he was finished his fostering that there would be no return to Winterfell. Winterfell itself was lost to him for forever. He would forever be simply a guest in its halls evermore, the master of some keep somewhere else in the North, a bannerman sworn to his brother. Over the years he'd comforted himself in the thoughts that he could choose his own destiny—if he truly did want that keep, or he could be a hedgeknight doing great deeds about the land, or a sellsword fighting in Essos if he had the mind of it. He also thought that unlike his brother with his arranged marriage to Catelyn Tully, that he could have a wife of his choosing who not only brought honor to his house, but whom he could love. It had been under this guise Ned had begun the pursuit of Ashara Dayne, until she had refused to marry him. And yet still, despite these advantages to his situation those longings of the boy he had been still remained buried deep down in a place he hoped to forget they continued to live on. As such Ned had always kept them to himself and as the years passed he had hated himself for ever thinking of them when suddenly he found himself exactly where that boy of eight had always dreamed, with the ability to return to Winterfell as more than just a guest in the home of his birth… at the cost of his father's and Brandon's lives, and a bloody war Ned was beginning to doubt he'd ever see the end of.

Did I bring this war into being, with my idle wishes all those years ago? Is this how the gods chose to answer me?

"You fine, Ned?" asked Robert with a bit of nudge of his elbow.

Ned shook his head of his thoughts and answered, "Aye… I have had desires and temptations enough in my life…"

"Your bastard's mother, I presume?" asked Robert pointedly.

Ned looked at Robert with what he imagined was incredulity. His friend finished the gulp of ale he had been drinking at the moment and then spoke. "All of King's Landing was speaking of it. Like it or not Ned, the Bloody Wolf's bastard is subject to court gossip. It wasn't spoken of in front of you or the Tullys—thank the Seven—but it was talked about."

Ned grimaced and wondered if his goodfather had heard of his son Jon by this point? That would be a subject he would have to deal with carefully at the end of this war.

Ned then continued, "Still, as I was saying, a man strives to be better than their desires. A woman should as well, but a man most of all—for how can he teach his sons to be men if he cannot be one himself?"

"By the Seven, you sound like Jon now… only he managed to say it plainer than you did, if you can believe it," and they both shared a laugh and the loquacious Jon Arryn speaking plainly.

"And how was that?" asked Ned when he had regained control of himself.

"Sometimes we must do things we would rather not do," was Robert's reply.

Ned admitted with a fair grin, "Aye, Jon always did find the better way of saying something…"

"To Jon!" announced Robert.

"To Jon…" added Ned.

Lord Stafford Lannister was confirmed, by suggestion of Ser Jaime, to be Lord Regent of the Westerlands until Lord Tyrion reached his age of majority, leaving the Southern and Eastern portion of the Westerlands in his hands for the moment while they then turned their focus to the North and West of the great city of the West.

In their war to suppress the Westerlands, the Ironborn sent by Balon Greyjoy had taken things too far, at least too far for Robert's fury to not eventually be provoked.

At the first castle they came to, Feastfires, the seat of House Prester, they did not liberate it so much as discovered what little was remained of it was a more accurate description. It appeared that whatever the Ironborn could not take, they burned, and in the smoldering ruin, Lord Garrison Prester's cooked body had been hung at the entrance to the castle. He hung by his wrists just ever so slightly off the ground and the stench of burnt flesh permeated the air.

At this sight, Robert had only grumbled something about the Westerlands getting what they deserved for supporting a turncoat like Tywin.

With each holdfast and castle they came to the more their shared outrage grew, and the worse the tortures seemed to have been committed to the Western Lords. Nobles who had not either marched with Lord Tywin or sailed with his brother Gerion, had been slain and left for carrion as warnings to those who defied the Ironborn.

The next town and castle they came to was home to House Kenning of Kayce. Being of Ironborn blood that had settled the lands back in the days of the Hoare dynasty but bent the knee to the Lannisters after Aegon's conquest, Jaime had warned them that they would likely come to find the strongest support upon the peninsula for the Ironborn rule here. To their surprise they found the heads of the entirety of House Kenning of Kayce, not just Lord Terrence, were upon the walls of a sacked castle, the word traitors painted in their own blood beneath them. Even the small children were there, the babe's head having since fallen off from its into the mud beneath it.

At this sight Robert had remained completely silent, while Denys had offered: "Seven Hells, even against their own blood…"

"Likely considered traitors for bending knees to Lannisters," growled Ser Jaime.

They would have gone to Faircastle then—which rumor had it was where the majority of Ironborn forces in the Westerlands were located as it had been made the capital of the "Gold Coast" as the new Ironborn conquests were being called, but Lord Paxter was busy dealing with what ships remained in the southern waters while the King's brother, Lord Stannis, had only recently sent word that he'd managed to scrabble enough ships together to make sail. So they continued North to the two remaining castles along the coast: the Crag and Banefort. They sent a raven from Kayce to Lannisport that they would meet the fleet at the Crag.

Some men were sent on ahead to check on the conditions of the Banefort, with the expectation that they would find yet another ruined castle with the lord and his family either dead or taken to be thralls and saltwives.

The Crag was an old half ruined castle, the seat of House Westerling, from what Ser Jaime told them.

"This you should like, the Westerlings claimed to have blood of the First Men, Lord Stark, and used to be Kings when the Westerlands was split north and south before they intermarried with us Lannisters, of course. Then House Hoare came and made them bend the knee, took the northern half our land, and stripped the Westerlings of most their good lands for doing battle against them—that's how the Reynes came to hold so much power, they were brought up as an insult to House Westerling, as before they had just been a minor house of little relevance. Ever since then they've been a house in decline, their gold mines have dried up and they've had to sell off what remained of their lands to maintain their crumbling castle, having more pride than power, as my father used to say…" the young Western Knight had said, ending on a somewhat bitter final note—no doubt dwelling on the thoughts of his father.

They found Lord Gawen Westerling similar to how they had found Lord Garrison Prester—hung by the entrance to his castle by his wrists, only this time it seemed his death was caused from having seashells stuffed down his throat. A bloody pile of which had since fallen from his overflowing mouth and laid just beneath his feet. Beyond that it appeared that he had been beaten by someone's bare fists as the remains of his face were bloody, black, and blue, eyes swollen shut, and it looked like his jaw was broken open.

"This is beyond simple acts of war, this is outright torture!" fumed Robert.

"Why give Lord Westerling such a death?" asked Ned

"The banner of House Westerling is six seashells on a sandy field," explained Ser Jaime.

It seemed the Ironborn were eager to mock the houses they conquer—though not much of a grand conquest hitting castles left defenseless by a foolhardy and greedy overlord.

"It's odd though that only Lord Westerling is here. I remember hearing just before I joined the Kingsguard that Lord Westerling had recently had a son… Raynald was his name, I believe. All the other houses we've seen have had their sons' bodies displayed up with their fathers. Seems odd to miss this one."

"Mayhaps his son has since died?" suggested Denys.

"Most likely, or taken with his mother to be a thrall while she a saltwife," concluded Ser Jaime with some distaste.

They then began to turn their party to return to the encampment below the castle which had been so ruined the Ironborn hadn't even bothered to burn leave it worse than they had found it. It was as they did this that Ned heard an odd sound echoing from further inside the castle. He stopped to listen harder while the rest of the party began to move off. He then recognized the sound when they had moved a bit off.

"Are you coming, Ned?" called Robert, when they had noticed his reluctance to follow.

"There's someone in there," Ned called out in reply. The party of Denys, Robert, Ser Jaime and Ser Corbray then returned.

"Quiet! Listen," urged Ned as their approaching horses nearly drowned out the sound to which he had heard.

They listened with him in silence for a moment, the wind billowing about them.

"All I hear is the wind, Ned," conceded Denys.

"No, I hear something too," contradicted Ser Corbray.

"I as well," added Ser Jaime.

"You all must have damned better hearing than I do, cause all I hear is the ruddy wind," said Robert.

But with the majority of the party having heard something, they disembarked from their horses and entered the castle. They searched through the echoing halls of the near-ruined castle, the sound growing louder the further they entered, eventually becoming distinct enough to be recognized as a babe's screams. They followed the screams down into the dungeons of the castle, where they found a grating that had been half rusted away with age, large enough for someone to slip through and into the catacombs the castle stood upon. At this point the party lit what torches they could find and journeyed down into the dark depths of the Crag's catacombs, their swords armed in their other hands, should they be walking into a trap.

It was a long narrow passageway that was condensed with much water and stank of the salt of the sea along with whatever rotted in the puddles and muck which they trudged through. The passageway eventually came to several others, eventually revealing the catacombs to be a verifiable maze. Using small piles of stone they marked the way they came at each turn off, so that they might find their way out when the time came. The screams grew louder and louder the deeper they went until suddenly the screams stopped dead.

In the utter silence, save for the dripping of water from the roof of the catacombs they all shared a concerned look amongst themselves. Had whoever had the babe down here heard their approach and silenced it?

It was Robert who broke the silence, clearing his throat and then saying in a deep booming voice that echoed all through the catacombs: "In the name of Robert Baratheon, the rightful King of Westeros, we ask you to show yourself!"

Yet again nothing but the dripping water could be heard, or the distant scuffle of what Ned prayed was simply a rat. The silence lasted long enough that they had nearly decided to turn back when once again the screams of the babe, seeming to have moved from where they had previously been—moved closer to them—began again. So they continued to follow the screams and it was not long until their torchlight came upon the sight of a woman, who obviously had given birth here in the catacombs not a day since, and had died from the procedure, judging from the amount of blood mixed in the muck and turbid puddles of water. Not too far off from the woman, stood a shivering little boy with brown hair and eyes who protectively held a bloody screaming newborn in his hands. He was covered in much and his clothes were soaked through, but it was clear from what features of the face Ned had seen that this boy was the missing lordling son of Lord Gawen, Raynald Westerling.

"This is Lady Westerling," confirmed Ser Jaime, who had knelt down to inspect the obviously dead woman.

"Seven help her soul find peace," said Denys.

"Come here lad, we won't harm you," urged Robert in a more commanding tone than was tempting to the little lordling, who continued to stare between all of them, frightened and confused it seemed.

"You're Raynald, aren't you?" asked Ser Jaime.

The boy nodded,

Ned added, "And that there is your…"

"My sister. Mama called her Jeyne then she went to sleep…" muttered the boy who seemed no older than four namedays, Ned figured.

The babe was not likely to live, given her place of birth and the lack of a breast to feed on, but with some promises to his sister's safety, which the boy it seemed had been made to promise by his dying mother, the young boy joined their party. Ned sheathed his sword, handed his torch to Denys, and took the newly born Jeyne Westerling from the lad, who looked ready to drop his sister. She was covered in what looked to be dried blood, and she was awful thin from hunger, but she had a powerful set of lungs—of that Ned was in no doubt. Raynald hovered closely to Ned while he held his sister. Ned decided that for the time being he would take the two into his own care as like at Starfall he doubted any of the other lords to take an interest in doing so the orphaned children. As he did so, he wondered if holding his infant son would feel as precious as this newly born Westerling girl.

They exited the catacombs and returned to the entrance and their horses. At the sight of his father, young Raynald Westerling lost the silent composure he had had, beginning to cry and grabbing onto his father's dangling feet. Ser Corbray managed to pry him off his "papa" as the boy was apt to scream between his sobs, though he was less than gentle with the little lordling.

Their horses had scurried away from the noise of the scene and needed to be caught before they could mount them, but when they had, Ned handed off Jeyne to Denys while he situated the sniffling and ragged breath Raynald upon his horse and then Denys handed him his sister while Ned mounted his horse behind the small boy. They returned to the encampment and Ned, for the good of both the Westerling children had Theo Wull sent out to see if he could find some smallfolk woman with milk in her breasts that had not been taken by the Ironborn for a saltwife—though he doubted Wull would be able to do so. Still, for the benefit of the children he would make the attempt. Much to his surprise, within an hour, Wull returned with a smallfolk woman named Gwyn and her toddler son of black hair who offered to be nursemaid to the young lordling and his sister if well paid. Both the lordling and his sister ate greedily, obviously starved. Later Ned would try more solid foods for Raynald, to mixed success. It seemed that Lady Westerling had been in the process of weaning him from her breasts, a process that had been set back by the attack of the Ironborn forcing them into the catacombs where all she likely had to offer her son was her breasts.

Had they been a few days later, or they continued to have ridden back to the encampment after inspecting their father's body, the two would have likely perished in the catacombs of their own castle. As it was they were the only surviving nobles of the Northwestern Westerland Houses. Over the next few days some men were sent back into the catacombs to retrieve the body of Lady Westerling and to bury her next to her husband in the lichfield of the castle, as they waited for the return of their men from Banefort as well as the arrival of the combined Fleet to sail to Fair Island and then on to Pyke, they discussed what to do with the Westerling children.

"I would not suggest sending them to Casterly Rock," admitted Ser Jaime.

"And why is that?" asked Robert.

Ser Jaime began, "Although my Uncle Stafford commands the Rock, my aunt Genna still resides there, and she would not be the best companion for the sole remaining lordling of the lordless lands."

A guttural near growl was heard from Robert at the mention of Ser Jaime's aunt, who had outright flown into a temper and attempted to scold and humiliate him in front of his men for beheading Tywin Lannister. She'd driven Robert into such a rage he promptly gave her the backside of his hand and was told that if she spoke another syllable she'd find her tongue cut out. The woman had foolishly ignored the threat until the king drew his sword at which point she backed down and scampered off to her own chambers as fast as her fat legs could take her. For the remainder of their stay in Casterly Rock she had remained confined to her chambers.

Ser Jaime continued cooly, "My aunt is landless, being married to a Frey, and has two sons of her own. She'd likely find some tragic way for the Lordling to die and raise his sister to be wife to her eldest."

"Do you truly believe your aunt to be so cold-hearted?" asked Denys with some shock.

"I'd believe anything of that damned woman!" grumbled Robert, while Ser Jaime sighed and nodded his head.

"If not she, then her husband would surely try it," admitted the lion knight, who then sighed and said, "I'd suggest a neighboring lord, if they were not all dead by either the Ironborn or at the bottom of the Narrow Sea like the Lord of Ashemark."

"Tywin's folly has cost the Westerlands an entire generation—mayhaps even two generation's worth of men," eagerly added Lord Mace, saying the obvious.

Ned groaned at hearing this, knowing that his wife, who already didn't speak to him, was like to hate him far worse as he offered what he thought was an honorable solution, "Though I am loathe to turn Winterfell into a nursery for all war orphans, if need be they can be fostered for a time at Winterfell."

Lord Mace looked at him with complete shock, but for the time being it was agreed upon that this was the best course of action. Ned promised to have the boy squire when he came to the age of twelve namedays with a Western knight of Ser Jaime's choosing and nothing more was said of the matter. Ned arranged for Theo Wull and a small band of men to escort the children and the wetnurse and her son to Winterfell. He gave Theo a letter to be given to his wife explaining the situation and instructing how much to pay the wetnurse, who would not be needed while Wylla resided at Winterfell. Arthur and his Westerland squire were included more often amongst his retinue to replace Theo.

When their men returned from the Banefort, they told of how the destroyed castle was littered with the dead men of House Banefort—hung by their own cloaks torn to pieces throughout the ruins, their heads hooded. More mockery it seemed as the banner of House Banefort was that of a hooded man.

This stoked Robert's fury, but did not ignite it. No, it wasn't until after Lord Paxter and Lord Stannis had arrived and they had taken Fair Castle and Fair Island that that came bursting forth.

Fair Castle was the worst of the fighting in the entire Westerlands campaign, as it was supposed to be the new "capital" for the "Gold Coast" of the new "Iron Kingdom". And as such it was being ruled over by Rodrik and Maron Greyjoy both of whom were responsible for the vicious attacks on all the coastal Westerlands Houses, and now having run out of enemies to fight and being pushed back from Lannisport, had it seemed turned to fighting one another for control of their region, and so Fair Island was already in the midst of battle when they arrived. The divided forces were much weaker, and Ned at the command of Robert, burned all the Ironborn ships in their harbor to prevent the Ironborn from fleeing. There would be no escape for either Greyjoy son. They had yet to realize the presence of a third army on the island and by the time they had it was too late and their tired forces were easily swept aside and slaughtered in the fury of Robert's warhammer and the Greatswords Ice and Talon.

Both Maron and Rodrik were killed in the fighting, but no peace could be found from any Ironborn who refused to yield or bend the knee, and so they all were exterminated. But the battle proved to be the easy part of their victory. Upon entering the castle it seemed the two heirs of Lord Balon had collected most of the captured saltwives—nobles and smallfolk alike—and kept them locked in this castle. The difficult part was in convincing the poor women that Rodrik and Maron had actually died and that this wasn't some kind of test of their loyalty.

One of the women became so infuriated that she charged at Ned with a small knife she had hidden on her person, but before she could do him any bodily damage, a sword with the flat-edge came out of nowhere and knocked the knife from her hand—the blade of the sword then meeting her throat.

"Grab it and your life is through," said Arthur.

It was not until the heads of both Rodrik and Maron were shown to the women that they were managed to be calmed down from a screaming gnashing throng to a more manageable collection of women. It was here that the young Clegane found his sister, Calena, half beaten and bruised and crying tearfully at seeing her dear little brother once again.

Upon seeing the sight of so many women battered and fearful, Robert's temper was set aflame, him shouting in their meeting on their plans to take Pyke, "They slaughter the nobles and take their wives, daughters, and smallfolk for thralls and saltwives?! Damn their brazen hides! No wonder there's refugees fleeing through the bloody Western mountains in spring!"

"They likely mean to repopulate the houses with sons off of their wives and daughters, making men with Ironborn blood in their veins. A complete and utter wiping out of the old population by breeding," spat Denys in utter disgust.

Were the North a more tempting target, this might be Barrowton, Ryshall, or Deepwood Motte…

"The Ironborn are a menace to our coasts! But they shall be a menace no longer! They and their culture of reaving are at an end in my Kingdom!" blustered Robert with the fury of an autumn storm upon the Narrow Sea. A fury which neither Ned, nor Denys felt or desired to withhold—not after the string of dead lords they'd seen all their travels.

And with such fury drive them they sailed to Pyke. The remainder of the fleet had given a good last stand of a fight before they took Lordsport and burned it to the ground, then set siege to the castle of Pyke itself. The infamous Iron Fleet had been divided into those that had attacked the Southern Westerlands and they later learned were supposed to push into the Reach, the third of the Fleet at Fair Island under Rodrik and Maron's control, and the remainder standing guard at Pyke. However with the combined force of both Lord Redwyne's as well as Lord Baratheon's navy, they were far outnumbered and thus the Ironborn captains of those ships were forgotten and left off the pages of history.

The siege of Pyke itself was a long thing which only came to an end when a weak spot in their outerwalls crumbled and they were allowed to storm the castle and deal with the so-called Iron King. In the thick of battle, Ned found himself with Arthur Dayne by sheer chance—his squire left behind in the encampment. They fought together room to room, searching down any and all potential hiding spots for defenders to hide in. Upon entrance into each tower they and other men challenged its inhabitants to give up and bend the knee—but none did so save for the women, children, thralls, and saltwives-the armed Ironborn men refusing to their own bloody and exhausting detriment.

Slowly their army cleared the castle of Pyke leaving not even Balon Greyjoy who had been defiant until the last moment from what Ned heard Robert say. The only ones left alive to live from such a slaughter were any children who worked for the castle, the unarmed women, the thralls, and saltwives. Any armed man who refused to bend the knee was killed in the thick of the fighting, which were the majority of them. Ned was exhausted by the end of it, his anger from the Westerlands having faded, his arms well-exhausted from swinging Ice, and he was sick of seeing nothing but blood and dead men. But that is what was left on Pyke by the time they were done.