EDDARD
Ned lay there in the bed, looking at the sleeping form of his wife next to him, and wondering to himself at how they had found themselves there. Catelyn had taken him to her rooms to show him his son, little Robb Stark, and they had marvelled at the little boy they had made together, and gone back to her bedchamber, talking quietly of things, and then... things had... moved on from that. He stared at her face, for a moment, trying to picture it in Winterfell. Will you be happy there? he asked. Will you mind the snow and the cold? Will you mind... mind me, in the months and the years ahead?
Eddard took a deep breath, and shut his eyes. It had been so much easier when Catelyn Tully was not truly a person to him but an idea, a face on a miniature his brother flashed around when he was deep in his cups. Then it hadn't mattered to him, what she would think of the North. Then she was simply the girl who was going to marry Brandon in a few years, instead of this person beside him who seemed to grow more and more acutely real every time they met. But now... all had changed, and was continuing to change. How will I ever keep track of it all? he thought dimly, his mind beginning to drift off into what he realized was sleep.
His incipient slumber was destroyed by the sound of something slamming against a wall and a loud angry shout, followed by more loud cries and more slamming sounds. As the cries continued Ned became more certain that this was not right, that something awful was happening. He was getting into his breeches when Catelyn awoke. "Eddard..." she murmured dreamily. "Eddard what is that noise...?"
"I don't know," said Eddard, as he slid into his shift. "I'm going to go see." He found himself wishing for a sword, suddenly.
Catelyn sat up at that. "You are...?" She looked around the room frantically. "Must you? It... it sounds like someone being murdered..."
"That is why I must," muttered Eddard dully. He at last settled on a poker from the room's fireplace, a nasty iron instrument that looked like it could do some damage if it struck a man, even as he prayed this was all born of his nerves and some drunken revelers.
Catelyn bit her lip and nodded, her face taking on a determined look. "Be careful," she said, quietly. Eddard nodded back, and left the bedroom. He briefly checked Robb, who he saw was sleeping, as was his wet-nurse, and then moved from the antechamber to the hallway outside. There, the massive form of a large man squatted over a prone body, giant bawled fists striking the head over and over again.
Eddard took a deep breath, and raised the poker. "What is this?" he declared in what he hoped were confident tones.
The man turned, staring at him in surprise, and then rose unsteadily to his feet. "My lord," said Lord Wyman Manderly, bringing a blood-soaked hand almost reflexively to his chest as he managed a slight bow. "My apologies for disturbing you. I was... heading to retire for the night when this cur..." He glared briefly at the body, lying utterly still on the ground. It looked to Ned that Manderly had shattered the man's skull with his hands. "...attacked me." He stared a moment, then kicked the body. "With a knife."
"Eddard..." came his wife's voice. Even as Ned wished her back into their bed, Catelyn emerged behind him, an over-sized robe wrapped around her. "Eddard, have you found out what...?" Her blue eyes went wide as she saw the body.
Eddard coughed. "My lady," he said awkwardly, gesturing to Manderly, "This is..."
"Lord Manderly," said Catelyn with such formality that one could almost ignore her increasingly pale face.
"My Lady Stark," said Manderly with a flourish, offering a hand specked with blood and bits of skull. "My apologies for disturbing your rest."
"It... it is all right," said Catelyn, looking away and tightening her robe. Lord Manderly moved his hand back and gave an impossibly dignified bow.
"Cat! Cat!" came a loud holler that Ned recognized as his goodfather's. Hoster Tully came down a turn in the hall, his face furious and a sword in his hand, followed by a crowd of Tully and Whent guardsman and the distinctly uncomfortable form of Gerion Lannister. Hoster rushed to his daughter. "Are you all right?" Catelyn gave a slight nod, even as her father continued to talk. "Barb Bracken found one of the Whents' guardsmen with his throat cut. When, we went back to my chamber to check, we found armed men had tried to sneak into my chamber to hide... they stabbed poor young Wynston Wode who was preparing my bed and fled..." He glanced at the body lying on the floor, and then at Lord Manderly. "What happened here?"
"This man tried to attack me," explained Lord Manderly. "I... he said things that lead me to think he mistook me for you, Lord Tully."
Hoster's face went pale. "Gods be good," he muttered. He glanced Manderly up and down. "Gods be good," he repeated, with a slight wince. Another group of Tully guardsmen entered, escorting young Edmure Tully and Jaime Lannister with them. The young heir to Riverrun looked distinctly uncomfortable - Eddard had to wonder how much his goodbrother had drunk. Hoster regarded his son for a moment. "Are you well, Edmure?"
"F-fine, father," muttered Edmure, his face going slightly green.
Hoster gave a sympathetic nod, and then glanced at one of the older guardsmen. "Where are the other revelers, Ser Desmond?"
"Few were left," answered the knight. "Ser Allan has gone to rouse up more Whent guards, Lord Vance went to get his kin and the Blackwoods, while the Atrantian Vances had already joined Barb Bracken's muster..."
Hoster rolled his eyes at the last part. "Well, that is a... comfort." He glanced around. "We must all be on guard. These murderous wretches are still at large, and seeking my blood. Well by the Seven, Hoster Tully's blood is staying where it belongs - in Hoster Tully's veins!"
"Lord Tully," said Jaime Lannister, stepping forward. "I... it is my wish... if you would like it, to assist you in bringing these dogs to justice." He coughed awkwardly. "If... if I may bear a sword to do so..."
Hoster glanced at the former Kingsguard and gave a nod. "Very well. Ser Desmond, see that young Ser Jaime has steel. Something tells me we will have need of him before the night is done." He looked around. "Now - let us be on our way! We've traitors to hunt, by the Seven!" The crowd gave a lusty yell and began to head out, Lord Manderly and Ser Jaime among them. Hoster remained behind. He looked at his daughter and goodson. "Are you both all right?"
Eddard found himself forcing a nod, as Catelyn did the same, apparently doing her best to look at the wall opposite her and not the corpse on the floor. Hoster gave a grim chuckle. "Well, the pair of you are both courteous liars, I must say." He placed a hand on each of their shoulders. "We will get through this. It was a foolish, ill-planned attack, and now that it's failed, the wretches that did it will be shortly taken care of." He looked Eddard in the face. "You wish to ask me something, I think?"
"I..." Eddard took a deep breath, then spoke. "Why do you agree to arm Ser Jaime?"
"He's excellent with a sword, and I strongly suspect these people want him dead more than they do me," answered Hoster with a shrug. "And when the night is done, we will simply ask for his arms back, and I'm fairly certain the lad will give them to us." He smiled at Eddard. "You are going to find, goodson, that I'm a practical man. I use what's at hand." He turned away. "Now, I strongly recommend you find something more lethal than a fire iron. I'll send some men back here to guard..." He glanced down at the body and rolled his eyes. "What a night! What a perfectly wretched night!" he muttered, as he stalked away.
Eddard suppressed a shudder, and headed back into his quarters. Catelyn glanced at him nervously. "I... I am sorry," she said quietly. She looked suddenly at the floor. "This was supposed to be a pleasant night."
"It was," Ned replied, forcing on a smile. "Up till now." Catelyn smiled slightly back at him, and Ned felt his spirits lift slightly. For a little while, at least.
