Riding through the gates of Winterfell with Ice strapped on his back was sheer bliss. Riding through them to sound of his people cheering his return lifted his heart all the more. There was not a single face lacking a smile, including his and Jon's. Home, not just mine, but Jon's as well. It is good to see him smile.

Ned spotted his sons at the front of the crowd and rode over, coming to a halt next to Jon. They dismounted and approached the two boys. It was good to have Bran awake once more, but seeing him confined to riding in a basket made his heart ache. He had brought this, all of this, down upon his family by siding with Robert so many years ago. Ned shook his head, seeking to clear it. Just as Arthur had said, the past is the past, he could only attempt to do better in the future.

Bran looked to be struggling to stay calm, while Rickon ran straight into Jon's arms. Several of Winterfell's people chuckled good-naturedly at the display. Jon sunk to his knees and hugged him back, whispering something into his ear that made the little boy laugh.

Rickon pulled back to elbow length and looked at Jon curiously. "Maester Luwin said you're a king now."

Jon smiled. "Aye, I guess I am."

"You don't look like a king," Rickon said, prompting more chuckles from the people.

Jon looked himself over, then grinned. "I suppose I don't, do I?"

Rickon shook his head and patted Jon's head. "Where's your crown? Aren't kings supposed to have crowns?"

"Yes they are, and I'll have to get one soon. Wouldn't want all those southron mistaking me for the stableboy. We'll catch up more later, okay?"

Rickon nodded and they both rose to their feet, still smiling. Jon approached Bran with Rickon at his side. "Winterfell is yours, Your Grace," the acting Lord of Winterfell said in a calm, measured voice.

Jon's smile fell away. "There's no need to call me that, Bran, not you . . ."

Ned noticed what was going on and stepped forward, drawing the attention away from Jon. "People of Winterfell, it is good to be home. I would love to speak with each of you before we depart, but His Grace and I are weary from our travels. Please excuse us and we'll speak properly tonight, at the feast."

The crowd began to disperse, but Ned needed to check on one thing. He motioned Mikken over. "It is good to see you again, my lord," said the blacksmith, bowing his head.

"It is good to be seen, Mikken. I did not think I would ever see Winterfell again."

Mikken smiled and pounded Ned on the shoulder. "The gods have a way with helping the just. Is there something you need?"

"Yes, actually. How is the armor coming along? I would like to present it to Jon before the feast tonight, if at all possible."

"The first two are done, and the last will be completed within a fortnight."

"And Jon's?"

"His Grace's was the hardest, given his build, so I completed it first. The cloaks have all been made and are with the armor."

"Good," Ned said, but then he noticed something on Mikken's face, as if he wanted to say more. "What is it, Mikken?"

"My lord, the cost of so much steel-"

Ned held up a hand, cutting him off with a smile. "I knew of the cost when I sent the order, Mikken. Jon deserves this, and he'll have need of it when we ride south."

"So you truly plan to take the Iron Throne? To continue the war?"

Ned sighed deeply. "It was Jon's by right and I kept that from him. I turned a blind eye to what the man I once called brother had become. Now he's dead and a monster sits the Iron Throne. I see no cause more just, Mikken, and I'll fight to my death if needs be. If you'll excuse me, I need to properly greet my sons, then wash the stink of travel from me."

Mikken nodded and walked away. Ned turned back to his family, finding that Jon and the knights were gone, but Arya was hugging Rickon and laughing. He went to them, all his woes forgotten in that moment. When Rickon saw him, he burst into tears and pulled away from Arya to jump into Ned's arms. "Father, they said you were . . ."

"I know, son, I know. It's okay now, I'm okay," he whispered, a few tears falling from his own eyes. Ned held Rickon against him and walked to where Hodor was carrying Bran. He held the side of Bran's face and smiled. "You've done well, holding Winterfell. I'm proud of you."

Bran beamed but a moment, then he frowned. "What happened to Jon? Who are those two men that follow him around?"

"Jon is just not used to being called that yet, especially not from his family. As for the men, they are the knights, Barristan Selmy and Arthur Dayne."

Bran's jaw dropped and he began to bounce up and down in his basket, but then he stilled. "Isn't Ser Arthur dead, Father? You always said he was."

Ned shook his head. "That was a lie, Bran. Just as with Jon, Arthur needed to be hidden. He never intended to bend the knee to Robert Baratheon, so I allowed him to live in winter's town and watch over Jon from afar."

Bran looked at him with wonder in his eyes. The story of his battle with Ser Arthur had always been one of Bran's favorites, even though Ned didn't really like to speak of it. "Can I meet him?" he asked, any trace of the young lord gone, just a boy hoping to meet one of his heroes.

"I don't think either Barristan or Arthur would mind meeting you, though you'll have to wait until later, Bran. It was a hard ride, and all of us could do with a bath." Ned noticed his daughter trying to slip away and motioned her over. "That means you as well, Arya. You can begin your practice with Needle again on the morrow."

"My lord, it lifts the heart to see you once more," a voice Ned recognized as Maester Luwin said.

He set Rickon down and shook the maester's hand. "It is good to see you again as well. Have you seen the knights to chambers?"

"Yes, my lord, they have been given suitable chambers in the First Keep. Lady Arya's and your own have also been prepared, and a warm bath awaits both of you, if you wish it."

Ned smiled. "I would like that very much, maester, thank you. We will catch up more at the feast, I'm sure."

"Of course, my lord." Luwin bowed his head and led Rickon away, Hodor following behind them with Bran.

Ned bathed and changed into fresh clothes, then went to find Jon. With direction from Maester Luwin, he arrived outside of Jon's chamber. He knocked and was granted admission. Barristan and Arthur were there as well, and it seemed as though they had been speaking on something unpleasant.

"My lord Hand," Jon greeted formally. The lost look in his eye had disappeared entirely while they traveled from Castle Black. They were far from being any thing other than formal, but Ned could live with this. He would be fine with it, for as long as Jon needed, and longer still if need be.

"Your Grace, I had hoped to give you something before the feast."

Jon looked at him inquisitively.

"Not here," Ned said. "It's at the smithy, there's also something for Ser Barristan and Ser Arthur. If you'll come with me."

"In a moment, first I need to settle something with my Kingsguard. They believe it necessary to keep watch over me at all times. I'll allow that it will need to be done in south, but here. This is Winterfell, there is no danger to me while I am within these walls."

"I agree with their assessment, Your Grace. I would like to think you safe behind these walls, but truth be told, who knows what some of them are thinking. You are a Targaryen, and some of them are surely not gladdened by your arrival. I don't believe any would act against you, but it is better to be safe."

"Fine," Jon said, defeated. "I was foolish to believe the only home I have ever known would be safe for me now."

"It's not that," Barristan reassured, "but your life is too important to risk on the actions of an errant serving boy with delusions of grandeur. As Lord Stark said, it is better to be safe."

"You're right," Jon allowed. "I had just hoped to feel safe for a while longer before I have to constantly watch even those that name me friend."

"Your safety came into question the moment you sent that letter," Arthur said. Ned and Barristan nodded their agreement. "Barristan and I watched over your room at Castle Black without saying a word. There are dangers out there, Jon, some we know of and others we don't."

Ned spoke up. "I agree, and that is why I had something made for the three of you. Now, If you'll follow me."

Mikken was at the forge, hammering on a piece of steel, but he stopped at their approach. "Your Grace, my lord, what brings you here?"

"I'd like for them to see what you've been working on," Ned said.

"Of course, my lord," he said, motioning them to follow him deeper into the forge.

At the back, there were three stands, two of which were occupied by a suit of armor, as expected. What Ned didn't expect was the Targaryen surcoat over the breastplate. He looked to Mikken, who grinned and said, "One of the women volunteered to make it. Who was I to tell them no?"

Jon stepped forward and ran a hand down the breastplate, coming to a stop at the three-headed dragon on the surcoat. "This is too much," he said, turning back, a weird look in his eyes. "The cost alone . . ."

Ned smiled at the irony. Everyone seems bothered with the cost but me. "Let me worry about the cost, Your Grace. You'll have need of it, and it's the least I can do. The other set is for one of your Kingsguard, with another set to be finished soon."

Jon rushed at Ned and wrapped him in a hug. After a moment, he coughed and stepped away. "Thank you, my lord," he said, his voice heavy with emotion.

"You are most gracious to provide us with this," Barristan said, giving Ned's shoulder a firm squeeze.

"This is some of your finest work yet, Mikken. If you'll give us a moment."

The blacksmith bowed his head and left the room. Arthur laughed. "You've made a fair few mistakes, Lord Stark, as have I, but this is not one of them. Thank you."

Ned nodded. "Mikken can make small adjustments, but he knows Jon, and neither of you are of an odd build or height, so it should be fine. There are also a number of fine swords here, ser, find one that fits and it's yours."

Ser Barristan made no move towards the rack of swords.

"What is it, Barristan?" Jon asked, looking confused.

"I flung my sword at Joffrey's feet and have yet to hold one with an edge since. I will only bear one again if it is given by my king, no other."

Jon smiled and moved to the rack, looking through it for several moments before finding one. He pulled it out and held it out to Ser Barristan. "Take it, ser. You'll need more than a blunted sword where we're headed." The old knight took the sword and tested its weight. "How is it?" Jon asked.

"A perfect choice, Your Grace, I shall wear it with pride," Barristan said, smiling warmly. Jon grabbed a sheathe from the rack and passed it the knight, who slid the sword in and belted it at his waist.

"The feast is not for a while yet," Ned said. "I intend to check with the maester before then, to see what messages have been delivered while we rode. Would you care to join me?"

"Of course, Lord Stark," Jon said. "Let us find out what the realm has to say of me."

The maester's turret was below the rookery, a fact one was not like to forget due to the noise. Today was different though, there was no noise from the floor above, almost as if the world held its breath in anticipation. Stop being a fool, Ned chastisted himself. They found Maester Luwin at his desk, hunched over a book. "Maester," Ned called, giving the man a start.

"My lord, I had not expected you. Are you feeling ill?"

"I'm quite well, just came to attend to any messages that arrived."

"Ah yes, I have them right here." The maester reached up his sleeve and pulled five scrolls from within. He handed them to Ned and swept from the room, leaving the four of them alone.

Ned took a seat at the maester's desk and studied the seals. The first bore the grey direwolf of House Stark. Robb, Ned knew immediately. The second bore the two blue towers of Frey, and Ned could almost feel the old lord's grasping hands, ever reaching for more power. The third bore a sigil he couldn't place. It appeared to be a fiery heart with a stag inside of it. The fourth bore the sigil of House Velaryon; a silver seahorse on sea green. Ned felt his heart drop at the fifth. The seal was halved, a prancing stag on one side, and a golden lion on the other. Joffrey, Ned realized, and his heart dropped all the more. He couldn't have punished Sansa for my crimes. But Ned had been wrong about a great number of things where that boy was concerned.

"I believe this one is for you, Your Grace." Ned plucked the Frey letter from the pile and handed it to Jon. Then he cracked the seal on Robb's letter and began to read.

We depart at dawn on the morrow. The lords are coming as commanded, and leaving their men here at Riverrun. That is as far as obedience goes with them. Most openly opposed Jon after finding out the truth, but I have faith we can convince them. The Mormonts, Manderlys, and Freys all support Jon, though I feel Lord Walder will make demands for his continued loyalty. Mother could not be swayed to join us, even after finding out Arya is with you. I do not know what to make of her behavior, Father. We will speak more when I arrive. See you soon.

Robb

Cat . . . Ned yearned for his wife to be beside him once more. How could she not want to see the children again? He reread the letter, and got an odd feeling. There was more that was left unsaid, something Robb avoided including. It filled Ned with dread to think on what it could be, so he did his best to push the thought aside and looked back at Jon. "What does Lord Walder say?" he asked, hoping for a distraction from his thoughts.

"A great many things," Barristan answered, "though it seems as if Lord Frey is seeking a betrothal pact with Jon."

Ned chuckled bitterly. They had already received word of the two betrothals Lord Walder had swindled from Catelyn, not to mention everything else he got from the deal. Ned was yet to inform Arya of her betrothal, and he hoped to keep it from her for a while longer. He had not made the agreement personally, but Catelyn had spoken with the authority of House Stark and they could not afford to lose an ally as valuable as the Freys, even if their lord was a craven.

"Yes, though I'd sooner give the man steel than a betrothal," Jon stated, his voice flat. "I have respect for those that faced my father in open battle, but a man like him, who sat behind his thick walls to declare for the winner is underserving of cleaning chamberpots, and will get naught from me." Jon paused and took a deep breath. "Apologies, I should not speak ill of a man sworn to me."

Arthur laid a hand on Jon's shoulder, steadying him. "It's okay, Jon, you're among friends, and I believe that sentiment is shared by all here." Ned echoed the knight's words.

Jon looked over Ned's shoulder at the remaining scrolls. "Which House has a flaming heart for a sigil? I don't recall that one."

"Nor I," Ned said, handing the scroll to Jon. "Why don't you open it and find out?"

Ned broke the seahorse seal and started reading.

I wish you good fortune in the battles to come, Jon Targaryen. If it were not painfully clear you have no intention to do so, I would urge you to lay down your steel and join your cause to Stannis'. He is a gracious man, and is like to return Dragonstone to its true liege should you swear fealty. The king has granted many honors upon my House for our continued loyalty, including taking my son and heir, Monterys, for his personal page. Many of his other loyal bannermen have been bestowed with similar honors, and have been reaffirmed in their loyalty to King Stannis.

Lord Monford Velaryon, Master of Driftmark, Lord of the Tides, and loyal bannerman to Dragonstone and its liege

"Stannis Baratheon has crowned himself. A couple more and it will be as if the conquest never happened," Jon remarked.

"At least this one has a smaller army," Arthur jested bitterly.

Ned held up the letter from Lord Velaryon. "Stannis has locked his bannermen with a chain of false honors. He has taken Lord Monford's son and heir for a page; a hostage with a title, more like. I never expected a move so brazen from a man like Stannis."

"He's desperate," Barristan commented. "The lines honorable men dare not cross fade as desperation sets in. Without those men, his claim lies solely with Dragonstone's garrison and what few Florents champion his cause. He'll do whatever he deems necessary to keep them."

"If he hurts them," Jon gritted out.

"What will you do, Your Grace," Arthur prodded, "march on Dragonstone? Impossible. You have not the means nor the men to make it to the island, never mind winning the siege. Turn your mind from them and focus on what you can do." Arthur found a map and laid it out on a table. He pointed at Harrenhal. "There is where your true enemy lies. Tywin Lannister. A man King Aerys thought cowed and weak . . . the streets ran red for weeks for such a mistake. Do not make the same."

"I know, Arthur, but we can't take Harrenhal with the northmen alone. Renly marches up the Roseroad with the might of the stormlands and the Reach. He's not like to give up his crown, even if it meant beating Tywin Lannister. The riverlands' men are spread out and depleted. Dorne, if they would even assist us, have Renly across their path. Where am I to go if not Dragonstone?"

"The Vale," Ned said.

"Lysa Arryn would rather fling herself from the Giant's Lance than call the Vale to arms," Arthur retorted.

"If only she would," said Jon, frustrated.

"Lysa is of little consequence. I lived at the Eyrie for many a year, fostered under Jon Arryn, and have met a fair few of his principal bannermen. They are the key to the Vale, Your Grace. If they were to go before Lady Arryn and demand leave to join the war, then she would be left with no choice but to accept."

Barristan shook his head. "Your plan is not without merit, Lord Stark, but doomed to fail, I fear. I observed Lysa Arryn during my time under Robert, when he would visit with her husband. She once said that the Mother shaped women to protect their children, and dishonor could only be found in failing to do so. She will never grant leave for her armies to march, no matter how many bannermen come before her."

"And if the Vale marched without her leave? What could she do?" Jon asked.

What could she do? Ned asked himself. Not much, truth be told, but there was no honor in asking lords to rebel against their liege. The Lannisters do not fight with honor, as they have shown time and time again. Why should we hold ourselves to standards our enemies won't? Ned decided to keep quiet for the time being. He would follow Jon in this, no matter what path was chosen.

Arthur pointed to a different spot on the map, Gulltown. "People love to speak of the Trident and Robert's great victory, but most forget the war actually started in the Vale. Jon Arryn called his bannermen to the Gates of the Moon, and Robert was to take ship from Gulltown to Storm's End. House Grafton refused to act against their king and denied both him and Lord Stark leave to pass through his city."

"I traveled north to the Fingers and found a fisherman to take me to White Harbor," said Ned.

"I've heard this story," Jon said.

"Then you know that Jon Arryn and Robert Baratheon descended on Gulltown. Robert was the first over the walls, and slew Marq Grafton with his own hand. But more to the point, since you've heard this story before, his son, Gerold, is the current lord of the House. Mayhaps he wishes to avenge his father's death."

"Arthur, what are you saying?" Barristan asked. "Both Robert and Jon Arryn are dead."

"Aye, they are, but his father was killed for being loyal to House Targaryen. To seat that king's grandson on the Iron Throne is a far sweeter revenge than simply killing the men responsible."

"And if he never cared for his father?" Ned asked. "What if he's ruled by greed, and decides it would be a quicker profit to sell Jon to the Lannisters?"

"Then that, Lord Stark, is why he has a Kingsguard. But I don't believe it will come to that."

Ned scratched his chin, thinking. "I could send a few ravens . . . Yohn Royce, Anya Waynwood, Horton Redfort. I knew them from my time in the Vale. They may be swayed to go against Lysa-"

"Stop," Jon said abruptly. "I will speak to Lysa Arryn before going down a course such as this. She believes it was the Lannisters that killed her husband, correct?" Ned nodded. "Good, we have a shared enemy then. I would sooner have her for an ally than added another to our growing list of enemies."

Barristan shifted. "Your Grace, all due respect but Lysa is-"

Jon held up his hand, cutting him off. "Lord Stark, send ravens to your companions. Tell them of my hope for an alliance with the Vale, and my wish to avenge their liege's unjust death. Note that any assistance given in convincing Lady Lysa of this will be duly rewarded. Now, I must prepare for the feast, so I shall see you then, my lord." Jon left without waiting for a reply, the knights trailing after him.

Ned sighed and turned back to the final letter. He felt partially ashamed that Jon had been more resistant of asking the Vale lords to rebel than himself. But Ned had also seen what taking the honorable path had wrought upon his House. Jory . . . Vayon . . . Septa Mordane . . . Hullen . . . Tomard . . . The list of people that died for his arrogance went on and on. He would not let Jon join that list, even it meant besmirching his honor. He turned his attention back to the letter, cracking the seal and reading it thoroughly.

The Iron Throne has found House Stark guilty of treason of the highest order. It has been revealed that Eddard Stark has been plotting to crown his bastard in an attempt to gain the throne. His own daughter, Lady Sansa Stark, attested to this fact before a full court, in return for leniency for her own part in Lord Stark's treasons. House Stark is attainted by traitors and rebels and as such, they will renounce their claim to Winterfell and be delivered swift justice.

In the name of His Grace, Joffey of the Houses Baratheon and Lannister, the First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms

Ned chuckled, but a part of him felt dread. There would be no surrender. The cost of their failure would be death. He set the parchment aside and began drafting the letters for the Vale lords.

Ned sat in the high seat, Jon seated at his right, Bran at his left. The music piped on, loud and cheerful, and he felt his spirits lift with the tune. He forked a slice of aurochs onto his plate and wolved it down with barely a breath, enjoying the flavor. During his time imprisoned beneath the Red Keep, he had considered a morsel of moldy bread a meal fit for a king, and the travel fare after escaping had lacked in flavor. He had grown lean during that time, and some of his former strength still evaded him, but waiting for Robb to arrive would grant him plenty of time to work on that. And train he would, hard and for as many hours a day as he could, but not this night. Tonight was for celebration, to his and Jon's return to Winterfell, and he intended to enjoy it.

"Father," Bran called from beside him. "Can I speak to Ser Arthur now?" His eyes shone with the hope of a boy entranced by a living legend. One that Ned had allowed them all to believe was dead.

"Let me see," Ned said, looking down the table. Arthur was seated two seats down, between Barristan and Rodrick Cassel. He was glancing around the hall, watching every face that so much as looked in Jon's direction. Ned got out of his seat and went to him, laying a hand on his shoulder.

Arthur jerked his head around, but relaxed when he saw who it was. "Lord Stark, do you need something?"

Ned removed his hand and took a breath. "A favor, Arthur, if you wouldn't mind."

"What is it?"

"My son, Bran, has always had a love for stories. The time I defeated you at the tower is one of his favorites, but we both know it was a lie. He is just shy of begging to meet you, and I thought you might enjoy telling the true story of that day."

Arthur smiled and stood from the chair. "I would gladly speak of the day I bested you, Lord Stark."

"Thank you," Ned said, returning to the high seat. He watched Arthur kneel down beside Bran and the two spoke in tones that could not be heard over the music, but he saw the way his son's face lit up, and that was enough. A hearty stew had been placed in front of him during his absence and Ned didn't hesistate to dig in. He mopped up the remnants of it with a slice of warm, crusty bread, not wanting to waste a drop. A mug of dark ale was set in front of him and he drank deep, quenching his thirst.

"Your Grace," a soft voice said. Ned looked up to find little Beth Cassel, shuffling and red-faced, standing just on the other side of the table from Jon. "Would you do me the honor of a dance?" Her face turned a darker shade of red and she started to turn away, as if she expected Jon to refuse her.

Instead, Jon smiled and stood. "It would be an honor." He walked around the table and took her by the hand, leading her out into the middle of the hall. Jon was graceful as ever, and Beth looked as if her head might burst from excitement. Ned had always figured the girl had an attraction to Jon, and her reaction only made it more obvious.

When the song finished, Jon took her hand and bowed his head, laying a chaste kiss on her knuckles. He's better at courtesy than he believes himself to be. Rhaegar would've been proud of the man his son became, Ned thought, and with it came the shame that lingered over his head like a winter storm. He forced the thought aside as Jon made his way back to the high table smiling widely, only to be dragged into another dance by Palla, the daughter of Farlen, the kennelmaster. Then the twins, Shyra and Bandy, danced with him in turn. Beth approached him again after they were done and asked for another dance, which Jon seemed happy to oblige. Finally he made it back to the high table, breathing a bit hard, but his face was plastered with a wide grin.

"You are quite the dancer, Your Grace," Barristan commented.

Jon blushed at the praise, but his smile remained. "It was my partners that deserve your praise, ser, not I. They have the grace and poise of skilled dancers. I was barely able to keep up." Barristan nodded, but the knight's disagreement was plain for all to see.

Arthur appeared behind Jon, grinning. "I saw you dancing, Your Grace, and it almost seemed like you were enjoying yourself. Mayhap not all aspects of being king are so bad. There will be a never-ending stream of ladies all but begging for your attention." Jon's blush deepened, making Ned and the knights burst out laughing.

"The day grows late," said Jon, straining to keep his voice even.

"It's barely nightfall . . . not trying to slip away, are you?" Arthur jested.

Jon straightened in his seat. "No, the ride was hard, and I am worn out."

Arthur looked ready to make another jest, but Barristan shook his head and the knight subsided. "Indeed, Your Grace, it was a hard ride."

"Lord Stark, I must take my leave."

"Wait," Ned said. "There is one more thing I need to give to you. It's in my solar."

Jon looked as if he was going to protest, then curiousity must have won out, for he nodded and waited for Ned to stand. Barristan tried to stand as well, but Jon laid a hand on his shoulder. "Stay, enjoy the rest of the feast."

"Your Grace, you need a guard."

"Arthur can guard me," said Jon, then he smiled mischievously. "Wouldn't want any of that never-ending stream of ladies to make their way into my chambers."

Barristan chuckled. "If you insist, Your Grace, thank you."

"Think nothing of it, Barristan. We may as well enjoy it now, there will be little merriment to be found in the south."

"While Joffrey sits the throne, yes," Barristan said, turning back to his food.

Ned left the great hall, Jon and Arthur at his heels. They walked in silence until reaching his solar. This gift should have been given long ago, and he would rectify that now. He pushed the door open and walked inside.

"What is the gift?" Jon asked.

"Just a moment." Ned grabbed a dagger from off his desk and went to the nearby wall. He wedged the blade in between two of the stones and pried, wrenching one loose, then using his hand to drag out the other. "This space is a secret passed down from the lords of Winterfell to their heirs. When the tower was built these stones were cut different, leaving an alcove for storing important documents and such. My father showed Brandon this and told him it was to be a secret from all, even his siblings. The issue was, he made a habit of bucking tradition and showed his brothers and sister anyway." He pulled a long, dusty box from within. "I should have given this to you some time ago, but I was a fool and kept it hidden. Lyanna would have wanted you to have it."

"What's in it?" Jon asked, his posture rigid with tension.

"It'd be better to just see for yourself."

Jon took the box, looking at it as if he were a frightened deer staring into a lion's maw. Then he turned away and walked briskly from the room.

"I should follow," said Arthur.

"Watch over him, Arthur . . ."

The knight nodded and left in pursuit of his king. Ned sat heavy in his chair, yet he felt lighter than he had in some time. I haven't failed you yet, Lyanna, and I won't. I can make things right for Jon, and for the realm.