Days streamed together, punctuated by his children's excitement at their first time south of the Neck. Catelyn especially enjoyed showing off the natural beauty of the Riverlands to Arya and Bran. The Kingsroad was in no better condition here. Rather than cracked stone from the melted ice, the path dipped and sunk around oxbows and hills. Hoster had agreed to take the longer route down to the Trident, allowing Ned more time with his family. They passed by the Twins at a distance. Everyone agreed that avoiding the Late Lord Frey was preferable to a shorter path to Riverrun.
Near the Inn at the Crossroads, Ned hugged his children goodbye and kissed away Cat's tears. They'd each send letters after reaching their destinations. Cat promised to keep him informed of Bran's squireship and whatever misadventures Arya found. He watched solemnly as the Tully caravan pulled farther and farther west until he and the Northmen were left to catch up with the King.
They rode south, through lands that still held distant memories for Ned. The hulking form of Harrenhal was an ever-present specter. The burnt husk of Harren the Black's castle cast a shadow over his heart. A contrast to the peaceful vista of the Gods Eye beside it. Even at a great distance, Ned felt some stirring for the Isle of Faces. The mysterious Weirwood heart of Westeros. Howland had gone there before that fateful Tourney so many decades ago, and the last reported sighting of Lyanna had been near the lake itself. Perhaps in a more peaceful year, Ned would make his pilgrimage.
Their arrival at King's Landing was no grand celebration. It was a sharp contrast for all the Northmen who had fought in the Rebellion who had briefly seen nothing but a ruined city clogged with smoke and corpses. They took the direct route through the streets and saw large sections of poorly constructed buildings. The City had not remained the smoking ruin the Sack had created.
Following Robert into the Red Keep, Ned made arrangements for his soldiers at two separate barracks. One in the docks and one near the Street of Steel. Ned stationed two hundred personal guards in the castle proper.
The remaining royals greeted them at the castle doors. Renly and Stannis stood apart from the Queen and royal children. Robert gave his family a brief greeting before running off for a drink, followed closely by Queen Cersei; she greeted Ned with perfect politeness before absconding with Prince Joffrey. Stannis informed him that Ser Vardis Egen had arrived with the Arryn household guard, and Jon Arryn was already under the care of Grand Maester Pycelle.
Ned was left behind to coordinate the imprisonment of Lysa and Baelish. They took Baelish down to the Red Cells, just one level above the Black Cells. He would be uncomfortable but less likely to expire before his trial. The treacherous nobleman would stand before his judges in the next few weeks, once Jon Arryn was well enough to act as a witness. Lysa was escorted to a comfortable cell in the Maidenvault, giving little resistance other than quiet begging to see her son.
Taking one last breath of foul air, Ned followed Stannis into the castle.
/
Unable to have two Hands, Robert appointed Ned as "Advisor to the King," which allowed him to assist Stannis in many duties. Robert preoccupied himself with planning his next feast, leaving Stannis and Ned to rule in his absence. The tale of Lysa's arrest and Jon Arryn's collapse was being shared widely throughout the Keep. Half-heard retellings and personal bias had muddied the details.
Ned was called upon by Ser Egen a week after his arrival. Jon Arryn had finally awoken. He slipped quietly into the temporary quarters, past the Arryn guards standing at attention. Jon was propped up on his pillows and was squinting at a stack of letters in his lap.
The old Lord looked up slowly at Ned and weakly smiled: "Ned, so good to see you."
Ned sat by the bedside, "It's even better to see you awake, Jon," he said.
His foster father rubbed his chest, taking deep, careful breaths, "I've not felt this tired since the march to the Trident," he confessed.
"Rest will do you some good. Stannis and I have taken matters in hand," Ned told him.
"I'm glad House Baratheon has you to support them. Have you met with the Small Council?"
Ned grimaced, "Only once, at Stannis' insistence."
"Not the most prestigious group, I'll be the first to admit. Especially now that Baelish's corruption has been laid bare for all to see," Jon frowned.
"Robert has yet to name a replacement. Stannis delegated his former duties as Master of Ships to a commander from the Royal Navy, and Renly is not nearly as attentive as I would like," Ned complained. "Not to mention Lord Varys talking in circles and vagaries for minutes on end."
Honestly, the state of the Small Council was deplorable; it was a wonder that Jon Arryn had been able to keep the Kingdom running at all.
"What duties has Stannis handed off to you?" Jon asked.
"Mostly the ordering of the City's supplies, maintaining order between the tax collectors, guarding the gates, and coordinating with the Goldcloaks. I'm ill-equipped to mediate disputes between the Court," Ned explained, "I'm ignorant of the unspoken rules and history."
Jon leaned a comforting hand on Ned's arm, "King's Landing is rifer with corruption, secret dealings, and dangerous whispers than any place in Westeros. It's very different from acting as Lord Paramount of your own lands."
Ned shook his head, "Unspoken agreements and careful words are not new to me. The North has its own politics, no matter what you Southrons think. Yet it baffles me how little reputation and words mean. Stannis told me that three different Crownland Houses petitioned to renegotiate their taxes based on blighted crops just last year. Now we've received words that blight never existed! Of course, Baelish handled the matter, throwing the whole thing under suspicion. I would have seen them punished to the full extent of the law, but Stannis and the rest of the Council agreed to only a small fine! In the North, such a decision would have me swarmed by these Lords' neighbours demanding more severe measures."
"It is the way of things, Ned," Jon replied. "The Crown bears a different weight for its decisions. If Robert was seen taking these three Lords to task for their deception, the rest of the Kingdom would wonder if he sought to punish all such evasions. That could lead to much more trouble in the long run. Instead, the offenders receive a small fine now. Still, the next Master of Coin will ensure that merchants doing business in the Crownlands know exactly who to blame for their raised tariffs."
Ned thought that secrecy and skirting the word of the law helped no one in this matter. In this case, it would imply the Crown was weak, that three Lords had gotten away with cheating their King. Then again, Robert was a first among equals. Unlike Ned or Jon, who undisputedly stood above their lords.
Looking back towards the door, Ned wished he'd brought Maw along, but the wolf had been taken out of the City by Lord Condon to stretch his legs. Ned leaned close and whispered: "The Great Matter is still in contention. I've convinced Stannis to hold until the matter with Lysa and Baelish has been resolved."
Jon nodded in thanks and looked out the window in thought. Ned loathed to bring up the state of young Robin. The boy was still unresponsive despite the attentions of three different Maesters. No noise or sensation stirred him from sleep, and his already frail form was beginning to waste away. Ned doubted Jon was unaware of his son's fate, nor the heavy burden he now bore to ensure that a new successor was chosen for the Vale.
Their discussion continued for another hour before the lumbering steps of the King came to the room. Robert burst in, giddy at the sight of Jon's recovery. He insisted they hold a feast to celebrate the Hand's return. Grand Maester Pycelle followed in his wake and conveyed that Jon Arryn was in no state to take up his duties. No less enthused, Robert gave his foster father a hearty shake and went off to taste test wines.
Ned bid Jon farewell and left to ensure that Robert's feasting plans were delayed as long as possible.
/
More weeks passed. Ned fell awkwardly into his role. Neither he nor Stannis was as generous as other courtiers. The entire Red Keep swam in discomfort but gradual acceptance. If nothing else, the capital was running smoothly again.
A letter from Cat described Bran's first time hitting the training mark with a lance and Arya's newfound fascination with learning to sail from her Uncle Edmure. His reply contained some anecdotes about the Red Keep and a sadly sparse update on Lysa's condition. She was permitted to spend the afternoons with her son, though it did little to better her mood.
Ned hurried to make his last appointment for the day; a small luncheon with Desmond Redwyne and Loras Tyrell.
The Tyrells kept a small presence at Court. Loras Tyrell accompanied Renly and rarely oversaw business for his family. For the last two years, the Reach's representative was Ser Desmond, a cousin of Lord Redwyne. From what Ned could gather, Ser Desmond held no official position in the capital. Nonetheless, he held the authority of Mace Tyrell among the Reachmen seeking to do business with the Crown. Roose had keenly pointed out that not only was Desmond related to Mace Tyrell by blood through Lady Olenna, but his wife was also Lady Tyrell's sister, making him Mace's good-brother. The Tyrells had undoubtedly knotted themselves closely to the Hightowers and Redwynes. Ned doubted the House of the Golden Rose would ever forget that they ruled by the grace of the Conqueror and not their blood.
In one of the private gardens that dotted the Red Keep, Ned arrived with Roose and Rickard Ryswell at the appointed time. Sitting around a table already enjoying full goblets of Arbor Gold sat young Loras, the ginger-haired Desmond and-
"Lord Renly?" Ned said, astonished to see the Master of Laws sitting between the two Reachmen.
Renly raised a glass, "Lord Stark! So good to see you and your companions, of course." He stood and filled more cups, "Please sit!"
Roose sat stone-faced, letting Ned take the lead while Rickard enjoyed the wine. Ned did notice the young Ryswell took long drinks, but only a sip of wine passed his lips. Barbrey was already instructing him in her own brand of negotiating.
"My thanks," Ned said. "I was unaware that you would be joining us, Lord Renly."
Renly smiled again, wider and wider. Did his grin have no end?
"Loras mentioned it yesterday, and I felt compelled to attend in Robert's stead. After all, we wouldn't want any arguments breaking out, least of all now," Renly explained.
Ned's stomach began to loop in on itself. Was Loras really that comfortable inviting another Lord into a private meeting? If Ser Desmond allowed this, what could that mean for Renly's relationship to the Tyrells? Stannis detested them and preferred to spurn them in his small ways. Robert himself wasn't fond of the flowers either. Why would the last brother cleave from his family on this matter? That comment about arguments was peculiar as well.
If Ned had been sitting down alone, he could very well have wound himself up like a wheel trying to keep his thoughts and words straight. Thankfully, at his side were two men equally unhappy for the sudden intrusion.
"Lord Redwyne, I must compliment you on the drinks. We rarely enjoy southern wine at home. I was wondering if you had any suggestions on a good vintage to take back North with me?" Rickard cut in.
Ser Desmond leaned forward, "I'd be happy to send for a fine barrel from our stores. I don't think we've been introduced?"
Rickard laughed, his boyish charm in full effect and turned to Ned. "Of course, my apologies, Lord Stark; I spoke out of turn."
Ned smiled, "No matter, this is not so formal a meeting that we must stand on ceremony. May I introduce Roose Bolton, Lord of the Dreadfort, and Rickard Ryswell, Heir to Barrowtown."
Desmond's eyebrows rose at Rickard's title while Loras and Renly were eyeing Roose cautiously.
"Speaking of wine," Ned announced. "Ser Desmond, Ser Loras, I called this meeting to broach the topic of shifting certain trade routes between the Reach and the North."
Desmond's relaxed smile couldn't hide his alert gaze while Loras settled back, seemingly bored now that the conversation had moved on.
"As I understand it, trade through White Harbor has been steady for nearly a decade," Desmond pointed out.
"That is true, but the North will soon be transporting more goods than ever before down to our coasts," Ned said.
Desmond ran a finger over his rings, "A bold assertion, Lord Stark, does this newfound stream of trade have anything to do with your newly completed canal?"
Ned resisted the urge to snap his eyes to Renly; instead, Roose did it for him, and Renly's glowing smile strained. Already, Robert's brother had spilled the details of the trip to others.
"Yes," Ned replied. "The Wolfswood Canal is complete, and last I heard, two of the new water mills had been completed, with another two beginning construction."
"Lumber is always a needed import, though I would think that our existing agreements sufficiently cover our needs," Desmond countered.
"Truthfully, it was the paper and furs from Barrowtown that I wished to speak of," Ned corrected.
Now that piqued Ser Desmond's mind. The knight hesitated, then stroked his rings again, slowly: "I was unaware that Barrowtown exported such things in great volume. Very few of our merchants do business past Fair Isle. The Riverlands and Westerlands are regular visitors there. Our ships prefer the eastern routes."
"The Wolfswood is the first, but not the last canal underway. House Tallhart has already begun plans to connect Torrhen's Square to Barrowtown," Ned outlined.
"Then the wealth of your forests shall be open to them. I wonder where the paper factors into it?" Desmond asked.
Roose hummed, bringing the table's attention to his pale eyes, "The Citadel's supplies are in high demand, and shipments take time to reach us. The Dreadfort's lands are rich in sheep. My looms shall send the cloth to the mills, and from there, we shall send the paper by barge."
In truth, shipping parchment and paper was expensive regardless of whether you bought from the Reach or the Riverlands. The North currently bought its writing supplies from several different sources. With the mills already being built, Roose had brought up a proposition to shift production locally.
Ned surmised that the Dreadfort and the Weeping Water were ill-suited for a canal, so Roose was looking to embed himself in the turn of fortunes any way he could. Domeric had let slip he'd be returning to Barrowtown to serve his Aunt Barbrey, and he'd been thick as thieves with Rickard the whole trip.
Desmond drummed on the table, "You said the Wolfswood will have four new mills?"
If Desmond realized that the North would save costs on importing writing supplies, the Reach would lose a steady income stream. Hopefully, he would understand that Ned was offering Highgarden an opportunity to make up for this loss with first rights to a new lucrative route along the western coast.
Ned nodded, "And with every cleared grove, we will have more land for pasture."
Rickard chimed in, "Barrowtown may never rival White Harbor's great docks, but I assure you, Ser, Lady Dustin is already planning for much-needed expansions."
Desmond paused to open a fine ledger embossed with a rose. Small, crisp writing filled the pages.
"And what would you be seeking from the Reach, Lord Stark?" Renly asked.
It was a question bordering on rudeness, especially coming from a Lord with no investments in the dealings. If Renly was not the King's brother, Ned might have insisted he leave.
"The North would like to increase food shipments over the next year and negotiate new long-term winter rates," Ned told him.
Loras laughed, but Desmond just looked up from his ledger with a tight grip on his quill.
"Winter prices?" Renly clarified. "Lord Stark, I know it's been many years since you came south, but as you can see," The Baratheon swept his arm out over the lush garden bathed in dew and sunlight, "summer is still here."
"A long summer means a long winter," Roose corrected.
"Can Northmen divine the future now?" Loras quipped though it earned no humor from Ned.
"There are many signs known to my people; the length of the ice on the Shivering Sea, the measurements of snow taken on the Crook Peaks, the barrel's filled by the weeping of the Wall," Ned listed a few examples. "I can say with confidence that summer is ending. Autumn is upon us, and it shall be short."
Ned had no way of predicting the exact month the snow would begin to fall. The Stark Histories had collected hundreds of different indicators from Houses across the North. Most families relied on one or two methods to guess at winter's approach; Ned and Luwin had painstakingly amalgamated as many as they could find. Even now, Robb would be receiving letters from Shepherds and minor Lords with details and reckonings to add more evidence and forecasting.
Regardless of their responses, the warning from the Wall was final. A long winter loomed. Ned needed links to the South, links bound by word, ink, coin, and blood, if necessary.
"Well, I have my own 'signs,' and by my reckoning, it is time for some food!" Renly proclaimed, then stood to order from the kitchens, Loras in tow.
Desmond shook his head, then set his ledger down, a new page titled with their names and a date. Some small scribbles already laid in the margins, naming Barrowtown, Torrhen's Square, and the Dreadfort.
"Pay no mind to Lord Renly, he may be a friend of Lord Mace, but he doesn't dictate matters of trade. House Tyrell will doubtlessly be interested in enlarging food shipments. Besides that, who else would know better about winter than a Stark? If the cold winds do come, I can guarantee that Cousin Paxter will be eager for quality northern furs."
They debated terms and figures, throwing proposals back and forth. It would take weeks of careful bargaining to settle on the final prices. Ned would arrange for representatives to sail for Oldtown and Highgarden. Hopefully, he could avoid traveling to the Reach personally. Ned disliked the thought of extending his trip much longer than necessary.
Renly and Loras returned with lunch in tow. Ned ate lightly, and once it was appropriate, the Northmen took their leave. Roose appeared satisfied, and Rickard was happy for the compliments Ned paid him. Despite old tensions with both the Boltons and Dustins, nothing united the Lords of the North like gaining the upper hand on the "Andals."
/
Ned's optimistic thoughts died on the vine. Life was not a song.
Robert's good moods and tolerance ran out within a few months. Denied his feast and tourney due to Jon Arryn's declining health, Robert declared one morning, without warning Stannis or Ned, that he was going on a hunt. It was abysmal timing. Stannis had left a few days earlier, called back to Dragonstone to sort out damages from a recent storm, severe enough to warrant the Hand's attention. Ned, as the only remaining Advisor to the King, was forced to remain in the City to resolve disputes.
Three days later, panicked cries filled the Red Keep. Ser Barristan hauled Robert back from the forest, leaking his lifeblood. Ned could only stand by and watch the Maesters rush to staunch the wound as his friend was fed milk of the poppy. Ser Barristan was devastated, the King was barely conscious, the Queen was elusive, and Ned was exhausted. The Baratheon men that Stannis had not taken with him now answered to Renly, and day by day, more of the Royal Fleet slipped away. His ravens to Stannis now went unanswered. Maw was restless, and his lords reported altercations with the City Watch. He ordered the northern soldiers to keep to themselves. Roose and Marrick Flint ensured a band of their men was permanently stationed on one of the city gates.
After another day of tiresome and frustrating arguments, Ned had returned to his quarters. An unwelcome visitor met him.
"Lord Varys," Ned said, staring at the bald man lurking in the shadows of his dining room.
"Lord Stark," Varys greeted, "I apologize for the intrusion. There were matters that simply could not wait."
For a moment, Ned's heart skipped a beat, a number of fears rushed to his mind.
Varys glided softly to the fireplace, "The King and Lord Arryn are stable for the moment," the Master of Whispers reassured him. "I have news of a more worrying sort."
Varys turned and paused at the look on Ned's face. He was startled back to reality and took a seat.
"Petyr Baelish has been moved from the Red Cells," Varys said.
Ned slammed a fist on the oak table, "On whose orders?" he demanded.
"The Queen's," Varys replied. "Ser Jaime Lannister met with Baelish twice while the King was on his hunt. I'm unsure of what they discussed. Whatever Baelish said convinced Queen Cersei to send urgent letters to her Father and Uncle."
Ned grit his teeth, "You withheld this information. Why?"
Varys clicked his tongue, "You are a trusted advisor, but you are not Hand of the King, Lord Stark. I was awaiting Lord Stannis' return, but as the current Hand is still absent, I felt compelled to seek you out."
"Is there anything else you feel… compelled to share?"
"Several Crownland Lords have been summoned to the Keep. The Queen has some great matter she wishes to broach with them," Varys added.
Ned's spine straightened, "Great matter?"
He disliked the look in Varys' eyes. A man who heard too much knew too much but said very little. What other secrets did he know? Perhaps the most pressing one?
"Tomorrow, I will seek out Lord Renly. With his support, we can keep the city stable until Stannis returns," Ned decided.
Varys nodded and walked to the chamber door. Before he left, he turned back: "I should warn you, my Lord. Lord Renly has made plans to depart the City soon, and my little birds say that Lord Stannis has not stirred from Dragonstone, nor does he plan to."
Varys left Ned in the darkness.
/
"What a wretched King I've been. A fool, a drunkard. Will they say I was as bad as Aerys?"
The last words of his dear friend had been somber. Robert finally woke after days under the influence of the poppy. One last bout of strength, Pycelle called it. The Demon of the Trident wallowed in his bloody bed, unable to even see his foster father one last time. The Grand Maester had declared it, and a messenger was sent to the Great Sept, the rest of the realm would soon know: King Robert Baratheon was dead.
A few hours after the Silent Sisters had come for the body, Ned sat in the Tower of the Hand, working through several missives. The door to the office was thrown open, and Renly Baratheon marched in, clad in fine riding leathers and mail.
"Renly?" Ned stood.
"Jon Arryn is dead," Renly said.
"I must go to him," Ned mumbled and took off down the stairs. Domeric and Donnel on his heels. He practically sprinted down the hallways, brushing past servants and guards. At the door to Jon's chambers, he saw a mass of Valemen, all hunched forward.
"Let me through!" Ned cried, pushing past the mourners.
The chamber was crowded but kneeling at the bedside was Ser Egen and Quinn. Ned staggered and slumped against the sheets. His hand desperately grasped for Jon's cold fingers. Jon's face was twisted in pain, his mouth curled. Before questions or tears could pass his lips, Ser Egen stood and leaned to Ned's ear.
"Lord Stark… the maid found his lips stained black," Egen whispered, a malignant rage in his words.
A deadly clarity fell onto Ned's mind. His devastation crested like a wave over a rock, and though the torrent of pain raged, sense returned to him. He saw Renly enter at a more sedate pace.
Ned took a final moment to lean forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Jon's forehead. Loudly, for the benefit of the room, Ned said: "Send for the Silent Sisters and assemble his household. Arrangements must be made to send young Robert back to the Vale," Ned ordered. "Who is watching over the Young Falcon?" he asked.
Egen and Quinn paled. All colour fled from their faces as they desperately looked over the mass of guards in the chamber. In their haste to see Jon Arryn, the guards had abandoned their posts. With nary a word, all three of them were rushing out. Robin's room was closer to the infirmary so the Grand Maester could attend him whenever he had time. A woman's screams echoed in the hall. Ned threw himself around the last corner.
The Hound stood outside Robin's door, restraining a hysterical Lysa Arryn. The woman was madly clawing out and thrashing with her whole body. Her rage was directed at Prince Joffrey, pressed against the wall with blood streaming from cuts on his cheeks and lips.
"MONSTER!" Lysa shrieked, "MONSTER!"
At the sight of Ned and the Valemen, Joffrey shouted: "Take her to the dungeons!"
A band of Redcloaks surged forward and took Lysa from the Hound, who all followed Joffrey as he fled deeper into the Keep, towards Maegor's Holdfast. Ned nearly gave chase but remembered why they had run all this way. He followed Egen into Robin's quarters. They were too late.
No black lips stained Jon Arryn's son. Instead, the boy laid slack, his face a dull red. His hair was mussed, and a pillow lay fallen on the floor. No heartbeat filled his chest.
Quinn fell to his knees; he slammed his hands to the floor over and over. Egen threw his helmet against the wall with a scream. Ned was silent, his anger churned, his heart hammered, and he felt detached.
The rest of the guard followed swiftly. Renly grasped Ned's shoulder. Even Baratheon's imperious attitude cracked at the sight of the dead child.
"Lord Stark- Eddard, we cannot stay here. The Queen is making her move, she has the Redcloaks, and with Baelish free, she has the Goldcloaks. We cannot stay here, see sense!" Renly pleaded.
Ned spit back, "Do not speak to me of sense!"
Renly pulled his hand back.
"Egen, prepare the bodies and gather your party. We will get you out of the City," Ned commanded. "I'll send a runner to have my men at the docks leave through the Mud Gate. Renly, the Lockes, and Dustins are manning the King's Gate today; they will hold the gate open if the Queen orders otherwise."
With a firm slap on the back, Ned pushed Quinn into action. The Baratheon and Stark parties were frantically packing for a swift departure in quick order. He sent Domeric and Donnel to spread the word and 50 men down to the stables to prepare horses. The Queen must have been preoccupied with her son and Lysa. The Redcloaks that troubled them were easily intimidated, and the Kingsguard was nowhere to be seen.
As the last of the supplies were loaded, Ser Kyle Condon ran into the courtyard: "Lord Stark, the Queen, has announced that Prince Joffrey will be crowned King today!"
Ned thought of Robert's will, tucked in with his other documents. He'd been hesitant to present it to the Court without speaking to Jon first. What good would it do now?
Mounting his horse, Ned ensured his men were all accounted.
"We make for the King's Gate!" Ned shouted.
With haste, the smallfolk in the streets parted for them. Ned could only hope that Donnel, Rickard, and Furrow made it to safety and rejoined them outside the walls. When they passed the Mud Gate, he saw the portcullis dropped. The clash of swords carried on the wind from River Road. Battle raged at the King's Gate.
Roose fought from horseback beside Lord Condon and the Flints. Domerick stood near a fallen horse fending off Lannister men. Coming from the side streets, Renly and Ser Loras led Tyrell and Baratheon men against a mass of City Watchmen. Ned drew his sword and charged in, cutting into red-cloaked necks.
The melee was bloody, but Ned and his men steadily forced the Redcloaks off River Road and into the alleys. With the main way cleared, Garrus Cerwyn blew his cavalry horn, and as one, the two groups surged out of the King's Gate and onto the Gold Road. With all speed, they followed the road west and crossed Blackwater Bridge. From there, Ned had little choice but to follow Renly and the Tyrell men south to the Roseroad.
Sunset arrived, allowing them to stop for a rest. In the distance, Ned saw the towers of a castle and guessed they had reached Tumbleton on the eastern Mander. After assuring that they'd left no one behind, Ned and his commanders gathered at Renly's makeshift fire.
The Lord of Storm's End stood and laughed, "Well done, Eddard! A heroic escape, just the sort of thing to get the bards singing."
"I thank you for your aid and your warning, Renly, you as well, Ser Loras," Ned said.
Renly shrugged off the appreciation, "I should be thanking you and your men. It was Lord Bolton and Lord Locke's swordsmen that took control of the gate and stopped its closure."
Renly turned to the Northmen and pointed to the rations being handed out, "Please, take enough food for your men. I was unsure if you'd be able to secure enough provisions."
Ned motioned the men to the task. Renly beckoned him over to a log, and they sat near the fire.
"I assume you'll be heading to Storm's End?" Ned asked. "Word will reach Stannis swiftly. We must marshal our forces for when your brother makes his claim."
Rather than an enthusiastic agreement, Renly frowned.
"Lord Stark," Renly uttered, "we aren't going to Storm's End."
"I don't understand," Ned said.
"Our destination is Highgarden."
The fire burned intensely at their feet. Silence stretched between the two men; Ned was speechless.
"You would run?" Ned couldn't quite believe what he was hearing.
"Not running," Renly countered, "preparing. With Robert dead and Joffrey, a bastard, the realm needs a King that can unite it. That King is not Stannis."
The full horror of Renly's words dawned on Ned.
"You are forsaking your vows and the laws. Succession is clear, Stannis is Robert's heir, and you after him," Ned insisted.
"Stannis has no chance at winning the throne," Renly said, "I have the Reach and the Stormlands," he glanced back at the knot of Valemen guarding the shrouded forms of the last Arryns. "With some clever words, I'll have the Vale too." Ned saw Ser Loras and three other knights step into the firelight. "With your aid, Eddard, I can have the North and the Riverlands. What will Tywin Lannister do then? With all of Westeros set against his monstrous grandson?" Renly wondered.
"Stannis is the rightful King!" Ned growled.
"According to the law, so was Aerys," Renly dismissed.
"I will not abide by this," Ned declared and stood defiantly.
Loras made to draw his blade, but Renly hastily shoved his former squire's hands away.
"No harm will come to any Northman," Renly said. "Lord Stark, I'm afraid you're outnumbered. In the morning, two hundred knights will arrive from Long Table."
Ned gazed out and realized the younger man spoke true. The flags of the Reach and Stormlands outnumbered the Northern. Here in the heartland of the ancient Gardener Kings, Ned was at the mercy of the rose and stag. Renly stood at the heart of their disloyal union.
He could feel Maw hidden in the shadows just behind him. It would be easy, Ned thought, to order his wolf forward. To tear out Renly's throat, cut down one of the knights, and then command his men to flee into the darkness. A sliver of his savage desire shone in his eyes. Renly swallowed and laid a hand on his blade.
Ned could not bring himself to do it.
Perhaps The Hungry Wolf or Brandon Ice-Eyes could have shed blood that night and added another song to their grim legacies, but The Quiet Wolf would not.
"Very well," Ned resigned, "I shall go with you in peace."
Renly relaxed and told Loras to return to his dinner. The other knights remained.
"I only ask," Ned added, "that some of my soldiers accompany the Valemen. If you mean to sway their liege lords, then my word will carry weight."
Renly acquiesced and thankfully left Ned alone by the fire, taking his knights with him. Roose and Domeric sat down soon after. They joined in his brooding when Ned revealed their newfound status as hostages. Domeric stood to inform the rest of their force and ensure no one panicked. Roose was quiet. No doubt, he would spend the night thinking and give counsel tomorrow with a fresh mind.
"What happened to your man, Wispin?" Ned asked.
Roose cut the last piece of his meat from the bone, "Following at a distance. I'll cut loose one of the horses for him with your permission. He can be in Riverrun before the week is out."
Perhaps Ned should look into finding his men like Wispin. Loyal men who knew the skills of a cutpurse and skulk.
"Where's your direwolf?" Roose asked.
Ned pointed behind him. Roose looked over his shoulder and jerked forward, dropping his meal into the dirt. Ned held back a smile. Maw's eyes shone like candles in the grass. Maw retreated into the field with a push of thought, intent on hunting his dinner. Roose regained his composure quicker than most.
"Another war," Ned said.
Roose reached down and threw the dirty pork into the fire, "It was inevitable."
Ned watched the meat blacken and crisp, slowly burning to ash.
"Winter is coming, Roose. We shall do our best to make this short. If blood must be spilled, let it be spilled quickly. I have had enough of these games. Stannis or Renly, whoever sits the throne, in the end, will owe us a debt, and they shall pay it."
Roose turned, and the shadows on his gaunt face were a strange comfort to Ned's dark thoughts.
"Well said, Ned… Well said."
The following day, the knights arrived as Renly promised. Ser Egen was confused, Quinn offended, by Renly's ruling. Ned bade them return to the Lords of the Vale. Marrick and his Flint host joined them, carrying a personal letter from Ned, addressed to Bronze Yohn Royce.
Of course, Renly inspected his letter before sealing. He saw nothing amiss. Robert would have thought Ned insane, and Bronze Yohn would have been confused. Ned's letter included a personal anecdote, purportedly to prove the letter was genuinely from his hand. The story described a conflict between the raiders of the Mountain Tribes, where Ned and Jon Arryn came across one of the "Eagle-Men" poisoned by the wife of his dear friend, "Black Boar," after the "Pecking Bird" revealed the Eagle-Man's hidden camp. The Eagle-Man's son was also killed in the attack.
Ned implored Bronze Yohn to recall the chaos among the tribes in the aftermath and avoid that tumult now and march to the true king with all haste. The message could have been more subtle, but the hidden meaning would hopefully convince Yohn that Renly's letter was mainly true. If nothing else, the Lannister's poisoning of Jon Arryn and the mysterious death of Robert Arryn would rouse the Vale against King Joffrey.
Their force made good time along the western road to Highgarden. Ned's worries curdled and twisted as they approached the seat of House Tyrell. A sweat-soaked messenger ran from the gates before Renly could introduce him formally to the Lord Paramount of the Reach.
"Lord Baratheon! Lord Baratheon!" The boy, some Tyrell cousin by his garb, shouted, "Tywin Lannister has marched from Casterly Rock!"
Renly clapped his hands, "I knew the Old Lion wouldn't sit idle. Tell us, where has he gone?"
"Riverrun!"
Renly's smile faded.
Ned could only stand tall against the cold dread that gripped his heart. Starks had come south, and once again, tragedy hounded their every step.
/