The leaves were changing. It was a subtle shift, hard to notice among the plentiful greenery of the Reach. The fading colour was more obvious to Ned after they crossed into the Stormlands. Days passed slowly and with little to do, the Lord of Winterfell focused on his surroundings to keep his thoughts from spiralling with worry. His nerves were running high, rest was hard to get. Maw felt his restlessness and became irritable. The Rainbow Guard would not permit him in Renly's presence, and since Maw was always at his side otherwise, Ned was forced to send him far from their trail, into the depths of the Kingswood.
Their men had been divided up among Renly's sprawling camp. Most of the soldiers were being treated well enough, but the Lords and Commanders had been sequestered with Ned among Renly's personal entourage, watched by loyal knights.
Renly's crowning and the subsequent endless celebrations had disappeared when Stannis' siege of Storm's End began. Ned was surprised that Renly could take something seriously, after the gaudy and lavish wedding festivities. The Lords of Highgarden were perfectly willing to starve out the Crownlands and revel in their own stores. Westeros had underestimated how eager House Tyrell was to put a crown on their Lady Margery.
Tables laden with feasts were quickly left behind when the army swerved off the Rose Road to cut south-east towards the Kingswood. The march took them through Fell Fields, along the edge of the Red Mountains. They met no resistance. Practically all the Stormlords had pledged for Renly already, or were savvy enough to keep quiet. Their camp was now half-a-day from Storm's End, by the next afternoon they'd be in sight of the ancient seat.
The Northern nobles were now arranged around the hearth in Ned's private tent. They'd eaten their regular supper and retreated to private discussion.
"Is there no chance for peace?" Domeric asked.
"The Tyrells won't stand for Renly bending the knee, not when Stannis has a Florent wife," Lord Kevan Condon told him, while taking a deep draft of his ale. "Not when they have a chance for their own blood to wear the crown."
Domeric frowned, "Wouldn't it be wiser to remove the Lannisters before fighting over who replaces them?"
Roose looked up from the map in his lap, "Perhaps under different circumstances," he told his son, "but the Reachmen know their odds of claiming the crown are worse if the rest of the kingdoms are allowed a say. Even if Stannis wasn't already wed, they made no friends by siding with the Targaryens during the Rebellion. When a crown is to be won, you must take the opportunities that come to you."
"Lord Bolton is right," Rickard Ryswell chimed in, he was stitching together a rip in his saddle gloves near the tent flap, "The Tyrells backed Renly because if it comes down to them against the Lannisters, they have the numbers to win before the other kingdoms can interfere."
"Stannis will lose the battle," Domeric said.
Donnel Locke leaned forward to toss another log on the fire, "The Stone Stag'll put up a fight. If he'd taken Storm's End, he might even have outlasted them. Without the castle, his siege will end much quicker than Mace Tyrell's."
"What do you think, Lord Eddard?" Lord Kevan Condon asked.
The gathered nobles subtly turned to study their liege. Ned was standing over a table, his hands busy with a quill in a small book.
"After we left Highgarden, I tried to speak with King Renly in private, about peace talks with his brother," Ned revealed. "For a moment, I thought he might agree with me but that door has closed. Barring me from the war councils made that clear."
"Will he ask us to fight for him, m'lord?" Garrus Cerwyn asked. He and Ser Kyle Condon had taken a break from their dice game to focus on the conversation.
Ned stroked his chin, "Perhaps. Though our numbers wouldn't make a difference."
"I wonder whose idea it was," Domeric pondered. "Did the Tyrells approach Renly, or did he seek them out?"
Jonos Furrow ran a whetstone across his sword, the Dustin axes gleaned on the polished pommel: "Renly's brought fifteen thousand riders. If that's not enough, he need only wait for his footmen. They'll stamp Stannis to dust," he declared. The old campaigner was certain.
"One way or another, we'll bend our knees and be on our way," Roose told them.
Ned could only dip his head further to his writing, dreading the death looming before him.
His dreams that night were dark; filled with smoke and fires, burning low beneath a great cairn of stone shaped like the maw of a dragon.
/
"Lord Stark, His Grace requests you attend him."
Ned was guided by one of the Rainbow Guard to the edge of the army, Roose and Kevan on his heels.
The longer Ned spent in Renly's company the more his resemblance to Robert strengthened. He was a mirror image of a younger Robert, more refined perhaps in some ways. It was the moods and whims that proved the Baratheon blood. Renly was gregarious and charismatic, men and women flocked to him no matter the setting and whereas Robert's wits and sharpness had become mired in age and bitterness, Renly was fresh of mind. Hints and notes of cruelty shone through too. Robert's humour always did turn just a little far towards maliciousness, Renly was not above the same pettiness.
Ned knew for certain that if Renly had finished his march to King's Landing, the war would likely have tilted in his favour. With the Crownlands, the Reach and the Stormlands under his banner, it would have been easy to negotiate with the Vale. To earn the North and Riverland's support, he would only have to send his massive army towards the Westerlands and force Tywin Lannister back under The Rock.
That deft strategy also showed the capriciousness inherent to Renly's cleverness. Not many would have the gall to usurp their brother's claim, let alone with a historical enemy. Then again, it seemed that Renly had learned something from that torturous siege of his childhood. You must pay a price for victory. Ned only feared that both brothers were prepared to sacrifice the other for that chance.
"Lord Stark," King Renly beamed.
The King was arrayed in his gilded armour, golden-rose crown firmly affixed on his black hair.
"Your Grace," Ned acknowledged.
One didn't spit in their host's face while still on polite terms.
"I have thought on your words and decided to extend to my brother a chance to speak under truce. He has agreed, much to my surprise. You shall accompany me," Renly informed him.
A tendril of hope curled in Ned's heart as he was given a mount of his own. Their small party weaved through the foliage overlooking Storm's End. Nestled beside the walls of Godsgrief, Stannis' camp appeared tiny.
They came to a cleared section near the cliff-side. Ned saw the man in question already waiting. Taking his chance, Ned urged his horse forward, leaving Renly behind.
On the banners before him, the crowned stag now wreathed in flame, Stannis' attire bedecked in yellow and red to match. Standing out from the grim-faced escort was a fair woman wrapped in crimson.
"Lord Stark, I'm disappointed to see you here," Stannis threw forth. "I was under the impression you knew where your loyalties should lie."
"I was under the impression that a man of his word, keeps it," Ned rebuked. "When you abandoned my men and I in King's Landing, I deemed it necessary to escape with my life. Sadly, I've been unable to stop this folly from continuing."
"Folly?" Stannis said, "You think a man claiming his rightful place is folly?"
"I think two brothers striking at each other while our enemy sits content on the throne, is folly," Ned refuted.
"Time was against me," Stannis explained. "I learned that Robert was wounded and Cersei was calling the Crownlanders to her. It was imperative that the Royal Fleet be moved and I couldn't guarantee my own safety if I returned."
"If you had returned, we could have occupied the city as we originally planned."
Stannis' grimace tightened, "Our plans required Robert to be on the throne. If that foolish brother of mine hadn't made his damn declaration, I'd have thrown down that bastard, Joffrey, by now."
Their argument was cut short by Renly and Ser Loras: "Stannis! How good to see you. I almost didn't recognize you with that strange banner."
Clearly, neither man had come to submit. They aired their grievances with barbs and insults. Renly oozed arrogance, always having the clever quip, always needing the last word. Stannis' patience frayed further and further, to the point he drew steel. His shining sword shocked Ned and many others. It was strange, Ned likened it to looking at a torch being held inside one of his glass gardens.
Ned tried to interject, to bring cooler heads to bear. It was like speaking to a wine-fueled Robert when they were young. He thought back to one night after a feast in the Eyrie, Robert had committed to climbing a tree in the dark. Instead of a dislocated shoulder and sore rump, these Baratheons would kill each other. Both drunk on a different kind of vice, a crown.
"Flags and tourneys will not make you a King," Stannis declared.
Renly laughed, "Swords and lances from every corner of the realm, will. Do you see the host at my back, or have those fires blown smoke in your eyes? Once I've dealt with you, I will march to the Red Keep, with rose, falcon," Here, Renly glanced directly at Ned, "wolf and trout. The Lions will be put in their place. Surely you see it, Stannis. A man without humor, friends, or an heir, cannot unite a realm. Submit to me, and you shall live in peace."
Stannis was fed up, his patience spent. He gave Renly an ultimatum: surrender by dawn or die. The King of the Narrow Sea and his Red Priestess rode away, ominous words their only parting gift.
Renly was rattled, he flipped between rage and hurt. He jerked his steed over to Ned.
"You've heard his delusions first hand now. Tell me, Lord Stark, will you join our charge against these rebels tomorrow?"
Ned looked at the towers rising defiantly against the sea. The home that Robert had spoken of with fondness.
Were the last of the Baratheons doomed to die in folly? By boar on a simple hunt, by blade before their home. Was it the sick nature of fate that Robert's brothers, who had once survived by the strength of those walls, would kill each other in its shadow? These stags were dancing, clashing antlers to prove their dominance.
Perhaps, Ned thought morbidly, the Targaryen blood was not so thin in these sons of Orys.
Ned clenched his teeth, "I cannot in good conscience raise arms against Robert's blood with no just cause. I'm only glad your brother and parents are not alive to see this. You have committed to this path, King Renly. Now you must follow it to the end."
He left Renly there, alone upon the bluff. The roses lost their luster under the clouded skies.
/
"Once he's won, we should make our way to Harrenhall," Kevan suggested.
"Why there? The battle will be at King's Landing. We might as well stay with Renly," Donnel argued.
Northerners milled about the camp in the early dawn. None of them could sleep when Renly's army shuttered like a thousand steel branches in the storm, arming themselves for war. Renly had permitted Ned's soldiers to be quartered beside their commanders and to escort them during the battle.
From their circle, Ned could see the Rainbow Guard and Renly's generals moving about the King's tent. He turned away, joining his men.
"Stannis may yet survive, flee back to Dragonstone," Domeric suggested. "The Royal Fleet is still under his command."
"Should Stannis survive, I believe Renly has already proven his case," Roose stated.
The Bolton Lord had seen the two men bicker the day before, and had not been impressed. Undoubtedly, Renly held the advantage. Roose was not blind to the generosity that could be won from the Tyrells by supporting him.
"Lord Stark said that a Red Witch was by his side, I'm not like to trust a man who keeps such counsel," Jonos added. "They say in Essos those that follow the Red God burn folk alive and use slaves to guard their temples." He spit, "Sounds all too Valyrian to me."
Before Ned could halt the argument from going in circles, a horrid cry spilt into the air.
Roose whispered: "That was from the King's tent,"
The din of blades spurned Ned into action. The northmen ran, matched by Garlan Tyrell, emerging from his own tent across the way. Ned reached it first.
He stepped over a dead knight in yellow armor, sprawled across the tent entrance. Inside, Ned saw the lifeblood leak out of Robar Royce's red chestplate. Loras Tyrell stood over Brienne of Tarth, his blade desperately crashing against her guard. Ned noticed her left arm was clutched to her chest, a rent in her gauntlet.
Loras was shouting incoherently, his fair face twisted in frothing rage. Ned froze when he spied Renly's stiff corpse upon the floor. Ser Kyle Condon rushed in behind him. Ned came back to his senses and drew his sword. He rushed forward to stop Loras from killing the woman. Ned's blade stabbed, not at Loras' back, but to deflect his next blow.
It surprised the Knight of Flowers, who instinctively dodged backwards, putting Ned in front of him. Brienne of Tarth dropped her sword with a sob.
"You did this!" Loras roared, "You and her!"
He came at Ned with a thirst to kill. Ser Kyle and Garrus Cerwyn threw themselves at the charging knight and barely held him back. Garrus lost three fingers on his sword hand in the brief exchange. Thankfully, it only took a few seconds for Garlan to enter. He sprinted straight inside, took one look at his brother's bloodied steel, the corpses at his feet, and tackled him to the ground. The two men yelled and tumbled, more Tyrell knights arrived and went to Garlan's aid while encircling Ned and his men.
Loras was restrained but he threw more accusations: "Northern savages, I'll have all your heads!"
"Loras, Lord Stark had nothing to do with this, I saw him outside!" Garlan insisted.
The youngest Tyrell brother struggled on, heedless of Garlan's words. Eventually, they had no choice but to physically drag him away.
"Lord Stark, my apologies," Garlan muttered as he ordered the guards to leave. Mace's second son could not draw his gaze from Renly. He swiftly followed his brother out of the tent.
While Ned and Lord Condon saw to Garrus' wound, Brienne of Tarth was clasped in chains. She put up no resistance. It took two men to get her upright. Her strength had left her, leaving only devastated murmurs, about shadows with Stannis' face. Ned did have the wherewithal to notice it was men of House Florent who took her into custody.
No one could quite believe what was happening. Confusion spread through the ranks like pox. Thankfully, Domeric had stayed behind and kept the Northern retinue from being separated in the confusion.
Ned watched Renly's body be wrapped in a sheet by Tyrell servants. He was ushered out and the once great army split apart. The Tyrells and a small number of other Houses broke away and retreated west. Inevitably, a cadre of nobles went to make peace with Stannis. Ned and his men followed.
/
King Stannis Baratheon, First of His Name, did not appear as the conquering victor. To Ned's eyes, he looked shaken, masquerading his own shock as stony confidence. It was a simple matter for the remainder of Renly's host to bend the knee, and the Stormlanders among them too. Finally, it was Ned's turn.
He said the words, kissed a ruby ring. Stannis helped him stand, clasped arms and bade him follow. Ned could only guess Davos Seaworth and others would see to the affairs of the army.
"I have need of you, Lord Stark," Stannis told him as they approached the gates of Storm's End.
From the high crest above the ancient gates, people stood behind wooden barricades and stone battlements.
Stannis took a horn from his squire, "Penrose!" he called through it.
"The answer has not changed, my lord," a man responded.
Ned recalled that Ser Cortnay Penrose had been named castellan of Storm's End while Renly was in the capital. They'd met only briefly during the Rebellion, but the knight had earned a reputation for himself at Summerhall.
"Doubtlessly, you can see the dust trails heading off. I've come to tell you, that is the trail of those who did not bend the knee to me this morning."
The King took a harsh breath.
"Renly is dead," Stannis proclaimed. "You have two choices, Penrose. Open the gates, surrender the castle and all inside shall see a fair trial. Hold it from me, and your lives are forfeit."
Minutes of silence passed.
Ser Cortnay shouted back: "It'd be simple to believe you, but I think you lie, Lord Stannis! Those dust trails may yet be King Renly sending his reserves out to deal with you. Until you show me his body, I won't give you anything. Not my life, my loyalty, the keys to this castle and certainly not my charge!"
Cortnay's speech was passionate, but tinged with desperation.
Stannis lowered his speaking horn and turned to Ned: "I offer him peace and he spits in my face."
"What charge is he speaking of?" Ned asked.
"Robert's bastard, Edric Storm," Stannis answered.
"The boy's here?" Ned was shocked.
The small folk said that after Joffrey's crowning, the Gold Cloaks went rampant in the city, killing a number of supposed "spies." This included a number of children and infants. When Ned learned they'd been the children of prostitutes and tavern maids, he suspected they were the same children Jon Arryn had been checking in on before their journey to Winterfell. Cersei had been killing off Robert's bastards. Outside of Mya Stone, he wasn't sure any had survived.
"Yes, and I need him and the castle," Stannis emphasized as he thrust the horn into Ned's hand.
Ned now understood, "You want me to vouch for you?"
Stannis crossed his arms. The Red Priestess at his back, Melisandre she'd introduced herself as, simply smiled. Like she was watching some spectacle.
"Ser Cortnay Penrose!" Ned yelled.
"Who speaks now?"
"Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell!"
"Lord Stark?" Penrose responded, he was clearly thrown by the name.
"We met once before, Ser Penrose, at my wedding in Riverrun. You'd been by Robert's side during the Battle of Summerhall. From what Robert said, you slew four men from House Fell while leading the right flank."
More silence, Penrose was deliberating. Ned hoped the details and a touch of old memory would convince the knight of his identity.
"Why are you here, Lord Stark? Last we heard, you'd returned with King Robert to oversee matters in King's Landing."
Ned sighed in relief, this would go much smoother from here on out, "I did. I was at his side as he died, Cortnay. After I heard Robert's last words, the Lannisters poisoned Jon Arryn and I fled for my life."
"Does Stannis speak true?" Penrose demanded.
"I saw Renly's body myself. Killed in his own tent, a dark end," Ned said, taking note of Stannis' flinch.
When no response was forthcoming, Ned raised the horn again.
"See sense, Ser. This is a battle you cannot win. Lord Royce marches with the Vale to Stannis' call as we speak. My own son has brought my banners south. The time has come to lay down your arms."
Ned wished he could see clear to the top of the gate. No doubt Penrose was deeply considering the news. If Renly was dead, his sole hope for rescue was the Lannisters or perhaps the Martells. Neither option would be conducive to the survival of Edric Storm. Perhaps all the castellan needed was a small push.
Without consulting Stannis, Ned spoke loud and clear: "I give you my word, I swear on the honour of Winterfell and my ancestors, that Edric Storm shall be safe in my care."
He ignored the snap of Stannis' fiery eyes and the indignation in Melisandre's sneer. The beat of his heart brought Maw close at hand. He bled courage from his direwolf to his own breast. Ned chose to brave the ire of his new king, for the sake of a dead one.
It worked.
"On your word, I will open the gates," Penrose announced.
For a second time, Eddard Stark had lifted the siege of Storm's End.
/
The tide had turned but a war still needed to be won. The new army at Stannis' command was swiftly reorganized and plans were made for the attack on King's Landing.
Ned was present at the castle's surrender. The garrison, for the most part, was pardoned. The exceptions were the commanders. On their orders the gates had been barred and banners raised for Renly.
Ser Cortnay and three other men were given a simple choice, execution or The Wall. Thankfully, Ser Cortnay and his fellows agreed to take the black. Ned gave them each a letter to Lord Commander Jeor to put them in good favour upon their arrival. Though by all rights they had owed Stannis their allegiance from the beginning, it was no easy thing to go against the Lord of your castle. Far less worthy men had become Black Brothers.
Next, Robert's son was brought before them by the Maester. Edric Storm was sturdy and young, bristling with Robert's visage blended with Florent features. In private, Ned wondered if Stannis saw his own future son in him. The boy was angry and scared. He wept when Penrose was sent away but clung to Ned after a few kind conversations when he revealed his relationship with Robert. By the time his fate was decided, Edric was grateful he would no longer be in the King's care.
At first, Stannis had tried to send the boy away to Dragonstone indefinitely. Queen Selyse would not stand a bastard nephew to be raised in court, not when Princess Shireen was their only heir. Ned would not allow it. Another spout of arguments ended with compromise. Edric Storm would be held at Dragonstone until the throne was secured. Then he would be sent on to Winterfell, where he would remain in Ned's service at Stannis' discretion. Removed from any scheming nobles, Edric would be isolated from potential movements that could seek to use him as a figurehead. At the same time, it showcased Stannis' apparent trust in Ned, reinforcing the appearance that the Stark-Baratheon alliance would live on into Stannis' reign.
Rhaegar's ghost may have been laughing, from whatever pit of hell he laid in. A bastard sent to the Starks to be protected and forgotten. Robert and Rhaegar's sons living under the same roof.
/
Storm's End was a comfortable castle, even when hosting a huge army. Large enough for Maw to wander comfortably and Ned certainly appreciated the chance for solitude after weeks and weeks on the road.
The Northmen had been afforded a wing of the keep to themselves, with their own guards and attendants. A weight had been lifted off the men, no longer prisoners but allies.
Roose appeared unassuaged, he shared a cup of wine once night in Ned's temporary office.
"Have you been to the Godswood?" Roose asked him.
Ned nodded, "Aye, quite grand."
"Fitting for the Durrandons, I think," Roose commented.
The Godswood of Storm's End was perched on a cliff behind the oldest towers on the foundation, inside an ancient courtyard surrounded by incredibly tall stone walls.. A chipped and broken wall allowed the heartree's face to gaze out across the open ocean. Uniquely, it was filled with twice as many burnt trunks as healthy trees. The Maester said that during the fiercest storms, no one dared venture into the Godswood, for lightning would inevitably strike and set small fires. Ned asked if the heartree was ever damaged, the Maester frowned and muttered something about "no written accounts."
Roose continued: "Have you spoken with the Red Priestess?"
Ned took a drink of his wine, a crisp vintage from Blackhaven. A lesser quality than Renly's stores but just having a different taste was enough to be refreshing.
"No, she's quite private," Ned answered.
Roose played with the loose hairs of his stubble, "She's been busy amongst the ranks of the army. Gathering more and more converts. The soldiers have been inspired by His Grace's glowing blade."
"What about the whispers of burnings?"
"The most devout of the guard are tight lipped. I had Domeric speaking with some of the squires. He learned that on Dragonstone, the King burned effigies of the Seven. A Knight from House Horpe shut him out before he learned more."
Ned paused as another clap of thunder rang overhead.
"Be careful, the last thing we need is the Priestess to focus on us," Ned instructed.
"I wonder if following the King is worth accepting this Red God."
Ned considered his words.
"Set a guard on the Godswood. Avoid making it obvious, but I want to know if the Priestess begins having designs on it," Ned ordered. "I can only hope Stannis thinks that burning the weirwoods would earn him more enemies than allies."
/
At the end of the week, Ned was summoned to the throne room to meet with his king.
"The time to march is coming, Lord Stark," Stannis told him.
"My men are ready."
"Good. You will not be following us onto the Kingsroad. I have another task for you," Stannis explained. "I've received a letter from Lord Royce. The Valemen have taken Hayford, their armies are cutting off the capital's roads. They shall join our attack when I arrive."
Stannis went to a small side table, covered with parchment. Melisandre stood near a bright brazier in the corner, intently watching the flames.
"A delegation will go by ship to meet Lord Royce. You and your men will accompany them. I told you in Winterfell, the Vale Lords are no friends of mine. It is your duty to ensure the Vale is ready to accept my rule."
Stannis handed over a thick packet of letters and maps. No doubt all sealed and addressed to Lord Royce.
"If you give them justice for Jon and Robert Arryn, the Vale will come to you easily," Ned said.
Stannis looked unconvinced.
Melisandre stepped from her brazier, walking to Stannis' side. She made eye contact with Ned, he could see the zealotry hidden behind her pupils.
"The Lord of Light sees all, and through his appointed champion, all of Westeros will be delivered. From the farthest beach of Dorne to the highest peak in the North. All shall know R'hllor's glory," she said.
"The North is a cold place, my lady. Be careful that your lights do not wither in the wind. There are places in my homeland that have withstood more fearsome things than fire," Ned warned. "I'd also ask that you stay away from my men. They do not take kindly to the tenants of your faith."
"They fear the power of a true God?" Melisandre quipped.
Ned bared his teeth, "They despise the concept of slavery and burnings."
Stannis kept silent, though his hands clenched at the mention of slaves.
Melisandre smiled, "All men must serve… in their own way."
"Enough of your squabbles. You have your orders, Lord Stark," Stannis interjected.
"One thing, Your Grace," Ned added. "What of Lady Brienne?"
Loose lips in the grounds meant most people knew that Lady Brienne had been handed over by Queen Selyse's uncle to appease Stannis. By all accounts, most felt she had either killed Renly herself, helped the ones who did, or was too weak to have stopped the assassin. Ned had learned she was being held in a modest cell.
Stannis chewed on his cheek, "No one has presented any evidence of her involvement in Renly's death. Therefore I have no reason to charge her. Yet she cannot be trusted to roam freely. Her father has been informed of her whereabouts. If Lord Tarth agrees to bend the knee, I shall release her into his custody."
Ned decided it was the best that could be hoped for.
With a solemn bow, he left the throne room, readying himself for the journey ahead.
/
The seas had never agreed with Ned's stomach. He'd been thankful that the Greyjoy Rebellion had been fought on land, he wasn't keen to experience a melee on the water. Stannis' captains knew their trade. As the army departed Storm's End, the fleet departed their ports. Half the fleet had been stationed at Dragonstone, half near Shipbreaker Bay. The two groups would converge on Blackwater Bay to prevent any escape by sea. A smaller squadron had broken off as they entered the Bay and ferried Ned, the northern retinue, and Stannis' other ambassadors to a landing south of Rosby.
The countryside was quiet. The Valemen had three small skirmishes on their march to King's Landing, capturing the under-manned castle of House Hayford, then fought and won a major battle against the Crownland armies near Rosby and Stokeworth. Rosby was being kept under siege by Lord Benedar Belmore, allowing Ned's party to continue unmolested to Hayford.
Above the gates of Hayford, the bronze field of House Royce flew proudly beside the wheel of House Waynwood, the arrows of House Hunter, the tower of House Redfort, and the stars of House Templeton.
Ned gave Garrus the signal, and the Northern host lifted their banners. Horn calls alerted the sentries and a procession was sent out to clear the way through the tents and wooden spikes. There were calls of joy and greetings from the Knights and Lords who recognized Ned and his companions.
They were met at the gates by Bronze Yohn himself. The formidable Lord of Runestone towered over everyone else, clad in his runic plate. Ned dismounted his steed and stepped forward as Yohn pulled him into a close embrace.
"Eddard Stark!" Yohn exclaimed. "You are a welcome sight."
"Yohn, I can't express how good it is to see you," Ned replied.
"I'm sure there will be time to catch up, let's get your men quartered," Yohn offered.
"Lord Stark!" A voice called out.
Ned turned and grinned as Marrick and Mathis Flint emerged from the crowd. There was a happy reunion for all, and eventually Stannis' envoys were welcomed inside.
That night Ned dined alongside the Lords and spoke about the death of Jon Arryn. He told them what he witnessed on that last day in the Red Keep.
"Lysa attacked Joffrey, raked her nails across his cheeks. I'm not sure if she was imagining things or perhaps she saw something. Robin was smothered, that I know for sure," Ned recounted.
"We knew she remained with the Lannisters," Lord Horton Redfort told Ned. "We received a letter from the Crown with one of her rings. They refused to explain Jon's death, so we refused to heed their orders. When Joffrey proclaimed Lord Arryn a traitor to House Baratheon, we couldn't stand by."
Horton smiled as Domeric refilled his mug. The Bolton heir was delighted to reunite with his foster father and brothers.
"Then they had Baelish write to us," Yohn revealed.
"Baelish? Did they think you were unaware of the adultery?" Ned asked.
"I say it was desperation. Littlefinger attempted to convince us of King Joffrey's benevolence, and the great rewards we would receive for defending his throne," Yohn said. "Before the Tyrell blockade started starving the city, rumor slipped that Baelish wedded Lysa."
Ned rubbed his brow, "The snake has the audacity to marry my good-sister after defiling her beneath my roof. Does he imagine it will somehow give him legitimacy?"
"Baelish is a rat trying to climb a ladder in a rainstorm," Roose commented. "He couldn't return to the Vale, so now he's bet on a Lannister victory to win power."
"Are your forces ready to move on King's Landing?" Ned questioned.
Yohn nodded, "Preparations are being finished and we have scouts keeping watch for King Stannis. When he makes it out of the Kingswood, we'll come down on the northern walls."
Lord Symond Templeton spoke from his place across the dinner table, "You should know, Lord Stark, your son Robb has marched deeply into the Riverlands. I imagine he'll be at Riverrun by now."
Ned tensed and again considered abandoning the field to join with Robb and Jon. It would not endear him to Stannis, and the march back north would be long.
"The war can be won if the capital is captured. I mean to ensure King Stannis has no reason to doubt my loyalty," Ned informed them.
Yohn nodded, "Sometimes the only option you have is to trust your blood shines true."
Ned stood and lifted his cup, "To our victory, my lords, and to King Stannis!"
"Long live the King!" They chorused.
Again, that night Ned dreamt of fire and stone.
The great cairn had been cracked open and now shadows spilt into the sky, swallowing the moon. He awoke covered in sweat and reached out for Maw. The dreams were foreboding and he couldn't shake a sense of despair creeping up his spine. He would need to be careful, things were coming to a crossroads and his people couldn't afford to be on the wrong side of the coin toss.
/
A/N: We're almost there, the Blackwater is coming!
We'll catch up one last time with Robb and then the Southern groups will reunite.
Will they win? Does the Mannis now have a better shot at the crown?
I'm pretty confident that the end of this arc will feature the real canon-divergence that I've been building up in this fic.