"How is your lady wife?" Ned offered his steward a cup of mint tea. He found tea a more calming beverage than ale or wine. "Benjen told me she is with child again. You must be delighted."
Vayon nodded, accepting the mint tea. "We hope and pray all will go well with her pregnancy this time. If it is a boy, we will name him Brandon, after your late brother my lord. If it is a girl, she will be called Lyanna, after your sister. I will love the child if it is either a son or daughter."
"I am honoured," said Ned honestly. Benjen had written that many northmen had asked to name their sons and daughters Rickard, Brandon or Lyanna (or a name of some variation) after the war ended. He suspected there will soon be an entire generation of Rickards, Brandons and Lyannas in the North. He nodded as Vayon returned to discussing the stores. He is a loyal man, Ned thought. Benjen said he loved his office more than his own wife! No doubt that is only gossip. The devoted Vayon Poole had no luck in siring children as of yet. Thrice his pretty wife's stomach swelled; thrice she gave birth to sickly babes who did not survive the touch of the harsh northern winds. Hopefully the old gods will bless House Poole with a child this time.
"…and with spring coming, the stores will be stocked more than ever," Vayon continued. "We are fortunate the latest winter was not particularly long. We still have at least two dozen casks of honey and fifteen sacks of sugar and salt. I also counted four barrels of salted mutton and beef among other kegs, vats, pots and crates in the storerooms."
Ned paused mid-nod as he caught sight of Ashara enter the Great Hall. Even in a grey gown, she looked beautiful. Realising he no longer had his liege lord's full attention, Vayon said quickly, "I can return another time, my lord." Ned nodded gratefully. "Aye. Perhaps tomorrow. Thank you Vayon." He waited as Ashara made her way to the dais.
"Lord husband," she said, sitting down on Vayon's empty chair.
"My lady," Ned returned icily. If Ashara wants me to be cold, so be it. "I thought you are planning to leave for Starfall."
His wife's gaze softened a little. "I considered it and decided to…postpone my plans. The people will think me a craven for running back home to Dorne. I may owe you an apology, my lord. My earlier words towards Jon Snow are insulting and unfit for a lady's lips."
Ned nodded. "I suppose it was unwise of me to show you the boy without any mention of him before. Would you like some breakfast, Ashara?" She nodded, her expression impassive. He signalled a servant and told him, "Hot bread, butter and honey and blackberry preserves, a rasher of bacon and a soft-boiled egg and a wedge of cheese, if you will."
"That is too much," Ashara protested as he poured her a cup of mint tea. "The bread, bacon and butter will do."
"You need a strong breakfast to have a strong son." The words echoed in his mind. His father Rickard Stark, had told his wife that every time she was with child. Ned remembered hearing it when his mother was pregnant with Ben. Even when she retched in the privy or a bucket ever once a few hours, their father had insisted she eat well. "Now what changed your mind?" Ned said curiously. "You were quite adamant in leaving for Starfall."
"I had a change of heart." She stared at him boldly as she sipped the tea. "That is all you need to know."
"You will treat Jon as your own son?"
"Until mine own comes along."
Ned almost laughed. "You will treat Jon as your own son?" he persisted. "And you will never call or address him as a bastard?"
"Have I said Jon Snow is your…natural child all morning, Ned? Did I beg and plead for you to rid him from Winterfell?" Her meal arrived and she attacked the egg with her spoon hungrily.
He looked at her suspiciously. It was as if Ashara had two sides like a coin; the jealous wife and a nurturing mother. He wondered if all women – highborn and low – were like that. Lyanna certainly had a temper, but she could play the sweet, docile daughter when required.
"It will be good for our son to have companions his age," said Ashara, drizzling honey on her bread. "Who better than his half-brother who will serve in his army when the time comes? My niece Daenerys will be a friend to our daughter if we happen to be blessed with one, and she may even serve as our future daughter's handmaid if needed." Feigned bastard or no, Daenerys Targaryen – no, Sand – will never be a handmaid. What is Ashara thinking? She knows as well as I do who Daenerys truly is. "Have you thought of fostering other highborn children?" his wife inquired. "I won't be surprised if the king asks you to foster his future heir. The queen confided in me that she feared all her children will be sent off as wards to other Great Houses."
"That is the best way to forge alliances," said Ned plainly. "If the lord is more than pleased with the ward, he will betroth him to one of his daughters."
"I am aware of that." She bit into her bread. "Are you not hungry?"
"I already ate with Vayon Poole."
Ashara continued eating, one violet eye on her food and the other on him. She finished her bread and started chewing the bacon; it was devoured within a few seconds. Following the bacon was the remains of the soft-boiled egg.
"There will be a feast in a few days," said Ned, breaking the silence. "All the Northern lords and their immediate families will come, most of them eager to see you. Some of the lords may speak to you harshly-"
"They want to see if I am worthy enough to be the Lady of Winterfell," Ashara finished. "If they like me, they will trust me as much as they trust you. If the lords decide I am a dainty flower from the south…they will tolerate me. Do not worry Ned, I will prove to them I am no southron flower."
"Southron star more like," remarked Ned dryly. He drained the rest of his mint tea. "You will treat Jon well?" he said again.
Ashara said nothing. She only smiled.
Ned found Benjen in the crypts, staring blankly at the stone tomb of their late father. The stonemason Ned had commissioned had known him well. Gazing at Lord Rickard Starks' tomb, Ned recalled how he would sit on the oak chair in the Great Hall with quiet dignity; his stone fingers tightly holding the sword across his lap almost matching the manner he grasped the hilt of the Starks' ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword Ice when he was alive.
"Lyanna is almost finished," said Benjen quietly, nodding at the faceless statue beside his father's tomb. "The stonemason told me both Lyanna and Brandon's tombs will be finished in a month or two. I wanted him to carve a wreath of roses on Lyanna's head, but then…" His voice softened further. "It will only remind me of that day in the tourney at Harrenhal. I wish Lyanna stayed at home…if she did, she would be alive and happily married to Robert Baratheon."
"Alive, but not happy," commented Ned. "Robert drinks gallons of wine, goes hunting for days and has an unquenchable thirst for women. Will there ever be a woman happily married to him?"
"He is the king-"
"King he may be, he will always be Robert to me. Giving him a crown had not changed him into a King Jaehaerys the Wise. He will always drink, hunt and take mistresses for the rest of his life."
"Does Queen Catelyn accept it without complaint?"
Ned nodded. "Aye. She is a good woman, our queen. She accepts his infidelities without an open complaint and tried to convince him to drink less. If there is any noblewoman in Westeros who did not marry Robert to be his queen, it is Catelyn Tully. I suspect she will be another Good Queen Alysanne." He smiled. "Catelyn is more suited to be queen than Lyanna ever will be."
"The people love Lyanna too."
"The Northerners love Lyanna. The southroners think of her as the tragic and beautiful figure in a song the bards sing. Lyanna is of the North; she would not have known how to be a southron queen."
Benjen was silent. "I lost her horse," he blurted out.
"What?" said Ned, taken back. "Whose horse?"
"Lyanna's." He could not look him in the eye. "When you were in Dorne, the horse ran away. The men tried to corner her but she escaped. Hullen rode after her, but even he could not catch her. A few days after that, we received news of Lyanna's death. Now I wish Lyanna's horse was still here."
"You would only miss her more."
"Will Ashara actually leave for Starfall?"
Ned shook his head. "I should not have showed her Jon last night. It was my fault. Do you like her?"
"She wrote me a few letters when you were in King's Landing and I thought her kind. When I saw her yesterday…she reminded me of Lyanna. Do you think Ashara likes riding? Perhaps you can take her riding around Winterfell when she settles in." He looked hopefully at Ned. I always forget he lost Brandon, Lyanna and our father so young.
"Maybe." Ned managed a smile. "You told me you considered taking the black to be a man of the Night's Watch?"
Benjen nodded determinedly. "A Stark always mans the Wall. Even when our father was alive, I considered becoming a black brother."
"You do not want to serve in the Kingsguard? There is still a vacant spot or two if you are interested. Barristan the Bold and the Blackfish both serve and you can join them as a sworn brother." Ben, the Night's Watch is not as glorious as it once was; half the men there are rapers, thieves and murderers! From the dwindling number of black brothers, most likely only a quarter of them chose to take the black nobly.
"There is nothing for me in the south, Ned." Benjen's sad eyes reminded Ned of those of a desolate pup. "Lyanna went south and she was abducted; Brandon went south and he was murdered; and Father went south soon after and he too was murdered by the Mad King. No, my place is in the North. I want to forget all about the war and the deaths. When you were serving as the Master of Laws in King's Landing, you did not see all the bodies return in carts pulled by horses, some by oxen or mules.
"When you argued with the other councillors, I lit a candle every time Lord Reed sent me a letter regarding a cart entering the border between the Twins and Greywater Watch." He shivered. "I lit so many candles, Ned. When Lord Reed returned Lord Dustin's red stallion to his widow per your instruction, the poor lady raged with grief." A tear glistened on his pale cheek. "Do you know what she said to me before she left for Barrowton? My husband swore to return mounted on the steed, she said. That horse was the pride of Lord Ryswell's herd. How will I ever forget those words, Ned? I did not kill men like you did, but how can I forget Lady Dustin's words?"
Ned patted Benjen on the shoulder. "We Northerners swallow it and move on." His heart ached as he continued. "Though we pretend to move on, we will remember. The North remembers."
"The North remembers," Benjen repeated. He gave one more downcast look at the three tombs before ascending the narrow and winding spiral stone steps to the ironwood door. A chilly breeze kissed the back of Ned's neck as he followed Benjen to the entry of the crypts. It was no surprise that down here in the crypts, it was colder than say, the courtyard, but it felt…different. Restless spirits, Ned thought. He shook it from his mind.
"Do not worry, Ned." Benjen opened the door, allowing another gust of wind to charge in. "Even if I do choose to be a man of the Night's Watch, I won't leave Winterfell until your son is born. When you have your heir, I will leave."
"There must always-" started Ned.
"- be a Stark at Winterfell," his brother finished. "There must always be a Stark manning the Wall too."
After tasting a portion of honeyed chicken, Ned was so full he could not take another bite. He smiled as Ashara laughed at a childhood story Benjen told her. I am pleased she is making an effort to be happy here. I am never one for feasts, but this is an excellent opportunity for Ashara to know the Northern lords and ladies. Who knows? She may find a friend in one.
To his disappointment, Howland Reed had declined. Ned knew it was no slight at all; Howland's reasons are his own. For all he had done for him, Ned accepted the crannogman's vague letter of refusal. Besides, Howland had already met and acquainted himself with Ashara in Starfall.
Ned gazed down at the eight long rows of trestle tables. Closest to the raised platform were two Cerwyns of Cerwyn, Lord Medger Cerwyn's tunic bearing his House sigil of a black battle-axe on silver, his plump and rather comely fourteen year old daughter Jonelle sitting between him and his right hand man Ser Kyle Condon; across from them sat the pale blue-eyed Tallharts of Torrhen's Square: Ser Helman and his younger brother Leobald, the latter recently wedded to Lady Berena Hornwood and father of Brandon Tallhart, one of many Northern babes named after Ned's late brother; Lady Berena chatted with her brother, the jovial Lord Halys and his wife Donella Manderly, the former wearing a dark orange cloak displaying the brown Hornwood bull moose; and the amiable Lord Wyman Manderly sat on Donella's right, his booming laughs crushing the music played by the two bards Ned hired yesterday afternoon. Ned craned his head and saw more familiar lords from the flood of Northerners. The gaunt and large Rickard Karstark of Karhold, his thick beard and hair loose past his shoulders. His cloak of wolf pelt was clasped around his throat by the silver sunburst of his House; the proud and boisterous Lord Greatjon Umber of the Last Hearth, a large, heavily muscled warrior almost seven feet tall; and the cold Lord of the Dreadfort Roose Bolton, his eerily pale eyes focusing on his Ryswell wife. Ned suppressed a sigh. It came as no surprise Lady Dustin was nowhere to be seen.
"Who is she?" said Ashara, nodding at Lady Maege Mormont muttering to a man in Mormont colours next to her.
"Lady Maege Mormont," Ned replied. "She is the Lord of Bear Island's aunt. It must be the new Lord Mormont of Bear Island sitting beside her."
Ashara squinted at her. "Is she wearing…ringmail?"
Ned chuckled. "All women of Bear Island learn how to defend themselves from the Ironborn and wildings. Her brother Jeor told me that her favourite weapon is a spiked mace. Does a woman in ringmail astonish you?"
"Not really. I've heard rumours Oberyn Martell is teaching his daughters the arts of war when they are old enough to grasp a spear." She sipped her ale. "Have you visited Bear Island before?"
"Not of yet."
"Where is Lord Howland Reed? I was hoping to see him here."
"He had…crannogmen to deal with I think." Why, Howland? Is there a matter amiss in Greywater Watch I have yet to hear? Then again, perhaps Howland Reed felt…intimidated by rather fierce Northerners such as Greatjon Umber or Roose Bolton? Foolish thoughts, Ned chided himself. Howland Reed fears more than the other Northern lords.
"Maester Luwin," he addressed the maester who sat on his right. "Have you received any ravens from King's Landing?"
"Nothing eventful, my lord," Maester Luwin responded. "The Lord Hand has written that the king chose his good-father Lord Hoster Tully to replace you as the Master of Laws. Lord Tully has continued with your laws and crime in King's Landing is still decreasing at a good speed."
Ned stifled a groan. Robert, do you ever learn? Do you wish to endanger your queen and her family any further? Have you learnt naught from Jon Arryn? You must not give powerful positions to a certain family! Making Jon the King's Hand was expected…then he married Lady Lysa Tully, Robert's good-sister. Bestowing a white cloak upon the Blackfish was forgivable; he was a war hero from the War of the Ninepenny Kings and deserved a place in the Kingsguard. Naming Hoster Tully the new Master of Laws…unacceptable – especially in the eyes of the other great lords such as Tywin Lannister and Mace Tyrell.
"Lord Arryn did not say anything?" Ned frowned.
"You will have to ask him yourself, my lord," answered Maester Luwin. "Lord Arryn's letter did not go into specific details. I have it on my desk somewhere if you wish to read it later, my lord."
"How is the queen?"
"Her Grace is well and with child. The Lord Hand wrote that there was a grand tourney in King's Landing to celebrate the news. I suspect the king will insist on another tourney once his heir is born."
Ned nodded. "I prefer to stay here, but once the queen births her child, I will go south to King's Landing to celebrate with Robert. Perhaps then, I will try and convince him to choose another Master of Laws." He paused. Why did Robert not honour Lord Randyll Tarly with that post? Lord Tarly was a soldier and one of the most formidable commanders in the Seven Kingdoms; putting criminals in line should be an easy task for such a man. Besides, naming the Lord of Horn Hill as Master of Laws will surely please the Reach! "What of Ser Edmure Tully?" Ned inquired. "Did the king honour him too?"
"The Lord Hand did not say, my lord. I assume he did not, or the Lord Hand would have mentioned it."
Ned nodded, slightly relieved. "The last thing I wish is hostility between the Tullys and other Great Houses."
"Yes. We all want peace. Lord Arryn is a clever man; he will smooth relations between his in-laws and the other Great Houses. Perhaps it will take a marriage or two, but I am certain there will be peace."
"If only we are as optimistic as you, Maester Luwin!" Ned smiled as Greatjon lumbered up to him.
"Lord Ned!" the Greatjon bellowed warmly. "We all thought you developed a liking for the bloody south! Strange too as old Rickard died there like many of our good men! Now that you're back, all is well, eh?" He gulped down half his large flagon of ale, droplets trickling onto his beard.
"Greatjon Umber." Ned grinned. When he first met the large man, he thought him a proud and formidable warrior with the biggest and ugliest greatsword at his side. When Ned called his bannermen to arms, the fierce Lord Jon Umber had challenged him for a good reason. Whatever he said convinced the great soldier; he now considered the Greatjon to be one of his most faithful lord bannermen and closest friends.
Maester Luwin quietly moved to the empty seat beside Benjen. Ned nodded at him with thanks and the Greatjon sat down, a servant replenishing his ale. He grunted and eyed Ashara with interest. "Pretty wife, Ned." The Greatjon nodded with approval. "Instead of befriending death, you go south and come back with a beautiful bride! Your brother went south to wed a Tully; the Tully girl is now the queen and you married to the Sword of the Morning's lovely sister who is now carrying your child. Strange, eh?"
"How is your boy?"
The Greatjon chuckled. "Do you know what some of my men have begun to call him? The Smalljon. Still a boy, but I plan to gift him a sword for his next name day. A small version of mine own blade. I love all my sons and daughters, but between you and me, Ned, I will always be more proud of Jon. Mmm! I heard a rumour you had begot a bastard. Is it true?"
The people will all know eventually. "Aye," Ned affirmed quietly. The Greatjon grinned. It is for the sake of love and honour I brought Jon Snow home. Mine own honour sullied for Jon's; a sacrifice I gladly made.
There will be another time jump between this chapter and next. Thanks for the help about that lord question I asked in the last A/N! It was very helpful :) Any ideas what Robert and Catelyn's children's names should be? I'm definitely not naming one of them Joffrey!
