Ned winced again as he heard Ashara scream. He felt sick when he killed his first man in battle; the cries of a woman in childbed sounded more agonising. He felt himself pulled towards the godswood – he resisted. Ashara needed him here, not praying in the godswood.
"Stay calm," said Benjen, as he watched Ned pace around worriedly. "Walking around in circles will not help Ashara."
"What if she dies?"
Benjen looked uncertain. "Ashara looks able to carry children."
So did our mother. "There is always a chance," Ned insisted. "Many women die of childbed fever, highborn ladies no exception." He huffed. "I need to go to the godswood, Ben. I cannot stand around here waiting…doing nothing!" He turned to leave, but the door to Ashara's chambers opened and Maester Luwin came out, wiping his hands on a linen towel.
"My lord," he said, dipping his head quickly, "Lord Benjen. Lady Stark-"
"Is she well?" interrupted Ned. "Has she recovered?"
"I am certain Lady Stark will recover within a day or two," answered Maester Luwin calmly. "She is exhausted and should remain in bed for the rest of the day, mayhaps even half of tomorrow. I will inform Gage to prepare warm soup with meat and bread for Lady Stark. My lord, Lady Stark is awake now if you wish to see her." He smiled. "Congratulations my lord. You have a son." He headed to the kitchens as Ned rushed in his wife's chambers, Benjen behind him.
When he entered Ashara's rooms, he was knocked in the stomach by a wave of heat. The bedchamber was usually warm, but today…it was stifling. Ned bounded to the windows and pulled away the heavy tapestries, breathing deeply as a light wind danced in. He smiled at a tired Ashara who looked twice as worse than a bloody soldier. Her black hair was tangled and strands of it plastered across her clammy forehead with beads of sweat. Her dry lips formed a smile as she cradled a sleeping babe wrapped in furs.
"Your son," she said, beaming brightly. "Our son. Our little boy."
Ned stared at the infant, mesmerised. Although red-faced, the babe had little strands of dark hair. He gingerly caressed his son's tiny fingers. As if on cue, the baby's eyes fluttered open. Ned held his breath as he saw a pair of wide, purple eyes stare back at him. There was no doubt the infant was of Dayne blood. Ned took him from Ashara's arms and rocked him gently.
"What will you call him?" Ashara's weary voice interrupted his thoughts. Ned frowned slightly and chuckled as his son's tiny fingers curled around his thumb and squeezed it. "He is strong," he chortled. Ashara smiled. "A name, mayhaps? I don't think we can keep calling him 'the babe' or 'our son'." Ned laughed. Over the last few months, he and Ashara had discussed an array of baby names for both sons and daughters.
As the firstborn child – no matter the sex, though Ashara insisted it will be a boy – both Ned and Ashara had agreed to give it a good Northern name. Ashara had suggested Brandon or Rickard to honour the memory of his dead brother and father, but Ned ruled it out. "The North remembers," he had said. "The North always remembers. Naming my firstborn son after one of them…it will stir old memories, not all pleasant to some Northerners." Ned considered Torrhen…but his son looked naught like a Torrhen Stark.
"Cregan?" he suggested, remembering the Old Man of the North from a story his father once told him.
Ashara wrinkled her nose. "Cregan Stark? For a child of a Stark and Dayne? If our son has your grey eyes, perhaps."
"Osric?"
"Maybe a Northern name will not suit a child with my eyes."
Ned nodded in agreement. "Aye…" He continued to rock their son as he racked his mind for a suitable name. "Willem?"
Ashara looked at the infant and shook her head. "Raynold?"
Ned almost snorted. "That is a name in the Westerlands is it not? All the other Northern lords will think us weak for naming our firstborn Raynold Stark." He thought again and a name struck him.
"Robb."
"I see you have placed your son in your old crib." Clad in black furs, Benjen went in the nursery and looked at his sleeping nephew. Ned nodded, smiling for the fifth time that afternoon. Ashara had fell asleep shortly after she agreed to their son christened Robb in honour of King Robert Baratheon and Ned carried little Robb to the warm nursery where an extra crib had been prepared. Today, the other two cribs housed no babes; Jon and Daenerys sat on a large furred rug, playing with two stuffed direwolf toys Ashara had made with Wylla's help during her middle stages of pregnancy. They had even managed to make a stuffed grey direwolf for Robb.
"Do you think the Northern lords will approve?" Ned wondered. "They always expected my heir to have a Northern name."
Benjen raised an eyebrow. "You are the child's father. You have the honour of giving him whatever name you please. You do not name your son to please your bannermen; you name him as he is your son, not theirs."
"Robb is a child of Winterfell."
"A child of Winterfell he may be, but foremost he is the son of Eddard Stark and Ashara Dayne." Benjen smiled at Robb. "The king will be delighted to hear of your son named after him. Oh…" he breathed as Robb opened his eyes and stared at him in wonder.
"Robb has Ashara's purple eyes."
"The first Stark to have purple eyes." Ben's own blue eyes sparkled. He looked at Daenerys quickly. "How is she?"
"Placid and happy I suppose. She is only a year old. She is healthy, comfortable and according to Maester Luwin, a perfectly bonny babe." Ned lowered his voice to a whisper. "As long as a Baratheon remains on the Iron Throne, she will never be safe. For now she is protected by the bastard name Sand, but when she grows up? Someone will eventually suspect her – her hair and eyes will more than give it away. All I can do is hope no one will send assassins here."
"Why are you telling me this?" Benjen tickled Robb's pink cheek with a gloved finger. "Would it not be better if you kept it all to yourself? The more people you tell, the more dangerous it is for all of us."
"I trust you Ben. You are my brother. If something happens, I want you to take Daenerys and run."
"What about Robb? Jon? You want me to abandon Winterfell?"
Ned shook his head vigorously. "Of course not! There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. You think me mad, Brother. Your eyes are asking why I want you to risk your life for the sake of the last dragon when mine own foster brother is the king. Our father, brother and hundreds of northmen died at the hands of the Mad King. Why should we save his daughter from harm?"
"It is the right thing to do."
Ned nodded with a heavy sigh. "Aye. If Robert did not hold such a murderous grudge against the Targaryens, I could have persuaded him to allow me to foster the last Targaryens as wards."
"What happened to Viserys Targaryen?"
Ned was silent. "I don't know," he said finally. "Have you set your heart on joining the Night's Watch? There is absolutely naught I can do to convince you to stay? Vayon Poole is an excellent steward, but Winterfell needs a castellan if the king summons me back to King's Landing. The people know and will listen to you – who better to be Winterfell's castellan?"
Benjen chuckled and shook his head. "Winterfell needs no castellan. You have your heir, and I have decided to be a man of the Night's Watch. We had this talk many times Ned, and no bribes nor threats can convince me to stay. I am as much a son of Winterfell as you, but for me, Winterfell holds memories I dearly wish to forget, and what better place to erase them from my mind than the Wall? What's more, you should have received letters from Lord Commander Qorgyle and Jeor Mormont. The Wall is in need of good, strong men. I will go to the Wall with as many volunteers I can find."
"You have not said your vows yet Ben. You cannot go around collecting and asking for recruits already!"
Benjen laughed. "Jeor and I exchanged letters for months, and he suspected I will not leave Winterfell until after your child is born. He sent a wandering crow to accompany me to the Wall, and he can recruit men."
"Has he arrived yet?"
"Yes. I saw him talk to Hullen as they he tended his horse. The black brother will most likely head to the Great Hall shortly."
"Do you know who this black brother is?"
"Not of yet. However, Jeor Mormont mentioned a name…" He paused for a moment. "Yoren! That's his name! Yoren! Have you heard of him before?"
Ned nodded slowly. "A good man, Yoren. He's said to be one of the Wall's best
warriors until he suffered a shoulder injury. The last thing I heard about Yoren was that he was given the task of travelling around the Seven Kingdoms to find recruits and criminals to bring back to the Wall. I met him once, when I was still a ward in the Eyrie. Yoren took one look at me and said, 'you are a bloody Stark, Lord Rickard's son.' I have not seen him since."
"You will be tonight. Will you have a feast to celebrate?"
"Another feast?" Since his return to the North, the only feast Ned had hosted was the welcoming feast. Frankly, he'd hoped not to organise another feast for at least a little over half a year.
"The other lords expect it. Robb is your firstborn and your heir."
Ned looked at him. "I suppose I can think it as your farewell feast," he wearily conceded. "I will go and tell Gage." It will take the Umbers, Mormonts, Reeds, Flints of Flint's Finger and Karstarks at least a few days to arrive. A hastily arranged feast will never be a good idea…
"Perhaps host one when Robb is a hundred days old?"
Ned arched an eyebrow. "A hundred days old?"
"It will give you time to prepare, send the ravens and for the guests to decide when to ride for Winterfell. Lyanna once said the heir of Winterfell always has splendid festivities to celebrate his birth." Benjen quietened. "Did our father have any celebrations when I was born?"
Not as grand as the festivities thrown at Brandon's birth. Ned suspected their father only organised a small feast after Benjen was born; he was the third son after all. Brandon said Mother was ill…the first time she felt weak after labouring a child. "There was a feast," answered Ned. "I'm sorry Ben…I do not recall any other events. I was only a child of four when you were born. If Brandon was here, I'm certain he would've remembered more."
Benjen nodded. "At least there was a feast." He smiled almost sadly as Robb began to cry. "Is he hungry?" Benjen wondered.
"Milord." A buxom woman hurried in the nursery, bobbing her head as she caught sight of Ned and Benjen. "The little lordling has called. No doubt he is wanting some milk."
Not wishing to be exposed to a pair of large breasts heavy with milk, Ned and Benjen departed, leaving the children in the capable care of the wet nurse found and hired by Ashara with the aid of Maester Luwin. Together, they headed to the Great Hall just as a black brother stomped in, cursing loudly.
"Yoren!" Ned called, recognising him. The black brother looked at him and he grinned. "M'lord o' Stark! Lord Stark now, eh?" He trudged up to him and Ben and grinned again. Yoren was an unsightly man stooped with a twisted shoulder, his coarse and ugly features hidden behind a thick and matted black beard. Lice-ridden with a lingering foul stench and tattered garments that have long since faded to grey, he represented all the hardships of manning the Wall and serving as a man of the Night's Watch.
"Last time we met, you were Lord Arryn's ward," Yoren recalled, accepting the mug of ale a servant offered him. "Now you're the Lord of Winterfell! How things can change, eh m'lord?" He nodded at Benjen. "Benjen Stark. Jeor Mormont told me you'll be accompanying me back to the Wall to be sworn in as a man of the Night's Watch. Soon I will call you my brother, eh?"
Ben laughed. "Aye Yoren. Soon enough."
Yoren looked back at Ned. "Your master o' horse, Hullen, he said your lady wife gave birth. Congratulations m'lord. Son or daughter?"
"Son," Ned replied, gesturing for him and Benjen to sit beside and across him at one of the trestle tables. He turned to the waiting servant. "Some food and drink if you will," he ordered.
"Congratulations m'lord," Yoren said again. "An heir, eh?"
Ned nodded. "Robb. Robb Stark."
"Named after our good King Robert Baratheon the First of His Name!" Yoren raised his cup almost mockingly and drank. Ned said nothing. Yoren was known to be the type of man with little to no patience for fools. He also did not mince his words. "I hope our good king will bring stability to the Seven Kingdoms." Yoren wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "What we need is good stability. The Mad King brought nothing but death. Let's hope King Robert will remedy it with a long reign of peace. If he does, hopefully there will be more…honourable and voluntary recruits for the Night's Watch." He sighed gloomily. "The Night's Watch is not what it once was. Full o' criminals and vagabonds these days."
Ned glanced at his Benjen. His brother did not seem dismayed at the prospect of embracing thieves, rapers and murderers as his brothers. "Ser Denys Mallister is a man of the Night's Watch," Ned pointed out. "Hasn't he been the Commander of the Shadow Tower for seventeen years? Why doesn't he go and recruit young men? Surely he can-"
Yoren snorted. "Convince young noblemen to join because o' his valour and reputation as a former tourney knight? Pah. Besides, Ser Denys Mallister is more useful a soldier than a recruiter." His eyes swivelled to Ben. "You, lad. When do you plan to leave for the Wall?"
"I thought I was to leave with you?" Benjen looked puzzled.
"Tomorrow at dawn." What? It came as a blow to Ned. He glanced at Benjen again and was reminded of the little brother trailing behind him, holding a small wooden sword during their childhood. "So soon?" questioned Ned. "Why not stay another day? I will have guest chambers prepared for you."
Yoren dismissed it with a wave of his scarred hand. "No need, m'lord Stark. I plan to recruit men on the way back to the Wall. On the way here, I saw people leave winter town. There will surely be an inn open still and now that spring is coming, there might be more volunteers. Instead of travelling on the kingsroad straight back to the Wall, I plan to journey through the North, stopping at villages in Bolton and Umber lands to find recruits before heading through Mole's Town to Castle Black. I hope your horse is well-rested Benjen."
"At least allow me to supply you with nourishment, waterskins and horses," Ned tried. "You cannot mean to ride all the way to Castle Black on one horse with low supplies – especially if you manage to gather recruits."
"That will be good," admitted Yoren. "M' thanks m'lord."
Ned nodded. "I am always happy to aid a man of the Night's Watch."
As the sun peeked shyly over the Northern mountains like a blushing maiden, Ned, Ashara and Maester Luwin gathered in the courtyard, all dressed in furs, to farewell Benjen. Clad in black furs with a longsword strapped to his back, Benjen glowed with excitement like a squire about to be knighted. He clambered on his horse as bags of food and drink were secured to the other steed.
"Promise you will write?" Ned handed him the reins of the second horse. "I hope you will visit us from time to time Ben." Please do not leave. It's still not too late to change your mind. We can tell Yoren…we can tell him… "Stay safe," Ned said, a lump forming in his throat.
"I will," Benjen promised, his blue eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Do you wish for me to convey any messages to Lord Umber? No doubt Yoren and I will meet him on the way to the Wall."
"Enjoy your journey to Castle Black. I heard not all black brothers can return south from the Wall once sworn in."
"I will." Benjen grinned at him. "I promise I will return for Robb's a hundred day feast. You may not even recognise me then."
Ned chuckled uneasily. "I will. You are my brother and unless you decide to be a Faceless Man in Braavos, I will spot you as easily as I identify Northern sigils on a battlefield." He watched as Ashara murmur words to Ben. Ben gallantly kissed her hand and waved farewell. Ned felt his heart sink like a stone to the bottom of one of the three small pools in the godswood. Why Ben? Ashara gently squeezed his hand and they – along with Maester Luwin – all observed Benjen Stark ride through the great main gates across the drawbridge. By the time Benjen trotted closer to the market square of the winter town, to Ned, he was only a small speck in the distant horizon.
After ending a petty land dispute between the representatives of Clans Liddle and Norrey, Ned went straight to the nursery. Over the last two weeks, he had found himself spending more and more time with the children. Daenerys was a quiet babe, preferring to sit in front of the fireplace on the furred rug and calmly watch the flames greedily consume the large logs. Ned wondered if staring at the fire had anything to do with her Targaryen heritage.
Jon too, was reserved, reminding Ned of himself as a child. Ned oft found Jon's dark grey eyes staring intently at him as Jon rested in his crib or was fed by the cooing wet nurse. So far, Robb did nothing but sleep, cry and eat. Maester Luwin had assured him it was perfectly normal in a newborn infant.
Sometimes Ashara visited the nursery with Ned. When she did, Ned noticed she stayed a short distance away from Jon. Today was no different. "Why are you sitting over there?" he asked Ashara, who sat beside Robb's crib, her back facing Jon. "Would you not feel more comfortable facing the fireplace? You can still see and play with little Robb over here." Ned scooted over on the fur-covered bench, leaving room for her. He watched as her smile contorted into a frown. Please do not tell me you despise him again.
Ashara quickly glanced at Jon before muttering, "Jon's eyes. He is staring – always staring. If he does this as a babe, what kind of boy will he be? Please tell me there is a Northern House willing to foster him."
"No one will foster him," Ned reminded him.
"My lord." Maester Luwin shuffled in. "There is a man waiting for you in the courtyard. He bears the sigil of House Dustin."
Ned nodded and stood up. Kissing Ashara on the cheek, he left and hurried to the courtyard, pondering all the possible reasons why Lady Dustin would send one of her men here. Standing patiently by the great main gates was a tall man sworn to House Dustin of Barrowton. He held the reins to two horses; a chestnut brown rouncey and a red foal. It was astonishing the foal could even survive the journey from Barrowton to Winterfell.
"Lord Stark." The man dipped his head. "Lady Dustin ordered me to come here bearing a gift for the young lordling." He handed Ned the reins of the red foal. "It is from Lady Dustin's small herd of fine horses. She also instructed me to give you this letter, milord."
His mind shouting misgivings, Ned glanced at the letter. Lord Stark, House Dustin congratulates you and your lady wife for the birth of a Stark heir. It is well known that your late sister, the Lady Lyanna, was a fine rider. Perhaps your son will be one too. Some say the bond between a lordling and a foal is as strong as one between a dog and his master. This foal is the product of my late husband's warhorse and another of my father's herd. I hope the little lordling will love his horse and be an excellent rider one day. Lady Dustin.
Thanks for all the Baratheon and Tully name suggestions! They're all very helpful :) If I don't use some for Robert and Catelyn's children, I will definitely use them for Stannis's child/children. As for the a hundred days old thing, I have a baby cousin (a little under 2 months now) and apparently in China, when babies reach a hundred days old, families celebrate or something. I felt compelled to add that in this chapter :) I originally planned for this to be a Hoster chapter about events in King's Landing, but I found the draft slightly pointless and wanted to introduce baby Robb haha.
