The Life and Lies of the High King of Westeros

by Gendie01

The High King of Westeros, also known as Eddard Stark, Was not always the conqueror and Kingdom builder he was known as in history. Once, he was but a child, the son of a third son, who was never meant to sit the throne of the North. But then the Withering came, and everything changed. Self Insert. Pre-Doom. Politics. War. Death.

2. The King is Dead 02

31nd year, 7th month, 4th day of my rule

So my obstinate cousin has finally decided that he's had enough and has run off to Essos to find a wife. I made it clear to him that if he did actually manage to find someone willing to marry him, he wasn't welcome back. He said he didn't have any plans to come back anyway, and that was the last I saw of him.

Hopefully it will be the last I'll ever see of him. I'll have my spies keep an eye on him, just in case. I still don't really understand why when he was four and ten that he chose not to be king, and later changed his mind and expected everyone to just fall over on their knees for him.

I remember making it explicitly clear to him that the choice I put before him at aged four and ten was the last chance he'd ever have to be King, but he still decided later that he was entitled to the crown, only to have everyone tell him that no, he was not entitled to it for it already rested on someone else's head.

And later when he was 1 and 20 and wondered why I hadn't arranged a betrothal for him, I told him that he couldn't marry because it would place the livelihoods of my children at risk, but instead of doing his duty and accepting, he demanded that I give up the crown and give it to him.

Sometimes I think about those days where I watched over him in our bed while he was sick with the Withering. If I had known that he'd be such a great headache in the future, I probably wouldn't have tried so hard to save him.

-Journal of Eddard Stark, then King in the North, Entry dated 19 BC (Before Compact)

I stared blankly at the large piece of parchment arrayed on the table in front of me. It depicted a hastily constructed family tree I had written out, and had Maester Harwin copy, so that he could verify the status of the rest of the Royal Family.

At the very top… was Grandfather, the man who had been King before this whole business started: Brandon Stark, wed to Rolane Mormont, who had died a long time ago, due to complications with childbirth, or so I was told. Brandon was 60 and 4 years of age.

Below Brandon I had drawn 4 lines, which lead to his (until now, at least) surviving issue:

Errold Stark, Aged 40 and 3 years, Joriella Stark, aged 30 and 8 years, Alard Stark, aged 30 and 3 years, and my father, Edward Stark, aged 20 and 9 years.

Errold Stark himself had four issue with his wife, Marianne Umber:

Eddard Stark the Elder, aged 20 and 1 years, Sansarra Stark, aged 10 and 8 years, Karlerick Stark, aged 10 and 5 years, and Edwyle Stark, aged 10 and 2 years.

Alard Stark only had one child, Alysan Snow, aged 10 and 5 years.

Then there was my father, Edward Stark, who had three issue with my mother, Artianna Dustin:

Me, Eddard Stark the Younger, aged 8 years, and my twin sisters: Joanna Stark and Joanne Stark, both aged 5 years.

Finally, a fifth line I had drawn from my grandfather, which was horizontal instead of vertical, lead to his younger brother, Cregan Stark. I didn't know much about him, as he preferred to spend his time in White Harbor with his son and his son's wife, whom I had never met.

My eyes traced the lines on this rather large family tree, before coming to rest on Eddard the Elder… my namesake. Cousin Ned… was dead, and so was Uncle Errold, and Grandpa Bran. My family.

Who else was dead? Who else…

The question lingered in my mind, bringing up the fears I had so far tried to suppress since I had waken up from the sickness: That I'd never see Mother or Father again, that I'd never again feel the warm of my mother as she held me at night, or that I never again see Father's approving smile when I did something particularly clever.

No more night-time lullaby from Mother as she rocked me to sleep, No sharing what I had learned from a particularly interesting book with Father. No more duels, no more singing, no more… anything… if they were dead.

Unbidden tears welled up in my eyes as I traced my own family line with a finger, and I had to struggled to stop a sob from escaping.

I had only a tiny hope that rested in my chest, that at least one or both were still alive… but it was a foolish hope. Aside from my two sisters, every since one of my family had suffered the acute stage of the sickness, and rationally I knew that young, and middle-aged adults were particularly prone to dying from it.

I stuffed that though deep in my mind, for dwelling upon it made the tears come harder. Mother and Father were alive… they had to be. Anything else was… was… impossible to contemplate.

Suddenly the door open, and I looked up fearfully, afraid that Maester Harwin had come back to deliver bad news, but it was only one of the maids, an older one this time, whom I recognized as Maya.

"My Prince," She said in a curt tone. "The Acting Captain of the Winterfell Guards wishes to speak with you. Will you admit him?"

I stared at her blankly for a moment, the unexpected statement causing my mind to halt. Then I absorbed the question, and gave her a considering look.

"Acting Captain?" I asked curiously.

Maya rolled her eyes and nodded. "If you may recall, my Prince, House Cassel had been confined to the Livery Keep until the sickness has passed, and so none of them can lead the Winterfell Guards."

Oh, right. Maester Harwin had said something about that. "What's his name?"

"Marwaine Fyste," Maya replied in the same curt tone, standing a bit more stiffly. "Will you admit him?"

I gave her a considering look. Maya was in her fifties, and was the senior-most maid in Winterfell. It was clear that something was bothering her.

"Is something wrong, Maya?" I asked cautiously.

Maya flinched, before looking at me with a hard stare. "Wrong? No… why would anything be wrong?"

At that I sighed and rolled my eyes, before looking at her with softer expression. "Maya…"

At that Maya's face broke, and tears began to flow down her face.

I sighed, before indicating the end of the bed. "Come, sit down Maya."

She did, and for several long minutes, she quietly wept, while I waited patiently.

"I'm sorry, my Prince," She said eventually, after she had dried her tears. "It's just..."

"A family member?" I asked carefully.

She screwed her eyes shut, before nodding painfully.

"Go…" I commanded a moment later. "Tell the Captain he may come, then take some time off to spend with your family."

"Oh, my Prince," She opened her red puffy eyes to look at me with gratitude. "Thank you."

I nodded, and with a sigh she stood up and walked out of the room, and a minute later, a Winterfell Guard stepped in.

"My Prince," he said with a bow after he stepped in. "I am Marwaine Fyste, Acting Captain of the Winterfell guards. My family has loyally served yours for the past three hundred years, and so Harlos Cassel chose me to lead the guard when his family was confined to the Livery Keep. I have come to discuss a few matters of great Importance that I feel need to be addressed."

I blinked dumbly at the overly pompous introduction. "I see… perhaps you'd better get on with it, then Captain Fyste."

"Of course, my Prince," Captain Fyste nodded seriously, before standing more straightly. "The first item I think we should address is the matter of the smallfolk of Winter Town."

I frowned, furrowing my brow. "What about them?"

"Well, to be frank, my Prince," Captain Fyste replied in a serious tone. "None of them have seen members of the Royal Family in just over three weeks. Honestly, they're starting to grow quite concerned for the Royal Family's welfare. In fact, quite a few of them have asked after you in particular. Everyone remembers how much time you took to care for the sick after the Withering first arrived in Winter Town."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm sure most of them are more concerned about their own families welfare, Captain Fyste. This sickness has been hard on all of us."

"Well yes, of course, my Prince," Captain Fyste replied while waving his hand in a reassuring way. "But I think it would just give them some hope, to know that the Royal Family is doing alright."

I glared at him sharply. "Alright? Alright?! You think we're doing Alright?! No, Captain Fyste, we're not doing alright! In fact, I'd say we're doing the farthest thing form 'alright'-"

"Forgive me, my Prince," Captain Fyste replied contritely. "It was a poor choice of words-"

"I'll say!" I raised my eyebrows. "The King is dead thrice over and the Captain of the Guard thinks we're doing 'alright'-"

"The King is dead?!" Captain Fyste gasped in shock.

I looked at him in surprise. "You didn't know?"

"No, my Prince, I honestly had no idea!" He stared at me wildly. "Please forgive me my mistake."

I sighed and covered my face with my hand. "You're forgiven. But honestly, how did you not know? I thought everyone in the household would have known by now."

"It's the Maester, my Prince," Captain Fyste explained. "He hasn't told anyone much about the state of the Royal Family, other than that you've recovered and have assumed command for the time being. I think he also asked the people attending to the Royal Family not to say anything as well. When I asked him about it, he said that you requested it."

"I see," I replied in a curt tone. "I don't recall asking anything to that effect, though I suppose he's only being prudent. However, it doesn't do for the Captain of the Guard to not know about the status of the Royal Family. I shall have to speak to him about this. Thank you for informing me, Captain Fyste."

"Yes, my Prince," Captain Fyste nodded.

I gave him a considering look. "You may inform the rest of the guard, but tell them to keep quiet about it, we don't want to create a panic."

"Thank you, my Prince," Captain Fyste smiled grimly. "What about the Smallfolk?"

"Inform them that a member of the Royal Family shall address them from above the East Gate, in… say, 7 days time, provided the weather is fair," I replied after giving it some thought. "In the meantime, we shall do our best to address their concerns from a distance. Can I ask you to speak with the leaders of families and write down any concerns they have, then bring them to me? You can have other guards to do the same to cover more ground."

"Of course, my Prince," Captain Fyste nodded. "I would be glad to do it."

"Alright, anything else," I asked with an expectant look.

"There is one other issue regarding the Smallfolk, my Prince," Captain Fyste replied in a serious tone. "The housing crisis. It seems that there are a lot more people here in Winter Town than usually in winter. Your Grandfather had been working on plans to address the housing crisis before the… sickness… took him, but he never actually got around to implementing them."

"What did these plans entail?" I asked curiously.

"Your Grandfather planned to hire carpenters from White Harbor," Captain Fyste explained. "They would have constructed temporary housing for the housing overflow until a permanent solution could be found."

"Well, obviously that solution is no longer viable now that I've ordered the trade route between Winter Town and White Harbor to be closed." I replied with a frown, before a thought struck me. "Tell me, Captain Fyste, how many of these newcomers are Andals?"

"Almost all of them are, my Prince," Captain Fyste replied seriously. "Most of them are rich Andals fleeing the South, and White Harbor. When they came, they bought up all the older and sturdier housing."

I gave him a hard stare. "So you mean to tell me, that a bunch of rich Andals from the south came to Winter Town and kicked out all of our poorer, but still leal First Men country men out of their own housing, and expected us, House Stark, to house them in flimsy wooden buildings that wouldn't keep out a stiff breeze, let alone the cold in the hard Northern Winter? Is that what you're telling me, Captain Fyste?"

Captain Fyste squirmed until my hard stare. "I hadn't… thought of the situation in that way, my Prince."

"Nether, it seems, had my Grandfather," I sighed with annoyance, before I grabbed a blank piece of parchment and began scribbling on it. "Here is what we're going to do: I'm going to write up a formal order which I'll personally sign that gives you the power to search every house in Winter Town. If you find an Andal family residing in a house, you'll drag them along with all of their possessions out onto the street, and then you'll give that house to a leal First Men family. I don't care how it is done, just make sure that it is done. However, make sure that you announce it in the square first, as I want to make sure that the Andals get the hint and move out on their own.

"Now, let me make something clear: I don't want to see a single First Men family out on the streets. If there turns out to not be enough housing for all of them, ask another family to take them in. The First Men are our country men, our first loyalty is to them. See it done, Captain Fyste."

"Yes, my Prince," Captain Fyste nodded. "But… what about the Andals? How are we going to house them once they are out in the streets?"

"I don't care about them," I replied viciously. "They brought the Withering to the North, they're the reason that most of my family is either sick or dead, so I don't care if they have to squat in the dirt, or the snow. They can go back to White Harbor for all I care."

"I understand, my Prince," Captain Fyste replied contritely.

A moment later I finished drawing up the order, so signed it with my name, and my family's signet ring, before rolling it up and handing it to Captain Fyste.

"One other thing," I said a moment later. "Our Maester, Harwin, is an Andal himself, so don't tell him about it directly. Let him find out on his own."

"Of course, my Prince," Captain Fyste nodded.

"Alright, now is there any other business we need to attend to?" I asked seriously.

"I think that's all of it, my Prince," Captain Fyste nodded. "Would you like me to go?"

"No, not yet, there is something I need to speak to you about," I sighed, rubbing my eyes, before looking at him. "Now, I feel I must be honest and say that Royal Family is in a vulnerable position at this point in time. Can I count on you, Captain Fyste, to report to me all that goes on here in the household and in Winter Town? Can I count on you to continue to be loyal to House Stark, as you have been in the past, and can I count on you to be loyal to me, personally, for as long as I am in charge of my families affairs?"

"Of course, my Prince!" Captain Fyste nodded vigorously with wide eyes. "I would never betray my loyalty to House Stark!"

I took a deep sigh of relief. "That is gratifying to hear, Captain Fyste. I'm sorry I felt the need to question your loyalty, but I cannot underestimate how vulnerable we are. I had to be sure."

"I understand, my Prince," Captain Fyste nodded, before rubbing the back of his neck. "These are dangerous times."

I nodded back. "Yes. Speaking of which, after you leave, I would like for you to post guards outside my door, and have them search anyone who would seek to gain entry. I can't afford to take risks right now."

"Very well, my Prince," Captain Fyste stood a little straighter. "Shall I go see it done?"

"No, not yet," I shook my head. "Lets wait until the Maester gets back. I am awaiting his report on the status of my family. You can have a seat."

"Very well, my Prince," Captain Fyste replied as he took his seat.

And now, there was nothing more to do than to wait to hear the bad news. My eyes returned to the Family tree I had written out, and I wondered how Errold… or Eddard might have handled the housing situation.

But it was pointless to ponder such questions. They were dead now, and had never had to deal with this kind of thing. But one other person had, Grandfather Brandon, and I had his journal here with me, on my desk.

After considering it for the moment, I grabbed it and opened it to the page where the last few entries had been made, and started to read:

18th year, 3rd month, and 11th day of my rule

The Withering has hit White Harbor. For a few months now I have been weighing whether to order the halting of trade in the North, in the hopes of preventing the Withering from coming here. It could have only gotten here through trade, after all, as the swamps of the Neck prevent overland travel.

However, when I spoke of this to my vassals, they implored me to keep trade open, as it seems they have not managed to store enough grain for the Winter. The past Spring and Summer were short, and the Winter before them was particularly long, so there were not enough growing seasons to store enough grain, and the only real option of staying alive this Winter if it is a long one, is to keep trade open.

I do not like having to weigh life and death like this, but it seems that it is all that I do as King of Winter. Sometimes, I wish my older brother hadn't been stillborn, then I wouldn't have had to worry about this.

I have decided to keep trade open in the east, for the time being, but I've restricted trade in the west, as it's less populated. I also asked Errold to take his family and head to Last Hearth for the Winter, but so far he's refused, citing a reluctance to leave our larger family at this time.He often refers to one of our house mottoes: When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

I have not the heart to tell him that in this case, he's wrong. The pack being together is what will kill it, or so I fear. I can only hope that it is not true.

18th year, 4th month, and 9th day of my rule

White Harbor is being ravaged by the plague, and it has reached Winter Town. I've not had much time to put down here what has been happening, but Errold continues to remain obstinate, as he is unwilling to leave the rest of the family at this time.

Errold has been spending most of his time out in Winter Town, tending to the sick. He assures me that he is taking every precaution, but I am not assuaged. The Withering is mostly known for killing young and middle-aged adults, and I worry that he'll catch it. Some times he even takes some of our other family members with him, such as young Ed and his own son, Ned.

I suppose I am fortunate that I have such a large family, that I need not worry for heirs, but still, if any of my sons die it will absolutely crush me, and I'd die of a broken heart, then have to face Rolane in the afterlife for my failure to keep our family safe.

Honestly, what is that boy thinking?

In other news, House Manderly is suffering from the Withering, and my brother, Cregan, is there to look after them. I do hope young Gillard and Gilbar are alright, but Cregan has already told me that his son, Eddron is dead, and I've sent my condolences. Hopefully we'll see each other again.

Finally, I've decided to keep the eastern trade routes open, as the Withering has already spread along them, so it won't do much good to close them now.

18th year, 4th month, and 11th day of my rule

My grandson, Eddard the Younger is sick, and Maester Gabrin has informed me that there are signs that his illness will turn into the acute stage.

When I learned this, I decided that enough was enough, and ordered the whole of my family to be confined to the Great Keep, and for House Cassel to be confined to the Livery Keep. I will not tolerate my family being placed at such risk anymore.

Strangely, Errold did not protest, and when I asked why, he confessed that he was feeling the initial state of the sickness. I was shocked, and immediately ordered for him to be quarantined in his room.

Idiots. My children are all idiots, and I can only ho-

That was where the entry stopped, abruptly, and there were no more entries to be found. None of his last few entries even mentioned the housing crisis. Instead he'd been mostly focused on the trade routes, the nobles, and the problem of food stores for the Winter.

I remembered those days, when Errold, Ned and I would go out to Winter Town to tend to the sick, where we could, anyway. Errold had said that it was our duty as the Royal House of the North, to tend to our smallfolk when they needed us.

I had been fine with risking my life to tend to the sick, as death was no great mystery to me, for I had already experienced it, but I knew that Errold and Ned were only doing it out of a sense of duty.

We'd taken every precaution, or so Errold had said to Grandfather, but apparently it hadn't been enough, and now my family was either sick, or dead. The only thing I had to console myself with was that even if I had decided not to go out to Winter Town myself, Errold still would have, for he was the Crown Prince, and who was I to say no to him?

If I recalled correctly, it had been a constant source of tension between Grandfather and Errold. Grandfather cared more about the nobles, while Errold cared more about the smallfolk, and it had resulted in more than a fair few arguments between them.

And now they were dead, and so was Ned, and now the question of who was King was in flux. It all depended on the report that Maester Harwin would make when he returned.

As if summoned by my thoughts, the door opened to admit Maester Harwin, who was clutching his copy of the family tree in his hand.

"What- who is he?" he asked upon spotting Captain Fyste, who had been sitting patiently.

"The Acting Captain of the Guard, Marwaine Fyste," I replied curtly. "Apparently, he didn't know that the King is dead. As Captain of the Guard, he is supposed to be kept up to date on the status of the Royal Family, so I suggest, Maester Harwin, that you have better have a good reason as to why he was not informed straight away."

Maester Harwin's eyes bugged out and he gained a singularly pinched expression. "But… my Prince… I only just recently found out myself! And you were the first person I told! Then you drew up the family tree and told me to check the status of the rest of the family straight away! I haven't had time to tell anyone else!"

He squirmed under my unrelenting stare for a full minute, before I relented. "Well, I suppose that's as good a reason as anything else. You're forgiven."

His face gained an irritated expression. "Yes, well, if you're done giving me the scare of a lifetime, I've compiled the report you requested."

He then made to put the report on my desk, but I waved him away. "No, read it aloud, then burn it."

"As… as you will, my Prince," Maester Harwin stuttered. He then looked down at the report, and paused for a long moment.

I pursed my lips in an annoyed and frustrated way. "Spit it out, Maester. We don't have all day."

He gulped, then began to read out in a halting but clear voice: "As you know, King Brandon is dead, and… I'm afraid to say, my Prince… so too are all of his surviving male issue. Joriella, however, is in Last Hearth, which has so far avoided the Withering."

The last hope I had nurtured for so long in my heart died a swift death, and my heart seemed to collapse into a black hole.

"Their wives?" I asked in an oddly calm voice.

"Also… gone, my Prince," Maester Harwin after a moment's pause.

"Errold's issue?" I asked in the same calm voice.

"Eddard the Elder and Sansarra are gone, but Karlerick and Edwyle still survive," Maester Harwin continued. "I must be frank, my Prince, there is little hope that Karlerick will continue to survive. He's not responding to our efforts to wake him up. I would suggest, my Prince, that I may be able to ease his suffering."

"What of Edwyle?"

"I have better news to report there, my Prince, he is still waking up and drinking and eating what little he can," Maester Harwin replied a bit more hopefully. "He's not out of the woods yet, but there is hope there."

"Alysan Snow, Alard's daughter?"

Maester Harwin was briefly thrown by my question. "Also doing well, she's recently recovered like you."

"My twin sisters?"

"They only suffered the initial stage of the illness, my Prince," The Maester explained. "They've been confined to their rooms the whole time."

"That's good," I nodded with a painful sigh. "Maester, you have my leave to do what you must for Karlerick."

"Very well, my Prince," The Maester nodded.

I gulped painfully. "In mean time, I want my grandfather's bedroom cleared out, and there I want two beds sized for two people placed there, as well as one bed sized for one person. Then you'll bring Edwyle, Alysan, my twin sisters, and I in to stay there until we all recover. I will stay in one bed with Edwyle, and my sisters will share a bed. Alysan will take the single bed."

"But, my Prince, is it wise move Edwyle at this time?" The Maester protested.

"I want us all together, Maester Harwin," I growled. "They're the last of my family in Winterfell, so I want us to be together, for when the snow falls and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. Do you understand?"

The Maester faltered. "Yes, my Prince."

I closed my eyes and heaved another painful sigh. "Now, if the two of you don't mind, I'd like to be alone for a while."

"Of course, my Prince," Captain Fyste replied, standing up. "I'll see that everything you've asked for is done."

"Thank you, Captain, now leave," I leaned back on my pillows.

They both nodded, and hurried out, and the moment the door was closed, I let the tears I had been holding back fall.