Eddard Stark looked at the sea of banners camped in front of his eyes. Countless familiar sigils fluttered in the wind, scores of unknown ones in-between. Not that his education had been lacking, but not even the Maesters knew the arms of every Knight and Village, most of which were not important enough to warrant as much as a sentence in a book. And yet, they had all come because he had called them. Five-and-ten thousand men on the northern side of Moat Cailin, and the same number again coming down the Kingsroad, the giant of Umber and the sunburst of Karstark prominent in the centre of the column.
The sight filled him with pride and dread in equal parts, they would be marching south soon, into death and destruction, and yet the men were true. They had heeded his call to arms, and they would follow him into war against the King they had sworn oaths to. That thought filled him with dread like no other, how many would not return home because of his orders? How many sons would grow up without fathers, how many sons never even born?
It should never have been him. Brandon had been the born fighter, the wild wolf. Jon Arryn had taught him well, even prepared him for when he had to act in his brother's stead, but -
The scent of lavender interrupted his thoughts even before slender arms wrapped themselves around his chest. He felt soft hair tickle his neck as he took a deep breath. There had been one good thing to come out of the disaster at Harrenhal. In the midst of all the chaos he had met Ashara. Hesitant at first they had talked, but by the end of the tourney they had spent every waking moment together, which led to him writing a letter to Lord Dayne. Ashara had delivered the response in person, arriving at the Vale the day before that accursed summons from King's Landing. After that, there had been no time for a wedding, but they exchanged vows, first on a fisher's boat in the middle of a storm and then properly at White Harbour with Lord Manderly conducting the ceremony while his levies gathered and the City prepared for war.
He had meant to travel to Winterfell, but Benjen had led the men south and met them at Moat Cailin, where he handed Ice to his brother. Benjen had been able to fill out the missing pieces for Harrenhal, but even he had no idea how Lyanna had disappeared. She had been last seen at Riverrun, which was a fairly stout castle. Maybe it was merely a girl running off to avoid her marriage, or maybe the Crowned Prince had revealed himself to be like his father. In the end, it did not matter, with his actions Rhaegar has caused the events which ended with his father burning nobles by the score, and that would not be allowed to stand.
"It is time."
Ashara's voice was soft, the trace of her Dornish accent a sinful temptation. Ned would lie if it had not been her beauty that had grasped his attention, but it had been her kindness that ensnared him. He had gathered a few experiences with ladies, one could not be a friend of Robert Baratheon without ending up in a few of such situations, but Ashara had been the first who made him feel truly at ease once he got over his initial fright.
His father had given him the freedom to find a match while he was in the Vale, as long as his choice was of sufficient standing. But it had been Robert and a few bottles of Arbor Gold that convinced him to write to Lord Dayne days before Lyanna disappeared. He owed Robert for that, for the only sunshine in his life. He also owed Brandon, but that was a debt he could never repay now. But, at the very least, he could do his part to avenge his brother.
"Do you think it is right?" Ned asked his wife as he looked down on the army he had called.
"How can you ask that after all that had happened?"
"The dragons need to fall, of that there is no doubt. They need to pay for their crimes, pay in blood. But then I look at the men and wonder how many of those out there will not return because of orders I gave them?"
"The only reason you have to give those orders is the madman on the Iron Throne, not that his son is any better."
"I know, but swearing rightful vengeance feels very different when you look at the men who will have to pay to deliver it," Ned said and gathered his thoughts. "Are you ready to face my banners? They are an unruly bunch at the best of times and they will find faults with you where there are none."
"They are my banners now as much as they are yours, husband. I will not flee from them just because they might say rude words about my home or my gods," Ashara replied defiantly and then laughed when Ned mumbled something about crazy Dornish. "Besides, I have come prepared."
Eddard spun around and was surprised to see her in the riding clothes she had bought at White Harbour rather than the flowing dresses she preferred when they were not on the road. It was a fetching leather tunic accented with purple silk, the scabbard at her hip filled by a thin dirk. It was not strictly a practical attire, but it did cast a certain image. If his Lords were expecting a meek southern lady, they were in for a surprise. As kind and gentle as Ashara was, there was steely determination and a sharp tongue hidden underneath, something Robert could attest to all too well.
"I am sorry that you got dragged into this madness."
"I am not. There's no place I would rather be than at your side, and no place I am keener to avoid than the Capital. Our betrothal got me out of there just in time."
"I am still convinced that your father did not mean for you to deliver the news yourself, nor that the wedding at your pleasure would happen within two months, far from the rest of your kin," Ned chuckled before he hastily added. "Not that I am complaining."
"I only wish that I did not have to leave Elia behind in that nest of vipers. She was far too good for all that plotting and backstabbing."
"I hope that the matter with Lyanna will be resolved quickly. The longer this war will take, the less mercy will be shown. That might mean the Wall for Aegon, even though the boy is still a babe. But you have my word that I shall do everything I can to protect your friend and her children."
"Thank you Ned, truly."
The smile on his wife's face was akin to the sun breaking through storm clouds, and Eddard vowed that he would do anything to draw it out of her more often. Given the army he had raised, the near future would not hold many reasons to smile.
One of the remaining towers at Moat Cailin had been restored while the army grew by the day, its armoury now serving as a gathering hall for the nobles. But for the first time, the room was filled to the brim as newcomers fought for space inside. Hours passed as men stepped forward to swear their swords to Eddard. First the great Lords of the North, Umber and Karstark, Ryswell and Glover. Then the landed knights and keepers of the countless small holdfasts scattered across the North, and in the end the headsmen of the villages sworn to Winterfell.
Ashara sat to his right, drawing curious glances, but the knowledge of their union had spread through the camp faster than a blaze in a dry forest. It was not until the talks turned to the war that her presence was addressed.
"My Lord, is it wise to have your wife here while her father declared for Aerys the Mad?"
"My Lords, the Starks and House Dayne might have ended up on opposing sides, but you all should know that if not for the hostages the Mad King holds, Dorne would be marching with you to answer the heinous insult the crowned Prince delivered to our Kingdoms," Ashara said before Ned could reply to Lord Tallhart. "After what Aerys did to Lord Rickard and his son, to the heir of the Vale and their retinues, is there any doubt what he would do to Elia and Lewyn Martell if Prince Doran refused his call? Save your ire for those who deserve it, for the Dragons and those who flocked to their cause in the hope of gaining lands, favour and gold!"
Murmurs followed that declaration, but no one voiced their disagreement. Ned felt some of the tension bleed from him at that. But there was a lot to discuss.
"We face a daunting task, my Lords. Through no fault of our own, we find ourselves in rebellion against the Iron Throne. Seeing you all here gives me hope, for the North stands united against the tyranny of Dragons. We will prevail!"
Cries of Stark and Winterfell interrupted him at that point, filling his heart with hope. He could not have asked for better bannermen.
"The odds do not favour us, but we do not stand alone. After Gulltown, Jon Arryn is moving South with twenty thousand men and five thousand knights under him. They are burning the northern Crownlands, hoping to bring the Royal Army to battle before they can gather their strength. Yesterday, a raven brought news from the Stormlands. Robert fought three battles at Summerhall, breaking three armies loyal to the Throne in one day. Before we parted ways in the Vale, he said that he would take his banners north, along the border of the Reach. One by one, we would be easy prey for the Mad King, but together we will prevail."
"What of the Riverlands?" Lord Bolton asked, his eyes steady as his thoughts raced.
"They called their banners, but Hoster Tully has not declared for anyone. Jon said that he was in talks, but I have no word of success or failure. His vassals are unruly, Blackwood and Bracken continue their feud and the easternmost Houses have always been closer to King's Landing rather than Riverrun."
"So do we march on the Trident or towards Riverrun, Lord Stark?"
"The Trident. Until we know how Lord Tully decides, we cannot take the Twins for granted. Down the Kingsroad, the Vale will have our flank, and once we link up with Lord Arryn, we will be in a better position to negotiate with the Riverlands," Eddard explained his thoughts and let himself sink back into his chair when no one challenged that assessment.
"My Lord, it would be an honour to lead the Van in the months to come!"
"You Dustin? What do you know of war?" the Greatjon shouted over two other nobles who asked for the position of honour.
"Then enlighten us Umber, in which war did you fight?"
"I've been fighting wildlings when you still hung on your mother's teat!"
"Lord Bolton will command the vanguard!" Ned shouted over the developing argument. While he had been a second son, his father had still imparted all he knew about their bannermen. Their strengths, their weaknesses, and most importantly, who could be counted upon to carry out orders even if it meant their death. And while the Greatjon was not his late grandfather, the temper seemed to run in the family. "Let Lord Bolton find and pin the enemy, you will have the foot to hammer them."
"Aye, I will do that. The damned dragons will rue the day they made us come South!" Umber announced and drew a cheer from the gathering.
"Lord Ryswell, you will have our horse, Lord Karstark, you shall command the reserves, to save the day when a flank should falter. Lord Manderly will be responsible for our camps and baggage, he proved himself capable by restoring this very room and making it fit for our purposes."
"You honour me, my Lord."
"You say that now Wyman, but by the end of our campaign you will curse my line."
"Me, curse a Stark? Not before the seven hells freeze over."
"Winter is coming, even to the seven hells," Eddard quipped, and the mood lightened.
"Aye, and we'll hand over a few dragons while we're there," Lord Karstark said and drew more laughter from his peers.
"To the seven hells with all Targaryens, may the Others take the whole lot. 17 Dragon Kings we had, and only one of them did anything to help us. They took our gold to pay for their Septs and Castles, they took our sons to fight their wars, and hardly a decade passed without them setting the realm ablaze with their strife. This time, they went too far, and it will be Northern steel that teaches them a lesson," Maege, the sister of Lord Mormont sneered. Other than Ashara, she was the only woman who remained when the talks turned towards matters of war. Strictly speaking, she did not belong to this assembly, but her defiant glare challenged anyone to tell her that. It was not unknown for women to take up arms, but usually they stayed behind to guard homes and keeps, not join the men on campaigns with crude, spiked maces.
"How many died because the sister-fuckers could not go three Kings without a rebel or usurper?" Rickard Karstark shouted, and suddenly the mood in the room shifted. His father was mighty proud of the words, and handed him a tankard of ale. Meanwhile, Ned looked to his wife, and she too seemed to have noticed. "Five Blackfyres they got us, and the Dance. No more, not now, not ever!"
"With what right do they rule me and mine? What do they know of the North, of our way of life? It was the dragons we bowed to, and now the dragons are dead, their riders nothing but madmen who wouldn't know honour when it buggered them," Lord Umber added, his words like oil on a flame.
"They cling to false gods, but we remember how the Andals flung themselves against this castle to burn our Godswoods. I dare them to try again."
Ned looked for Wyman Manderly, but the Lord of White Harbour did not seem phased by Glover's remark. The man gave him a grateful nod, but then again, the Snowy Sept had been unlike any he had visited south of the Neck. It had been warm and airy, almost welcoming, a stark difference to his previous experience with the Seven.
"My Lords, my Lords! Here's what I say to the rats who pretend to be dragons," the Greatjon boomed, his voice echoing through the former armoury. The giant of a man spat on the ground next to him and received thunderous applause. The sound of steel being drawn shut them up, yet it was not a threatening gesture. But if he knew what was to come, Ned would have preferred that the big man ran him through and be done with it.
"There sits the only king I mean to bend my knee to! The King in the North!"
The giant rammed his sword into the old wooden floor and kneeled in one smooth motion. Ned jumped up at that, hoping to dissuade his bannermen from their course. But before he could find words, Flint and Norrey had mirrored the gesture and Lord Manderly was at his feet.
"The North remembers my Lords! We used to rule ourselves before the dragon yoke, and there is only one who can rule us. The King in the North!"
Karstark and Bolton pledged their swords, then Dustin and Ryswell. One by one his bannermen stepped forth and proclaimed him King. Ned felt like in a trance, watching a disaster unfold with no way of stopping it. Ashara was standing at his side, her hand in his the only thing which kept him on his feet. While they had not discussed it in-depth, he had assumed that Robert would end up as King due to his Targaryen ancestry. Now his Lords had taken one Kingdom out of the Seven, and even if their rebellion prevailed, they had set the precedent for Dorne, who would break free as soon as they could muster enough men to hold the passes.
"At Harrenhal, I incurred a debt to House Stark. A debt that can never be repaid. When three squires accosted me, it was Lady Lyanna who came to my rescue. She led me to her family's tent, she tended to my wounds together with Prince Benjen. Any man would be happy to have a liege as true and generous, but the Starks are a different breed," Howland Reed said and had the attention of every man and woman in the room. They sensed that the tale was not over. "The next morn, Lady Lyanna donned the armour of a mystery knight and challenged their masters. A girl of four-and-ten, riding against grown men, knights in the best traditions of the Andals. Three of them did she challenge, thrice she was victorious, and for that, the King named her a traitor and the Crowned Prince insulted half of the Great Houses."
All of them had been at Harrenhal, or at least heard about the Knight of the Laughing Tree. But the knowledge that it had been a Stark who rode that day caused murmurs to ripple through the crowd of nobles. It was a revelation that the girl taken by the Crown Prince had been the one who demanded that the knights teach their squires the meaning of honour that cast aside the last doubts about their course. But Howland was not done yet.
"Let them play Lord in the Castle, let them sit on their iron chair and marry their sisters. The North is ruled by Bronze and Iron, not by Fire and Blood. The King of Winter!"
By now the events had spread beyond the war council, and the men around the fortress took up the same chant as their Lords. The ancient stronghold of the First Men shook with words that Westeros had not heard for near three hundred years.
"The King in the North!"
"The King in the North!"
"The King in the North!"
"THE KING IN THE NORTH!"
AN: Beta'ed by LifeEquals42.