Eddard I
He was the first to arrive in Robert's—His Grace's—tent. His king sat at the head of the table that had been moved here for the council's convenience, with his eyes closed. Only his uneven breathing and quiet mumbling told him that he was awake. Ned frowned, straining to hear the seemingly senseless words his friend was saying. "Water washes, tall ships flounder where deep death waits."
"Your Grace?" Eddard asked, concerned.
His King opened his eyes and his face split into a broad grin, "I won't have any of that. Call me by my name until I am properly crowned at least," he said, irritated tone at odds with his smile. He took a seat on Robert's left-hand side and refused the wine offered by the servant. War is no place to drink wine. His Grace predictably disagreed and had a glass poured for himself.
From the set of his chin, Ned could see Robert was prepared to argue about this. "I'll consider that an order from my king then." Robert slapped his arm at that, satisfied.
"I am glad to see you well, Ned. I would've had the war council in its proper place but that infernal maester would insist on carrying me to it."
"Robert, you should not have summoned the council at all. Jon and I will manage the war, you need to heal first," Ned said, bracing himself for his friend's objections.
"Ned, look at me. Look at my state." He did. Robert's skin was unnaturally pale and he could see the blood on the bandages covering his stomach yet his expression was merry. Calm. The rage that almost constantly marred his features since Lyanna's kidnapping was gone, the wrath that resulted in the death of the Crown Prince seemingly erased by his death. His posture seemed relaxed but years of friendship told him more: his foot was tapping the floor, signalling his impatience. They had both aged a decade in this war but in some ways, he and Robert were still the boys they had been.
"Do I?" Robert—His king—asked, growing impatient.
"Do you what?"
"Do I look like your grandmother that you're coddling me so? Or do I remind you of your unborn son that you're mothering me?"
A faint pink blush entered Ned's face and before Robert could notice, he quickly replied, "The Lady Catelyn and I were only able to consummate the marriage before I had to leave. It is highly unlikely she would be pregnant already."
From the smirk on his friend's face, he had noticed anyway. Damn him, he was only ever observant when it would be better for him to not be.
"Oh, I am not talking of a child from Lady Catelyn," Robert clarified. "Though I'm sure you'll have many of those too."
"I will not bring the stain of a bastard on my House."
Robert's face darkened at that but Ned could tell he was not truly offended. "Be careful with that. My daughter Mya was a delight and the condition of her birth was no stain for me." The look of fatherly care and love on his face made Ned feel a flicker of jealousy. What must it be like to hold your babe in your arms, to see them take their first steps?
"Of course, I recall how often you had to sneak out to see her and her mother. Fool that you are, you managed to get caught after a week," he japed, payback for Robert' earlier teasing.
"Fine, I'll give you that." Robert's face was twisted in amusement, no doubt remembering the ridiculous excuses he gave on being caught. "I needn't have bothered, with how quickly Jon allowed me to go visit her properly. He longs for his own babe, Ned. He sees us as his sons and saw Elbert as the next Lord of the Vale, but he still wants an heir of his own body."
"I pray that his marriage to Lady Lysa will be fruitful and that he will be blessed with strong sons soon," Ned said, meaning every word.
"You'll pray to the Old Gods, I'll pray to the New. Between the two of us, I'm certain we'll wrangle a son out of whatever gods there are," Robert laughed, the infectious nature of it causing Ned to snort as well. They both stopped as other lords started arriving, their expressions varying from jovial to grim.
Eddard schooled his features into the lordly look his father wore in his meetings. He was not sure he succeeded but he had to try to be the Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North now. Even Robert sat up straighter in his chair, though his face remained open and friendly. It made many of the lords feel more welcome, he noticed.
First came Jon and Lord Yohn Royce, chatting amiably about the weather, followed by Lord Roose Bolton and Ser Brynden Tully. I will have to inform Lord Karstark of all that happened here today or the proud man will take offence, he noted to himself. Ned was more than a little unnerved when the Lord of the Dreadfort seated himself beside him but the Blackfish did not seem bothered to take the seat on Bolton's other side. He almost wished his wife's uncle had sat next to him instead but quickly reminded himself that Lord Roose was his vassal and had done nothing to earn these unkind thoughts.
Next to come was Lord Wyman Manderly, almost growing too fat for his horse, followed quickly by Ned's new goodfather. Lord Hoster went for the empty seat beside Lord Yohn and so did Lord Wyman. Unknowing or perhaps uncaring of the fact that he was trampling on the Lord of Riverrun's hopes, the Lord of White Harbour snatched the prized chair. Lord Hoster resigned himself to the seat beside Lord Manderly, a look of vague annoyance on his face. Ned could feel Robert straining with the effort not to laugh at this and made a point of not looking at him. If he did, Ned would have a cold marriage after laughing at his wife's father in front of so many lords. The arrival of Ser Cortnay Penrose served as a welcome distraction as the two present Vale lords finished their conversation and greeted him. Sers Brynden and Cortnay greeted each other warmly and sat together besides, for the battlefield had unsurprisingly sparked a friendship between the two stubborn warriors.
Lord Jason Mallister took the chair beside his liege lord, greeting everyone at the table. The only Vale lord left arrived soon after, trailed by the young Lord Fell, called Silveraxe for the colour he often dressed in and his weapon of choice. Ned had seen that axe cut down men like blocks of wood. Dorian Fell sat beside Lord Horton Redfort, who had taken the chair beside Ser Penrose. The only thing Ned could remember about Lord Redfort was his peace-making nature and his politeness. How will I rule the North if the only thing I can remember about an important lord is his graciousness? Ned despaired and the face of the Lord of the Redfort matched his, for he suddenly looked very distressed. Likely at being seated between two stubborn and dangerous men, Ned reasoned. His own eyes could not help but glance at Lord Bolton when the pale-eyed man wasn't looking. Lord Larys Morrigan was the last to arrive, a lazy smile on his face, and had to settle for the last seat left.
"My lords, my king," Jon began. "I would like to congratulate His Grace for his victory in the duel against Prince Rhaegar. The Crown Prince was a good warrior and you have proved yourself even better."
A faint pink colour entered Robert's cheeks at the praise. "All those hours spent training instead of studying finally came to some use, eh?"
"Indeed," Lord Royce said. "After you defeated the Prince, the royalists scattered within minutes, their morale broken. Our riders have managed to hunt down most of the retreating men. They report that there is no hope of the army regrouping as all its leaders are either dead or captured."
"With Prince Rhaegar's host scattered, we have a clear path to King's Landing," Ser Cortnay said.
"Not that easily. The Tyrell host besieging Storm's End could reinforce the capital, with fresh levies and more men," Lord Hoster argued.
"Fishes may not be able to, but we Stormlanders can handle those flowery shits any day," Silveraxe said, with all the confidence and stubbornness of a Stormlander.
"What was that about fishes being weak?" The Blackfish rounded on the man but before any could reply, His Grace interjected.
"Enough. We must speak of the battle we have won before contemplating future ones. You said some enemy leaders have been captured or slain. Which ones?"
"Prince Lewyn Martell was slain by Lyn Corbray, second son of Lord Corbray; the Dornish broke and fled after that." There was slight disgust on the Bronze Yohn's face for the people reputed to be dishonourable in war. "Ser Jonothor Darry is dead as well, and Barristan Selmy has been captured."
"Ser Barristan would fetch a great ransom and he is injured enough to be unable to fight us in this war—" Lord Mandery spoke sense but was interrupted by Ned's goodfather.
"He killed a dozen of our men," Lord Hoster argued. "Including lords and knights. I say we should kill him."
"Ser Barristan the Bold is a great warrior," Lord Roose spoke for the first time and all the room listened. "Yet he is an enemy Kingsguard. He will never be truly loyal to His Grace. Killing him would be the safest choice."
Jon looked to Robert for him to pass his judgement or leave it up to the Lord of the Eyrie, as he often did. Robert looked deep in thought and when he finally spoke, his tone brokered no argument. "I will not punish a man for being loyal nor for fighting well. You say he is injured. Send my maester to treat his wounds." No one seemed to disagree, for this was the man they had all followed into war: one who would treat all, even former enemies, fairly and with mercy. Ned's heart swelled with pride at his friend, one who could command the loyalty of kingdoms not because he was their lord but because they wanted him to be their lord.
A messenger rushed in, dressed in the attire of House Mallister. Bowing before the king and his lords, he gave a scroll to Lord Jason. Reading the contents, a troubled frown marred his handsome face.
"Your Grace, it seems the lion is finally stirring from his slumber. Lord Tywin leads a force of approximately ten to fifteen thousand Westermen towards King's Landing."
"Could he mean to reinforce the capital before we can reach it?" Lord Morrigan's tone betrayed no emotion but the way he was wrangling his hands spoke of his anxiety. He is a lord meant for raising his children and governing his lands, not fighting a war. Many would call him a craven for that but Ned respected that he had been brave enough to answer his liege's call anyway.
"Lord Tywin has given no indication of which side he is going to join," Lord Horton said, hoping to reassure Lord Morrigen.
"Bah. The man was Aerys's Hand for twenty years and was his good friend before that," Lord Jason said and Ned agreed.
"Lord Lannister's son Jaime is also a Kingsguard," Ned reminded them.
"Whether Lannister does it for past friendship or his hostage son," said Lord Yohn, "his army is marching on the Gold Road towards the capital."
"We need to reach it before him then," Robert—or the Demon of the Trident as he was called now— declared, gesturing for a map to be brought forth. "King's Landing can't be defended by any more than a few thousand boys and greybeards. Rhaegar was fool enough to leave no second army to save his precious city, now we'll make use of that." The glee on Robert's face was slightly unnerving to him but before he could dwell on it, Robert spoke again.
"Ned, you will take fifteen thousand of our fastest troops south along the Kingsroad. Hurry and reach the capital before Lannister can. Ser Brynden will follow you as soon as he can with ten thousand of our lightest cavalry. Lord Yohn Royce and your own Northern lords will accompany you, Ned. Ser Cortnay, Lord Morrigen and Dorian will accompany the Blackfish." Silveraxe flashed Robert a sharp smile that was probably meant to be friendly.
"If I am to rescue my niece's new husband from the lion's jaws," the Blackfish drawled, "I will need more than ten thousand light horse."
"Your niece's new husband is also the Lord of Winterfell and the Warden of the North. My liege lord does not need you to rescue him from the likes of one lapdog of the Mad King," Lord Wyman spoke in his defence. Gods, men other than Robert or Brandon speak in my defence now. His elder brother's name brought a new wave of grief for his lost family but he grit his teeth and focused on the meeting he was in. Lord Redfort was speaking in soft tones, trying to calm both men down but Ned could not hear it. You should've been the one who lived, Bran. You and father wouldn't need your bannermen to protect you.
Robert noticed him drowning in his grief and spoke, swinging the focus of the room to himself. "The Blackfish will not be leading the men to King's Landing. He will take his host to the Stoney Sept and harass the rear of Lord Tywin's army if he can. But his main objective will be to cross into the Reach and plunder the land."
At their questioning looks he explained, "My brothers are still besieged in Storm's End as are the homes of most of my lords. I will not forget them in my haste to get to King's Landing."
Morrigen looked at Robert with eyes filled with devotion and thanked him. Before the lord could get carried away in his gratitude, Jon Arryn spoke.
"It is a sound strategy. Historically, the Tyrells have never had good control over their bannermen. Half of Mace Tyrell's army will want to abandon the siege and go protect their homes."
"Not the important half," the Blackfish insisted. "Highgarden, Oldtown, Brightwater Keep will all be out of my reach. Those are the primary castles of the Reach and they will be safe and sound in the south."
"You needn't worry about that, Ser Brynden. I have been reliably informed that a few krakens will see to the south while the Blackfish invades from the north." Greyjoys? When did he receive a message from them? Opposite to him, Jon's face reflected Ned's own confusion.
Without bothering to explain, Robert forged on, as was his customary way. "Lord Jason, have you ever been to Saltpans?"
"I have, Your Grace," Lord Mallister answered. "Two years ago for a tourney."
Robert nodded. "You will accompany ...er, what was his name—Ser Quincy Cox, I believe. Yes, that was it. You will accompany him to the Saltpans and find a smuggler, one who can break the Tyrell blockade and get food to my brothers in Storm's End. Nothing lavish, just enough to get them by before we can lift the siege."
Lord Jason looked fit to argue over being assigned such a dishonourable task but then he closed his mouth and nodded. "As Your Grace commands."
"Your Grace, if I may," Jon said as Robert indicated for him to continue. "I can have the small host Nestor Royce is raising brought here to join us in reinforcing Ned as he goes to King's Landing. He should have five to seven thousand more Knights of the Vale by now, the finest cavalry in the world." There was a gleam of pride in his eyes as Jon spoke of his home. He had only ever seen that pride for the Vale's prosperity or whenever he or Robert did something to win it. Or whenever Elbert proved himself to be a worthy heir. Now, he'll never rule the Vale. This time when he thought of a victim of the Mad King it was rage that filled him, not grief. He will get his reckoning soon, Ned thought, looking at Robert and Jon. We will bring it to him.