Ross had never felt more afraid, nor more alive, than during the sack of King's Landing.
She'd been hoping, praying, for the northmen to be the first there. If not them, then at least Stormlanders, or Valemen, for she knew Robert Baratheon and had met Jon Arryn. But no. It was red-cloaked guardsmen that burned the city, broke into homes, robbed, raped and murdered citizens. Red cloaked men who, as far as she knew, were not her brother's allies.
The Red Keep held out for longer than the rest of the city, which had literally opened its gates for the invading army; she had yet to discover who's decision that folly had been. Despite the sounds of chaos and death that drifted up Aegon's High Hill to the castle, inside the Red Keep was eerily silent. All the guards were out defending the walls, except the few left to watch over Elia Martell and the children. Elia had sent word to Ross, inviting her to join her and her ladies in the Maidenvault, but as with most of Elia's well-meant invitations over the last two years, Ross had refused. She had remained in the godswood with Ren, not praying exactly, just sitting. She seldom had a guard, before the sack - even if she had left her rooms to escape in the night, she would hardly have got very far - but Aerys had got it into his head that she would try and sneak Lannister soldiers into the keep, so had assigned a Targaryen guardsman to watch over her. She had ignored the man - boy, really, perhaps even younger than her and Jaime, pale faced and wide eyed - and he stood some distance away.
The sounds of swords clashing were growing louder.
"They're almost in," Ross said absently, and the guard swallowed, visibly nervous. She glanced back at him, frowning. "I'd take that uniform off, if I were you,"
"M-milady?" The boy stuttered.
"The Targaryens have lost," She said, wondering why she had to elaborate. "Anyone with a red dragon on their chests when the lions come hunting is as good as dead," Her words were matter-of-fact rather than cruel, but he blanched even more, if that was possible.
"I don't want to die, Lady Stark," He sounded scared out of his wits. Ross was too, inside. If it had been Stark men howling at the walls then she would've been celebrating. But it wasn't. She wasn't sure what the Lannisters would do with her if they found her. Herself alone was one thing, but her son - who everyone believed was Aerys' bastard - was quite another. It depended which Lannister men found her, she supposed. The uncertainty made it all the more terrifying. And Jaime... Jaime's with the king, he's the last Kingsguard here, he's eighteen and in charge of holding the city, when it's his father's army tearing it all down.
"It's easy enough for you," She said, a touch impatiently. "Just find some spare kitchen boy's clothes and stay out the way, you might as well be invisible," It wouldn't be easy for her to do the same. In all liklihood, she'd be better off staying as Rosennis Stark; a highborn lady might be of far more interest to an invading army than a servant girl, but she was far less likely to be robbed or raped than a nameless scullery maid, for her value in ransom alone. At least, that's what she hoped. She had considered hiding Ren, leaving him somewhere safe where he'd be unlikely to be discovered, but it hadn't taken long for her to decide against that option. There was too much risk leaving her son with anyone who wasn't her. Others might swear to protect him, especially if she gave them a silver necklace or two as payment, but ultimately no one would die for him but herself.
"I can't leave you and your boy unguarded," His voice actually showed some conviction then. She raised an eyebrow. "Not saying you'd try and escape, you'd have to be mad to go out there alone," The lad had some sense then. He might just survive the day. "But what if them soldiers come for you in here? There's all sorts of horrors go on at times like these, Milady," She was almost touched by that.
"I think all that would be achieved by you staying with me, if the soldiers do come," She said wryly. "Is the same outcome as if you left, just with one more dead body," He opened his mouth as though to protest, then realised she was right. His shoulders slumped, and she knew she'd won. "Go," She insisted. "They'll be here soon," He went.
She had been planning on waiting in the godswood until whoever was going to find her did. The godswood was large, on the east side of the castle nearer the sea, and for the most part dense with trees and bushes. She could quite easily stay here until all the fighting was over. But for whatever reason, she didmd want to. This place had been her escape for so long, but now she felt trapped. Not knowing what was happening was near unbearable. When another thought rose in her mind - that the godswood was so quiet and deserted, some rogue soldier could quite easily slit her throat and leave her corpse there with no one any the wiser who did it - she picked up her son and left.
The empty halls of the castle were eerily quiet. Her footsteps echoed horribly on the stone floor, and Ren was being a nuisance, squirming in her arms and refusing to stay still; he was getting too big to carry for very long, which didn't help. When he started to grisle, she hurriedly tried to shush him, but then froze. That was another set of footsteps, heavy booted feet, fast coming her way. She thought about running, but with Ren she wouldn't get far. Her arms were already aching, and at a year old, he could barely walk by himself, definitely not fast enough to outrun marauding soldiers.
It was only Jaime. That was her first thought, one of abject relief, and then she saw the blood dripping from his golden sword onto the flagstones. He barely seemed to see her at first, eyes grim and face set.
"Whose blood is that?" She asked, matching her stride with his, as he barely stopped to acknowledge her.
"Rosshart's," Came the flat reply. From that alone, she could tell that something was different. He'd finally snapped. She felt a stab of satisfaction at the news of Rosshart's death. He was there when Father died. She'd been sure to find out the name of the man who had built and lit the pyre under Rickard Stark, commit it to memory for when Ned came. For what? Justice. Revenge? Whatever you called it, the outcome was the same. Jaime continued to speak. "Aerys gave him the command to burn down the city. Him and those other three have been hiding wildfire everywhere for months. I caught him dressed as a man-at-arms trying to sneak out the postern gate," Ross' eyes widened. Not even in her worst nightmares had the king displayed that level of complete and utter insanity. Jaime's lips twisted into an unpleasant smirk. "He also ordered me to bring him my father's head,"
There was no need to ask where they were going next. The look in his eyes said it all; not quite there, but deadly focused. There was nothing in the world that could've stopped Jaime doing what he was planning on doing. She was under no pretences that he wouldn't use that sword to cut down any man in his way.
They didn't go to the enormous main doors of the throne room, which each took three men to open; instead, Ross followed Jaime around to the much smaller door behind the throne. He paused, raising an eyebrow in question. She didn't need clarification, and nodded stiffly, jaw set. She had never wanted anything more in her life.
He pushed open the door, slipping inside. Aerys was pacing before the Iron Throne, up and down, up and down, picking at his scabs and muttering to himself. She remained in the shadows for a few moments longer, turning Ren so he faced her chest, whilst Jaime approached the Mad King. He wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard, but that was where the white ended; his armour was as golden as his sword.
"Is that Tywin's?" Aerys demanded of Jaime, waving a hand at the bloody sword. Jaime said nothing, and the king grew visibly angrier, even more agitated, spittle flying from behind his long, matted beard. "I told you, boy, bring me your father's head! Treachery, betrayal, I won't have it. I will not! I am the blood of Aegon the Conqueror, the blood of the dragon, and unless that is the blood of Tywin Lannister, you'll burn with the rest of them!" No, you mad fool, we'll all burn together. Jaime remained silent, but his eyes glinted.
Ross stepped out from behind the throne. Her footsteps were impossibly loud, dark dress brushing against the floor, as Aerys raised his violet eyes up to stare at her.
"Why are you here, wolf-girl?" There was disdain on his tongue, and Ross had never hated anyone more.
"I wanted to see," She'd rather do the deed herself - she'd make it last, where she doubted Jaime would - but she didn't hold the sword, and she knew there was absolutely no chance of him giving her his, not now. Something in her tone or her look must've made Aerys uneasy, because his eyes darted back to Jaime.
"Whose blood is that?" He said now, in a dangerous, raspy whisper, voice rising in volume as he spoke. "Whose, whose, whose, whose - "
"Rosshart's," Jaime cut off his ravings, the word echoing throughout the cavernous room. There was a second of silence as Aerys stared at him blankly. Then the king's eyes bulged as the realisation hit. Jaime started forward, and Aerys screamed, anger, hatred, madness and fear all in one terrible sound. He fled, still squealing, for the safety of the throne, as though the ugly mass of swords would protect him. He'd pissed himself, Ross noted absently, in mild disgust. He barely made it to the third step. She watched in grim satisfaction as Jaime hauled the last dragonking off the Iron Throne, as he screamed obscenities, threats, mad jibberings... And then it was ended, with a single slash across the throat.
Aerys Targaryen, second of his name, collapsed in an undignified heap before his former throne, throat opened from ear to ear, a pool of red fast spreading out underneath him, soiling the royal silks and satins. They watched him cough and splutter, pitifully gasping as his lifeblood leeched out of him, and then he was dead.
Jaime looked up at her, green eyes steelier than she'd ever seen them. She looked up at him, face blank. In her arms, Ren started to cry.
"Ross,"
He didn't have time to get another word out before the main doors burst open. Dozens of armed Lannister men were suddenly stood there, frozen at the sight before them. They'd probably had orders to take Aerys captive, wait for Tywin Lannister, Ned, Robert to finish him off. They clearly hadn't expected to find their lord's eldest son stood over the body, sword and armour red with blood, a baby crying in the background. No denying it. No hiding it. This moment will go down in history. She wondered, as she hastily tried to quiet her son, whether she'd be written down in it or not. She hoped not.
A second or two passed. Some of the westermen were looking at Jaime with accusing looks as they took in the scene, judging the man who broke his vows and killed his king. Others showed hints of fear, for no one was more frightening than the man who cared so little for his solemnly sworn oaths. But most were simply gaping in pure undisguised shock.
A big, burly man with a boar on his shield, clearly a lord - Crakehall, Jaime had told her about him, the man he squired for since he was twelve - made the first move, stepping forward, fixing his steely gaze on Jaime. He, of all of them, didn't seem at all surprised.
"The city is ours, my lord," He said, nodding in slight deference. There was a silence; she had finally managed to quiet the baby.
"The king is dead," Jaime said needlessly, but his tone had changed. It was sharper, closer to a commander's voice than a laughing boy of eighteen, and his back had straightened the moment his father's men entered the room. At least a lifetime of been taught by Tywin Lannister hadn't been entirely for nothing, no matter what he pretended. "Spare all those in the castle who yield," Of course, Targaryen loyalists would still be fighting all over the keep. Ned and his men would be racing down the Kingsroad as they spoke, seeing the smoke pluming above the city. Crakehall nodded, glancing back at his men, who didn't need to hear their orders twice and left to see them carried out.
"The king is dead," The man acknowledged. "Shall I proclaim a new one?" The meaning was very clear. Ross hadn't thought that far, everything had ended in Aerys' death, but of course, the rest of the world moved forward. She glanced back at Jaime - she would kill him herself if he acted in Tywin Lannister's best interests and proclaimed Aegon or Viserys King of the Seven Kingdoms, with his father as Hand - but after a tense few seconds, he laughed harshly.
"Proclaim who you bloody well like," She let a small smile flit across her face, as he turned away from the remaining westermen in clear dismissal, and climbed the Iron Throne. They all filed out, Crakehall giving one last, unreadable look at Jaime, who was now seated, sword lain across his knees. For want of anything else, Ross seated herself on the lower steps, enjoying the sight of Aerys' still bleeding body in an undignified heap. She looked up at Jaime.
"Thank you," Was all she said. He laughed, still a little bitter but it was more genuine than before.
"It wasn't just for you, you know," She smiled.
"Of course not," She agreed. "But you did it all the same," Then added. "Even if it was rather quick. Easy,"
"A king should die harder than that," He agreed. Ren squirmed on her lap, and it was only then that she realised her son was peering at the dead king's corpse with that suspicious look he tended to have when he was unsure of something.
"Consider yourself fortunate," She told her son as she turned him around. "You were one of three people to see the last Targaryen king die, even if you won't remember it,"
"Die," Ren said; he had started picking up words a month or so ago, though he had yet to call her Mother, or even Mama; she was simply 'Mam' to him. Ross disliked children as a rule, but found she didn't mind her own so much.
"Look what we've done to the boy," Jaime said, a hint of dark amusement in his tone. "Traumatised already," She chuckled. It all felt rather surreal, in truth, that Aerys was dead. She was pleased, certainly, but rather numb too. In her arms, Ren had lost interest in the body and had started to fidget. She set him down on the floor, away from the throne as he was like to grab hold of it to pull himself upright and cut his hands, watching him totter off to examine the dragon skulls on the wall. They remained in silence for a few minutes, watching her son, until she paused; she could hear the sounds of an approaching group of men.
"Jaime," She said, and he was listening too, eyes sharpening. She got to her feet and hurried to collect Ren. By the time she had returned to stand next to the throne, the doors had burst open again, and all else was forgotten. A man she hadn't seen in over two years strode in, at the head of a group of northern soldiers all in mail, leathers and furs. He looked older, harder, even more solemn and grim-faced than before, but he was still her brother, still the boy she had grown up with.
"Ned," The name was barely a whisper on her lips, but her heart sang at the sound of it. It had been far too long since she had been this close to anyone from her family. The last time had been Father and Brandon's deaths, and she hadn't seen Ned, Ben or Lya since Harrenhal, over two years ago. Her eyes met his, steely grey on steely grey, joy at being reunited, at seeing the other unharmed, his anger at seeing Ren in her arms, but now wasn't the time. Her brother had already seen the dead king on the floor, had already seen Jaime Lannister sitting in the throne above them, and Ross saw the judgement in his expression. Whilst Jaime proclaimed loudly that the throne was an uncomfortable seat, giving it up to Lord Stark, she glanced down at Ren, who was eyeing everyone warily.
"Don't look so suspicious," She muttered, smiling faintly as she adjusted him on her hip. "That's your uncle. I've told you about Ned, haven't I," Jaime climbed down, and caught her eye for a split second. Her brother followed his look as his men dispersed themselves, the throne room no longer silent as they started talking amongst themselves, and Eddard Stark ascended the steps to claim the Iron Throne for Robert. They would talk later, she knew. Not here. Not now.
Ross slipped out the way she had come, through the door at the back of the room, and returned to her rooms. With all the northmen here, the godswood would no longer be the solace of solitude it had been previously. Her rooms were where Ned found her later, as darkness fell over the city. Robert Baratheon, having arrived with much loud fanfare and cheers from his army, now reigned over the Seven Kingdoms, and Aerys Targaryen was dead. She should be delighted, celebrating with the rest of the northern army, but all she wanted to do was go home.
When she saw Ned there in the doorway, several hours later, she got up from the bed and walked swiftly forward him, he toward her, and was soon locked in a crushing embrace. Ross rested her head on her brother's chest - he'd grown, even since she last saw him - as he held her tight, neither willing to let go. Ned smelled like blood and sweat, but also of home, of happier times, and she found herself blinking back uncharacteristic tears as a rush of emotion overwhelmed her.
"Are you alright?" He looked down at her with sharp grey eyes. "Gods, tell me you're alright,"
"I'm fine," She said, and for the first time in months and months, she nearly was. "And you're fine too. My lord," She smiled slightly sadly.
"I hate people calling me that," He frowned. "It should be Brandon. It should be Father,"
"But it's you," She said. "For better or worse, it's you," He sighed heavily.
"I know that," He said. "It's just... hard to get used to,"
"You seem to have managed well enough," She said flatly. "The lords would've followed any man south after the insult done to House Stark, but you actually led them. You've proven you're capable and competent. You've earned their respect," He said nothing to that. They were interrupted by Ren waking up early from where she'd put him down to sleep in his crib. He was getting too big for that crib now; good thing they were leaving soon.
"Is that - ?" He broke off as she stood to take the boy in her arms.
"My son," She said flatly, glancing up at him. "Not the late king's, no matter what he told you," Ned's face visibly relaxed. Probably at the thought of not having to talk Robert and Tywin Lannister out of killing his sister's son as a potential claimant to the throne. The obvious question was who the boy's real father was, but he didn't ask that. Not yet, anyway.
"So he didn't..." Ned looked at her as she shushed Ren back to sleep against her shoulder. His meaning was clear. Her lips set in a straight line; she knew what kind of things Aerys dictated to be in that letter. Most of it was true. If it had been up to her, no one would know aside from those who witnessed it; several maids, the king and the kingsguard.
"I didn't say he didn't believe the boy to be his son," Was all she said to that. Her brother's eyes darkened, and there was a long silence.
"I'd hoped..." He trailed off, but Ross understood. He'd hoped all those taunts were just empty words, that the king wouldn't lay a hand on the daughter of a great house. This being the same king who murdered the girl's father and brother, that hope was rather in vain. "But I hadn't truly expected he'd spare you anything, not after Father and Brandon," He looked out the window. "I spent half the afternoon trying to persuade Robert to send the Lannister boy to the Wall," He said eventually. "But though he's an oathbreaker, a kingslayer, what that madman did to you... to Father, to Brandon - I can't help but..." He trailed off. Ned was questioning the concept of honour. She never thought she'd see the day. I suppose war changes everyone. Another silence, as she sat down on the bed, Ren in her lap, now asleep again.
"Aerys asked him to kill his father," Ross wasn't sure why she said that. "During the sack of the city. Said 'bring me Tywin's head, or burn with the rest of them'," Ned sat down beside her. "What would you have done?" She already knew, as did he, evident from his lack of response. Instead, he changed the subject.
"Who is Jaime Lannister to you?" She gave him a hard look.
"He stood outside my door, like the other Kingsguard all did, whilst Aerys came to visit," She said. "He held me back when Brandon and Father were killed, so tight I had bruises. But he also was the only one who had the decency to come back after Aerys had gone. Check I hadn't hung myself from the bedposts. I saw his eyes when they burned Father, when the king defiled me, brutalised the queen - the same look was there today, as he slit Aerys' throat," Ned shook his head, grimacing.
"I'm so sorry, Ross,"
"Don't be," She shrugged. "You fought a war to get here. What more could you do?" He didn't say anything to that, but she could see he was clearly unhappy, despite wearing his usual expression that would've just seemed cold to anyone else. "Here," She held out her now-sleeping son to him. "His name is Renan, but I call him Ren. You'd best get some practice," He smiled faintly at that, carefully taking her son from her and moving his hands as directed.
"My son's name is Robb," He told her. "Lady Catelyn says he's strong and healthy,"
"Perhaps they'll get to know each other at Winterfell," She said idly, reaching over to adjust his hands a fraction, and Ren settled into his arms.
"Ross?" She looked up at Ned. "Who's his fa - "
"Don't," She said, tone immovable. "Not now. I'll tell you at some point, just... not now,"
"A touching picture," A voice said from the door. She jerked her head up, and he was there, out of his armour but still with his sword at his hip. He'd be foolish not to carry it, the amount of people in the castle who would see him dead. "Sorry," Jaime said, pointedly to Ross. "I thought you'd be alone," Both Ross and Ned raised an eyebrow at that. Gods, where are you going with this. "Your mind immediately goes to the gutter, Stark?" Jaime gave Ned a mildly incredulous look. "I might have broken one oath, but that doesn't mean I break the others. I'm not a lustful womaniser like your good friend Robert - apologies - his Grace, the king. Least of all towards your dear sister," She wanted to laugh, and hit him at the same time. He was a good liar when he wanted to be, and just as good at riling people against him. Ned clearly wanted to hit him. She didn't blame him.
"Have more faith in me, Ned," She said, not having to fake the slight irateness of her tone that her brother would even suggest that she would jump into bed with a handsome knight, given what they'd just discussed. Regardless of the fact that that was exactly what she'd been doing. He looked a little abashed at that, and sent an apologetic look her way.
"It's not you I don't trust," He said. Jaime laughed at that.
"What, you think me a raper?" He grinned in a way designed to infuriate anyone on the receiving end. "Is that why you wanted me at the Wall so badly?" He didn't wait for a reply. "It is possible, Stark, for me to simply wish to speak with Lady Rosennis," He hadn't called her that in so long, it sounded strange to her ears. "After all, it's not every day two people, ah, witness the murder of a king," He glanced at Ren. "Well, three people, but the baby can hardly discuss the matter," Ned looked far from convinced, but was unwilling to risk Ross' ire. She doubted he honestly believed she'd do anything she shouldn't. That had always been Lyanna's role, or Brandon's. Ross and Ned had generally done as they were expected to, though she doubted anyone could've expected either of them to end up here. Her brother got to his feet, handing Ren back to her.
"Best not drop him, Stark," Jaime said mildly. Ned raised an eyebrow, and he elaborated. "I've spent a lot of time around that little whelp whilst the king was... occupied," He sent a glance in Ross' direction, which they all caught, then continued, a sharper edge to his tone. "It's rather difficult not to become attached to an infant you've spent hours trying to keep quiet, so his mother's rapist doesn't come out into the corridor and... cause trouble," It was true, even Aerys had been put off by Ren's wailing whenever he came to her chambers, and usually had his crib temporarily moved out into the corridor, where the Kingsguard stood by the door. Ross hadn't known about what Jaime had just revealed, however, having merely assuming her son stopped crying when he was away from the king, and blinked in surprise.
"Why would you - " She broke off, voice catching in her throat. Why would you say that, now, in present company? To prove a point? He doesn't know Ned, she remembered. She had talked about him a little, but not in any sort of detail. For all he knew, her brother was the type to put the blame on her for the king's actions, as many would, though she was about as far from promiscuous in appearance as could be; barely even approachable, in fact.
"Ross?" Ned started towards her in concern, as did Jaime - they both sent dirty looks at each other, perhaps for the use of her nickname - but she shook her head.
"It's fine," She insisted, quickly schooled her face back to normal. "Can I see you some time tomorrow, Ned, or will you be in meetings with Robert all day?" Her brother's face hardened.
"Robert and I won't be having any meetings for the foreseeable future," He said coldly. "Not after he saw the bodies of Prince Aegon and Princesses Rhaenys wrapped in red cloaks, and praised Tywin Lannister for the gift," There was practically ice coating that last word. Ah. "I confronted him after. He said he saw no children, only Dragonspawn," Ross' eyes widened a fraction. She hadn't even known they were dead, and didn't feel as much regret as she should. They were children, one part of her cried in protest, they were innocent. Aegon was barely older than Ren. The darker side of her whispered that they had the same diseased blood as Aerys, Rhaegar, and countless mad, dangerous Targaryens before them. But if the children were dead, Elia likely was too. That would cause no end of trouble with Dorne. As if they hadn't had enough war as it was.
"What now?" She asked numbly.
"I'm leaving in three days, with the northern army," He said, resolve set. "I'll break the siege at Storm's End. Then the army returns North,"
"And you?"
"I continue south to Dorne, with a small force, to find Lyanna," There wasn't much hope there. By this point, they'd be lucky to even find her body, especially when word got out Robert had condoned the death of Elia Martell and her children; Dorne would not be hospitable to any Stark, that was for certain. She smiled a little bleakly.
"Remember to come back here when you find her," She tried being optimistic for once. "Don't leave me behind,"
"There's no chance of that," He said grimly. There was a short pause. "See you tomorrow,"
"Tomorrow," She nodded. He stared at her for a second or so, then turned and left, leaving her and Jaime alone with Ren. He said nothing, just watched her, so she turned away from him to put the baby back in the crib. As she straightened, she felt a pair of arms snake around her waist, warm and familiar. She let herself lean back against his chest, her head fitting under his chin, and felt more at peace than she had done in a long time. They hadn't had much time together over the last months, not with the rest of the kingsguard gone and Aerys becoming increasingly paranoid. But they had never had a time like this, not where there was no shadow of the Mad King looming over them. At that thought, she twisted her fingers in his long curls and brought his head down so their lips met. He responded in kind; not rushed, not frantic, but slower and somehow just as passionate. It was dark by now, most of the castle asleep. They could do what they liked, and they did. As they lay together in her bed afterwards, she found herself unable to sleep. The thought had just struck her harder than it ever had before that as the war ended, so did this.
She knew he didn't love her. He enjoyed her company, yes, or he wouldn't be here. They were, daresay, friends. He cared for their son, that she knew for sure, even if he didn't say it in as many words. Perhaps he even felt some level of affection towards her - his anger towards Aerys for what he'd done, far more angry than he'd got for Rhaella, was proof of that - but any affection that might be there was not in that sense. No, Jaime only loved one woman in that sense, his beautiful twin sister, who he would soon be able to see for the first time in years.
And Ross was to go north again. In truth, she couldn't wait; all she'd wanted since Harrenhal was to go home, to be safe behind the walls of Winterfell with her son, as far away from this cursed city as she could be. Far, far away. Her lips tightened.
Of course, he couldn't come with her. Even the suggestion was utterly foolish. Wouldn't come with her. And as far as she knew, she was still betrothed to Roose Bolton, if word of her treatment at Aerys' hands hadn't got out, which she doubted Ned would have allowed. He was a kingsguard besides. Well, for now. There was always the possibility Robert would release him from service as punishment for killing Aerys, but that was unlikely as most would see that as a reward, enabling him to inherit Casterly Rock. In which case, he most likely would be sent to the Wall. Closer to Winterfell, but just as unreachable.
And he didn't love her.
Ned left three days later. Robert didn't see him off, still furious about their argument, but a week after he left the new king seemed to have forgotten it already. Whenever Ross spoke with him - which was fairly regularly, he seemed to like having a Stark around even if it wasn't her brother or sister - he often spoke of his eagerness to see Lyanna again, his desire to have gone with Ned to find her, that they'd marry as soon as she got here. A slight change from the last time she'd seen him, when he'd been sneaking off to bed Giana Lannister, but clearly fighting a war for someone makes you somewhat more dedicated. Ross had dared to suggest that Lyanna - even if she was alive - may not want to marry so soon after such an ordeal. Robert had listened and nodded, but effectively waved her words off, not out of malice but out of complete unconcern. This was a man who had got everything he wanted if he tried hard enough, whether that be drinks, women or the Iron Throne itself. Why wouldn't his betrothed want to marry him straight away, after he'd just fought a war to get her back?
Even Elbert Arryn - who Ross had managed to talk out of the ridiculous notion of going to Dorne with Ned, despite the fact he could barely walk after eighteen months rotting in Aerys' dungeons - agreed with her, making the observation in private that Robert seemed to be doing everything he could except running the kingdom, brushing all that off onto Jon Arryn until, he claimed, after his and Lyanna's coronation. Ross could've been concerned by that, by the fact that Robert likely never would throw himself into the responsibilities of being king, but found she really didn't care. She would leave this place as soon as Ned returned, perhaps with Lya too.
She stood in the courtyard the day her brother returned, awaiting his arrival; he'd sent word ahead earlier that morning. Lord Stark will be here by late afternoon, the rider had said. Robert had grinned and asked how the Lady Lyanna was faring, if she was excited for the coming wedding. There had been a nasty silence; the king's face darkened as he caught on, and demanded the man speak. Lord Stark is returning to visit, the rider had said. Before escorting his sister's bones back north. Robert, for once, had not said a word. Instead, he had turned and left the room, his face as stony as Ross' own in front of the court. She herself had cried upon returning to her rooms, weeping quietly into the washbasin for what seemed like an eternity. She hadn't cried in so long, it was almost like everything that had happened coming up at once. Father, Brandon, Lya, Lya, Lya.
Ross wore a black dress to greet Ned that day, black boots, a black cloak, as black as her mood. Her eyes were red though, if you looked close enough. Robert stood at her side, face uncharacteristically solemn, in matching black. His eyes were red too, though few people were tall enough to notice unless they stared, which she had. Ross couldn't stop looking at the covered wagon being pulled by the draft horse at the centre of the small, ragged group. She didn't miss the fact that all his companions bar Howland Reed were not with him, either. Her brother said nothing, just dismounted his horse, and walked up to Robert, argument forgotten.
"She was alive when I found her," His voice and expression were cold, but Ross could see his grief. "And died of a fever less than a day later,"
"A fever," Robert's voice was hoarse. "Ned, I - " He broke off, swallowing. He wouldn't show his grief in front of everyone, she knew that much. Not as a king, but as a man. Ross had planned on following their conversation, but her attention was caught by the lone woman in their party, a young woman, holding a bundle of what were undoubtedly swaddling cloths. She glanced sharply at Ned, who shook his head ever so slightly. She kept her mouth shut as her brother went inside with the king.
She spent hours in her rooms as Ned undoubtedly stayed with Robert in his grief. Then her brother came to her, followed by the woman who had ridden with him.
She was undoubtedly lowborn but not badly off, judging from her clothes which, though simple, travel-worn and dusty, were well-made and of reasonable quality. She had a pointed, bird-like face, a petite frame, and whilst she was no great beauty, she was pretty enough, with the big brown eyes and dark hair of a stony Dornishwoman. The girl - for she certainly was a girl now she saw her up close, no older than sixteen - smiled sweetly but slightly nervously when she saw Ross, casting her eyes down at the floor. And in her arms she carried a baby with hair the same colour as her own son's.
"This is Wylla," Ned introduced. "Wylla, this is my sister, the Lady Rosennis,"
"Milady," The woman bobbed a curtsey, glancing up to falter slightly under Ross' intense stare. There was a heavy silence.
"Who's the child?" Ross turned to her brother.
"My bastard son," He said flatly, without a change in his expression. Ross blinked. "His mother was unable to join us, so Wylla is acting as his nursemaid," The idea of Ned having a bastard was not as unbelievable as most people would think. A surprise, certainly, but he did not know his new Tully wife, and had been fighting a war after the deaths of half his family; it wasn't impossible that he had sought comfort in drink one night, and ended up in the arms of a whore. The idea of him bringing the child north with him wasn't strange either; it would've been stranger to hear that he had a bastard he knew about and not provided for it in some way. But there was something off about this story. She had an odd feeling. Ned could lie, she knew he could, but never to her.
"Are you sure Wylla isn't his mother?" She raised an eyebrow. Perhaps that was it. Lie, so the boy's mother could be around him as he grew, without insulting Lady Catelyn so much as to house the woman he broke his vows with right under her nose.
"I am sure," Ned said, a touch of resignation in his expression. She didn't think he was lying about that, but she wasn't sure. She doubted he'd have gone for someone so young. She nodded.
"Very well," She said, turning to Wylla herself. "What is your story, then? You don't just become a wet-nurse by accident," Her meaning was clear. She didn't ask that out of judgement, which the girl clearly realised as Ren gave a small cry behind her and Ross gave her a wry look, to which she smiled slightly sadly.
"I grew big with child after my soon-to-be husband left for war, before we could be married," She said; her voice was soft, but with a definite Dornish accent. "He never came back. Then I lost the baby. I was a maid in the Dayne household, but left with Lord Stark when he needed a nurse for his son," Ross inclined her head absently, an apology of sorts, but inside her mind was racing. Dayne? He seemed quite taken with Lady Ashara at Harrenhal, and her with him, but that was far too long ago, they can't have seen each other since. No, that's not right.
"Can I?" She reached out towards the baby. Wylla carefully transferred him into her arms, stepping back. Ross peered down at the boy's little face, and was met with a pair of grey eyes. Stark eyes, unmistakably. Even at this age, he had a little of Ned's look, too. They had lost Lyanna, but there was no doubt that they had gained another Stark child. "What's his name?"
"Jon," Ned spoke. "Jon Snow, when we return north. He's to stay in Winterfell, I won't have him fostered out,"
"Your wife won't like that," Ross observed, not caring much either way what the Tully woman thought. She understood the love a parent had for their child; she would kill anyone who tried to separate her from Ren.
"My wife won't have a say in it," There was an edge of ice to his voice, and she smiled.
She had a surprising visitor to her door that night. She heard the faint knock and assumed it was Jaime. Who else would it be at this time? He had spent the days after the sack hunting down the pyromancers Belis and Gargius, the only others who knew of Aerys' plans to burn the city. Strange... I thought he was on duty tonight. She got out of bed and padded over to the door in her long nightgown, not bothering to put anything else on as she intended on letting him in anyway.
Jaime was indeed there, but was stood, looking mutinous, beside the hulking form of Robert Baratheon.
The king was clearly drunk, swaying where he stood and eyeing her with bleary eyes. Jaime was clearly angry. Ross was immediately assaulted with memories of the last time a king had visited her in these rooms, those times more than fresh in her mind. It had only been a few months, but suddenly she was back to when Aerys was still alive, feeling that dread, that hate, those long nails raking down her skin -
"M-my lady," Robert slurred, stumbling forward slightly. She didn't move a muscle, frozen, even as he grabbed her narrow shoulder for support.
"Your Grace," Jaime's tone cut like a knife, not missing the look on her face. He remembered, too. How could he not. "It's too late to disturb Lady Stark. Surely it would be best for everyone if you returned to - "
"F-fuck off, King-slayer," Robert waved a bleary hand in his direction in irritation. "'M the king, I'll do whatever the b-bloody hells I want to," Ross got a hold of herself at that point, remembering it wasn't the raving madman who still haunted her dreams that stood before her, but her brother's friend, who angered quickly but forgot just as easily, who never burned her father and brother alive. Robert was still going on.
"Aerys Targaryen liked to say much the same thing," Ross said sharply. "Those were the same notions that set five of the seven kingdoms against him, the same notions that got him killed," Robert fell abruptly silent at that, seeming to rile in anger and deflate in horror in the same second. Jaime had looked at her in surprise, which annoyed her - no doubt he was used to her lying back and letting kings walk all over her - and thus let Robert continue.
"I just... wanted to ask you," The king mumbled. "L-lyanna. She's - she's - "
"Dead," Ross said bluntly. Robert's face crumpled. It would've been comical in another situation, to see the mighty warrior reduced to a drunken wreck with the emotional control of a child.
"Yes," He pressed on. "Lyanna - I want t'marry L-lyanna. I don't want a... 'nother woman," Ross saw Jaime rolling his eyes, and was about to ask what exactly that had to do with her, but the king continued. "T'win Lann'ster wants me t-to take his daughter," She saw Jaime's smile fix in place. "I don't - I don't want his daughter. I want - Lyanna," Bloody hells.
"I'm grieving too," Ross humoured him slightly, in the hope he'd leave. "As is Ned. She was my sister - "
"Yes!" Robert seized on that. "Yes. Th-that's why... I'm here. You-re her s-sister," She frowned.
"What does - " She broke off, eyes widening in horror, completely caught off-guard by what she realised he was trying to say. "Do you seriously mean..?" Jaime's mouth had dropped open for a second as he too caught on, before he quickly recovered himself.
"M-marry me, Ross," Robert said, eyes barely focusing on her as he tried to take her hand. She stepped smartly back. "Marry me, be queen. Y-you look like her... a little. I s-saw Ned's letter from that mad b-bastard... I - I made him show me, he was... in such a t-temper. I know what the Mad K-king did to you. But I'd m-make... make you... a queen," Her eyes narrowed in anger, but she doubted he'd meant to insult her. In many ways, he was right. She would be unlikely to find a husband who'd take her with Ren alone, and even then only because she was a Stark and the existence of her bastard had been kept quiet so far. If every kingdom knew she had been defiled by none other than Aerys Targaryen, that would be nearly impossible.
But she didn't care. She didn't want a husband, who would send her son away. She didn't want Robert, either. She didn't want to be queen, and she especially did not want to remain in this city a moment longer than she had to.
"You're drunk," She said instead, tone icy cold. "And grieving. You already have a northern alliance. You need Tywin Lannister more than you need a wife who shares the name of your former betrothed. Marry his daughter, or any other girl, and we'll forget this ever happened," He looked ready to argue, but shut his mouth; even in his drunken state, he couldn't take the look she gave him for anything less than a dismissal.
"F-fine," He grumbled. "You... look at me like Ned does, any-anyway. Couldn't f-fuck a girl who looks... looks like Ned," Jaime snorted quietly behind him, and Robert shot him an unfocused glare. Ross bit her lip.
"Back to bed, your Grace?" The knight raised an eyebrow.
"F-fuck off," Robert mumbled, but was already turning to go, stumbling down the hallway. Jaime lingered to give her a laden look, before following the king like any dutiful babysitter would, although that could only be an improvement from a year ago. He had to watch the last one burn people alive.
It was after he left, when she had firmly closed the door to her chambers and sat down heavily on the bed, that she realised what exactly that predicament had meant for Jaime. He did not want his sister to marry Robert, she knew that much. No matter if he didn't say it, she could read it in his expression easily, and she could tell that he would rather Cersei Lannister was married to him than the king. And Ross had just had the opportunity to possibly prevent that marriage. She sighed, closing her eyes briefly in frustration. One problem solved just brought up two more.
Even if she had accepted the king's insane, drunken proposal, there was always the very likely chance that Robert would take back everything he offered her the next morning. But of course, there was no chance of her accepting, for a practically infinite number of reasons. She had no desire to be queen. She had no desire to bed Robert; even if she had, she wouldn't want to sleep with a man who would call her by her sister's name with every thrust, and spend the rest of her life being compared to Lyanna. The thought of remaining in the south, in this castle, for the rest of her life, made her want to throw herself off the walls of Maegor's Holdfast. If Robert chose a Stark over Tywin Lannister's daughter, he made a powerful enemy with enough influence to perhaps even restore Viserys Targaryen to the throne. House Targaryen had cost her half her family; her father, her brother, her sister. It had cost her her maidenhood, and any trace of innocence she had left. It had stripped her of her dignity, left her weak and powerless, left her body scarred and her mind haunted with horrors that appeared whenever she let herself finally drift into a fitful sleep.
Ross would die before another Targaryen sat the Iron Throne.
