On the King's Road

The morning their party departed Hayford Castle, Ashara pulled up alongside Ned's horse in the slanting light, her hair glowing like embers in the rising sun.

Despite his soreness and fatigue, Ned smiled, though he raised his eyebrows in surprise. She had not ridden since Darry, insisting that, with Renly and Ser Barristan joining the royal party, she'd best act like a proper southern lady and ride in the wheelhouse. Ned doubted that was her real reason—when had she cared about such things—but with all that had occurred at Darry and Robert's stormy demeanour since, he hadn't had the mind to question her about it.

"What happened to all that talk of propriety?" he asked her now, only half teasing. She cleared her throat and sat up straighter in her saddle.

"Can a woman not change her mind? I've decided it would not be unseemly for me to ride after all."

"Is that so?" He did not take his eyes from her, and finally, she sighed.

"If you must know…with you being called to accompany the king every other day, I thought it best not to chance gaining myself an unwanted riding companion."

Ned blinked.

"What?"

"I uh…did not wish to invite Ser Barristan's company," she finally said, her voice dropping. "He would have come to ride with me when the king had no need of him, and it would have been excruciatingly uncomfortable for both of us."

Her words were so near nonsensical that Ned was not sure he heard right.

"Why would Ser Barristan Selmy…what?"

Ashara sighed again.

"It happens that I caught Ser Barristan's eye when I first arrived in King's Landing. He sought my company often on Dragonstone, and those instances were always…well, as I say, awkward. And as things stand, it appears his attentions have not changed all this time."

Ned felt his jaw go slack. He had not noticed Barristan Selmy looking at Ashara in any particular manner, but then, with the other matters weighing on his mind, he had taken no note of Barristan Selmy at all since he'd joined them. It was not as if Ash could be wrong about this.

That familiar sharp irritation began in his stomach. 'The perils of marrying a beautiful woman,' a laughing Brandon had told him, all those years ago at Harrenhal, when he'd caught Ned glaring at some young knights who were gawking at Ashara. 'So long as they don't challenge you for her hand, there's no need for violence.'

Wise words he'd since lived by. Some of the few wise words Brandon had said to him, Ned thought with a pang, and quickly reined back his mind, for it was too early in the day to bear thinking of his brother.

"Have I shocked you?" she asked at his silent frown, giving him a half-smile. Ned felt the irritation fade.

"'Tis only…I would not have expected it from Barristan the Bold. And it has been near two decades since he's laid eyes on you. You'd think, with these many years—"

Her eyebrows shot upwards, and Ned caught himself just in time.

"Pray, my lord, what were you about to say?" She blinked her big eyes up at him, the picture of innocence, but he knew better.

Ned coughed and turned back to the road, and beside him, Ashara broke into a laugh.

"Oh Ned, you aren't wrong. It is rather shocking. What girl does not find a few eyes on her at seven and ten, but I am nearing forty. One would think a passing infatuation would have faded by now."

He coughed again. Despite the levity, this was never a conversation he particularly enjoyed having.

"The very name of Ser Barristan rankles now," he said under his breath, "but if I am being fair my love, you do not possess a face that fades easily from a man's memory." She blushed and ducked her head to hide her smile.

"Somehow I always wish to hear you say such things, even when I know it's flattery."

"So tell me then," Ned said after they had ridden some moments in a sweet, warm silence. "What brought you out of hiding this day?"

She was resisting the urge to roll her eyes, he could tell.

"I was hardly in hiding. Only…avoiding inconvenience."

Ned laughed.

"Call it what you will, but you have not answered me."

Her face softened then, and she worried her lip, looking into the distance.

"Ashara?"

"You rode with Robert in the morning, and I did not think he would summon you again."

"No doubt you are right."

He waited, for there was surely more. When she turned to him once more, there was a frown so weary lacing her features that Ned felt his chest squeeze.

"We will surely reach the city today." She met his eyes. "If I must brave the place once more, I intend to look upon it head-on as we pass under the gates. No silk curtains. No wheelhouse."

He looked at her for what seemed a long while. Sometimes Ned thought there was a warrior's essence at her core.

"You are right," he said again. "You do not hide."

A corner of her mouth lifted.

"Not when I have you next to me. But that is enough of this lofty talk. Tell me, has the king left instructions for you for when we reach the city? Spoken of any news?"

For the second time on this journey, Robert had summoned Ned before the sky had even begun to pale, wishing to ride through the dewy woodlands around Castle Hayford. This time, thankfully, he had done naught but lament his wife and son and the stifling city he would soon return to.

Ned had felt that frustrated anger set in again, the urge to yell and rage at Robert for being so blind to all he had. Joffrey still called him 'father'. Joffrey still sought his approval and did not look away in shame when he spoke to him. Yes, the prince was well on his way to becoming a tyrant with the way he had tried to hurt Arya, but why did Robert not spend more time with the boy, guide him and teach him? Did he not understand what a gift a son's regard was to a man? And did Robert not owe it to the realm to teach his heir?

But Ned said nothing. He was not entirely sure how to broach the topic, and Robert was the king now, after all—not just his friend. And besides, he had not been of a mind to argue. Not when he had been fraught the entire ride, expecting more unwelcome news about the Lannisters or from Jorah Mormont regarding the Targaryen girl. Ned hoped never to hear Robert speaking of pardoning the murdering madman again.

Twelve years past, they'd received word that Jorah Mormont's lady wife was suffering from a wasting sickness, and Ashara had sent Yli the Rhoynish healer up to Bear Island in a last attempt to save her life. Yli and her fermented potions had brought the woman back from her descent into death, but news arrived a year later that she had died in childbed, leaving behind a sickly son.

All was well for some time, but not long after Jeor Mormont left to take the black, Jorah's young son took suddenly and gravely ill. Jorah Mormont had travelled to Essos in his youth, and in a desperate attempt to save his child, the lord of Bear Island had erected a pyre and burned four poachers alive in some sacrificial ritual to an Essosi god.

The boy had died anyway.

Ned had sons too. In the darkest of nights, Ned thought that he could understand what drove Jorah Mormont to this mad inhumanity, but to burn four breathing, feeling men alive...the way his father had been burned alive…there was no forgiveness for that.

Yet, by the time Ned had made the journey west to carry out justice for the sickening atrocity, Jorah Mormont had taken ship and fled. And that cowardice Ned could not understand.

Now he spied for the shiny-headed Varys, (the thought of whose letter and map all those years ago at Storm's End still made Ned's blood go cold), and Robert wished to pardon Jorah in exchange for information that might lead to the murder of yet another child. Silver-blonde hair stained with blood. He did not know what this Daenerys Stormborn looked like, but he could still see the pale hair of the babe peeking from that mess of infant bones and brain.

Perhaps Ashara had been right. In the past months of travel, the realisation that perhaps Robert truly was no longer the brother Ned once knew had been slowly seeping into his consciousness, spreading black and putrid like contamination in a wound. Or perhaps Ned had lost Robert twenty years back when he'd sat himself for the first time on the Iron Throne with the Targaryen children at his feet.

"No, nothing," Ned told Ashara now, unable to keep the frown from his face. "He did nothing but complain about his wife and sons." The very word 'son' made him flinch, for all that he tried to hide it. The matter of Jon, too, was like an open wound gouged always into the back of his mind.

Ashara was studying him with that alert gaze of hers, and Ned knew he could not stop her seeing right through him. Sure enough, she drew in close to him, both their horses slowing, and reached out to take his hand in her very warm one.

"He will come 'round," she said, her voice low but sure, and Ned knew she spoke not of Robert, but Jon. "He believes this knowledge means that everything he knew about himself was a lie. He only needs to realise that nothing of importance has changed one whit. Give him time."

Ned nodded. Ashara was rarely wrong about their children. He hoped that she was right in this. He hoped that he had not lost his son forever. What else was there to be done save hope?

000

In the late afternoon, Ned and Ashara rode through the towering bronze gates of the Red Keep behind Arya and the twins. In the courtyard, Elia had already dismounted and was spinning about on the spot, head tilted upwards and mouth slightly agape, taking in her new surroundings. Ned knew that look, and it seemed Ashara had spotted it too, for before he even spoke she was off her horse and pulling Elia into her so she did not run off exploring right then.

Before Ned could dismount himself, a harried-looking steward approached him, bowing very low.

"My Lord Hand, Grand Maester Pycelle has convened a most urgent meeting of the small council and requests the honour of your attendance as soon as it's convenient. My lord."

Ned heaved himself from his horse, his bones rattling loosely in his tired muscles.

"It will be convenient on the morrow," he snapped, more sharply than he'd intended. The creeping fatigue of the road these moons past seemed suddenly to crash into him now that he did not face another day ahorse starting before daybreak.

The steward bowed again, so low that Ned thought his beard touched the flagstones. "I shall give the councillors your regrets, my lord."

"No, damn it," Ned said. It would not do to offend the council before he had even begun. "I will see them. Pray give me a few moments to change into something more presentable."

"Yes, my lord," the steward said. "We have given you Lord Arryn's former chambers in the Tower of the Hand, if it please you. I am at your and your lady wife's disposal."

"My thanks," Ned said as he ripped off his riding gloves and tucked them into his belt. The rest of his household, including the wheelhouse, were just coming through the gates behind him, but it would be a long while before their trunks arrived and Ashara could get everything settled.

"My wagons are still straggling through the city," he told the steward. "I shall need appropriate garments."

"That won't be necessary, my lord." His wife materialised by his elbow, and Ned gave a start. When had she come back over? Ashara smiled at his confused face—that proper smile she reserved for smoothing over company.

"I have a change of court clothes in the wheelhouse," she said, then turned to the steward. "Has the Grand Maester told you specifics, my lord steward? This is most fortuitous timing for him to call the meeting."

"Ah, uh, yes it is, my lady. But he has told me nothing, only that I am to invite the Lord Hand's presence."

"I see." The smile deepened. "Well, please do ask my lords of the small council to wait a spell."

When the steward had bowed his last and retreated, Ned turned to Ashara.

"You packed a change of court clothes for me in the wheelhouse? How did you know to do that?"

"Of course I did not. I've clothes for me, not you."

"What?" For the second time that day, his jaw went slack and his mind numb.

"No matter," she continued, blithely ignoring his question. "You won't be needing to change. You're not going anywhere save to the new chambers to bathe and eat and sleep. Look at the purple beneath your eyes."

She smoothed a thumb over his face, and he reached up to lightly catch her hand.

"Ash, you did hear what the steward said, did you not? And I just agreed—"

She gave him a patient look.

"Do you really think the Grand Maester has business so urgent it cannot wait until the morrow? That this business suddenly came about the moment you rode into the city? And did you not just speak with Robert this morning? If there really was urgent business he would surely have been told."

Ned frowned.

"You are saying the Grand Maester is calling a meeting just to inconvenience me?"

"I doubt it's only Pycell's doing, but I do know this meeting is superfluous and can certainly wait a day."

Ned let out a breath. This possibility had not even crossed his mind. Already he felt as if he were drowning in the murky depths of intrigue, and he had not yet set foot inside the castle.

"Still, I cannot simply refuse to go now. I've already said I would see them, and it would not do to offend them before I am even settled."

Ashara scoffed.

"Offend them? They've insulted you! You are the Hand, and the small council serve at your pleasure. They cannot summon you thus, least of all when you're weary from months of travel. Every man in that chamber knows this, and yet they've called this meeting regardless."

Ned pinched the bridge of his nose. So, this was some test of his strength. The very thing he had warned Robb the Northern lords might try on him once Ned was gone. And yet here Ned was, about to walk right into it like a green boy.

"Oh, I did not mean to trouble you." Ashara's voice had softened, and she curled her fingers around his thumb. "This is why I am here, is it not? To scheme on your behalf?"

He laughed despite himself.

"Aye, it is already clear that you and that scheming mind of yours will have to help me a great deal."

"Very well. Go take the children and get settled then. And keep an eye on Lia."

He felt his eyebrows shoot up.

"And you will not be joining me?"

"Well, you will not be attending the meeting, but you are right that it's best we do not leave the lords waiting. So, I will go in your stead."

Ned blinked at her.

"Ashara…" He let out an uneasy breath. "Ash, surely you know as well as I that…well, I know you are capable, but in King's Landing—and you are a woman—not that—"

She laughed again, crisp and clear, and brought his hand to her lips.

"Ah, but sometimes a woman's limitations become rather useful. Do you trust me?"

"Of course, but—"

"Then go my love, and trust me in this. I won't be but a quarter of an hour, and I am weary too. Do have Corynne order me a bath."

O~O~O~O~O

The council chamber had changed little since Ashara had last seen it that night she and Ned had been attacked in the godswood. The same Lysene tapestries hung on the walls, and the Valyrian sphinxes still glared at her with their garnet eyes. As the oak doors closed behind her, the four men around the table looked up at once like a group of gophers, each of their eyes growing wide.

Varys the Spider was the first to remember himself. He was out of his seat in an instant, sashaying towards her and bowing low in a cloud of powder and saccharine perfume.

"Ah, Lady Stark. What an unexpected pleasure. A delight to see you so well after these many years."

Ashara smiled and curtseyed.

"Lord Varys. The delight is all mine. The years have not changed you one whit."

The eunuch tittered, and a thin tingle shot up her spine. The man truly had not aged a day since she'd last seen him in Aerys' court, and his entire being irked her just as much now as it had back then.

"Well, Lady Stark, this is a surprise." Lord Renly approached her now, and behind him, a slighter man who must be Petyr Baelish studied her with sharp eyes.

"We were under the impression Lord Stark would be joining us," Renly said after they had exchanged pleasantries. "Though I daresay your company is always welcome, my lady."

For just a moment, it was as if Ashara was nineteen at Harrenhal once more, meeting the Lord of Storm's Ending for the first time. Even the manner of courtly flattery was the same.

Renly, who had joined them on the last leg of the journey, had clearly arrived in the city much earlier in the day, for he was clean-shaven and dressed in velvet fineries. In this, perhaps, he was less like the young Robert from her memories.

"Oh, I do apologise," Ashara said when she returned to herself. "My lord husband will not be joining you today. Perhaps there was a misunderstanding with the steward."

"Ah, Lord Starks' tired himself out from riding after all, has he?"

It was Littlefinger who spoke. He had a jeering, almost derisive smile on his lips, and it took Ashara long moments to remember why he should be so hostile. Yet it was hardly an insult, surely, to admit that Ned was tired after months on the road.

"Yes, I'm quite afraid you're right, Lord Baelish. I hope you will all excuse a wife's concern, my lords, but my husband was up before first light today to ride with the king, and I daresay the years are catching up with all of us."

She crossed the room to the council table then, to a Maester Pycelle who was still making a show of scrambling to stand. Her stomach turned at the sight of his scraggly beard and the white spittle gathered at the corners of his mouth, the tales Dyanna Dalt and Moriah Qorgyle once told her creeping in her mind.

"Grand Maester, please, no need for such courtesies," she said, gesturing that he need not stand. "I understand that you were the one to call an urgent meeting. I do hope it is nothing that cannot wait for the morrow."

Pycelle made a wheezing sound.

"Well…that's…uh…it is urgent, my lady, but uh…"

"It isn't the maester who has the urgent news, Lady Stark," said Renly as the other men came to join her around the table. He flashed her another charming smile before pulling out a tightly-rolled scroll.

"This morning, my royal brother had me ride ahead with one of his rare commands. It was only right that we convene this meeting at once to discuss the urgent matter."

Renly's eyes met hers, and there was a smug laughter there that bordered on mocking. Oh, Renly knew that Robert could not give two figs whether they met about whatever this matter was today or tomorrow—that he would not even ask after specifics—and Renly could see that she knew it too.

Ashara looked at the faces of the other men. Pycelle was staring into a far wall, Lord Baelish was smirking at her, and Varys had his shiny brow knit in concern.

"My, this is a debacle, isn't it?" Varys said. "I believe that letter is addressed to the Lord Hand. It is most unfortunate that he is not here, my lady."

"Again, you have my apologies, my lords," said Ashara, "and you in particular, Lord Renly. You must have waited a rather long time upon your return today so that you might call this meeting when my husband could attend."

For a moment he seemed lost for words. She saw him exchange a look with Littlefinger, and could not keep her mouth from tightening with annoyance. It was growing clear now that all in the room knew exactly what the king's 'urgent' business was, and, as she'd suspected, it was not urgent in the slightest.

Finally, Renly laughed, and Littlefinger and Varys joined in.

"Ah, no inconvenience, my lady. I only thought it best to give the king's business our utmost priority, as is our duty."

"Quite right," said Pycelle, his voice rattling. "Quite right."

"It is a shame that Lord Stark cannot join us," said Renly, "though we will, naturally, inform him of all we discussed today."

Ashara bit the inside of her cheek and tried not to glare. And how would that look—the Hand shirking a small council meeting on his first day in the post? This had been why she had come in the first place.

"Well, my lords, I had come with the intention to beg your pardon and let you know that Lord Stark will convene a meeting as soon as is possible, but it appears that this news is urgent indeed. If you must discuss it now, I am certain he would understand."

She took a seat—not in the Hand's chair, but in the spot directly to the right of it, and gave the four men the sweetest smile she could muster.

"I am not nearly so learned in the matters of the kingdoms as all of you, but I flatter myself capable of understanding the basics. Please, proceed with your meeting, and I shall convey all I can to my husband."

Silence. Ashara looked at each man expectantly as they exchanged looks with one another. Finally, it was Littlefinger who spoke.

"I mean no offence, Lady Stark, but matters of the small council are of great secrecy and import. Your husband is Hand, not you."

"You're quite right, Lord Baelish. My lord husband naturally understands this secrecy and import, which is the reason he sent his wife and not one of our household to make his pardons. I have acted on his behalf before. I think I can manage today. Please. Do not let me keep you any longer from this urgent business."

More silence, though this time it was punctuated by Pycelle's wheezing breath. Ashara kept the pleasant smile glued to her face and sat patiently. As she expected. What were any of these men going to do? Throw the Hand's wife out of the chamber?

She would only have been in danger of such a thing had Stannis Baratheon been among the council, but they'd learned weeks before that he had returned to Dragonstone, no doubt insulted that Robert had asked Ned and not him to be Hand. Even if he were not insulted, Ashara could hardly blame him—or Robert, for that matter—for not wishing to keep company with these men. The only one who was mildly agreeable was Renly, and that was only a thin veneer of affability.

Finally, it was Renly who cleared his throat.

"Well, seeing as Lord Stark has retired, it would be best if we awaited his summons."

The others muttered assent, and Ashara felt Littlefinger's narrowed gaze on her. She smiled at him, then rose once more and inclined her head at the chamber door.

"After you, my lords. And Lord Renly? Shall I take that letter to my lord husband? It is addressed to him from the king, is it not?"

A/N: Sooooo. Things seem to be off to a pretty good start for Ned and Ashara, don't they? Ash seems to have things under control, doesn't she? One could say things are going well. A little…too well?

Also, if you were wondering where Arya got her trolling, scheming gene from...here it is.

As usual, a huge thank you to my betas (Captain Fuckew McHugerage and CMedina), and also 1962strat, who spent literal hours the other night helping me work out some a huge chunk of plot. It will be a long time before I get to that plot, but they've given me so many cool ideas, and I'm so excited to work on them in the future :)))