Chapter 6: The Warning

"It would be a mistake to rush into things," Eddard said. "Renly has already seized Joffrey and the rest of your family. He has even seized my daughters."

"This is a small comfort, I know," Uncle Tyrion said, as he combed through the letter with mismatched eyes, "but he has not said so explicitly. He's seized the royal family without a doubt, but the rest he left implied, which could mean your daughters escaped his grasp somehow, or…"

Or were killed, Arthas thought, grimacing.

As the master of laws, the gold cloaks already theoretically answered to Renly, though his hold over them had been less than stringent when Jon Arryn ruled King Robert's court. Arthas's dear uncle was more inclined to feast and host friends and guests to the city, so much so that Arthas had half-thought him a hindrance the old Hand was forced to work around. To have taken all 2,000 men of the city's watch in hand so quickly was unlikely at best, given how much influence Grandfather Tywin had in the capital. There was little love for Tywin Lannister, Arthas knew, but fear and gold found easy purchase in men's hearts.

Renly must have snuck in many loyal men to effect his coup, and plied those amenable with gold and honors enough to forget just who it was they were challenging. Renly was a third son after all, and the last male in line for the throne. Only Myrcella and Shireen went after him, and even that depended on whether Uncle Stannis in preceding him would keep to the laws set down by the Targaryens or slight Renly out of their mutual loathing for one another.

Still.

To have secreted his own men across the city, to lay in wait as the royal convoy entered first King's Landing and then the Red Keep proper… perhaps there was more of the storm in Renly's blood than his easy smiles presented.

"Belly was always useless," Ser Mandon groused about the Blount knight. "I'd almost be glad he's dead, if not for the circumstances."

"The Hound too was named among those killed," Tyrion said.

Moore snorted. "He was never a knight, only one of your lordly father's killers. I'm surprised he didn't turn his cloak for Renly, to be honest. No true love for House Lannister in that one. Not Oakheart, though. That flower-sown cunt was probably plotting with Renly from the start, given whose swords Renly claims to fight for him. Oakhearts, Tyrells… does Renly pretend he's King on the Iron Throne or King of the Mander?

"The Reach is firmly behind him," Eddard said with a sigh. "The Kingslayer was taken live, after a spear thrust to the leg left him unable to move."

"More bad luck," said Moore, though his displeasure did not deign to reach his eyes "Though it does seem to me that I am now the last living member of the Kingsguard, away and free from Renly's custody. Tell me, Prince Arthas… does that make Lord Commander by default?"

Arthas considered the wording of Renly's letter again. "No mention was made of Barristan Selmy. Lord Stark, if anyone could have gotten your daughters out, it would be him. He faced worse odds at Duskendale with the Mad King... there may be hope yet."

The Lord Stark nodded slowly to that, his eyes flitting between Arthas, Mandon and Tyrion. "In any case," the Stark slowly said, "only a king may name a Lord Commander. Or appoint new members."

Moore frowned. "You'll forgive me if I doubt Old Selmy still has it in him to pull off such a feat," he said, before narrowing his eyes. "And just where was the Spider in all this treason? For what did King Robert spare him if not to serve loyally, and to warn of treachery?"

"Lord Renly does not mention him, and therefore we must assume him to have bent the knee to Renly," Tyrion said, before banging his goblet against the hardwood desk. "There will be war for this. My father would sooner let me rule Casterly Rock than let any man living dethrone his grandchild. And be it impolite, but he'd sooner be split open by a sword than let a swallower like Renly shame him in front of the Seven Kingdoms.

Mandon Moore waved the dwarf off, the Valesman sighing in frustration. "Lord Tywin can want what he wants, for all the good it would do him. Renly has King's Landing, and more than a hundred thousand men already mustered. Any house south of the Blackwater that dares defy him will be disabused of such notions when they see his army at their gates. For now, he might as well be king."

"He has no right," said the Lord of Winterfell coldly.

"Might is his right, the same as what made Robert king," Moore said.

Eddard glanced at him sharply. "Robert had the strongest claim after the Targaryens were set aside. It was not might."

"And who chose to set aside a boy in Prince Viserys, or murder Rhaegar's heirs?" asked Moore rhetorically. "Did the Reach and Dorne bow their heads because the maesters and septons decreed it? Or did the might of five kingdoms, armed, armored, and ahorse make his claim for him?"

Moore's frown deepened in contemplation. "The Reach and Dorne… no love for Tywin Lannister there. Twenty thousand Dornish spears could already be marching to reinforce Renly."

"Dorne does not march in such strength," said Lord Eddard. "Even when Mad Aerys held their kin hostage, Doran Martell only released ten thousand to fight at Rhaegar's side at Ruby Ford. No doubt there was more in the Red Mountains, pillaging and raiding as they pleased, but ten thousand was what marched north for Elia Martell. Jon Arryn made peace with both them and the Reach because their strength was not yet spent."

"And they will not march to avenge Elia Martell?" questioned Mandon Moore "Renly Baratheon might favor swords to sheathes, but he is unwed, the same as Doran Martell's eldest. A wedding between them, or between Baratheon, Martell and Tyrell would prove dangerous."

"What reason does Dorne have to march for the brother or sons of Robert Baratheon?" Arthas asked. "They will stay out of this, I believe."

"I think perhaps we're missing a critical player," opined Uncle Tyrion as he quaffed from a refreshed goblet. "And that is Stannis Baratheon. Renly made no mention of him, but it has long been known that Stannis maintains his rights to Storm's End. Many houses may be divided in the stormlands, waiting to see what Stannis chooses to do. He does command the largest fleet on the eastern side of Westeros, and is one of the great captains of the realm."

"I cannot see a man like Stannis Baratheon supporting Renly's cause either. He is too honorable," Eddard Stark said. "The Royal Fleet has been his since before Balon Greyjoy struck his banners, and the narrow sea lies in his iron grip. Renly cannot keep a grand army mustered at King's Landing without stripping the Crownlands bare of food. He will either have to gain his older brother's sword, or send both army and fleet to remove the threat he poses to the capital."

Moore snorted. "If it's division you seek, then Prince Arthas is key. He's only a boy, aye, but he is well liked in the south, more than Joffrey or Stannis. He might pull back a few houses from Renly's grasp, especially if we thrash some of Renly's green knights beforehand.

"Either Baratheon will do," Tyrion said. "But Arthas will prove key to recovering King's Landing if a siege takes place. As for Stannis… the only fleet Renly can call upon will be the Redwynes, but they'll have to sail from the Arbor. Doing so will leave them vulnerable to the Ironborn."

"Ironborn?" asked Arthas. Those brutes?

"If I know my father," said Tyrion slowly. "He won't move out of the westerlands in force without sorting them out. Sending them south to pillage the entirety of the Reach without repercussion will keep Casterly Rock safe, and allow our bannermen to muster in strength."

"Balon will not stir from Pyke," Eddard said, steepling his hands. "He might not strike against us with Theon as my ward, but he has no love for Robert or his sons. Ironborn are no strangers to watching the mainland burn itself before striking."

"What good would they be anyway?" Moore asked. "A pack of ill-disciplined reavers unsuited to war on land. I would take savages from the Mountains of the Moon over an Ironborn."

The mountains

Arthas stood up, pacing across Eddard's study. "Uncle Renly seems to believe, for whatever reason, that the Vale will not ride to our aid. We must assume he has good reason to believe this."

"It could be wishful thinking on his part," Tyrion said.

"Would you have launched a coup based on wishful thinking?" Arthas asked, raising a brow at him.

"No," Tyrion admitted, "but Renly is far bolder than I."

"It would be prudent to assume the Vale's neutrality," Eddard said, parceling the words out as if food in a famine.

"The Arryns are kin to the Starks and Tullys. Surely they'd rally at your behest…" said Tyrion, trailing off as he noticed the expression on the Warden of the North's face. "Is there something you're not sharing?"

Eddard frowned. "When the royal procession arrived, my lady wife received a letter from her sister. Lysa claimed the Lannisters had poisoned Jon Arryn."

Tyrion shot up to his feet such that he was standing on his chair, not that it made much difference for his height. "That's preposterous!"

"True or not, it's what Lysa believes," Eddard said.

"And if she believes it, she will not act to aid the Lannisters, or us," Arthas said with a growl of frustration. "It explains why she thought me her enemy the night she fled King's Landing."

The westerlands alone could not overcome Renly's coalition of stormlanders, reachmen, and crownlanders who'd been swayed to his cause, or perhaps had just been bullied into submission. All that remained were the north and the riverlands, and yet…

"This is why he offered me the stormlands," Arthas said. "To bribe me into submission, rather than risk civil war." And through his betrothal to Sansa, Houses Stark and Tully as well. "He's had to have been planning this since he knew of Father's death." Arthas' hands turned into tight balls.

Renly thinks so little of me, Arthas thought. There'd be no honor in accepting this peace, but there would be peace after a quick, brutal humbling of Tywin Lannister. This peace of Renly's would be shorter than Lordaeron's spring, but if Arthas accepted… could the peace hold long enough? Would Renly understand what a threat the White Walkers were?

He'd have to sacrifice his honor, his family, but what were those things worth when weighed against all humanity?

This is why I'm here, Arthas thought, unclenching his fists. This is why I was reborn—to face the enemy they've never faced.

"Where do we go from here?" Tyrion asked. "He may have Lord Stark's daughters, and we know he definitely has the rest of the royal family."

On a map Tyrion had provided of the westerlands were green tokens on the keeps of Crakehall, Cornfield, Deep Den, and Silverhill. Once those already besieged strongholds fell to Lord Mace and his principal bannermen, the interior of the westerlands would be exposed. His grandfather won his wars through speed, and Renly had given himself an insurmountable head start by mobilizing months before anyone had known a war was about to take place.

I need more information. For what was to come, all of Westeros was needed, and Arthas would serve any king who would do what needed to be done.

"I meant to return to the Wall with all my bannermen gathered here," Eddard said, mouth set in a tight line, "but it will have to wait. We must march south, and see what Renly has to say for himself, face to face."

Out of all the kingdoms not aligned with Renly, the north alone had already gathered for war against the "wildlings", and they had done so in force.

"No," Arthas said, shaking his head. "You have the threat beyond the Wall to deal with, Lord Eddard. The strength of the north must remain here, safeguarding your lands and keeping the Wall manned."

Mandon Moore raised his brow at that. "It's like you want to lose this war," he grumbled.

"You speak truly," Eddard said to Arthas, "but I do not intend to leave the north undefended, and refusing to aid Robert's sons… there is dishonor in that as well. I will not abandon you in this, not for anything," he repeated, then leaned into the back of his chair. "I could not abandon my daughters to Renly either. House Stark has no choice but to make a showing at least, in defense of our kin."

"This is not the war your lords gathered to fight," Arthas said.

"No, but they will fight it all the same," Eddard said. "It will not be easy, but I will detach twelve thousand men from those gathered here. It is a fifth of the north's strength, and the costs will be ruinous to the fields before winter. I will have to draw them from the Manderlys, Ryswells, Tallharts, and all those houses furthest from the Wall, as well. But it must be done. Justice must be done."

Arthas nodded reluctantly. It will have to be enough for now.

TheKingIsDead—

It had been two months after Lord Stark had first called his banners at Castle Black when they marched for lands beyond the Neck. Coming to see them off were Lady Catelyn, of course, and Rickon—but Bran Stark, awake and aware on the back of a giant boy, Arthas had not expected.

"Your prayers proved most potent, Prince Arthas," Lady Catelyn said.

Was this… was this the Light answering him?

"However pious my nephew might be, I rather think it's all thanks to the fine work of your maester," Tyrion said. "Luwin, wasn't it?"

"Will he..." Arthas trailed off, glancing at Bran's dangling feet, unsure how to ask the question without appearing insensitive.

"Maester Luwin is hopeful he will learn to walk in time," Catelyn said. "The damage to his legs has healed remarkably well."

Arthas breathed out in relief. "That's… that's good to hear."

"Do you remember anything from the fall, Bran?" Tyrion asked. "Jon Snow told me you're quite the climber, so tell me, how is it you happened to fall that day?"

"I never," Bran insisted, then ducked his head behind his human mount. "I don't remember anything of the fall, or the climb before it." His eyes were locked onto the fallen snow.

"Well, I have a gift for you," Tyrion said, tilting his head. "Do you like to ride?"

"He won't be able to sit a horse while his legs are healing," Catelyn said, frowning.

"And I once was told that dwarfs could not sit low enough to reach the stirrups," Uncle Tyrion said, drawing a roller paper from his belt. "But with the right horse, and the right saddle, it can be done. Here, give this to your saddler. You'll need to shape the horse to him, teach it to respond to the reins and to the voice. An unbroken and untrained yearling would be best for this."

Maester Luwin took the paper from Tyrion's hand, unrolling and studying it with curious eyes. "I see. You draw nicely, my lord. Yes, this ought to work. I should have considered this myself."

"It came easier to me, maester. It is not terribly unlike my own saddles," Tyrion said.

"Will I truly be able to ride?" Bran asked, eyes wide. "I do not have to wait years for my legs to heal?"

"You will," Tyrion said.

"You've done us a kindness, Lord Tyrion," Catelyn said, reassessing the dwarf.

Tyrion shrugged. "Our houses seem set to be fast friends in the coming days. It seemed the least I could offer."

"It's time to go, Uncle Tyrion," Arthas said, but before he turned away, he nodded to Lady Stark. "We'll bring back your daughters safely. I swear it."

For the first time since they returned to Winterfell, Catelyn smiled. "Thank you."

Arthas and Tyrion rode up to join Lord Eddard, while Robb, Grey Wind, and Theon Greyjoy led the vanguard. It was good practice for Robb, and there was little danger to be expected while they remained in the north. Behind them, Winterfell disappeared slowly as the miles stretched on and on, leaving Lady Catelyn and her two sons behind as the Starks in Winterfell.

Robb and Theon were constant companions when he'd stayed at Winterfell, and it remained the case throughout the weeks long march south as riders reached the army with news from nearby lords.

So far, no news had been forthcoming from the Iron Islands, or what their intentions were, though there had been sightings of longships gathering at Lordsport..

"In his rebellion against Robert, Balon Greyjoy gambled that the real was still in disarray," Eddard said as they rode towards Moat Cailin. "I fear the current chaos might be too much temptation for him. I would not put the burden of Theon's fate on Robb." Eddard's face made for a grim visage. "No, if Theon is to die, it will be by my hands. We do not have headsmen in the north. It is not our way."

"Why?" Arthas asked.

"The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Eddard said to him. "It is no small thing to take a man's life. Leave that burden to someone else, and soon enough, you shall think little of life itself. Yet, great lord or smallfolk, all of us have just the one life to live. Take that away, and neither gold, nor anything worldly will bring them comfort in the Stranger's arms."

Arthas had lived two lives now, but he doubted anyone was as blessed or cursed as he was. "But what if you cannot bear to take their life?"

"If you look into a man's eyes and hear their words, yet cannot bear to swing the sword, then perhaps it was not the man in the wrong, but your judgment," Eddard said.

"What of the law then?" Arthas asked.

"The law," Eddard said, "is made by men, and all men are flawed. Does it not stand to reason that laws may be flawed as well? They guide us, help govern us, but it would be a mistake to think laws an absolute truth. Life is too messy for that."

"I've heard it said in the north," Tyrion said upon his pale palfrey, "that a man who grievously wounds his neighbor's cow, or steals it, or otherwise deprives a family of it's milk ought to be put to death."

"To steal or kill a cow in winter could be the death of whole families," Eddard said, tilting his head towards the farmers in the distance gathering up the last of their turnip harvest. There was much butchering and salting and smoking of meats too, all in preparation for the coming change in season when forage would be few and far between. "Gold can be paid during summer perhaps, but in winter, gold is more plentiful than food."

They came upon the great blocks of black basalt at last. Half sunk in the ground and with its keep rotting away, Arthas could still see what a great stronghold this ruin once was. There were only three towers that stood, covered in green moss and white, but Arthas counted foundations for fifteen towers at least.

"It has only three towers," Arthas said.

The largest of the three towers was called the Gatehouse Tower according to Robb. It was squat, wide, and straight like a soldier's back, with a few feet of standing wall to either side of it. The second was the Children's Tower, a tall and slender thing in comparison. Half its crenellations were gone, as if some great beast had taken a bite off the tower top and spat the rubble across the bog. Robb Stark recalled aloud that the children of the forest had once called on the old gods to hammer the neck with water, like they had to the Arm of Dorne. Off in the bog where the south and west walls had once met, it was plain to Arthas why its name was what it was. It leaned just so it shared a likeness with men in the small hours before dawn, puking into the gutters of King's Landing.

"Aye, three towers, but they command the causeway from all sides. To assault any of them would force men into water up to their chests, and a moat of hungry lizard-lions," Eddard said. "They're voracious enough to eat a man grown, nevermind a boy or a man of your stature, Lord Tyrion. All the while, they'll face fire from archers in the other towers." His smile turned from kind to grim. "In the night, cold spirits and vengeful ghosts roam these lands, hungry for southron blood."

Banshees? Arthas thought.

"Grumpkins and snarks," Tyrion said cheerily, before adding. "Leaving all that aside, it's not much to look at, is it?"

"Looks can be deceiving." Eddard smiled kindly at the dwarf. "Men see it and do not pay it much thought, but these bogs are impenetrable, full of quicksands and suckholes, teeming with snakes."

As the army made to decamp, banners of the crowned stag and the direwolf were hosted on the Gatehouse Tower, with the Stark sigil only slightly lower. The Children's Tower was draped with the horsehead, while the Drunkard's Tower was clothed in the white merman with trident in hand, rising from a blue-green sea.

The Manderlys were led by fat men, and the Ryswells by quarrelsome brothers, but both made up the largest components of the elite northern cavalry marching with them, so naturally they'd been given the honor of claiming the two towers that Arthas and Eddard hadn't made their seat.

As they watched men make camp below before sunset, Robb Stark would point out banners one by one, and the men they represented. There walked the axemen of Cerwyn, and by the grasslands to the north of them were Ryswell steeds; Tallhart archers and Dustin harberds and Hornwood spears.

Robb pointed his finger towards a swaggering youth who was ugly despite the fineries he was draped in. "And I suppose that's Lord Bolton's bastard."

"Lord Roose believes himself to be of better use at the Wall," Eddard said, "but he has not neglected to send men with us; six hundred men led by his natural born son."

"I do not see Lord Reed yet," Arthas said. He remembered their sigil as a black lizard-lion swimming in a bog green as those in the Neck. "Will he join us when we cross through the marshlands?"

Eddard smiled and nodded. "Aye, that he will. His men are fleet of foot and quick-witted. You could not ask for finer scouts, Your Grace." After a pause, he added, "It's good that you remember him. A sharp memory is a cheap price for the love of lesser lords."

They'd not yet declared to the lords their intent, but Arthas was not deaf to the growing clamor in camp to see him proclaimed king over Joffrey. He was betrothed to their Lord Paramount's daughter after all, and many lords thought of the honors the north would be showered in if Arthas sat the Iron Throne when the dust settled. Yet, there were also those who rightly pointed out that a second son could not inherit over the first, and to do so would set a dangerous precedent.

If Renly had any wits to go with his boldness, he'd know keeping Joffrey a live prisoner did more for his cause than any execution could ever hope to achieve.

Eddard walked over to the massive curved table of dark stone where they'd host the lords of the north. On it was a map of the riverlands, and some letters from Lord Edmure Tully sent to his sister, Lady Catelyn, who'd then had them hurried after them by sending ravens to the closest holdfast and bridging the rest of the distance with men on swift stallions.

"Last we've heard," Eddard said, pointing at a stretch of land between Blackwater Rush and the Red Fork of the Trident, "Edmure Tully and his bannermen gather at Acorn Hall, while Lords Vance and Smallwood have made for Stoney Sept to fortify it against any crossing by the Tyrells."

"Uncle Edmure?" Robb asked. "Not Grandfather?"

The corners of Eddard's lips fell, as if a heavy weight were dragging them down. "Your Grandfather is indisposed. Edmure leads the river lords in his place."

Arthas considered the map. It was an odd choice of place to gather men in, far from the kingsroad. Did the Tullys not intend to join up with them? "Does he intend to march east and meet us at Harrenhal or Darry?"

"In the absence of orders," Eddard said, "Edmure has seen to the safety of his own people. He fears the Tyrells might put the southern riverland keeps to siege and pillage the countryside as they do to the westerlands now. He plans to have his host check any advance north."

Acorn's Hall was not a bad choice if that was Edmure's goal. Not too far north from Stoney Sept, which sat along the headwaters of the Blackwater Rush, and if Lord Tyrell forded that river further east, the riverlords could still march quickly enough to intercept them before the fertile interior of their region was burned.

"He's left the riverlands open from any advance along the kingsroad though," Robb said.

"He has," Eddard said, tipping his head, "but if he tries to hold both approaches, he shall have not enough men to hold either in truth. The Riverlands's strength is that armies of great sizes cannot easily move through it's great rivers and many tributaries, and it's weakness that smaller raiding parties can often raid in impunity. Renly Baratheon will not sully his personage just yet by ordering the latter, not when he still hopes for all of us to bend the knee amicably. With that in mind, I suspect Edmure hopes we will march with all haste down the kingsroad and fortify Harrenhal before Renly can."

"We ought to move quickly then," Arthas said. The last thing he wanted was for such a senseless war to claim more people, living people desperately needed for the true war about to come. "What of my grandfather? Has he sent any word?"

"He intends to fight, that much is clear from his letters, and he urges all true and loyal lords to uphold the claim of his grandchildren. Yet, he has not said what he plans to do or how he will march," Eddard said. "What do you two believe he intends?"

It sounded like a test, not a question, so neither of them replied immediately. Then, at last, Robb said, "Lord Tywin is in a difficult position. He must take back King's Landing, yet he must see to his lands as well, or the westerlords would rebel at the thought of leaving their own keeps to be sacked."

Eddard nodded. "A lord who cannot defend his lands is not a lord, just as a king who cannot defend the realm is not a king."

"King's Landing is already in Renly's hands, and no doubt he has many men to guard it," Arthas said. "It will not be so easily won back. As you said, it would be a mistake to rush into things."

Eddard's smile was slight, but it warmed Arthas to the core.

TheKingIsDead—

Lord Eddard had ordered some five hundred men, mostly archers with some spearmen, to hold Moat Cailin and secure their line of reinforcement and retreat. Then, they'd marched the rest of their host through the Neck. Without a damnable wheelhouse to slow them down and Lord Reed's crannogmen guiding them from the start, they crossed it in three days instead of twelve.

Freed from the constraints the Neck put on it, the kingsroad widened and led them through verdant valleys and fertile woodlands, past pious, thriving towns with septs and the stout castles of the river lords.

Edmure Tully had not completely forgotten them it seemed, for many knightly houses sworn to Riverrun flocked to their banners as they passed. Even Lord Frey, to Eddard's surprise, had sent forth a small army birthed from his own loins by the number of men bearing his surname.

It seemed all too easy so far, and their first hint of opposition was across a tributary of the Green Fork stretching towards the Vale of Arryn, north of the Ruby Ford. There were a hundred of them camped, knights in untarnished silver armor with maces, mauls and murderous skill. They seemed taken by surprise, but not displeased despite the Baratheon stag they flew or that they'd come from King's Landing.

Are these men not sworn to Renly? Arthas thought as he rode out with an honor guard and a flag of parley. At the head of this small host was a tall, thin man with a stern face, and Arthas recognized that stormlander.

"Is that you, Ser Bonifer?" Arthas called out.

The old knight nodded, bowing in his saddle in greeting. "Aye, Your Grace. We find each other in troubled times, I fear. Lord Stannis has branded you a spawn of incest, and knights in King's Landing swearing vows to bring you back to Lord Renly in chains

"You bring ill news," Eddard said with a frown. "News from the south has been slow of late."

"Lord Stannis has crowned himself at Dragonstone," Bonifer said. "His fleet has blockaded the capital for weeks now."

"You're two uncles grasping for Joffrey's crown," Tyrion japed. "You ought to lock me up before I do the same!"

"Knights swearing to bring me back in chains?" Arthas asked. "Do your holy Hundred count among them?"

Ser Bonifer Hasty was a known name in the stormlands, an aged knight well loved by septons and smallfolk. He had fought in the Rebellion directly under Robert Baratheon, who had honored him after the war with a generous stipend. With that stipend, Bonifer had formed the Holy Hundred as a pious brotherhood of errant knights. He had spent many years hunting bandits and outlaws, far away from the halls of power that courtiers felt comfortable mocking the old, balding man. Even Joffrey had mocked him as a mad old man, tilting at begging brothers.

Never Arthas, however. Arthas knew better than to discount the fiery sincerity of old knights.

"My enemies are the enemies of House Baratheon." Ser Bonifer drew his sword, and so did the hundred holy knights with him. "Stannis slanders your good name, all the while cavorting with foreign priests in worship of eastern demons."

So it is Renly, Arthas thought.

"And Renly," Bonifer said, face not unlike a scolding septa's, "seized the throne before Robert's body is even buried. He is all smiles and pleasantries, but before me stands a trueborn, pious son of King Robert." Bonifer dismounted and knelt. "The Holy Hundred fights for you Prince Arthas. You and no one else."

Arthas looked to Eddard with uncertainty, only dismounting at his nod. "Rise, Ser Bonifer. You and your men do me great honor coming to our cause unbidden."

Ser Bonifer smiled as he stood. "I have brought more than that."

The knights stepped aside to let an old man in brown robes through, and besides him a skinny girl, plain and with a long face. A blur of grey fur bolted towards them.

"Nymeria," Robb whispered, rushing forward as his wolf and his sister's danced around each other playfully. "Arya!"

"Robb! Father!" Arya Stark cried, flinging herself into the arms of her brother. They held each other for a long while, and there was no mistaking the look of relief in Eddard's eyes.

As for the old man, it was hard not to know him even without the white cloak.

It was Barristan the Bold, standing as tall as any Knight of the Silver Hand.

"I was stripped of the white cloak, my prince," Barristan said solemnly. "Soon after word came of King Robert's death, the Queen Mother sought to have me replaced by Ser Jaime at once, while we were near Stokeworth. I was… honorably dismissed, insomuch as there was honor in the unprecedented. I'd thought at least to return north and accompany King Robert's body one last time, and it was on the road that Ser Bonifer found me."

"My sister could at least have had the decency to wait until you were in King's Landing," Tyrion said. "If she did, she might have escaped that city still with a sword as skilled as Ser Barristan's."

"It is not my mother's place to dismiss a Kingsguard," Arthas said, appalled. "That is the king's prerogative, and the king's alone."

"She would not be moved on the matter," Barristan said, dipping his head. "Neither would King Joffrey." His eyes landed on Mandon. "They dismissed you as well, Ser Mandon, and gave your cloak to the Hound as they gave my office to Ser Jaime, for all the good that did them. Joffrey was furious his father had died on your watch, and on mine by virtue of being Lord Commander."

"What!" Mandom growled. "The Hound is not even a knight!"

"Peace, my friends and faithful men," Arthas said, raising a hand. "Nothing is final yet. Joffrey can be convinced otherwise, especially with leal service."

Where Barristan bowed in response, Moore only looked uncertain.

"What of Sansa?" Eddard asked. "Is she with you?"

Bonifer shook his head. "I do not know how Littlefinger managed it, but he snuck out Lady Arya from the city after Renly had taken her prisoner. It was he who convinced us to rally to your side, Prince Arthas, before he disappeared. As for Lady Sansa… we know not what fate befell her. I apologize, Lord Stark."

"Do not be sorry. I started this day with two daughters taken from me," Eddard said. "I at least end it with one returned to me. For that you and Lord Baelish—wherever he is—have my utmost thanks."

TheKingIsDead—

When they reached Darry, it was at the head of an army twenty thousand strong; the north's heavy horse rode besides river lords, hedge knights, and Ser Bonifer's Holy Hundred, while Flint spears, Bolton men-at-arms, and Frey halberds marched one after the other in a long snaking column of steel. Lord Raymun Darry and his son Lyman had made up the last of the army, with broad shouldered men in chainmail hauberk that glittered under the sun and nimble horses to scout and skirmish alongside the crannogmen.

"We ought to reinforce the garrison at Harrenhal first," Lord Raymun said during their first war council, held beneath an afternoon sun. "Lady Shella is old, and the last of her line. The fief of House Whent has declined severely under her; when I last visited, her household could only use the lower third of two towers when they'd once filled five."

"When the dragons still ruled," muttered Lord Manderly in a low, dark tone. If he was heard, he was politely ignored.

"Have we any clue where Renly is?" Arthas asked.

"He was still in King's Landing last I saw," Bonifer said. "There were some fifty thousand men securing castles close to the capital, with maybe twenty thousand being stormlanders. The Rosbys, Stokeworths, and Hayfords have all sworn themselves to his cause as a result."

Arthas frowned. He'd hoped the Hayford betrothal to Tyrek would keep them neutral at least, but with an army at their gates demanding fealty and a babe as the ruling lady, it was hard not to see why the garrison had bent the knee.

"That's another five thousand men," Eddard said.

The Reach alone could field at least seventy thousand swords quickly, and it had been a long, bountiful summer… perhaps the Tyrells could raise more than a hundred thousand swords now if the Reach did not fall to infighting, while the stormlands could raise another thirty thousand. Most of House Tyrell's strength was keeping the castles of the westerlands invested under Lords Rowan and Tarly, but where were the stormlords in all this? "He ought to have much more stormlanders than that," Arthas said. "Have they joined Stannis' cause instead?"

"I doubt any of them would prefer Stannis to yourself once they hear of the heathens who've defiled Dragonstone," Bonifer said. "No, not all the stormlords are pleased with Renly's cause, especially the proud marcher lords like the Swanns, Carons, and Dondarrions. It would not surprise me if they held back a good portion of their strength to keep an eye on the Dornish." Bonifer tilted his head.

"I don't suppose seizing the throne before Robert's body was even found has made him popular," Tyrion said, "Joffrey has not had much chance to exercise power either. There might be some already sworn to Renly who might rise up if we make a good showing of it."

Arthas frowned, and tapped his fingers against the table. "They've not risen for Joffrey yet."

"No," Tyrion agreed with a grin, "but given time, and an offer of clemency… we might break Renly's grip on his own host."

"What is the situation in King's Landing?" Eddard asked.

But before anyone could answer, a crannogman rushed in and bowed. "Prince Arthas, Lord Eddard, my lords, our scouts have spotted a force moving up the kingsroad. They're led by a knight bearing three golden roses on a field of green."

"Golden roses on a field of green? That can only be a Tyrell," Tyrion said. "Three roses means the third son."

"Renly's Lord Commander then," Bonifer said. "It is Loras Tyrell."