Title Quote:
"Fat? Fat, is it? Is that how you speak to your king? Ah, damn you, Ned, why are you always right?"
Robert Baratheon, A Game of Thrones
Notes #1
I rarely tend to give notes before the chapter besides the quote. Still, this time...
This chapter may lose me the odd reader. Or it may gain me some. You know who I'm talking about.
I regret nothing.
(Also, review response moved to the bottom)
They had left Riverrun in a hurry, his father leading their procession. Brandon was still processing what had happened back there, at the training yard of the Tully castle with his betrothed Catelyn. Former betrothed. The appellation left Brandon morose where it would have made him ecstatic not a moon past. But then, nothing ever was quite like a moon past.
The whole trip from King's Landing Brandon had been trying to come to terms with his new position, his new fate. Brandon had never disliked Catelyn Tully, at least after he had met her the first time. She was an awfully boring woman, but then again, awfully exciting woman could rarely hope to be betrothed to the heir of a high lord. Or, in general, pass as dutiful southron noble ladies. No, Brandon preferred a wild Northern lass any day to sate the wolf in his blood.
Brandon felt his thoughts drifting again, back to those blessed days with Barbrey. They did what they wanted together, and they enjoyed doing it together. Riding and hunting, crossing the wide wild plains, chasing the sun. Barbrey was better archer than Brandon himself, and she was a vision with a bow on horseback. And the sex! Barbrey had enjoyed fucking, too, once she had been initiated.
Then, when Brandon had first stood in his father's solar to ask for the right to wed Barbrey, before Brandon could even speak, Lord Rickard Stark had given the death knell to Brandon's foolish dream. My son, I have arranged a betrothal for you with the eldest daughter of Hoster Tully of Riverrun.
Brandon had run. Run from his father, run from this unknown intruder threatening Brandon's happiness, run from his own powerlessness. And oh, how Brandon had hated her. Catelyn Tully. Brandon had tried to sway his father, at first. But when Brandon's plea had been denied, his hate for Catelyn Tully grew. Brandon had held his Barbrey as she cried, and his hatred grew. Brandon had traded letters with Catelyn, proper and courteous and noble, and his hatred grew.
And then Brandon had met Catelyn, and she was just so... Happy. Kind. Nice. And Brandon's hatred withered.
But Catelyn was not Barbrey. And Brandon hated that, even as he did not hate Catelyn anymore. He simply could not love her.
In those early days of his betrothal when Brandon was still hopeful, he did not bed another beside Barbrey. When Brandon still had hope. And then Barbrey's father had started looking to betroth his Barbrey, Brandon's Barbrey, to someone else. Anyone else, because Barbrey was sullied goods.
Then, there, Brandon did not know what to do. Brandon only knew he was hurting. And the only one Brandon could blame was himself. Himself, and Barbrey's father. Lord Ragnar Ryswell forbade Barbrey and Brandon from meeting, to not jeopardize Barbrey's chance for a good marriage even more.
They continued meeting in secret, of course. But after a time, Lord Ryswell caught on, and set about making clandestine meetings for Brandon and Barbrey impossible. Barbrey's father finally managed to separate the two by keeping Barbrey under constant guard and giving her a permanent armed escort. And all Brandon wanted to do was spite Ragnar Ryswell.
Barbrey was lost to Brandon, and Catelyn was boring him endlessly, despite being happy and kind and nice. And when Brandon was bored, and when Brandon was calm, and when Brandon was comfortable, he thought of Barbrey.
Barbrey, who was probably bored and calm and comfortable herself. Barbrey, who was probably betrothed already. Barbrey, who maybe also sought comfort in the arms of another.
Drinks helped; Brandon had found out. Fighting, too. But most of all, women helped. Nobles, commons, bastards, and whores. Brandon did not have to think with a woman in his arms. Just do. No thoughts of Barbrey. The Wild Wolf, as everyone knew Brandon now, had been born.
It had almost been a haze, Brandon recognized after. A long hazy dream since Barbrey had been lost to him. Like being thrown into the Long Lake in an ice hole, Brandon had woken up with a start on the way back from the capital.
Brandon had almost caused his own death. His friends' death. His father's death. Brandon had been, as his father had shown him, callous.
"What has gotten you brooding in such a somber mood, brother? That does not fit you, Brandon. You're not me."
Ned rode up to Brandon's side. His little brother had been different when they had met again, after years at the Eyrie. Brandon still remembered stealing a march on Ned to get a dance for the Quiet Wolf with Ashara Dayne first. To snatch the Dornish lady after, when Ned had inevitably failed at keeping her attention. Shy, Brandon had described Ned as.
Brandon had lied back then. Ned had not been shy. Quiet, yes, withdrawn, yes, but shy? No, Ned had a confidence to him that he kept to himself, that did not need the validation of others. It was something that took Brandon time to realize.
However, that quiet confidence made Ned popular with anyone that took the effort to get to know him. A pool of calm wherever he went. In balance with himself. And then Ned had gotten the girl he wanted. Some people had just their life handed to them.
"I'm just. I do not know, Ned. I had come to terms that this would be my life. Married to Catelyn. Probably banished from Winterfell when you took over, tending to my wife's lands in the North. And I have recognized that not so long ago, my future looked bleaker than that."
Brandon would have liked to be left alone with that, but Ned did not grant him even that.
"Brandon, for what it's worth, I never wanted to rule the North after father. Shara and I, we wanted to see the world together. The Wall to Dorne, then up the western coast of Essos. Afterwards, a restored keep, maybe. A family. The last part, family, that is what remains of our dream. And you are part of that family, Brandon. Despite all.
"I do not want to banish you from Winterfell. Ashara will never love you, true, but you will have a place at my hearth, Brandon. Just don't…
"I want the brother back that I left behind when I left for the Vale. The one that played the monster when I protected maiden Lya. Not the monster that plays a human I met at Harrenhal."
It was hard to stay mad at Ned when he was so earnest and reasonable. Of course, Brandon's anger did not just dissipate. It just lacked any purpose, then. There was not much anyone could say against those words.
"Aye. I'd like that."
Brandon could not believe how soft his voice had gotten. Heir, that had not just been Brandon's calling. It had been his dream. Lord of Winterfell, with Barbrey at his side. His dream. Not Ned's.
"Speaking of family", Ned started up again, "Ashara is going to be your sister-in-law."
Ned was silent after that declaration, hard and unforgiving. Brandon reeled at the news.
"Father agreed to that?" Brandon could not keep the anger out of his voice entirely. And though Brandon's ire was with their father, Ned seemed to take it personally. "Yes, Brandon. Or what is it? Do you think Ashara is not a worthy wife to the heir of Winterfell? Because then I might regret curbing her enthusiasm when we were writing your confession. You are not using the most vicious version yet, did you know?"
Brandon had to wince at that. The confession was terrible for Brandon already. Especially seeing that wherever they rode, people seemed to really enjoy hearing it. Brandon definitely did not want Ashara Dayne to get even more explicit with the wording. Ned tried to turn his horse away and ride off at that, but Brandon was quick to interject.
"Wait, Ned! I am not-. I am not angry that you and Ashara are getting married. It is just. I once asked father to marry the woman I loved. Love. He… did not allow my request."
Honestly, that was rather large an understatement of Rickard Stark's denial to Brandon's plea. Ned halted at Brandon's words, though. There was a flash of pity on Ned's face, and Brandon knew that father had told Ned. That hurt.
But at least Ned did not leave. And Brandon had been wanting to talk with Ned, alone. But until now Brandon's brother had not cared much for Brandon's company. And Brandon could understand that, still… Better to talk of something aside from Ashara, first.
"It's just, the Daynes are not the largest house. And Dorne is far, Ned. I am happy for you, Ned. Or, at least I try to be, truly. It is just, I had figured you to be slated for the daughter of a more influential family. I thought maybe for Cersei Lannister; you guys did enter the Lannister camp yesterday when we got here, after all."
There was another look to Ned at the mention of Cersei Lannister, but Brandon was not sure how to read it. There was pity mixed in, though it was not directed at Brandon this time. The look was gone fast enough as Ned's eyes returned to ponds of silver before he answered.
"No, Brandon, I am not going to marry Cersei. In fact, Ashara and I sent the raven for Starfall from Riverrun today, with father's blessing. We took some letters from the rookery, too. A few lords sent their correspondence to father there, from all over the realm, actually.
"We just came down the tower when we saw the spar between Lord Tygett and the Blackfish at the training yard, so we went to saddle our horses."
Wait. Brandon stilled at that. Something did not fit. Went to saddle our horses. The timing did not match. Why did they saddle the horses when the spar was still -. Oh.
"How did you know?"
Ned turned towards Brandon to find his brother's eyes burning into Ned's skull. It must have been the voice that caught Ned's attention, low and tense. Ned stayed silent for a second; not questioning what Brandon was talking about.
"Brother", Ned finally replied after an eternal second, "Hoster had all but condemned you to death in King's Landing. Father faced Aerys for you. Did you really honestly believe Father would saddle you with Hoster Tully as your father-in-law?"
"You know, "Brandon's voice did not rise above a whisper as he spoke, "I think I could have come to like her. You have not seen her when it happened, when she cried over our broken betrothal. Over her broken sister. Over her broken family. Catelyn Tully would have made a great addition to the family. I think she'd been a good mother to my children."
"I agree. Just not a useful family addition for father. For what it is worth, I pity all the Tullys but Hoster."
Useful? Useful?! Brandon remembered, then. What can your marriage to Barbrey offer me, offer us? And Brandon grew angry. Not in the usual way, no, this was not a hot rage. This was a cold fury. But cold or hot, anger demanded an outlet.
"Well," Brandon drawled, knowing the words to come to be a mistake, yet uncaring, "I am awfully glad then, that beside you father also managed to find use in lovely Ashara."
"I see talking to you has been foolish idea, brother. I'd rather we did not speak again too soon, Brandon", Ned said, his voice steel and his tone venom, "I should have listened to my beloved betrothed."
And Brandon's brother left with that last sting. But Brandon did not mind the scorn. No. The cold anger helped Brandon focus as he silently went through the event at Riverrun once more. Lived the event once more.
It all made such perfect sense. Why then, did Brandon feel so empty? Brandon did not love Catelyn Tully; Brandon did not even particularly like her. Did he feel responsible for her plight? Was it guilt? Brandon did not know the answers, so silent he remained.
Not even a mile away from the gates of Riverrun did Brandon approach his father. Solitary at the helm, Rickard Stark looked almost serene. The tense expression and scrunch of his shoulders present at Riverrun had not left a single trace on Brandon's father. Rickard Stark had returned to his usual effortless noble bearing.
It had not entirely clicked until then. Despite Ned telling him so, despite the fact that Brandon should have expected something like this from his father, that this had been a ploy. Rickard Stark always did get what he wanted, just as Brandon had seen this past moon. Today was no different. But now Brandon knew it to be truth.
"You goaded Tully to break the betrothal."
It was not a question. Brandon did not ask as he spoke. It was a statement, an accusation.
"You lied to me."
Father had lied to him. Lied to Brandon since they left the capital, since Brandon's world had fallen apart piece by piece.
"Yes, son. Your reaction needed to be genuine."
The utter calm in father's voice left almost extinguished any fury Brandon felt. As if it did not matter.
"But why?"
And Brandon hated that he almost sounded desperate.
"Because for the lords' opinion to fall entirely in our favor and for them to continue to underestimate us as uncouth Northern savages, we needed to be caught off guard when Hoster put his ambition above his honor and broke your betrothal in a manner that was both public and incredibly detrimental to his reputation."
Which sounded great on paper, but a meeting in the private quarters was hardly public. Brandon saw the dots, saw the line, but for confirmation…
"But you talked in the privacy of Hoster Tully's solar, until – "
"Until I shattered the window to the training yard below with the next best object on hand and screamed at Hoster for all the lords in attendance to hear me. Lords in attendance that I had all orchestrated to be at the right place at the right time to listen to the beginning of Hoster's end.
"I set up Quellon Greyjoy to spar with Jason Mallister, and Jeffory Mallister to bring all the attending heirs to the yard. I asked Lady Whent in the morning to have her son train his cousin Edmure, and to bring to the gallery all the ladies Lady Whent and her daughter Linia could gather. I asked Tygett Lannister to spar with the Blackfish to draw even more a crowd, and I asked Tygett's siblings to bring all important Riverlords to the yard within ten minutes of our arrival."
"… and then Ned and Ashara came and informed Catelyn and me that Catelyn's uncle was sparring with the field commander of the Lannisters, knowing I would immediately want to see it. I did not even think about it when the two of them left to somewhere else."
"Yes, Brandon, Ned did help me a lot these last few days. I would have liked it if that could have been you. Maybe in another life it could have been. But then again, maybe in another life I would have burned trying to save you while you suffocated trying to save me. But there are no what ifs."
At that, Brandon felt lost. Brandon was coming to terms with what he was not anymore, heir, betrothed, popular; however, Brandon did not know what he was supposed to be instead.
"What is to become of me now, father?"
Rickard Stark looked at Brandon, truly looked at him. Contemplative, yes, but not resigned.
"I don't yet know for certain, Brandon. Lady Whent offered her daughter's hand for you earlier today. As well as her own hand in marriage to me, I might add. I declined, but I expect her to visit later today. If she is smart, she will not show too much anger. The Riverlands will burn, a useful alliance here would be advantageous. She will probably try to press her suit again.
"However, the Lady Whent implied she could easily do away with her husband if I took her as a bride, and I do not intend to let such a blood sucking bat into our castle. Few lords that cherish their daughters will offer them as your reputation spreads. I'd be cautious of those that do."
His father's words that followed almost stopped Brandon's heart.
"If your Barbrey was still looking to take you, I might not object, but her father Lord Ryswell will not be as eager anymore, now that you're disinherited. And you know she has been betrothed to the heir of Lord Dustin, interfering too much in such private affairs carries risks for a liege lord.
"However, I have been looking for a way to punish both the Dustins and the Ryswells for their failures in raising you. On the other hand, any legitimate children you may have can someday pose a threat to Ned's own children. Especially if you have a Northern bride from a family as ambitious as the Ryswells.
"The whole situation would also antagonize two important bannermen where so far only one has been wroth with us. Lord Dustin's failures in regard to you should be addressed separately anyways, and concessions will smooth relations over at a minimal cost. And without the Dustins firm backing Lord Ryswell will be more afraid of my ire than I am of his. Even Ragnar's new alliance with the Boltons will not suffice in that regard."
It was a bitter pill to swallow. The truth hurt. Brandon would prefer to prevent that future from happening. The North did have its own tales of succession crises. Cregan's sons. The Greystarks. Sygerrik Serpenttongue. Brandon did not want to be the cause for more strife for House Stark. In the end Brandon saw only one solution, though he was loath to speak it.
"Father. I can take the black. Send me to the Wall."
Rickard looked at Brandon incredibly conflicted. Emotions warred in his eyes before Rickard spoke again.
"I cannot", Rickard said, his voice almost broken.
"But why?", Brandon said, in turn suppressing a shout. Brandon had offered the biggest sacrifice he could think of just then.
Rickard Stark looked out over the road before he spoke, but his eyes did not return towards his eldest.
"When we met Ned at Darry, he sat me down the first dusk and pleaded me not to send you to the Wall. I was not going to, but he could not know that. I had told him before about the plans I had made for Hoster, he knew he would never have to take your place and marry Catelyn Tully. Still, your brother came to me, despite what you did to him, Brandon.
"When I ask for the reason why, Ned proved to me that he would be a better Lord of Winterfell than you ever could. I am not saying this to make you angry, Brandon. But tell me, do you remember what your excuse was for your foolhardiness in storming the capital?"
"I said I wanted to protect the pact", Brandon all but whispered as he spoke. "What did Ned say? Did he ask because I was pack? To look after me, to safe me from the indignity of serving with rapists and murderers?"
His father once more looked at Brandon, a sliver of disappointment again shining in his eyes. It still hurt.
"No. Ned spoke of Benjen. Your youngest brother will now have to marry. We will need the extra alliance in the war to come. You crushed Benjen's dream of joining the honorable order of the Night's Watch.
"Brandon, I cannot punish you by giving you the one thing Benjen yearns for and in turn take the Wall away from Benjen at the same time. All those changes because of your folly. Eddard saw that. I hoped you would have seen it, too."
With those words Brandon's father spurred his horse on and left Brandon behind in thought. In that moment Brandon realized that he did not know his brother Eddard. The dutiful one, when they were young. The caring one. The quiet one. All those traits still applied to Ned, even as the last one had come to define him in the eyes of Westeros. Eddard Stark, the Quiet Wolf.
Ned was not just quiet, even if that was the first thing everyone could agree on after meeting him. The realm was quiet about Ned, too. Brandon tried to look at Ned as if he had not grown up beside him for eight years when they were children, to compare his own and Ned's reputation in the eyes of others.
The Wild Wolf, him. Vivacious, charming, unrestrained, and easy to befriend. Never shy, not prone to wait. Emotions so overflowing that Brandon burst into bouts of fighting or fucking, whatever he desired. People flocked to him. Men befriended him. Women desired him.
Over the ride Brandon had had plenty of time to analyze his own behavior a little. After he had asked his friends what they thought. His former friends. They surprised him, Ethan even opening up to Brandon a little again, as did Kyle.
And they agreed with Brandon's assessment of himself. But then they added to it, and Brandon could not refute. He was whimsical. Egoistic. Volatile. Lacking restraint and easily manipulated. Cruel at times when he did not need to, like a child that did not get what he wants. The last one had been supplied by Ashara.
His brother had only allowed Brandon to talk with her after Ned had stripped Brandon of all weapons and sat himself to sharpen his own blade behind Brandon. Then, Brandon had tried to apologize, but the Dornishwoman had only laughed and told Brandon to return only when he actually realized what he had done wrong. That had stung.
Brandon's brother, though, Eddard was a mystery in comparison to Brandon. All that people knew of Ned was that he was quiet. And, apparently, a great poet. The last was a recent addition to Ned's reputation. Little was known about Eddard Stark elsewise. Foster-son of Jon Arryn, foster-brother and best friend of Robert Baratheon. Fighting prowess unknown. Cunning and honor unknown. Politics and strategies a mystery.
Oh, Eddard had kept in touch with letters from the Eyrie, but despite a certain eloquence to his writing, most of Ned's letters had been filled with anecdotes of how Robert got the two of them in trouble, and about how Ned had to take the reins to mitigate the disaster that inevitably followed.
Brandon decided he would have a drink with his brother and get to know Ned again; today. Despite their last separation. Maybe Brandon could even set a few things right again.
So, that is what Brandon did. Around noon their entire party had relocated to an inn maybe ten to fifteen miles out from Riverrun and occupied the whole building. The topmost floor was reserved for the nobles in their host, and there were not enough rooms in the whole inn for the men at arms, but it was a vast improvement over the usual camps they spent their nights in on the road.
Standing before his brother's door Brandon sharply knocked and called out to Ned:
"Ned, it's Brandon. Can we talk for a little?"
There was a short bout of silence before an answer came.
"I do not want to talk with you right now, Brandon."
Despite expecting Ned's answer in light of the way they had last parted; Brandon could not help the small emotional sting he felt at the words. At the dispassionate way Ned said them. However, Brandon knew that he and Ned needed to talk again, to reconnect. Taking heart Brandon reached for the doorknob and started to repeat his intention, first by apologizing.
"Ned, I am sorry for the words I said earlier, but I would like to -."
Ashara sat straddling Ned on the divan in an almost transparent shift. Brandon should not have opened that door, he realized in that moment. Ned's fingers hovered over the silk on Ashara's thighs, but his eyes were on Brandon and Ned's stare was murderous. Brandon could see Ashara's back tremble. Brandon felt as frozen in the doorstep as he saw Ned take a cape off Ned's chair and throw it over Ashara to shield the woman view.
"Close. The fucking. Door!"
Brandon snapped out of his trance, snapping the door shut immediately. However, Ned seemed not an ounce happier.
"Why are you still in my room, Brandon?"
Oh. Right. That was why. Of course, Ned had wanted Brandon to close the door behind him as he left.
"Wait", Brandon heard Ned say behind himself as Brandon made to exit. Turning around Brandon still only saw Ashara's back, though it was now cloaked, and a furious Ned. Ashara had pressed her head into the crook of Ned's neck and apparently whispered something to her lover,
"Sit", Ned commanded Brandon, and like before Ned's tone brooked no argument. So, Brandon complied. Brandon felt really uncomfortable, but Brandon complied. Brandon sat himself on a small stool at a side table positioned on the wall right next to the door. Neither Ned nor Ashara moved from their place by even a fraction of an inch.
Silence filled the space between the two Stark brothers. Ned was still looking straight at Brandon, Ned's stare hard and unforgiving. Brandon, on the other hand, did his best to look anywhere but at Ned, and Ashara on his lap.
After Brandon's eyes had roamed the emptiness for a second, they focused on a pitcher of wine not an arm's length from the side table. Swiftly taking the carafe and the cup beside it, Brandon poured himself a cup and drank deep. Ugh. Sour Dornish red.
"You barged in here to talk to me, Brandon", Ned said suddenly, drawing Brandon's attention back towards Ned, and Ashara on Ned's lap, "so. Talk."
Brandon took a second sip – it was actually a rather large gulp of wine – to regard the couple in front of him, and he could not find any words to talk. So they sat there: Brandon looking anywhere but at the couple. Ned looking at Brandon with eyes screaming bloody murder. Ashara ignoring everything but Ned. Brandon had never felt as uncomfortable.
"Brandon. Shara might be happy to ignore your existence entirely right now, but I do care that you barged into here. You better get to the point you came here for, instead of simply staring holes into the air. There is stuff I want to do right now that I would really prefer privacy for."
It was not that Brandon did not understand where Ned was coming from, but that did not change anything about the discomfort Brandon was feeling right then. How had Brandon been supposed to know not to enter? It is not like it was his fault, now, was it? Brandon did ultimately look back at Ned to talk, but once again the sight kept Brandon silent.
Ashara lay nestled into Ned's arms, looking almost like a cat nestled into an especially comfortable and scratchy rock in the sun. Though, staying with that metaphor, Ned was more of a rock with hands. A rock with hands on Ashara's ass.
Despite his expressed wish for privacy Ned did not seem willing to stop touching Ashara. Content with the shadow of a purr on her lips, Ashara pushed herself off Ned's chest a little before she started undoing the bindings on Ned's doublet. It was true, Ashara simply acted as if Brandon did not even exist.
Ned, on the other hand. Ned was getting handsier and handsier with the ass of his lady love, all the while Ned's eyes remained extremely cold and trained on Brandon. Right there, right then, Brandon had a moment of epiphany, in a way.
Brandon realized that this conversation was very unlikely to progress in a civil manner. This would not be a talk to bridge gaps with Ned. But Brandon thought there would never be a better chance to open old wounds again, so they could heal properly this time. Brandon hoped they would. Ultimately Brandon simply cleared his throat, then spoke.
"Ned. We have not really talked eye to eye since before you left to the Eyrie, now more than eight years ago. Even at Harrenhal, both of us kept little company with each other. You were always staying either with your friends from the Vale, Lya and Ben or Northmen that were not in my circle of friends. Or, well –"
Gods, this was awkward. Brandon did not know how to finish, so he simply raised his goblet in Ashara's direction. Quickly after, Brandon continued.
"Let's get to know each other again, Ned. Talk to me. With me. You said you missed your older brother. I talked with father today and I-", Brandon paused, unsure of the right way to say what his father had laid bare in Brandon, "I have recognized I am missing who I used to be as well."
"Alright, brother", Ned replied, and Brandon's bated breath escaped in relief, "let us talk. I have a nice topic. Our sister."
Well.
Shit.
Brandon's face must have fallen, for a sneer crossed Ned's face for a second before Ashara grabbed his jaw with both hands and kissed Ned with a fervor that seemed to draw a deep growl out of his lungs. The kiss held on until both released each other's tongue out of breath, panting. Ned's eyes had shortly turned to pools of liquid silver, possessive and hungry. Brandon was quiet sure Ned had forgotten his presence in that moment as well.
That reprieve did not last long. Still breathing with a rasp, Ashara turned to nuzzle Ned's neck, pressing hickeys onto his exposed skin wandering down towards his chest. As Ned's eyes fell onto Brandon they turned hard once more. Brandon could not help thinking that maybe Ashara was not really ignoring him, but maybe using this torture as a way to get back at him.
For multiple reasons now Brandon was glad the pitcher in front of him held enough wine. This did not look to be a nice talk. That proved true as soon as Brandon's brother started talking in earnest.
"You know, Brandon, for all the politics involved, I don't care whether or not you marry Catelyn. You never really cared for her, after all. Or about her. Robert, however, cares about Lya. But you, Brandon, were her most vocal supporter in opposing both father and me in the matter, without ever bothering to listen to us. Was all that a petty protest, just to get back at father for your own betrothal? Or do you actually have any reasons against Robert marrying our sister?"
Brandon almost recoiled at that, but deep inside he asked himself if there was not a kernel of truth to that accusation. On the other hand, Brandon was sure he had valid reasons Robert was unsuitable for their Lya.
Could Ned really not see Robert for what he was? Good company, sure, but the whole realm knew of the Stormlord's penchant for whores. His bastard daughter was no secret; Robert was even known to visit the mother still. How could Ned ever consider such a man to be good enough for their sister?
At that though Brandon felt it again, the familiar sensation of his blood pumping hotly. No. This was not the time for anger. Brandon spoke with a forced calm, but calm none the less.
"You asked for it, Ned. I mean, Lyanna threw it in your face often enough, we all heard it as well. Robert is simply not good enough for her. A bastard daughter? A renowned whoremonger? an irresponsible lordling? What else do you want to saddle Lya with?
"And do you honestly believe Robert will ever stay true to her? To only Lya? No, Robert will smother our Lya in southern silks in his southern castle surrounded by southern ladies; Robert will smother everything about Lya that makes her Lya while he rides off gallivanting with whores. Or do you honestly intend to tell me Robert will take Lya hunting, fight with her and love her like she deserves?"
Whatever Brandon expected in response from Ned - anger, quiet condemnation, a lack of understanding – Brandon had not for a moment considered Ned would simply laugh at him. Still a quiet laughter, like all Ned did, but chuckle he did.
"'Love is sweet, dearest Ned, but it cannot change a man's nature.'"
Ned's chuckle had ebbed and hollowed before he muttered that sentence, not without a trace of scorn.
"That is what Lyanna always said about Robert when she brushed me off, Brandon. She never wanted to talk about Robert. And some of what you said rings true, Brandon. Robert is a whoremonger that beds all the legs on sale he can find, and he has a bastard daughter. The whole realm knows that about Robert."
There was something dark to Ned when he paused at that, and the words that followed seemed bitter as they left Ned's mouth.
"However, Brandon. Is your reputation not much the same as Robert's? Worse, even, because Robert never tried to force anyone. Earlier you said you could have come to like Catelyn. That she would make a great addition to the family. A good mother. That is all wonderful and nice and oh so wholesome coming from you, Brandon.
"But tell me truly, Brandon, would any of those reasons have made you stay true to Catelyn?"
Brandon did not answer. He did not have to. The accusation burned, like hard truths often did. Ned and Brandon both knew Brandon would not have kept to only Catelyn's bed. But Ned did not even seem to expect an answer from Brandon, or even a retort. No, Ned simply talked on.
"I told Lya that Robert is a good man who can come to love her with all his heart. That he will love their children. You should see Robert with his little girl, Brandon. Yes, he visits Mya and her mother. And I come along on those visits; did you know that? Father knows of this. Officially, I come along as a chaperone for Robert."
There was a trace of mirth to Ned's face at those words, but his face slightly warped as Ashara traced one of her fingers from Ned's collarbone to down to his belt. Ashara's fingernail was lightly scratching the surface of his skin, leaving a white line but drawing no blood. As Ned directed a smoldering gaze at his lover, he captured her wrist with his hand, but Ashara only returned a teasing smirk.
Ashara once more leaned in to claim Ned's lips; but before she reached his face Ned had grabbed her by the hips and turned her around on his knees, half-lifting her. As the lady chortled throatily with abandon, Ned gently bit her ear while drawing his cape to cover Ashara's front, one eye trained on Brandon.
Under the cover of the coat Brandon saw Ned's hands roaming Ashara's body. The left hand was drawing up to Ashara's tits, the other… Ashara threw her head back in an almost guttural moan and Brandon had to avert his eyes. Ned did not miss a thing, and while his hands did not stop, both his eyes now focused on Brandon. Almost seamlessly Ned talked on, then.
"Of course, the chaperone duty was a flimsy excuse. What I actually most wanted to see was how Robert would treat his daughter, and her mother. And you would not believe it, Brandon, but Robert is a fool in love with the little darling, always throwing Mya into the air for hours because she loves to fly and cannot stop giggling then.
"As for the bastard's mother, well, Robert now treats her more like a friend than a lover. It was never love or desire with Doris. Robert's parents had just died in front of him three weeks before Mya was conceived. What Robert found in Doris arms was merely… comfort.
"After Robert had learnt to live with his grief, and Doris with hers, they stopped sleeping with each other. They are still fond of one another, and Robert takes care of Doris and Mya financially, but they are no longer involved.
"Of course, Robert is not a saint. He sleeps with whores regularly. Often. There is no point in denying that. Robert has come to enjoy sex. I mean, sex is great, is it not?"
It sounded like a question for his opinion, and Brandon did not know how to answer as Ned let the silence linger. The tension grew uncomfortable, until Ashara was the one to hum her approval to Ned's question. Looking back, Brandon wished he had answered before that. It was even more uncomfortable than the silence before, watching the writhing vixen on Ned's lap quivering slightly between moans. So, Brandon was almost thankful when Ned continued. Almost.
"But Robert is not intentionally cruel, Brandon, or callous. He knows the consequences a woman has to bear when she loses her maidenhead. If Robert did not take care of Doris financially nowadays, she would have to go whoring to support herself and Mya.
"To keep another smallfolk woman from that fate, or a noble lady from falling from grace, Robert now only sates his appetites with whores. Do tell, brother, what is your noble excuse for bedding every woman with legs?"
Brandon had to gulp at that. While Ned was not malicious, he was certainly merciless with his questions. Brandon knew he should answer. He even had an answer. Barbrey. After Barbrey. For comfort, just like Robert. But also, for spite. Now, that reason only felt pathetic. The words would not come out of his mouth and Brandon was stuck, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. In the end, Brandon was spared from answering. For Ned had all the answers.
"After the Ryswell girl. Isn't it, Brandon? I know. Lya liked Barbrey, did you know? She wrote about you two, and about the endless talks Lya had with Barbrey on, and about, horses."
Brandon smiled at the memory, bittersweet as it was now. Ned mirrored the expression for a second, before he talked on. Brandon's own smile faltered as Ned continued speaking. Gods, it was obvious why Brandon's brother kept so quiet. Every single one of Ned's words had such weight behind them. Not a single breath was wasted on idle chatter, on and on he pressed.
"Honestly, compared with Robert's ordeal, yours is pathetic, Brandon. Robert saw his father, his mother, and a good portion of his household drown within a few hundred meters of his own castle. The woman you were happily bedding was not meant to be your wife. What were you expecting? It is not like it came as a surprise that you, as the heir, were fated for a strategic marriage.
"Every time Lya spoke out against Robert childishly, I could excuse, for she's a child. You, though, Brandon? You were just disappointing. You did not even notice that whenever you were disparaging my brother by choice, you were only disparaging yourself. Robert is a better man than you and I am proud of the friendship we share."
It was all so surreal to Brandon. Any other person would raise their voice, would grow angry when they unloaded such an amount of venom for the world to see. Ned remained stone-faced, his voice even, stroking a content lady in his lap. Ashara even smiled at the dressing down Brandon was receiving.
At least, Brandon thought so. Maybe Ashara really just was ignoring him, and simply blissful in Ned's lap. Brandon now regretted not having this talk with Ned just one-on-one. He could not say a word in his defense as Ned's accusations kept him silent. But. Finally, something like anger was creeping into Ned's tone
"And where do you all get the notion that Robert is going to dress Lyanna up like a doll, lock her up in the tower at Storm's End and leave her to play with her hair and embroider on her babes' napkins? Do you think Bobby fell in love with a pretty picture? He beds the best whores in Gulltown.
"Robert fell in love with the idea of a companion as wild and as willful as our sister. Hells, Robert will train her properly in the yard himself. I know that he will because I fucking dictated that part of the betrothal agreement. And Robert can scarce believe his luck, still.
"Robert may not keep to Lya's bed, that is true. And yes, she will have to bear him children. But then she always was going to bear children for someone and nary a husband would indulge Lya's less proper whims the way Robert is going to. And who is to say Robert is actually going to stray from Lya's bed? Did you stray, Brandon, when you were with Barbrey?"
It took Brandon a second to grasp that his brother actually expected him to answer.
"No. I did not."
It was supposed to sound defiant as Brandon said the words, but it only came out hollow. Ned's short laugh in response was cruel, and the question that followed was asked cruelly.
"What did you do together that she kept you true?"
"Everything," Brandon whispered, "we did everything together. We rode the Rills, hunted in the Wolfswood, sailed the Spear and fucked like rabbits."
Brandon did not enjoy this talk nearly as little as he had expected. Still, brash talking and coarse language just might get Ned to retreat. A little. It did not. Figures. Ned must have been used to way worse from Robert and Ned could probably even pick up those mannerisms when it suited him. It showed.
"So, Barbrey enjoyed it when you two fucked like rabbits?"
Brandon did not have a habit of sputtering, but still some undignified sounds escaped him together with a mouthful of wine as he looked at his brother. Looked at Ashara, wiggling on Ned's lap. Looked back at Ned.
"What?... Wait. What?" Brandon croaked out, the wine still burning in his throat.
"A simple question, Brandon. Very simple. Did Barbrey enjoy it when you two fucked like rabbits?"
Ned kept his eyes on Brandon as he talked still, but at the same time he started stroking Ashara more strongly. Boldly. She tried to turn on his lap again, but Ned held her firm; and soon Ashara started grinding him, instead. Brandon could see Ned was keeping a tight grip on Ashara's breast beneath the coat, kneading her teat roughly. The other hand's movements sped up, stroking more strongly.
"Shara."
Ned had turned to purr into Ashara's ear, drawing a whimper from her lips. Ned's voice was tender, yet strong. Loving, yet forceful. Controlled, yet hungry.
"Tell me what you want me to do to you, my love. Tell me where you want me to do it. Tell me how you want me to do it."
Ashara's eyes had closed as she backed up into Ned, a content smile on her lips. Noises between gasps and sighs escaped her. Ned had to stop his hands, before she could answer.
"I want you, Ned.
"All of you.
"You are mine.
"Do you hear me, Ned?
"You are mine!"
It started as a whisper, but Ashara's last words were a scream. She had opened her eyes, blazing purple, and her gaze had kept Ned's a prisoner as she looked at him. Brandon had never seen his brother look so possessive, and Ashara did not lose to Ned in that sentiment in the slightest.
"You are mine, Ashara Stark!"
Ned growled the words, with an intensity kindred to wildfire. Like an oath. Brandon shivered, but he could not look away. Even as none of the two seemed to pay him any mind at all, anymore.
"I want our whole group to return North at the pace my wheelhouse will set, Ned, because you are to fuck me so thoroughly, even the thought of riding a horse will have me in pain!"
Ned bit her shoulder, and Ashara looked like she spasmed for a second, her head jerking aimlessly and her eyes wild. The cloaked shifted, and Ned was obviously ribbing Ashara hard, leaving her panting and breathless.
"I want your tongue to map every inch of my body and your cock to leave me screaming your name in ecstasy, until my throat is too raw to even whisper the word 'enough'!"
Ashara's hips bucked faster and harder by the second, and if not for Ned's tight embrace, the cloak covering her would have long been tossed to the floor. Her mouth opened impossibly wide, as if to howl to the gods, but only deafening silence came out. She relaxed a second after, apparently coming down from a high, as her whole skin seemed to start glistening. Ned wrung a kiss from her mouth and got a tongue sucking for his throat before they released another again.
"I want you to feast on me until you drown in my juices, and after I will ride you so hard that you will not have the strength to even rise from your bed until three nights have passed! I will -"
Whatever Ashara was going to say, she could not. A scream, almost a wail, ripped itself from her throat as she collapsed in Ned's embrace, panting and gasping and shivering. She did not move, after, at least not consciously. Tremors still ran through Ashara's body, and Ned was drunk on her sight.
Ashara Dayne, the most beautiful woman in the realm had convulsed and collapsed in his brother's arms right in front of him, and Brandon had never in his life felt as uncomfortable. But he had been unable to avert his eyes before it had ended. The only sound that could be heard was the shallow breath of a woman in blissful oblivion. Ned was gentle now with his strokes, but he never stopped.
Ashara opened her eyes then. She did not even spare Brandon a glance, her gaze fire and passion as she turned and gave Ned a long, tender kiss, more a slight brushing of lips. After she had released his eyes, she kept hold of his eyes.
"Mine." Ashara said it once more, but this time it was just a whisper. For all that, it was not any less possessive or intense.
"Mine." Ned returned just the same.
For the first time since Brandon had entered, Ashara truly looked at him, and Brandon almost flinched at the bottomless hate and the pure contempt in her eyes.
"Get rid of the vermin and come to bed, Ned."
The way Ashara said it Brandon knew she meant every word. And yet. For the first time Brandon thought he saw something akin to a flicker of pain in Ned's face. Nonetheless, as Ashara rose, Ned's cape wound tight around her body, Ned rose not a second after and opened the door as Ashara sat herself on the bed. Brandon knew when he was dismissed.
"Wait a second, my love. I have not finished my important talk with my brother."
Brandon had not thought Ned to follow him out of his room with a short word to Ashara, yet he did. And as Ned looked at him once more, Brandon felt like a doe facing the huntsman.
"So. Brandon. Brother. You never answered. Did Barbrey enjoy it when you two fucked like rabbits?"
Once more Brandon was stuck silent. He could hear Ashara's almost petulant mewling for a second as Ned closed the door behind him, but Brandon had his own troubles connecting what he had seen to, well, anything actually. Ned did not seem inclined to wait for Brandon to recover his bearings before he spoke on. Brandon almost had the faint impression his brother was enjoying this.
"When you fucked Barbrey up her cunt, Brandon, did she enjoy it? Did she ride you to oblivion because you enjoyed each other or did she lie in bed like a dead fish, waiting for you to finish?"
"Is there a point to this?"
Brandon did not really enjoy this conversation. He was not shy about talking of his exploits, but the way Ned kept pushing the issue was discomforting. So, Brandon's answer only came out through gritted teeth.
"Yes, Barbrey did enjoy my cock up her cunt. From the back. From the front. On top of me. Under me. She liked to explore, Eddard. I have not had a woman who I enjoyed sex with as much as with Barbrey. Does that answer your fucking question?"
It was galling to see that Brandon's little brother was simply unconcernedly at that answer, almost showing Brandon complete disregard. The familiar fire started within Brandon then, beckoning. Blooming. It would be so easy, so satisfying to just. Lean into it. Ride it. Rage. But, unconcernedly, Ned simply talked.
"You know, Ashara likes riding. Horses, I mean in this case. Hawking as well. Dancing. Oh, how we love to dance. Not just dainty steps like a demure lady that is afraid her sweating will ruin her face paint. No, Ashara loves dancing to exhaustion with me."
There was almost a wistful shine to Ned's face as he spoke, and Brandon knew his brother was far away right now. That did not lessen the fire coursing through Brandon's veins. But Ned also seemed earnest and not hostile to Brandon for the first time since Brandon had entered that room.
"The reason I am telling you this, Brandon, is the same reason why I believe Robert is the right man for our sister."
Eddard did not even seem to notice Brandon's wolf's blood boiling. Or he did, and he simply did not care. Would it matter? Did Ned ever feel it himself, the rage, hungry and wild? Ned's words, though. They gave Brandon pause. So, Brandon did not storm off, he did not rage. He remained. He listened. And just a little, Brandon understood as Ned talked on.
"Lya thinks she needs a man devoted to her, true, knightly, shining. That is stupid. Lya's been given a huge berth of freedom by father for the daughter of a Lord Paramount, North or elsewhere. Robert would let her keep that freedom. He would encourage her, to be even wilder. Lya wants another Aemon the Dragonknight. What she needs, though, is her own Rogue Prince Daemon."
And suddenly, Brandon did not know anymore. Despite himself, Brandon found that he agreed with what Ned had said. However, Brandon really had not needed to hear the next thing Ned said as well. True as it might probably be.
"And trust me, Brandon, Lya craves the freedom we have. That includes to enjoy fucking like we do, despite being a lady. Because it is fun. Because it is exciting. Because it is liberating. Lya will ride Robert through the Seven Kingdoms once she has gotten a taste for the dastardly deed, mark my words. And what our spirited little sister brings to the bedroom might just keep Robert bound to only her. Like Barbrey did you."
There was an evil smirk to Ned's words at that, but it was the kind of evil smile friends gifted another along with a playful insult. Gods, that image. Their little sister. Was there nothing Ned held holy? Still, Brandon felt the selfsame evil smile splitting his face. Ned spoke truth. Painful truth, maybe, but truth. Brandon had heard much of that kind of truth, recently. Still. Brandon finally felt like brothers, just for a second.
Then, the door behind them was ripped open. In a flash, Ashara had grabbed Ned, pulled him back inside the room, and then slammed the door shut again.
Well. There was no way Brandon could miss that hint. Also, Brandon knew neither how well the inn kept the noise isolated to the respective rooms. Or, how loud Ned and Ashara were going to get tonight.
Turning, Brandon hightailed out of the entire inn. Maybe it would be reasonable to sleep in a tent still today.
Notes #2
I regret nothing.
Except that I need to improve my smut-writing capabilities. It's hard (horrible pun intended).
In terms of plot tie in, I am reasonably satisfied. Still, comments are welcome.
And if it wasn't obvious, the fic is not dead.
However, updates will be sporadic, though I have the next dual chapter all mapped out.
Yes, dual chapter, as in I have a notion of a plan what's coming. Winter.
Sorry, couldn't help myself. For all seriousness, time to prep the Jenga tower for the big collapse.
Review responses
JohnDouglas4274: Thanks
InfinityMask: Thanks. I did not show the extended talk with Tywin for two reasons, I did not want to spoil chapter 12 and I have more tid bits to hint at/unveil in the coming chapters. We will see more of the talks from that night and other talks. I'm really happy I got you to pity Cat even though you aren't a fan of her character. Exactly what I was going for. And yes. Tywin loves a good revenge. And the lords of the North serve it cold.
shallowords: Thanks
magnus374: Thanks. You'll see what happens to the Riverlands in time. Though, imo, If the North were to swallow the whole Riverlands, they'd be dangerously exposed because of the new borders. Same problem applies to all would be conquerors, though, as that is the central problem of the Riverlands. The Iron Islands holding them on their own is… difficult, especially with Quellon trying to discontinue reaving. They are only tolerated so long as they keep to their island. But as you say, many possibilities.
adirtycanadian: Thank YOU
Guest: Keanu says what?
chm01: Both. Probably both.
Nagato21: I agree. Also, it's a terrible failure that Edmure isn't wed by canon time. One of his kids should've been used to bind a key bannerman. Especially for the Tullys, seeing that they don't have historic claim to their Lords' loyalty. The Tyrells understand that in canon. Though I do not get why Willas is apparently unmarried.
SEAGUL: Just saying, this'll be unlikely. No purpose for the advancement of the story. You, the readers, know the reasoning and Cat's worth is a pawn at the moment. As for Hoster, little time to rage left, he'll need to salvage now.
PuffsOfPygmys: Thanks
makkak: I am not sure if I'll have a Red Wedding equivalent in this story. Two reasons. Everyone does it, it does not pack a punch anymore like it did in the novels. Secondly, the Red Wedding worked because despite all, Robb's grasp on power was tenuous and he was in open rebellion. Neither Hoster nor Rickard nor Tywin nor Quellon offer an excuse for commiting such a crime to any party. Yet.
FuryJoe: Thanks
Hmkelleher: Thanks
Felon GT: You know. No. Just no. That's one of the central points to any rebellion story any fanfic writer writes. You also kinda describe canon, though we still don't know for sure whether Lyanna went willingly. So no. I will not rewrite Oswell's chapter to have Lyanna deeply in love with Rhaegar and abetting his folly. Not even sorry not sorry mate, just no.
Radeisth: I agree the Twins are a strategic necessity for the North if they want to control any part of the Riverlands. I already have an endgame in place. No spoilers though. Thanks, btw.
NightlyRowenTree: Thanks
Guest: Well, I guess you hav to read "Brothers in Blood" to find out to my king who never knelt. #shameless self-promotion. As of now, he's not been bar-qued (or barbequed, but I hate to assume).
Guest: Dude. You're talking show canon. Specifically, post season 5 show canon. I think you mean to say canon. We have no idea whether Lyanna and Thaegar were married and happily together. Having a baby that young is not healthy (exhibit A, Lyanna's death in childbirth in the show). And Lyanna never actually said she hates Robert. She doesn't want to marry him because she thinks he would not be faithful. She never said she hated him. Don't go waving show fact in my face, especially if they aren't even true.
Guest: Honestly? Sansa was the same pre-Joffrey (though younger, I grant that). I'm happy I got you feeling bad for Cat though. And the thing we do know is that she did appreciate Brandon's looks more than Ned's.
silverswath: Heh heh. Thanks.
Cesar17: Thanks. Getting people to feel with the non-Hoster Tully was one of my goals here. And this isn't bastard-loathing Cat. This is poor young innocent Cat, so it's ok to feel empathy with her.
Kael Hyun: Maybe? If so, spoiling would be bad. I'm not bad, except when I am. However, Rickard can't side with the queen because she does not have her own side. She's bound to the Targaryen side atm. And Tywin has so far not betrayed an ally after promising support, only to brutally sack his city. Nobody knows how far he'd go.
johnnybravo123: Thanks. I hope to meet your expectations. Praise like this strokes my ego just the right way and brings me to the writing table.
ashenerden: Thanks. I am always ecstatic for praise like this. I am grateful for the accolades and look forward to your critique in the future.
MichaelJ-D: Thanks.
SinmonRoll: Thanks. High praise indeed. Hope the story continues to captivate you.
Illuviar: Thanks, on both comments. Glad you like it.