In the Air Tonight
There was an eerie silence that crept not just through the Tower of the Hand, but through the entire red colored fortress and the city that surrounded it. There was no wind, no heat, no cold. One couldn't gauge the climate, because it wasn't uncomfortable weather … and yet it was uncomfortable, because there wasn't a word for it.
When dusk darkened a fog rolling off the Black Water on the autumn evening slowly wandered into the capital like a blind old hound smelling food down the city street. Cautiously, slowly, the thick blanket of black made its way down the streets, staying low to the ground like a predatory cat, stalking its prey.
"Something isn't right."
Eddard Stark was alone in his office, dozens of candles surrounded him. The light flickered in the dark, the hot wax hissing as it hit the floor. The Hand slumped in his chair, arm propped on the rest, hand in a fist underneath his nose. Before him sat the book of genealogy to the great houses of Westeros, on top the knife meant for Bran's throat, that scarred his wife, his feisty little scraper Cat's hand.
It was the first time in months that he felt safe enough to take a moment to think. So many nights spent arranging this, securing that, making sure the girls weren't being stalked by a chamber maid with a knife in her cleavage, waiting for a queen's word. The threat of House Lannister to his family seemed a foregone conclusion.
He flicked brooding dark eyes to the open letter, delivered personally to him by some weasel-faced Frey boy, claiming to be Robb's squire.
It recounted how Jaime Lannister, the fool, once he had gotten word that Cersei was a prisoner, had withdrawn his men in poor order from Riverrun to rescue her. Now Robb was celebrating his victory at the Ruby Forward, catching Jaime Lannister, with his back to the River trying to cross without a rear guard. It seemed only yesterday Robb was curled up under the furs with Catelyn planting kisses on her swollen belly, waiting for Sansa to come into the world.
With Jaime a captive of Robb's in the Riverlands, Tryion a captive of Catelyn's in the Vale, Cersei here, and Renly marching west with the combined strength of Tyrell and Baratheon, Tywin Lannister has no choice but to negotiate and back down.
The Lannister aggression was all but at an end now. But tonight Ned Stark wasn't celebrating the return of stability and the end of the plotting that had threatened his family. Tonight Lord Eddard was thinking about the bile in his stomach at what had happened.
"When you play the game of thrones … you win or you die, there is no middle ground."
Varys had told him how Cersei had planned to kill Robert. He told him about a sack of wine, potent with alcohol, and the great boar of the Kingswood. It was simple and brilliant style of backstabbing that Eddard could only expect from the golden haired queen. No one would've thought twice about the boar goring the king. When he died who would believe Eddard that Joffery wasn't Robert's son? It would look as if Eddard was just trying to grab power for himself. What could anyone do to stop the Lannister's once Robert was dead?
When he closed his eyes he could still hear Varys chuckle over his wine. "A wronged common boy slayed a lion." He had toasted Ned, and his torturous attention to each squabble brought before the Iron Throne while Robert fucked around, Renly went shopping, Pycelle slept, and Littlefinger … was being himself.
A boy of twelve approached the throne a week before Robert's hunting trip during his time to talk. His sister had been a maid inside the keep, a comely girl who helped a Septa in the employment of the crown. The boy had claimed that the Septa would ask the girl to sing for her, and that the holy woman would keep the girl long into the night. He had thought they were friends, and now she hadn't been home in a few days. Ned had told him that maybe she just left, but the boy had said that he would always wait for her to come home through the only exit maids were allowed to go through. Ned had allowed the boy to look for her with the assistants of the Winterfell personal guard. They had found the girl naked, hands tied to the Septa's bedposts traumatized and broken. Ned took the Septa's head personally and as compensation for the wrong, he allowed the boy special permission to hunt in the Kingswood. The boy had sent Ned a helping of the boar he killed in gratitude for his compassion and righteous pursuit of justice for his older sister. Ned had sent the boy six hundred dragons and ordered Littlefinger to find the siblings apartments somewhere clean and nice … the boy's thrust had saved the king after all.
He dropped his head and closed his eyes remembering the night that Robert returned. The King had been in a dark mood when Ned came to him. He allowed his old friend to do all the things that he usually did when coming from a bad hunting trip. Rant, cuss, drink himself into nostalgia. It had been late into the night, the two of them sitting in his solar, wine in their hands.
"Come now, Ned, you craven stick, what the fuck do you want to tell me."
"What's that?"
"You think that I don't see that look on your ugly face … the same one that you had when you came back from Dorne with Lyanna."
"You're Grace …"
"Damn it, Ned, you call me that again after mentioning Lyanna, I'll make sure Cat will have to spoon feed you for the rest of your fucking miserable life. Now what is it?"
Ned told him, about old Jon and the bastards. He showed him the book and what Cersei had told him. In all honesty he thought his friend would fight him, yell at him, accuse him of being a liar. But, as he expanded his tale of investigation, explaining the twin's incestuous past, Robert just sat and stared out the window, the way it had been when Ned told him of the duel at The Tower in the Princes Pass in Dorne, and his failed rescue of Lyanna. When it was over, Robert looked at his cup of wine, made a motion to drink it, but oddly stopped himself. The King suddenly looked sober, more sober than he had since they were children in the Erie. It seemed like a long time before Robert Baratheon did anything but look into the liquid.
"Thank You, Brother."
Ned could still smell the fruity scent as Robert poured the alcohol on the ground, with a heavy spilling thud on the tile, before he threw the cup out the window and into the ocean. Quietly, the king walked out of the solar and into the dusk of the coming night.
There was no moon that night, no stars, it was black, and it seemed no light could penetrate the darkness, much like tonight. Eddard didn't want to police whatever was going to happen next, even when the reports came of fighting outside between the gold cloaks and Lannister household guards. He ate with the girls and tried to shut out all of the violence going on by the docks. He tried get absorbed in Arya's story about "Dance Class" and tried to smile, tried to laugh about the mean old tom with a face like a Weirwood. However, it was hard when he looked at Sansa. The Girl had been crying, according to the septa, she had gone to see Joffery and the queen the other day and when she had returned she locked herself in her room and didn't want to talk to anyone.
Somehow Sansa knew something bad was going on outside when plumes of smoke could be seen from the dockyards, and a crimson and gold tint touched the night sky. After dinner, Ned forced Arya and Sansa to sleep in his bed, while he sat in a chair by them, Ice in his lap. He doubled the guard all that night around the Stark buildings in the castle.
It had been a week since then, and he had heard nothing from Robert, and nothing of the queen other than her and the children had been captured, and imprisoned. Ned seemed content with Robert's wishes to "Run the war" He knew that meant fighting Tywin and Jaime. That task was mostly done, and now as night settled he thought about what he had done in the name of Justice and Honor.
But, every night after the sun went down, when it was still and quiet, Eddard thought of her, thought of the girl who moaned so softly when you stroked her pale skin, whose eyes widened when you were inside of her, finding a place that brought her so much pleasure that she just watched you, waiting to see what came next.
"Damn you …" Ned buried his face in his hands. "Damn you, why didn't you run?" He growled tiredly. He could see those bright green eyes smile, her skin glimmering in the dawn, her hands twirled his mats of long dark hair, while he nuzzled her navel with his nose.
"Why didn't you run?"
His voice was sorrowful and defeated, his question fading into the dark, answerless.
CLUNK!
His door swung open with a heavy bang and boots rushed toward him, shadowy figures caught in a purgatory of darkness between the torchlight of the hall and candle light of the office.
"LORD STARK!"
The voice was familiar, and when he heard the alarm in it, Ned took his cane quickly and stood with a loud scrape of his chair. An older man with short feathered hair of white, and crystal blue eyes that came into view before he could even see the rest of him. His armor was golden, interlaid with white, and covered in blood.
"Ser Barristan!" Ned called in confusion.
The old man was puffing and breathless. Ned could smell the sweat on him, droplets like ice on his skin. Where ever he came from he must have been running, a hard task even for a young man in such armor and fog outside. Ned looked behind him to see, Fat Tom, Harwin, and two more northern soldiers standing behind the old knight, tense hands on swords after all the bloodshed.
"The King … The King!" Was all he could say.
Ned's heart leapt to his throat and for a moment the world froze, thousands of things flashed through his mind. Lannister cutthroats, or he fell down the steps, the dumb jackhole.
"Take me to him!" He commanded, limping slowly around his desk, taking his sword belt from a side table. Ser Barristan nodded, weariness was not as important as whatever had happened. The Hand's progress was slow getting to the door, but when he did, he turned to Fat Tom.
"Go wake the boys up!" He ordered. "I want a company of swordsman waiting for us when we get to the Tower's entrance."
"Yes m'lord!"
"Also double the guard on the girls rooms, Keep it tight!" He didn't give the old guard a chance to answer, motioning him away.
All exited the room.
The old knight led them through the dark, twisting passages of the castle. Fog swirled around their knees as they made their way across the expansive, yet barren, yard of the Red Keep. The Castle seemed so empty these last couple of days, after the massacre of the Lannister soldier's, household knights, and even the queen's hand maidens.
Up and up they went, the blanket of dense fog disappearing as they went up the steps of an obscure tower just outside of the battlements, it's foundations in the river. Despite the pitch black of the night, everyone could hear the roar of water clashing with rocks just below them. Ned suddenly realized that this was the infamous Maegor's Tower, meant for royal prisoners, and hostages of high birth. Something dark stirred in The Hand as he looked at the back of the Lord Commander's feathered white locks.
Ned's leg was aching badly, and he was sweating profusely by the time they reached the top of the long tower. Several times he had thought of asking for a moment to catch his breath, and to settle the throbbing in his wounded leg before continuing, but all he had to do was look in Barristan's eyes and know that there couldn't be a moment to waste. Despite Ned asking the knight what was going on, he couldn't answer, he would just look at Ned, mouth hanging open, before he would shake his head and quicken his pace. The Hand knew all the stories of the old Kingsguardsmen and he knew he had seen so many terrible things in his years of service, battlefields and murders. But it scared Eddard Stark to see such a veteran shocked from words.
With the Help of several of his swordsmen, Ned finally reached the top floor, of the decrepit, ruined tower. Opening a door, he found the remaining five Kingsguard knights standing in front of the cell door. It was all over their faces, a distant look of something disconnected, disturbed visions playing in their brains, haunting their very souls.
"Where?" Ned panted, leaning heavily on his cane, his right hand pushing down on the hilt of his sword as he looked around. Each face, found the Hand with downcast eyes, some such as loyal Arys Oakheart finding his appearance like that of a small child in trouble finding an adult to help him make everything better. Before Ser Barristan could point, everyone in the Hand's presence stepped aside from the lone door, heavy and rotted with thick rusted bars at the top. The only sound that could be heard was the scrape of boots against stone and the clicks of a cane. Ned Labored toward the door, slowly the Kingsguard shrinking away.
"Stay." Ned ordered his men, as well as everyone else. But when he approached the door, he heard the slightest hints of muffled noise from the bars above. The cell door was eight feet tall and thick, made of two hundred year old pine wood, from when the area was nothing but a wooded collection of hills. But even then he could smell it from the other side of the door, the scent of shit, and iron.
Death.
"Ser Barristan…" Ned didn't say another word, motioning to the knight. The man took a deep breath and walked to the door and grasped the handle, while Ned clutched his sword. Taking a moment to steady himself, Ned nodded. The door made a loud squeak of rusted hinges nearly devoured by rot.
The smell from inside the cell, was like the overwhelming aroma of something of your past that you had forgotten, and for a moment it was like the first time you've smelled it. Memories of battlefields, Stony Sept, The Trident, Storms End, and …
"Promise me, Ned!"
The scent of death staved off Eddard Stark for a moment, memories of reaching the top of a tower much like this one entered his mind. He would give anything not to relive that evening, to relive that moment of his life all over again.
"Can a man be brave when he's scared?"
"Yes, Bran … that's the only time a man can be brave."
He let out a shuttered breath, closing his eyes, centering his emotions into one and locking it away in his mind. He moved into the dimly lit cell.
The stone room was large enough to be small apartments, it had one bed with a mattress of straw, and the floor was carpeted with dirty rushes. A candle was lit on a rotted nightstand, and a shadow occupied the seat against the wall near the foot of the bed.
The first thing the Lord of Winterfell noticed was a naked teenage boy with long matted golden hair, and a pretty face of a maiden's fancy lying flat on the floor. He had peach colored boyish stubble, and a crater where his chest had been caved in. Blood was spewing out of his mouth and bowels, pooling around Lancel Lannister's body.
Ned did his best to avoid the corpse of the King's former squire and enter the room that reeked of stale blood and post mortem excrement. The soft whimper of frightened children caught his ears. Dark, horrified eyes found the mass of two children huddled together in a corner on the floor. Myrcella was in soot-covered, silken small clothes, and was cuddled protectively against a young Tommen, clothed only in a long shirt. He was sobbing quietly, his face buried into his sister's chest. The princess was hiding her face in her brother's dirty golden locks. They were being as silent as possible for fear that they would be next if they were heard.
Walking further into the room, Ned saw the familiar glimmer of pale skin. He found the golden haired beauty of his nightmares and memories sitting on the foot of the hay bed, naked, disconnected. Her golden hair was disheveled, and there was blood on her hands, and her thighs glinted in the dark from the seed on them.
"I always thought that he was a wimp …"
The voice was dark and growled, like some animal after a feast, or some poet contemplating his life. The voice was nothing like Ned had heard before, and yet it was a voice he knew so well; he felt his life shrink out of him slowly.
"It took me three swings … He was screaming for her … I hit him in the back, and the little abomination kept going. So I busted his knee … hobbled to the bed." The voice continued.
Ned turned his attention the straw bed next to an empty Cersei, who stared at her children, but in truth saw nothing. There was a crumpled body on the other side of the bed, naked and deformed, blood was gushing from the caved in skull.
"Most shit themselves after they die. But that little monster shit himself before he died …" There was a bear like laugh, as if he had just told a funny story. "He … He called me daddy, the little bastard, called me … ME! DADDY!" He roared almost insanely.
It took a moment to all synch in, to comprehend what had happened in here … to know that the shell in that bed, bloodied and soiled was once a boy, a child, engaged to his daughter. Sansa used to talk endlessly about the boy.
"I don't want someone brave, Gentle, and Strong … I want him."
He could hear her. He was never gentle, or brave, the Lannister boy. But Ned saw the trail of blood and shit that led back to the bed. It had took three strikes of a Warhammer to kill him, that was strength, for a child ….
A child …
"Ser Barristan, Ser Balon!" Eddard Stark's voice was like a snap of a whip. He never turned even when he heard the clanking of armor behind him. He could hear Balon Swann gag at the sight. For humanities sake he allowed Ser Balon to compose himself.
"I want you to take the children outside, now." There was darkness in his voice, a madness strangling self-blame and anger over the murders. Both knights took several steps.
"Who in the seven hells do you think you serve? Did I command you to do that?" The booming voice stopped their momentum and caused Tommen and Myrcella to cuddle deeper together with scared whimpers.
Balon Swann took a step back and retreated to the door, behind Ned. But Barristan the Bold stood his ground, turning his crystal gaze toward the bloodied body of the once-thought heir of the Seven Kingdoms, then the queen whose shocked green eyes kept a sharp watch of her children. He looked at the blood on her hands, and her molested form.
Tommen and Myrcella both clutched to the Lord Commander when he picked them up, as if they were survivors of a ship wreck and he was a life saver. He wordlessly walked out of the room each child in an arm. The door closed with a clank and suddenly it was Cersei, Eddard, the bodies, and the Shadow in the room.
Ned took a moment to resettle himself, to find a coherent way to begin to comprehend how this could've happened again.
"You damn fool …"was all Ned could find the words for, turning shocked, disbelieving eyes toward the shadow who still had a hand clasped to the queen's thigh as if she was his, and would not leave. "What have you done?" He looked at all before him.
"Justice." The voice replied with a bear's inflection of vengeance.
The very word raised bile from inside Ned's stomach, and burned his esophagus. He made a noise of angry disgust in his throat, and shook his head menacingly.
"This isn't Justice, ROBERT! This is murder!" He grinded his teeth in rage at what he saw, and more to the point how it seemed almost natural for the King to sit in the pools of blood. Old feelings from the rebellion and the anger and hatred for how it ended filled him again.
"MURDER!" Robert made it sound like a curse. "THIS IS WAR!" He roared. Cersei barely flinched even with the voice in her ear.
Ned took an aggressive step forward as if he wanted to ring the fat man's neck. "War? War is fought by men on a field of battle! Not by naked children pulled from their mother's embrace and hammered at till they die like some pig at the slaughter!" Ned hissed.
"They're traitor's seed!"
"They're children!" Ned clashed forgetting everything about himself and station. "They had no say coming into this world, you damned monster!" He roared back.
"MONSTER!" There was a low growl at the end of the word. "Is that what I am?" He grabbed Cersei and twisted her till she was facing Ned, showing her naked body, covered in bruises. "This one, fucked her brother for years! Sitting in her high seat judging the rest of us, while the entire Lannister household used her ass as a cum deposit, and I'm the monster!" He jerked Cersei.
Looking down, it occurred for a moment that the minute Robert took Cersei, Ned reached for his sword. Despite the slip he didn't unhand it.
"You murdered a child and raped his mother, before his blood was even cooled enough to be considered warm!" He yelled.
Robert Baratheon just sneered with disdain, turning down to look at the seed crusting on the golden haired captive's buttocks. "I fucked a whore!" he spat and tossed her to the floor like she was a cheap doll from Flea Bottom. "It's what you do with them … not that you'd know." He stood straight.
There was glare sitting darkly on the lord of Winterfell's face observing the robust man, taking a drink of wine. "Tywin Lannister will not sit idly by while you murder his heir!" He was trembling from pent up aggression. "Someone will pay for the murders of his grandson and nephew!" He warned.
A snort of humor shook the King's wire like beard as he finished his drink and tossed the cup against the far wall, shattering it. "Let him!" He bellowed. "I'd like to see him try!" He continued as if the Lord of Castlery Rock could hear him from the Riverlands.
A flame burst in Ned's heart. "You dumb son of bitch!" his teeth chattered. "You don't think about anyone but yourself!" He lashed out. "It's my son and wife out their fighting your war! Just like it was I out there fighting your other two. Do you think Tywin Lannister cares who pays for these murders?" He rubbed his hand against his stubble, worry etching his weary face.
For a moment Robert Baratheon was silent. He slipped back into the shadows, unreadable, unspoken about what he had said. Ned gave a shaky breath and turned back to Cersei who was transfixed on the new blood on her. It occurred to Eddard that she had been thrown into a pool of her own child's blood. The look on her face, strained the lord's soul, she examined her hands distantly, pondering it.
"Your Grace …" the lord said in an even voice. "Come with me." He removed his hand from the hilt of his sword and offered it to her. The woman slowly found Ned's dark eyes, and in them she allowed a single tear to fall. A vulnerability that few knew or saw in her, but maybe there was a reason for it.
She took Ned's hand, and slowly he helped her up till she was pressed against him. He turned to find something to cover her with, but all he could find was the bloody sheet. He felt a slender, soft hand touch his cheek. The force the hand used to return him to green eyes wasn't cruel or desperate; it was gentle and almost comforting.
Her gaze was piercing, unrelenting. He felt as naked as she was, like when they were younger, out in the Godswood. Her hand was resting on his cheek, the blood was in his nostrils, but it wouldn't be the first time and after this night, it wouldn't be the last.
"Is that how it is, is it?" He could hear Robert bellow from where he stood. Ned never thought about how telling the position they were in, the look in their eyes, how deep it was.
Robert walked back into vision. "I got to say Ned, I think I'm almost proud of ya!" His chuckle was grim and reproachful. "I always thought that you were a stiff, grim bastard, and here you are fucking this dumb slut's brains out!" His laugh was mocking.
Like all the other times, Robert had done this, he ignored him. "Your grace, your children need you now. There's nothing in here for you." He consoled as gently as possible.
"Listen to ya! With 'Your Grace' like she's something other than a common back-alley whore!"
"She's still your wife Robert!" Ned snapped. "No matter how you feel about her, you said the vows in front of every soul in the city and the realm! She is your queen still. Give her a moment for the love of the gods!" He shouted back.
"Aye, I said the vows …" He agreed darkly, Ned could tell he was thinking of that day as if it were to be dreaded. Ned thought that maybe it should be, for Robert, Cersei, and the realm.
"Your grace …" He placed a hand on her naked lower back and turned to usher her away, when she made a noise of protest. She spun away from The Hand's arm, taking a step back from the two men.
"Wait …" Her voice was hoarse from screaming and begging in loud sobbing. It was the softest of a whisper as if she were in a room with a sleeping small child. There was something about it that made everything very still. Even Robert's blustering seemed to halt, shouted down by the inflection.
They both watched her step over the mess on the dirty, cold, floor, till she was hovering over the side of the large bed. Below her shadow lay the bloodied broken shell of what used to be her son, naked, and staring back up at her with the only eye his corpse possessed. Wordlessly, without a sound, she took the sheet covered with blood and seed. Her touch was experienced wrapping the motionless body, covering the boy's injuries and nakedness like a mother tucking her small child into bed.
"Sleep peacefully, my sweet prince." Ned heard her whisper, leaning down to kiss what remained of the child's forehead.
Eddard Stark felt the weight of the world, and the sorrows of the queen's family on his heart. He had been the cause of this, he and his damn honor … it had happened again, his nightmares for the last seventeen years. He had been too slow then to save Elia and her children, and now he had been the cause of the murder of innocence, and the rape of a prisoner. He leaned on his cane, and lowered his head in respect.
Cersei took a deep, traumatized breath against her child's forehead before she stood straight. When she turned, her eyes had become as cold and hard as ice. She straightened her back, stiff and rigid as a board. The steps she took toward the door were, graceful, dignified. She did not cringe as she passed Robert Baratheon.
"I didn't say you can leave!" He growled at her.
Cersei did not turn. "You've had your fun, my lord … but now what of my children you have left to me are in need." She retorted coldly, without stopping.
"WHORE!" He was outraged pursuing her a step. "You're my prisoner!" His voice was low and dangerous.
"Yes" She agreed quietly. "I was, wasn't I?" She said thoughtfully, something told Ned she didn't mean her time in the cells. She turned back to the men. "But, since it was Lord Stark who informed you of my alleged secrets and his men I yielded too, I believe I am Lord Stark's prisoner … I go were he says, not you!" She snapped, her face was the same cold, dark mask she had worn since Ned had left her all those years ago- after he had taken Jon.
Both turned to the Lord Hand. Ned took a deep breath, and continued to watch the floor. "The law is the law, Robert …" Staring at the dead children. He couldn't address the man as a king in good conscience for fear of thinking upon who and what he served now.
"DAMN YA!" His voice growled louder. "DAMN BOTH OF YA!" He was now roaring. "Get out!" he snapped viciously, his face sweating and red with rage. "I'll have both of your heads on the city gates, your honorable cock in her mouth!" He followed the two of them.
"Traitors!" He was in Ned's ear now.
The wars he fought, the time away from his family, and him being here. It was all that was running through Eddard Starks mind. He had fought this man's wars, made sure there was peace in the realm again, sewn the wounds made by the Mad King … all out of loyalty to this man, this friend, to this brother. Now after all the years of service, he murders children and Ned's trust … and he was a traitor?
"Enjoy the whore while ya can because …!"
Ned turned suddenly and drove his open hand up in the thick bearded chin of the King, clamping his mouth shut. Like when they were children in the Eyre, Ned's Stark temper got the better of him. Robert's words and actions had hit a flashpoint deep inside.
Hand clamped on his friend's chin, Ned menacingly brought the King's face toward his. "I'm no frightened boy torn from his mother's bosom …" His voice was low and dangerous. "If you want my head, come and take it." His teeth were clenched. The King freed himself with a forearm and took a step back, a dark look of restraint on his face, he never said a word.
Ned found the queen waiting for him. He limped slowly through the cell door, once there he turned back to his friend. "You know where to find me Robert …" He took the door handle. "I'll be waiting." He slammed the cell door with a mighty bang.
Robert Baratheon returned to his seat in the darkness, alone, surrounded by the bodies of those he murdered. He reached for another glass on the small night table, and poured himself some more wine.
The bedchamber was half lit with candles that burned low as the wee hours of the morning settled on the court of Robert Baratheon. Shadows cast odd shapes on the walls of the large room where Ned Stark watched from the cracked doorway. The breath of the guards at the door was in his ear, and there was a nervousness to it that Ned knew well. He knew it well, because it was on everyone's mind.
Ned had challenged the King hours ago, and if there was one thing that could be chronicled faithfully it was that Robert Baratheon never backed down from a challenge. The Hand cursed his temper; his mother used to call it wolf's blood, everyone in his family had it. Brandon and Lyanna were the worst offenders, all it took was a playful smack, or the wrong word and they flew off the handle faster than anyone had time to defend themselves. All it took was Brandon uttering one heated phrase, demanding a prince's life and he, their father, and thousands of others had died … one simple outburst.
Now years later, all it took was one loss of control, one moment of anger at the inhuman actions of a man in the midst of the madness-of-the-moment. He might have started a chain of actions that could cost him his own life, that of the queens, and the lives of the children sleeping in the bedchamber he was peeking into.
The room was shadowy, and darkening with each passing minute, but he could make out the figures still lumped together, Sansa, tall and sleek, in her sleeping slip. She was buried under the comfort of snug furs, her arms wrapped around the smaller, sleek shadow next to her. Princess Myrcella had been washed thoroughly after they had separated her from Tommen. She had begged for Ser Barristan not to take him, fearing that the boy would be escorted to a new, deeper dungeon cell as the last Lannister heir. But Ned and Barristan had promised her and Cersei that was not their design. Robert would believe that Ned would take the entire family with him to the Tower of the Hand; he would want Tommen dead for sure. It was why the two men decided to hide the boy in the white tower of the Kingsguard in Barristan's quarters till further notice.
Myrcella's breathing, was sporadic, her body shuttering from crying. They had given her a little dream wine mixed with sweet milk in order to calm her down. She clung to Sansa like a true sister. Sansa hadn't been told yet about her beloved Joffrey, Ned knew it would be a hard task. Though the boy was rotten to the core, spoiled, selfish, and cruel, no one should die a death such as that. But, most of all, he knew that Sansa loved him so. Watching his daughter, the way she stroked the younger girl's golden curls, the absent look in her eyes as she held the little girl, Ned could only imagine she already knew. Deep inside there was a fatherly hurt inside him, if he could, he would make this night never happen. He would like nothing better than to return to the supper table, listening to Arya tell her stories about chasing cats, and Syrio's lessons.
Next to the bed he found his youngest girl sitting in a chair by the dying candle light. Her skinny sword was in one hand, an oil cloth in the other. Quietly she cleaned the blade, keeping a watch over the two girls in the bed like a protective lady hawk over her precious eggs. If Mordane was here, she would be throwing a fit over this, but with all that happened in the last few hours, the last few months, Lady or no Lady, Ned would not rob any one of what brought them comfort in this uncertain time.
Slowly, Ned retreated from the door, closing it softly. Both guards turned their heads toward him, he nodded in approval of their job, and confirmed that the girls were fine. He limped up the stairs, a slow process. He was by himself, but he could spare no men when any minute Slynt and the City Watch might burst in and begin a fight.
At the top of the landing, next to his apartment doors, he found a bald fat man waiting for him. His silver robes were almost as audacious as his perfume which the lord could smell half way up.
"Lord Varys …" He grunted, forcing himself up the stairs.
"Do you require help my lord?" The eunuch offered his powdered hands.
Eddard was about to blusteringly say not from him, but he held his tongue. "No, my lord … I can mange." He reached the landing sweating, and panting.
"I do hope your leg is on the mend. A dreadful business with the Lannisters outside poor Baelish's brothel. I'm sure business hasn't been quiet the same, I fear." He said in the sickening simpering voice Ned was starting to get used to.
"Neither has my leg, I fear." He stopped outside his door, where two guards eyed the bald man wearily.
"That much is for certain, leg wounds are quite terrible." He agreed sympathetically.
Eddard frowned. "Had many legs wounds, my lord spider?" He asked with slight flippancy.
A girlish giggle left his lips. "No, oh no my lord … But I am quite a collector of books, the details of combat does turn one's stomach." He sighed.
A rueful grimace marred the northerner's hard face. "Seeing it first hand is quite a sight, I can assure you." He leaned on his cane.
"Yes, I heard of tonight's events." He flipped subjects quickly.
"That wasn't combat." Eddard growled.
"No." The Hand wasn't sure if that look of remorse on Varys face was genuine or if it was another layer to his performance. "Poor Joffrey … may his spirit find rest amongst the gods." He nodded.
His leg was throbbing, so was his head, the last thing he wanted to do was trade, half truths with the eunuch. "Lord Varys …"
"I've heard an interesting rumor …" He cut him off, his head tilted and an amusing grin came on.
"Yes?"
"Harwin … your captain of the guard, left the city some hours ago, a note to be delivered personally to your son?" He placed his arms in his sleeves.
Ned knew he was fishing, but there was no use in lying about his intentions. "Yes, I've instructed Robb to move his men into the crown lands, he's to be in Dunksdale by the fortnight." He answered honestly.
"Oh lord Stark." Varys chuckled. "Do you truly believe that I don't understand what you're doing?" He sighed sadly. "I'm your friend, do you truly believe I would run to the king with our conversation?" he asked in a hurt voice.
"It's your job." He said darkly.
"My good Hand, may I entrust to you a truth about me?" He got closer. "Kings come and go, but the realm remains. I serve kings, I serve them well, but only for the good of the realm." He grinned.
"It was you that told the Mad King to open the gates for the Lannisters … am I to believe that you did that for the better of the realm, or to throw yourself at the mercy of Tywin Lannister?" He shot angrily. What would the backstabbing eunuch, with his costumes and perfumes, know about duty and the good of the realm?
The bald man's face grew grave. He had hit a nerve it seemed. "I did. A better man had more claim than a mad man, No?" His eyes turned cold. "How about you, my lord?" he asked. "Did you turn in the queen and her children for the sake of the realm or to avenge young Brandon?" he shot back.
The man's wolf's blood stirred in him. "I don't murder children … nor do I hold them responsible for their parent's actions." He took a threatening step forward. The simpering fat man seemed to melt away, and an enigma of personalities seemed to switch, Varys stood his ground.
"If that's so …" He turned and reached for the door handle. "What will I find inside, I wonder?" He made to pull.
Suddenly swords were drawn, and two blades were on either side of the spider's smooth, jowly neck. The man smiled mouthing the word "oh" silently. Ned tightened his jaw and pulled the man backward so that the blades were pointed at him, not on him. The Hand stood between his men.
"It would seem words are wind, Lord Stark."
"Things are complicated."
"So it seems." The eunuch rubbed his neck. "I thought you would like to know that the …" He paused and smiled at the door. "I mean I thought that you would like to know what 'your guest's' last correspondence was." He rubbed his powdered hands together.
Eddard was beyond annoyed now. "Which is? A letter to Ser Jaime, her father?"
"A raven …"
"To?"
The eunuch just smiled disappearing in the dark.
"To the Night's Watch!"
The door to the Hand's chambers opened with a silent creak, and soft scrapes of boots and a cane upon marble announced the entrance of a man burdened with a conscience of many faces- Joffrey Lannister, bloody and deformed, the shock on his daughters face, the freshly raped queen, her slender body covered in bruises, her children forever changed. All of it happened because he thought he was doing the right thing … all of it because of honor. Doing the right thing had never brought one's mind peace, and it seemed tonight was especially the truth.
The room was darkened, lit dimly by the gleam of the blue moonlight softly glowing high in the dark southern sky, its light blotting out stars. On the white ceiling and wall a shimmer of water reflected distinctively, the moon's rays bouncing off the black water and over the balcony. It's was a chamber, and a setting that Ned Stark could only stop and observe with softened eyes. The Hand of the King had never been a man to enjoy the beauty of things, but this bed chamber on this night was relieving the occupations of his mind.
It was only a moment, before the night came for him again. He saw the big man, who called himself a king, as the boy who was his brother. The laughing, fun loving, black-haired boy, who wasn't the brightest man in Westeros, but was a fair minded youth. He thought of the warrior he served under years later during the rebellion. There was a purpose then, he fought, he killed, but he did it on the battlefield, there was anger, but never cruelty.
"You damned fool … there's more to life than this." Ned breathed sorrowfully The minute they put the crown on his head, a new man took his brothers place, a man Eddard Stark spent eighteen years fooling himself into believing was still the man who grew up with him, a man he had loved like a brother, not to this stranger, not to this king.
"Is there my lord?" The voice was gentle, uncharacteristically gentle, and pensive. There was a sorrow and vulnerability to it that seemed to match this dark moonless night, fool of terrors and monsters. Ned turned and saw a silhouette standing on the balcony just outside of his chambers, obscured by the sheer white drapes fluttering in the light breeze that was blowing off the river.
Ned frowned and followed the sound of the voice past the bed, and through the drapes out into the night where the world was bathed in a blue hue. When he saw the woman he turned away with a clearing of his throat.
The light shined on her golden hair which spilled down her naked, pale back. The light seemed to glisten off the smooth skin, bathing her in an ethereal glow, like some creature from the heavens, as she stood naked as a new born babe watching the rocks below which blocked the rush of the mouth of the river.
"Why do you turn away? … It's nothing you have never seen before." Cersei Lannister didn't turn to face Eddard when she felt his presence.
Ned's voice sputtered. "It wouldn't be proper, Your Grace." He found it hard to call her by her title when she was standing in front of him like this.
"You gave me a natural son, Ned … I believe propriety has long since fled us." It had been years, but for some reason the lord knew that the queen had quirked an eyebrow at her statement, while it stung him to hear it. Eddard felt as small as the Imp at the memory of that night eighteen years past.
Slowly he turned his head back to the queen, the illumination softening his demeanor. He suddenly found himself leaning against a column the way a young man he knew once would have. The woman stood motionless as a statue.
He lowered his eyes the instant that he saw that the glisten was from newly cleansed skin marked with black and green bruises of fist strikes and large calloused hands holding her down. Eddard had loved Robert, but sometimes it was hard to find a reason why, and right now he couldn't find a childhood memory to make up for it.
"How simple …" Cersei's voice was as soft as whisper in the breeze.
She must have known what the Hand had come to realize, because when Ned looked up, she was staring at her body, voice quivering with cold dissent. "How simple …" She repeated suddenly staring at the rocks below.
"My lady." His dark eyes sparked, and he tossed himself off the column in cautious alarm.
He couldn't see it, but he knew she had a smug smile on her lips. "How simple, a few steps and I will be remembered for hundreds of years. The septas tell children stories of my ghost wandering the halls, pining for a lost love. They might even name this tower after me. Cersei's Tower … what do think, my lord?" She asked taking a step toward the stone guard rail.
Eddard took a step forward suddenly, as if attached to her waist by a rope. "Your Grace …"
"I'll live forever." She whispered staring down at the crashing sea and closing her eyes. "How simple." She seemed to listen to the waves. It didn't matter anymore, the scheming, the plotting, and the secret meetings with Jaime. Without just one of her children, Cersei Lannister was lost. All she wanted was for the pain and numbed void in her heart to finally come to an end.
Just as she climbed the guard rail, a shadow stood beside her. "Please …" Ned Stark's voice was soft and gentle; it was the first time since she could remember that someone talked to her that way. "Give me your hand." She could feel him extend it toward her.
She couldn't look at him, couldn't find those grey eyes knowing that if she turned he would have her and then it would be over.
"Think of the Tommen and Myrcella, they couldn't survive losing their brother and their mother in the same night."
"They're better off, with you."
"My lady, think of my children …"
She glared. "What of yours?" She asked.
"They would be as fatherless as yours would be motherless."
Despite what she was telling herself, cold green eyes snapped to Ned Stark. The man had such sorrowful eyes and a grim expression; he was sure he looked how she felt inside. They were two sides of the same coin, he wore his pain for the world to see and she hid hers deep within.
"You would jump after me?" She asked.
The man didn't flinch. "I'm the Hand of the King and you're the Queen, Your Grace." He stated simply. "I'll always come back for you …" there wasn't a moment of hesitation in his voice.
Suddenly all the years, melted away, the bitter resentment of wrongs done to her never seemed to have happened, she was a girl again, he saw it in her face. He may look older, he may have hardened away the handsome boy that had once held her so gently, he may always look so tired, but the words were there. The same words that he had spoken to her the night she knew she wouldn't truly have what she wanted out of life.
"For you …" She repeated.
"Always" He said, younger sounding and looking than he had been in years. Their husband and wife forgotten in that one moment that seemed to have been trapped in time in the Godswood behind them.
She took his hand and slowly he pulled her down into his arms and carried her out of the light, back into the dark room where the last traces of the teenage lovers remained forever.
Sister Golden hair – America
Fire & Rain – James Taylor
In the Air Tonight – Phil Collins