After All These Years

"I will not bend the knee to a boy!"

"You have no choice!"

"Aye! I have no choice but to honor the word of my father and claim Tully!"

"HERE, HERE!"

"TULLY RULES THE RIVER!"

"No! No!"

"My son has the claim!"

"NO! BRANDON STARK!"

"A cripple?! I name all of you traitors, those who will not take my son as your liege! By right of his blood!"

"House Frey seconds Lady Arryn!"

"That's right Arryn, you weasel faced fuck! He's no Tully! It is Lord Brynden who is heir!"

"Then let him marry!"

The days had becoming increasingly colder in the capital and it might have made Ned Stark feel more at home. But on cold days there were furs and a woman's body to keep a man warm, and yet there was nothing about this demandable iron chair to keep Eddard's ass or heart warm. The throne room was filled with people, lords and their ladies, knights of the realm. He looked to the audience balconies and saw their silken dresses and shined tunics.

On the tile floor, below the throne, crowds had formed. They were separated into two groups on either side of the throne room. On each side ceremonial banners flew from each house of the Riverlands — sons and father, grandfathers, and heirs. They all shouted across the room at one another, separated only by the pikes of the golden armored city watch. Each man and boy rallied around three figures.

To Eddard's right stood his good sister, Lysa Arryn. She wore a black dress with slit sleeves as the style of the Vale, and her skirt torn in mourning for her sister and brother. Her dark Tully eyes were afire, some might say crazed, as she ranted over the crowd. She was backed by the twin towers of Frey, and the Red Stallion of Bracken. Eddard wasn't so sure that the Brackens supported Lysa as much as they wouldn't be caught dead on the same side as the Blackwoods. But most important of all, to Eddard's chagrin, was Petyr Baelish standing behind Lysa, smiling smugly as if the world was missing some larger joke. There was air of legitimacy in their thinking to have a member of the small council backing their cause to sit young Robert Arryn on the seat at Riverrun.

To Eddard's left stood the stalwart figure of old Brynden Tully in his scaled dark leathers, his hard face implacable in the eye of his niece's verbal storm. In support behind him was the other Tully family representative. Robb looked fierce and handsome. The latter trait unmissed by many of the maidens in the room, who may not have come to see the council at all, but to gaze upon the handsome Lord of Winterfell, accomplished hero of the Lannister wars. But unaware, or ignoring his audience, Robb had taken a cue from his uncle and dressed in his informal leather surcoat and blue long sleeve. It was their stance that it didn't take fancy clothing to make a ruler, but blood and deeds. Ned felt a moment of pride to see his son standing before the realm, a man grown, strong and unmovable in the face of his foes. Had Cat been here he could almost see her grin of fierce pride in what their son had made of himself in times of such peril. Behind Robb and Brynden were the hard men made of war, that had given loyalty to those they had deemed earned it. Their banners were made of the silver eagle of Mallister, the dead Weirwood of the Blackwoods, and the bats of house Whent.

The Hand of the King could feel a headache coming as he slouched in the cold Iron seat, rubbing his forehead to dull the ache of a constant shouting and ranting. He opened his eyes and snuck a look to the right. Stiff in her chair, Cersei showed no emotion to the commotion in front of her. Her long tresses of golden hair were brushed out and in perfect curls. Her fierce eyes raked those in the balcony and those in the crowd with cold indifference. She had traded the golds and crimsons of her father's house for the silver and blues of house Stark as their lord's captive. Her silken blue gown with silver embroidery and long white sleeves showed a stunning regal nature that no lady of Winterfell had ever shown in hundreds of years. With a silver choker and jeweled tiara the marvelous beauty looked as every bit a queen that many of these lords and ladies from across the Kingdoms could have expected to see in what were many of their first visits to Kings Landing. Lord Varys had warned Eddard beforehand that he was making a mistake in not only bringing Cersei to the Lords Convention, but to allow her dress in such an audacious manner. As a queen accused of adultery and treason, whose house was in disgrace, it might be considered in poor taste for the Hand of the King to dress the King's enemy in his colors and allow her to be so radiant in front of the entire realm.

"And what would you have me do, Lord Varys? Tell her to rub shit over herself? Dress her in silent sister's robes? She's a beautiful woman, my Lord. I would not deny the gods what they made her."

"Lord Eddard!" The shrill voice of Lysa Arryn called to him.

Ned gave long sigh and motioned a hand to Harwin, the now Captain of the City Watch. With a nod of his head, the men of the guard began to pound their pikes onto the floor till all the chatter had stopped. When they were done, there was an uneasy silence that crept back into the throne room. The Hand rubbed his nose tiredly, before facing his good sister.

"Lady Arryn?" he addressed her.

"I demand that you make a Judgment on this matter of succession!" She strode forward. "As my sister's husband, and the father of her children, you are the most qualified!" She announced.

"Who are you to make demands of the hand?" Robb spoke up angrily. Eddard appreciated his son's defense and distaste for Lysa's tone in which she spoke to him. But sadly as heralded as Robb was in the Battlefield, there was much he needed to learn of ruling. In Winterfell and the North they ruled in absolute power, but in this snakes den, courtesy, amongst the highest born lords and ladies of the land was a luxury, not a demand.

"Lord Stark, you were not addressed to speak!" Eddard chastised his son. "Continue Lady Arryn." He nodded. The auburn haired youth stepped back deflated and embarrassed. He had the look of the six year old that Eddard angrily dressed down with Jon for both playing behind a unbroken warhorse, that could have easily caved in one of their tiny little curly haired heads with a single kick.

"I implore you to end this madness, and name my son, Lord of the Trident, by royal decree." Her voice shook with madness, even as lucid as she was, there was something broken inside.

Eddard had remembered the girl at Riverrun, pretty and fresh, though oddly sad. It was true that it was no maiden's dream to marry an older man, but even after The Greyjoy Rebellion, the last time he saw her, there was still something hopeful inside her. But now he almost did not recognize the woman in front of him. She had aged overnight it seemed, her voice girlish and shrill, and her look prideful and withered. She had been the antithesis of Catelyn, who had found her happiness in his arms and in the tiny patter of their children's feet.

"And why would that be, Lady Arryn?"

All in the court turned their full attention to the Queen. There was something dark and cold in her emerald jewels. Even still as a stone, there was an anger bordering rage embodied in her rigid posture at Eddard's side. Lysa looked as if she had been slapped in the face, by the question alone.

"My son has the right …" Lysa spoke up.

"Your son has the Vale … why would he also need the River Lands?" Cersei turned her head coldly. "Lord Frey?" She addressed the older man behind Lysa. All of Walder Frey's brood had the same weasel features and small eyes. Walder Frey's oldest, Walder, strode forward.

There was a sinister look about the long nosed older man. "He has the blood of the River in his veins, my Lady." He spoke with distain in his voice. Eddard noted the refusal to call her by her title.

There was a predatory smirk that graced the beauty's rosy lips. "Yes, and I suppose that Lady Arryn promised young Robert to one of your "comely" sisters or nieces. Your father's creative way to put house Frey in the heraldry of Riverrun, if not to take it over completely. Tell me Lord Walder, if young Robert rules in the Vale, who would look after Riverrun in his stead? Surely not Lord Brynden." There was a look of shock and fear on Walder Frey's face in reaction to the aggression on Cersei's. "And you, Baelish?" She addressed the amused man with the salt and pepper goatee.

"Merely a concerned family friend, your grace." The master of coin gestured cockily with a grand sweeping bow.

The Queen scoffed. "Robert Arryn, such a sickly boy … It would be years before he would take rule over his vast territory. I'm sure Lady Arryn would be overwhelmed with the responsibility as regent. A husband would be a great benefit … possibly a concerned family friend. It would be a rise for one of such … humble origins to the ruler over the largest kingdom in Westeros." She tilted her head at the hidden implication with a look of frigid savagery.

There was a sudden burst of murmurs and whispers amongst the crowd at the implied motives of Lysa's supporters. Walder Frey shrank back into the group of his kin, Lysa looked outraged, and Petyr Baelish could not contain his Cheshire grin, nodding respectfully, as chivalrous knight might at a well struck blow in a tourney. Eddard looked back and forth between the crowd of suddenly restless nobility and to Cersei who betrayed just the slightest of a smirk that dripped of satisfaction as a prey's blood might a lioness's fangs.

Lysa was incensed, marked by the wild look in her eyes. When she strode forward she nearly tripped on her skirts, eliciting a small chuckle from the audience above. "How dare you!" She screeched at the cold beauty. "How dare you even allow her to speak to me in this manner, a creature such as this?" She yelled at Eddard.

From the corner of his eye, he saw Robb stride forward again. Quickly he held his hand up to halt his son's anger. The boy's aunt turned around a moment, glared with a disdain that no true family member would ever aim at their kin and rounded on Ned again.

"Lady Arryn, she is still your queen, and as of yet stands only accused of treasonous crimes. You will allot her the proper respect of her title and opinion." There was a firm command in his voice. He left little to be argued. But as he had always known, there was no reasoning with the mad. They saw and believed what they wanted to see.

Lysa mounted the first step toward the Iron Throne in protest. "I will not sit by while this whore accuses me of planning with Walder Frey the murder of my siblings to take my father's seat!" She shouted shrilly, pointing from Cersei to The Hand. There was an explosion of chatter suddenly from all in the throne room. The Northman's jaw set grimly, and his hands gripped the armrests angrily. The mad woman was innocently surprised by the sudden reaction to her words. She watched the Queen stare at her captor with unreadable eyes. Eddard was unable to speak, and had he, it would shake the entire realm into open war. One Stark had already caused so many deaths with his wolf's blood and careless words, he would not be the second. So Eddard remained silent and tense.

Finally Cersei spoke to Lysa. "Lady Arryn …" She tilted her head. "I never spoke of such things." She seemed vengeful with a darkness deeply shown in her fierce eyes. Had it been true of the plots to murder Catelyn and Edmure, this mad woman, the puppet of ambitious schemers, had falsely named their baseborn son outlaw and sicced the ruthlessly self-righteous Stannis Baratheon and his Red Woman upon him.

Taking a step off the stair, her eyes searched around carefully. "I … I … I" She repeated dumbfound under the rage of angry gray eyes. She turned on Cersei with stewed up anger. "You've put words in my mouth! Manipulated me into saying things!" She accused shakily. "She has affected your mind, Lord Stark, truly!" She announced. "A deceitful whore who murdered my husband to keep her incestuous abomination a secret!" She had become theatrical as she spoke to the audience who had all but turned against her.

The queen met these new slights with a look of cutting contempt. But it was Eddard Stark who found his feet. "Lady Arryn, you are ordered to leave this throne room! Only to return when summoned!" His voice echoed through the hollow halls. The auburn haired woman was startled by the powerful booming voice learned on the field of battle.

"Have I cut too deep into the truth, my lord?! Spoken through the lies she's told you in my sister's marriage bed?!" She pushed.

Eddard was now shaking. "You have spoken yourself into the swing of my sword, Lady. Spoken yourself into irons! If you were a man your words would've earned death, and yet you may escape it yet, if you plague me no more with talk of your rights and the love of my wife!" His voice had become graveled and dangerous.

There was a tense beat of silence, before Littlefinger took Lysa by the arm. "A fair judge, my lord." He gave a nod. He was discretely forceful in removing her from the room, whispering in her ear as they disappeared into the crowd. With their lynchpin being led away, Lysa's supporters began to dwindle.

"I call an end to this convention for the day!" He announced with a dangerous temper showing in his commanding voice. Sweat began to dampen his brow at the ache in his leg that overcame him at the rash action of standing without his cane. But still he maintained his commanding presence till the crowds dispersed and the hush was replaced by the shuffling of feet and conversation.

He stood till he couldn't take any more pain. When his head began to grow light, he collapsed backwards into the throne. Immediately he heard the sound of ripping of cloth and the sobering sharp pain run across his forearm.

"My lord!"

Cersei stood immediately, while Robb and Harwin rushed to his side. Eddard looked down to see that a sharp barb on the damned iron seat had caught his arm. It had torn through the fabric of his blue long sleeve shirt and given him a nasty gash.

"I'm alright." He panted, holding his arm to his chest. "I'm alright." he reassured Robb, who had a worried hand on his shoulder.

Harwin shook his head. "I guess it's a good thing you never took that chair, my lord." He chuckled for levity.

Robb frowned. "What does that mean?" He asked.

"They say that the man who cuts himself on the throne is a man whose leadership is questioned." Eddard answered.

"That's not what I meant by it, my lord." Harwin immediately retracted.

Ned nodded with a hard swallow. "Aye … There's no reason not to question my decisions." He spoke distractedly his gaze drawn to Cersei who stood apart from the rest of them.

A wall of rolling fog obscured the stars in the windless night over King's Landing. It was like a gray wall of nothing that was held over the Blackwater, besieging the city, an ominous atmosphere for a quiet night. It was too quiet, Eddard thought. The Red Keep was filled with lords and ladies from all over the kingdoms; the city filled with merchants, travelers, and adventures. All of them here to see Robert's tourney tomorrow. But there was a seeming silence that hovered over the city and people alike. The torches burned low in their holsters in the wall. The sentries seemed grim, looking into the grey nothing that looked back through them from the shadows. For all the merrymaking that should've followed with the festivities planned for the morning, there was an air of uncomfortable foreboding to what was to come —not just tomorrow, but a feeling of the beginning to an end of a world they knew. It certainly wasn't what Robert had wanted.

His kingdom-wide holiday was a waste of time and money, if you had asked The Hand. It was an extravagance that the realm could little afford at the moment. Tywin Lannister might have forgiven the Crown's debts in ransom for the Kingslayer, but there was still money owed to the Iron Bank. Robert wanted to dwarf the atmosphere of the tourney at Harrenhal from their youth, with this meaningless spectacle all in the name of shaming his own wife. They'd all gather to watch the greatest knights in the realm fight in a massive melee for the honor of being the King's Champion in the trial by combat to come. It was a ceremonious title, for no one had come forward and offer their sword to Cersei as of yet. He couldn't blame them.

The Queen was guilty. Her crimes were heinous and as abominable as they were many. No man of honor, much less of sense, would choose to take up his sword for her. Yet, more and more had he been staring at Ice, his father's sword, his grandfather's sword … a sword of heroes. It was madness to think the thoughts he had been having. To be honest, it was madness to be doing what he had been doing as of late. He questioned his sanity as he questioned himself. Every night he woke to the dream of a naked and bloated Catelyn floating in her family's river, to Bran falling from a window in a high tower. Each one of them looked to him and in their dead eyes asked him why he hadn't avenged them, why did he not care.

Eddard Stark cared. He suffered from how much he cared what had happened to his family. But in that cold sweat he was comforted by soft kisses, and a smooth body that clutched to him. She'd whisper comforts to him, crawling to sit on his thighs under his sheets. She was his only comfort and also the bane of his life. She brought him his only reason in this vipers pit, his only ally to understand the plots forever being constructed against his children and himself … and yet had she been anyone else, he would've claimed her head long ago. Cersei Lannister, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, the unapologetic criminal of numerous wrongs, held his heart captive.

He stood in the doorway to his bed chamber watching as the queen slept on the wife's side of a marriage bed. A lantern light still burned on an end table bathing her sleeping form in the glass light. She was truly the most beautiful woman he had ever looked upon. The sheets had only been drawn to her waist exposing the pale skin of her flat belly. Her slender arms raised above her head, slipping underneath her pillow, exposing her perfect breasts topped with thick ample nipples that rose and fell with her breath. She was any man's dream, a heavenly creature as pure and innocent as she slept. But he knew she wasn't.

There was an anger to her, a maleficent bitterness toward the world of which there was no cure it seemed. Ambitious, cunning, with the capacity for cruelty of the likes Eddard had never seen in a woman before. She had maimed his own son to protect her secrets, and she might have even killed old Jon, his mentor and second father, to protect … theirs. By all accounts he should've have been the first to stand by Robert's side and see justice done upon her. But there was history that could not be denied.

There had always been a higher duty to the realm, according to the Hand. He had left his wife twice, while with his child in her belly both times to fight Robert's wars. Ned was not a cruel man. He had never wanted to leave Catelyn alone in a place that was never her home. But Catelyn was much like the realm, a name on the list of duty, a responsibility upheld by a sense of honor. Eddard said a vow to her as he did to the realm, because it was his honor bound duty to do so. Love was for troubadours, and ladies in the maiden vaults.

There had only been one woman Eddard had ever loved; one woman that had forever haunted him through the long bloody chaos on the battlefield, and sleepless cold nights in Winterfell. If love was the bane of duty and the death of honor, then all of what made Eddard who he was, lay dead at the feet of Cersei Lannister. For his love for the queen, this unattainable dream for so many years had brought into question all of who he was and would be.

These months together was like being trapped in a moment in time between a boy and girl many long years ago in the Gods Wood of the Red Keep. Their love transcended points of view, and differences. Yet, sadly he was beginning to realize that there was no future for them. When this tourney and trial business was over, he would resign and take the rest of his family home. But he knew that he could not take Cersei with him. This radiant beauty, fierce and prideful, would wither in the colds of the north like a summer flower. He had seen from his own banner men's woes of bringing a southern beauty to such a harsh country. Yet, the Starks of Winterfell could not stay here either; his place, and his son's place was in Winterfell not this smelly, dangerous city. He had come here to protect the king and his own family. But the King had betrayed him and in doing so Eddard had failed his wife. So now his only wish was to return home. But to what? He asked himself.

He couldn't stay any longer and yet, he couldn't leave the queen to her fate at the vengeful hands of Robert's wrath. His love fought a war with his reason, his devotion with his honor. What was he to do tomorrow, when Robert named his champion and issued his challenged before the whole Kingdom? He knew what an honorable man would do, what a Hand of the King would do, what a father would do …

But what would Eddard Stark do?

"It's late for that my lord …"

Fierce emerald eyes watched Eddard from the bed as he held a half sheathed great sword in his hands. He turned to face her, the smoky colored metal glimmering in the lantern light. The Queen turned on her side, propping her head on an upraised hand. She seemed sleepy, but alert as she studied him.

"They say that nothing holds an edge like Valyrian Steel … and yet you sharpen it anyway." She was fascinated with the Stark heirloom. If it was one thing that would always hold the queen's fancy it was a blade. Eddard had always noticed when he let her hold his sword, that her eyes had become electrified, her posture upright. She seemed incensed by the feeling of a weapon in her hand. Afterward, she would not rest till he had spilled his seed on her belly. It was something in the primal power of the sword that always overcame her baser instincts.

"It's never bad thing to be prepared, my lady." He sheathed the great sword. His look was pained and filled with sorrow. It didn't go beyond the queen's notice. There was a frown the wrinkled her brow.

She wouldn't address what she knew was bothering him. It was the uncertainty of tomorrow and what it could bring. He was worried for her, he cared, and at this point he might be the only one who still did. So for that she would love him forever. She lifted the furs. "Come to bed …" She scooted back to give him room.

"I wouldn't sleep." He rebuffed her.

She watched him lean Ice against the wall. "I didn't say you would." She replied with a command in her voice.

It was the dauntless beauty in the candle light, the comfortable nature of her resting in his bed. He began to understand all of what he had lost the night he rejected her in the Gods Wood. There was painful clairvoyance that this could've been their life and maybe could still be. In another world, in some other universe, every night she'd ask him to come to bed and share the night with her. He thought when he lost Catelyn that his heart couldn't hurt any worse.

Suddenly there was so much he wanted to say to her, so much he wanted to do. It couldn't continue this way, but couldn't end the way fate had designed. He turned to the sword again like an old faithful companion. Ice had cut down so many great knights in its day and Eddard Stark began to wonder with such great hope if both sword and it's crippled soldier still had at least one more fight in them. But his wolf's blood stirring in his veins turned to naught in sight of the Hand of the King's badge that sat on his dresser. In its cold golden paint was ice water over the fire of passion in his heart. He had become conflicted again.

"Ned …"

It was said as soft as a whisper. He slowly turned back to the queen to her eyes that had become glassed over. There was resignation and just a hint of fear in her face, an emotion she never let anyone see. The Lord of Winterfell had not been the only one thinking of tomorrow. It had become obvious only now that without her family, without her children … Cersei Lannister was utterly alone.

"Please … come to bed." She shook her head through tears.

No more thinking of a future that could never be, no thinking of what tomorrow could bring. She wanted only now, only the night. She wanted him, the way she had wanted him all those years ago in the God's Wood. She was afraid of the dawn and the unknown before them as she had been once.

"Take me, Lord Stark."

She spoke the words through tears that had echoed through his most pleasant dreams and most haunting nightmares. Words that he associated with the worst hurts and most painful mistakes he had made in his life. A boy had walked away from her the last time she uttered them. But now a man would not make the same mistake.

When he took her in his arms and captured her lips to his. There was no Eddard Stark, no Cersei Lannister. There was no tourney, no dead wife, and no murdered son. There was no Lord of Winterfell, or Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. For one sleepless night there was only a not so young man anymore making love to a lonely beauty that, after all the long painful years, still liked the way he smiled.

Author's Notes

"After All These Years - Journey"

Despite what was thought, I never gave up on this story. The problem I have with posting anything not Sarah Connor Chronicles, is the lack of motivation. I look at the Numbers and Favorites this story gets and it means a lot. But it also took over a year just to get a handful of reviews. I'm not a glory hog, and I'm not looking for my Ego to be stroked. Nor have I ever asked for reviews in all the years I've been doing this. But, your feedback is what really inspires me to continue.

So if you can find it in your heart to leave some feedback, it would be helpful to the cause.

Don't worry, if old RR Martin sues, I'll say all of you are just my fake accounts.