Alright, party people, respond and you will receive. I'm going to manage my time poorly and give you the content you deserve! But in all seriousness, if I go without uploading for a while just wait until about May 20th. That's five days after my Summer break begins, so even in the worst case scenario I'll still have a little bit of time to get this done. Sorry this ended up being so long, but if you guys enjoyed the length lmk.

Sunny: Glad you're enjoying it, and I hope you keep reading!

Jean d'Arc: Nail on the fucking head, once again. The story is going to follow some familiar beats, but generally speaking, this will not be the same Winterfell as the one in canon. I think that Ned being as harsh as he was is a little unordinary, you're right, but I think it's also in character. Thinking back to what he did to Cat and that poor servant girl, imagine what he would have done if he'd been married to Cersei instead. We do inevitably become more and more like the people we surround ourselves with, and Ned and Cersei have been in a loveless (and sexless, which is important for the smellier sex) marriage for about a year or more now. That being said, I may have bungled what I meant to do somehow. My intention was for the scene to be a sort of dark reflection of Ned's interaction with Cat over Ashara Dayne, due to the similarities between Cat and Cersei in canon. And I love Ned Stark on principle, so don't worry about me bashing him. I characterize bashing as a form of character assassination, so you're super safe from any of that. That being said, he and Cersei will become gradually more alike as they FINALLY get closer to one another and there might be some cruelty that seeps into Eddard's character, or at the very least a numbness to it. So while he brings out some of the best in Cersei, I'm planning to have her bring out the worst in Ned. And I'm glad you like how Cersei interacted with Jon! I was thinking a lot about your review and my own thoughts on the Cat/Jon and Cersei/Jon dynamics throughout writing that last chapter, so thank you.

Drakena: Dude, I will never not feel badly for Luwin. The amount of drama and trauma this one old man has been through within three whole generations of Starks is insane. I honestly wasn't even that sad when he died in canon, book or t.v. versions. It just seemed like the poor old coot was finally getting to rest, even if he technically was being forced into an early retirement of sorts lol. Really skewered him with it at the end there. Glad he was still as sharp as ever, though, it gave him time to make a few good points to Bran before he died.

King of Summer: I love that you bring up the ranking of nobility in ASoIaF, or rather the lack thereof. I think GRRM even went so far as to say that one of his biggest regrets was making everyone a lord/lady rather than having dukes/duchesses etc. for lower offices. Just a neat detail. As for the military prowess of Ned and Robert, that will definitely become more relevant later on but for the most part, I want to focus on politics and diplomacy. If I end up working on the sequel(s) it'll definitely come up more, but until then it's more of a contributing factor to the diplomatic choices of Ned/Robert's rivals and enemies. Speaking of which, Tywin remarrying is an interesting idea but I haven't thought a whole lot about it. Who do you think would be a good prospect? I'll do some brainstorming of my own while I work on the next chapter.

Honest Word Count: 4,886 (oops)

Ned:

The clamber around Winterfell was palpable, and in the middle of the night, Ned was in absolutely no mood for it. His son was dying, his maester was constantly whinging about some Lannister or another, and he was sure his wife was cheering quietly. Whether for the death of his bastard or the monstrous shadow her father cast over Robert's regime, Ned wasn't sure. Though not as quietly as he would've liked. He dressed quickly in his bed chambers, putting on a blue tunic with a silver collar, gray trousers, and his heavy black cloak as he rushed from his bedroom through the solar and finally rushed through the door and into a narrow corridor that connected his chambers to the rest of the keep. Almost as soon as he'd opened the door, though, he ran right into a maid who was carrying a variety of clothes and linens. Ned Stark was not as big or fierce a man as Robert or his friends might claim, but she was a tiny thing in comparison and so she fell almost instantly after running into him.

"I'm sorry Lord, 't won't 'appen again!" she squeaked out. Ned composed himself, taking a moment to absorb some of his surprise at quite literally running right into someone.

"It's fine, Marie, just be more careful," he told her gently. She was a small girl, barely ten and four years of age, with a mousy face and a perpetually terrified look on her face, and wore loose, ill-fitting brown woolen robes that seemed to dangle off the blames of her shoulders.

She had been a recent addition to his keep, and to be honest he'd much preferred the last girl. Lydia had been sharp-tongued at times, and never really took to the North the way he'd wanted her to, but she'd made a home out of Winterfell. And even though she'd never loved the North, she came to understand it in time. She was a fixture here, like the stone gargoyles or dire wolves that adorned the various parts of the keep. Ned doubted he could have exiled her if he'd wanted to, her roots in the castle were so deep. And yet with one word Cersei's Septons stole her away in the night, and done gods know what with her.

His face hardened further, thinking back to his dinner with Cersei. His jaw locked as he replayed the events over again in his mind's eye. It hadn't gone how he'd wanted it to go, but how much better could it have gone in general? Cersei was a shrew of a woman, unfeeling and uncompromising. She seemed intent upon being returned to Lord Tywin, and a few times he'd been tempted to indulge her. But no, he couldn't. Luwing was incessant about the Lannisters and the danger they posed, but he was also right. Tywin Lannister could not be given back a single member of his main line, or who knew what deals he might strike.

"Are you a'right, m'lord?" Marie asked softly.

Ned stared at her vacantly. She had been quiet, he'd realized. She wasn't when she'd gotten here, and while that fact had annoyed him slightly he hadn't felt the need to correct it. Clearly, however, someone clearly had. Realizing how aloof his silence had been, he tried to smile at her reassuringly.

"I've been better, in truth," he admitted. Marie nodded carefully. Lowborns, be they Northern or otherwise, were always cautious around highborns. After all that he'd seen in the war, he understood.

"But don't trouble yourself," he said, trying to reassure her. "It's nothing you've done."

Marie gave a small smile, then knelt and began quickly collecting the few clothes that she hadn't yet picked up off the floor. Ned caught a quick glimpse of her breast from under the baggy robe. Almost immediately she glanced up and caught his eyes, and him.

It was only natural that she'd caught him, for Ned Stark was not practiced in lechery, He had also not intended to see down her shirt, but the ill-fitting hand-me-down hid very little from specific angles unknown to all but the wearer. A heavy blush followed, and Ned Stark was suddenly warm. It was an odd sensation, one which he wasn't sure if he liked yet.

"Are you sure you're alright, my Lord?" Marie asked coyly. She stood up and held her workload down by her waist, trying to present her small and young breasts. "Are you sure nothing ails you?"

"Er, yes. I am," he answered her. He had disgraced Cersei once when he'd brought Jon home, and look at how that had turned out. He could not go through it all again. "I am sorry, though."

She smiled and looked down shyly, though she wasn't nearly as clever as she thought she was. The girl had the wiles of an ironman and the honor of a Southerner. Maybe she was a Southerner, Ned thought as he realized he didn't actually know where she was from.

"You'd do well to be done with that," he warned her. It was for her own good, he told himself. Lowborn girls didn't know what dangers lurked in the private thoughts of Lords, and kings, or their political betters in general. His father and brother, The Warden of the North Cregan Star,k and his heir Brandon had taught him that lesson in relatively recent memory. Not by instruction, he thought bitterly, but rather because of fire and blood. Marie, however, would not heed the free wisdom he'd freely offered her.

"It's alright, m'lord, truly. I'm not embarrassed," she said, smiling prettily and dropping the linens to the floor. "Are you?"

He pursed his lips, knowing what was at stake these days. Knowing, even if nobody else did, that he'd been responsible for the death of Lyanna's son, the son he'd taken in as his own for the sake of the love he bore her, was likely dead by now. He could not be responsible for the death of another child, and Cersei would not tolerate his next bastard for nearly so long. Why she had waited so long to poison Jon, he had no idea. Without proof, he could do nothing, and Cersei's inevitable vengeance would be terrible and swift.

"You already have one bastard, what will Lady Stark do about the other? After all," she continued, stupidly taking a slow step toward Ned. "If your bed is as empty as they say, she has as much a claim to it as the

"Had," Ned replied brusquely, hoping the dull girl would take the hint.

"You didn't hear?" She asked, actually a little surprised.

"Hear what?" He inquired. Stupid she might be, but she was a notorious gossip. He could not make use of her body, neither his station nor his circumstances would not allow it. But making use of her ear? Very doable, desirable even, and one of the few reasons he'd yet to replace her.

"Well," she said, now close enough that he could feel her hot breath against his chest. The heat to his face was rising once more, but irate as he was he dared not interrupt her. "Your son lives, although the Maester's taken ill, and your wife has taken to praying with her priests." She put her hands on his abdomen then, gliding them deftly along his fine tunic and toward the fur collar of his cloak.

He grabbed her wrists suddenly, and hard. "What's wrong with the maester?" He demanded from her.

"I-I don't know," She answered, now afraid for the first time. "I hear- I hear he's fine though, he's -ah- he's in his torrent." Ned Stark nodded, and slowly let go. A brief moment passed between them, and a pang of guilt bit at him from somewhere in his chest. "I'm sorry," he told her honestly.

"It, uh, it's alright, m'lord," she answered tentatively.

"You should get to bed," he told her as he brushed past her. But as he made his way down the narrow corridor and out into the narrow courtyard, it struck him that sunrise was not as far off as he'd thought. The sky was absent of both the sun and stars tonight, and it was steadily turning blue as opposed to the inky black that characterized the night sky. Upon that realization, Ned Stark grimaced the whole way up the maester's tower.

Once up, he found that the door had been propped open by one of the Maester's heavy books. The thing was no ornament, but Ned had no time to read and neither, he reckoned, did the maester.

Speaking of whom, Ned was glad to see the small, tired, and wise face of his old friend sticking out from beneath heavy warm blankets. His eyes were fluttering a bit but opened wide when Ned entered his room.

"Oh, urhg, my Lord," Luwin said, quickly attempting to stand and prattle through his courtesies.

"Not now, Maester Luwin," Ned cut him off. "We've not time enough for pleasantness."

The old man smiled gently at that and lifted a bony, leather-like hand to pat the side of his bed where there was room enough for Ned to sit. And so he did.

"This isn't working," Ned sighed, slowly turning his head to meet the maester's gaze. He'd expected disappointment or anger. Instead, all he saw was panic. Ned had seen panic before, it was one of the many horrors of war. But panic was for soldiers, not maesters. He bit his tongue, though, out of respect for the man who had helped raise him.

"You cannot, my Lord," Luwin beseeched. "You know what will come of it if you do-"

"Damn you, maester-" Ned hissed through grit teeth. "What would you have of me? She respects me not, profits me little, and has laid with me never."

"My lord-"

"No, Luwin, I'm done bartering with this witch," Ned declared. "She haunts my halls like a ghost, poisons my son, bastard boy that he is-"

"You cannot prove that, Lord," Luwin pointed out desperately.

"He is my blood!" Ned shouted as he rose to his feet suddenly, finally feeling like the 'Lord Stark' everyone had been calling him since Brandon's death. And Jon was his son, Lord Stark's son. "And you will not give her the chance to lay another hand on him." Ned decreed, to which Luwin nodded in fearful agreement. Ned accepted this reluctant submission, though his treatment of the maester had not left him satisfied. Still, he continued.

"In addition, you will send a raven to Casterly Rock. Tell Lord Tywin to come and fetch his daughter, I will go deliver the good news to her myself," he spat, turning on a heel.

"Wait!" Maester Luwin cried out. And, to Ned's surprise, he did. "If… If you feel I've rendered you good counsel-" The maester was exhausting himself as he tried to sit up in his bed, shaking like a leaf in winter as he struggled. "Then you must… listen." Ned paused at that, and at the begging eyes of the man who had raised him. Ashamed, but without apologizing, Ned lingered in the doorway.

"Alright, maester. I'm listening."

Luwin smiled gently, the way his father had smiled at him once. It both warmed and unsettled him, and he found himself wishing the old man would stop. As though he could read Ned's mind, Luwin's face reverted back to its original fretful visage.

"If you do this, what will happen to the realm?" Luwin asked Ned as he might a boy.

"If I don't, what becomes of my house?" Ned countered. The maester frowned at that, for there was wisdom and truth in what he'd said. "He is my son," Ned said. "But he's a bastard, and no bastard, not even a Stark bastard, could ever hold the North."

Luwin gave him a queer look then but seemed to let the comment slide. The maester, being a Southerner, may not have understood but Ned certainly did. Bastards could serve as the spare to the heir, it was true, but to name one as your sole heir was an odd thing to do in the North. Even Roose Bolton, vile as he was, had been sure to acquire his trueborn heir in Domeric Bolton before adopting Ramsay. And if he tried to legitimize Jon at some point, assuming that he could against all odds kowtow the other Northern Lords to his side, the insult to Lord Tywin would never go unanswered.

The maester gave a deep and heavy sigh, taking time to think before giving his council. Ned liked that about Luwin, other maester's were often too quick with their answers. But Ned liked to tell his friends, specifically Robert, that the Stark men had made a Northman out of Luwin. With all that his brother had not had the chance to do as a Lord, Ned was glad that he'd left a mark on the castle in the form of Luwin's soft-spoken stoicism.

"What you say," Luwin began. "is wise. But I believe, as I think you do, that the circumstances are not nearly as hopeless as all that."

Ned laughed at that. Here he'd been, thinking Brandon had made a Northerner of Luwin, and the old man had suddenly uttered sentiments so optimistic they might as well have been delivered by Southern birds.

"It is true, Lord Stark. And…" He began, peering out the door nervously. "I do not think that she poisoned the babe." Ned tried to absorb that. Jon's sickness had consumed both his sleepless nights and bloody nightmares to the point where it was beginning to affect his days.

"Then who?" Ned asked.

"I don't know," the maester admitted. "Perhaps he was merely sick. That does happen, even in the South."

"You told me-"

"I told you," Luwin began, in the same tone he had used to chastise Ned when he was a boy. "That poison was a possibility. I did not say it was a sure thing, that was your interpretation. I merely informed you of his symptoms and gave a list of potential causes. That was one of them."

"How do you know?" Ned asked just as urgently.

Luwin sighed. "Because, my Lord, I watched her hold him. She bounced him on her knee and held him to her bosom. She may not be kind to you, Lord Stark, but I do not believe she'd hurt the boy."

That had given even the wild Lord Eddard pause, for the first time all day. "What if she did hurt him? Or what if she does?" He asked.

Luwin considered that for a minute. "Well, I regret to inform my Lord that if you intend to make me his personal guard I shall have a horrible time protecting him from anyone, even Lady Cersei. Besides, my Lord, even if she did succeed in killing Jon-"

"No," Ned said defensively. "I'll have no such talk."

Luwin grimaced. "I mean only to say…" he hesitated now. A beat, then another. "That the whims and wiles of a woman cannot deter a man from furthering his bloodline if he possesses the necessary determination-"

"I would not rape her, Luwin," Ned reproached quickly, clearly disgusted and uncomfortable.

"It is not rape, my Lord," Luwin reminded him, citing the law. "She is your wife, and you need a son. If it is truly necessary, I'm sure Lord Tywin will understand…" Luwin trailed off. Or perhaps Ned had simply stopped listening. He did that sometimes and had since he'd been a boy.

Ned's head began to slump slightly, but he would not allow it to drop further than the very top of his shoulders. Luwin spoke sensibly, if not compassionately. But as Ned considered taking from Cersei what she ought to have given him by now, of pressing down on top of her and against her will, the only face he could picture was Lyanna's.

"No, maester," Ned answered as fresh grief welled up. "I won't. And that will be the last of this sort of talk."

Maester Luwin nodded grimly. "Fine then, my Lord, but something must be done. Not something rash, mind you, but rather something sensible. Not just for the North, but the whole realm."

Ned grunted at this, not really understanding what he meant. All he knew was that he had to do something for the good of the realm and the preservation of the seven kingdoms, and in that pursuit Luwin was still, despite his recent cruelty, the wisest council he had in Winterfell. "And what did you have in mind?"

"Perhaps you should try talking to her," the maester suggested stupidly.

"I've tried that," Ned dismissed.

"No, you've tried eating with her. You've tried riding with her. You attempted to take her hawking, but she spent the whole trip drunk in a tent with her Septa. What if you tried to just talk to her." The maester suggested, less stupidly.

Ned resisted the urge to groan and found himself suddenly wishing that Benjen were here to express what he wouldn't. But still, with calamity looming over the horizon, it was the best chance they all had at a stable and prosperous recovery from the violence of the rebellion and the terrors of The Mad King. He would try, but he still thought it was an extremely bad plan. Still, the old man had earned at least that much from him. So he would try.

"Alright, I'll try."

The library wasn't far from the Maester's Torrent, so at least the walk over had been easy. Ned hadn't expected her to be here, but he supposed it was as fine a place as any to go to for some peace and quiet after the tumult of last night. He had peered down a few aisles of books, though so far he'd been having no luck finding her. Perhaps Lady Cersei did not want to be found, and who was he to blame her? For Ned Stark wasn't particularly interested in finding her. But he had his duties, and this was more than his duty as a husband. It was his duty as a Lord, as a friend of the King. But most of all, it was bloody boring.

Most of the time Ned had spent in the library had been spent terrorizing poor Maester Luwin as he did his best to encourage any small interest in reading and literature in the young Stark boys as he could. Lyanna, though, was the worst of them.

He remembered the way that they would play as children. Lyanna would usually have some game or another for them to play, usually, a game that involved wits rather than brute strength, and then either she or Benjen would win at it. Brandon never really cared, he was more interested in terrorizing poor Luwin. But Ned had tried to win at those games every time, and every time he'd come up short. It seemed an apt metaphor to him at the time, that the loser of all their childhood games was also the least likely to inherit Winterfell. But now that he had it, he would have given it all away to just spend one more dusty Northern evening hiding from the old man as he careened from room to room trying to find the children.

He approached the last bookshelves now, the ones on the other end of the room from the door he'd entered. His hopes for a peaceful rest of his day were now higher than ever, or they were until he found her.

The usually pristine fair skin under her eyes was now darkened by faint half-moon crescents, and as her eyes traveled across the pages of the book she read he couldn't help but feel that there was a sort of glaze in them. He sighed. It would be better to just try, and get it over with.

"Re-reading your Northern histories?" Ned asked her.

Cersei looked up at him, startled, but regained her composure as quickly as she could. "No, just reading them."

He nodded. He'd never minded her curt honesty, except for when it was done to be deliberately disrespectful. "And what do you think?" He asked as he sat down next to her in a small, handsome wooden chair that was ornate and nearly identical to hers.

"We tell them differently," she said with a slight wrinkling of her nose.

Ned chuckled a bit, thinking of some of the intentionally diminishing inaccuracies reported and recorded about Ned by the maester's of Oldtown as recent as Robert's Rebellion. That came as no surprise to him. The joy, however minute it was, seemed to irritate Cersei somehow.

"You think it's funny that your chroniclers are making so many mistakes?" she asked.

"Good gods, woman," Ned groaned. "Try and get through one conversation without biting my bloody head off." That sparked a silence, which was fine by him. It was not to last for very long, however.

"Your bastard lives," she told him.

"I know," he said in reply. "Thank you."

She nodded grimly at him. "I won't ever do it again, you know."

"I know," he whispered back.

"Why you saw fit to bring him here-"

"He's my blood," Ned interjected, but this time there was no malice. He looked her in the eyes when he said that, her hard green eyes turning soft for a moment. "I know it's not… ordinary-"

"It isn't right," she responded as curtly as she had been before.

"But the boy remains my blood, and I've made my decision," Ned Stark finished.

Cersei analyzed him as she had done before closing her book. "And tell me, Lord Stark, what luxuries will you give to my children?"

"Your children?" he asked.

"Yes, or ours, if you'd prefer," Cersei clarified.

Ned took a moment to process this. "That Lannister pride," he began, thoughtfully. "is truly monstrous."

Cersei scowled at that and fixed her eyes right on him. It was then that he realized what was different about that look in her eyes. They still held the promise of violence and danger, but the softness he had seen earlier seemed different now. These weren't soft eyes, he realized, they were desperate ones. And that, Ned thought, could be just as dangerous.

"I'd have thought you'd like this topic of conversation," she said.

"I'd like to," Ned admitted to her.

"Then why don't you?" Cersei asked in a voice as sweet as Marie's had been.

Ned sighed, knowing what he would have to do. "I think the better question, my Lady, is why you've changed your mind. Because I don't believe for a second that bouncing my bastard on your knee had anything to do with it."

Cersei paused, all of the light draining out of her suddenly sad eyes in an instant. "Then don't," she said miserably. "And just send me back to my father."

Ned could feel his temper rising, but he refused to give in to it. He remembered the way his father would hold court, listening impartially to both sides before passing judgment. Ned shook his head, not knowing how his father had done it. Would that Brandon had survived, it would be him stuck here having to deal with this troublesome woman. If that had happened, Ned could have been up at the wall with Benjen or visiting his friends such as Howland Reed. Maybe he'd take to strong drink and beautiful women alongside Robert in King's Landing as they had done from time to time in Riverrun, though that seemed half a lifetime ago now.

"Is that what you want?" He asked her pensively, trying and failing to keep the tension out of his voice.

Her green eyes narrowed, then glazed over slightly as she seemed to think about it. "I- I don't know," she finally admitted. "I would like to, I think, but I don't know how my father will take it. I haven't heard from him since…" Her voice trailed off as her words became more and more choked, held in the back of her throat as if by an invisible hand on her throat. Ned hadn't needed to hear anymore.

He'd known from their wedding day onward that this wasn't what she'd wanted, yet he had tried to make it work. He'd given her concessions and indulgences the likes of which would have never been given to any other woman in any other place, yet still she'd scorned him. He supposed that it was admittedly wishful thinking that her outlook on the matter would improve with enough time and trinkets.

After he gave her a moment to compose herself, he began again. "It brings me no joy to see you so unhappy, my Lady." She sniffed a little but gave away nothing. "Would that we could find some common ground-"

"Like what?" Cersei interrupted accusingly.

"Like you not terrifying my servants anymore," he provided, perhaps a bit too quickly. Her features hardened at that, but her glare was tempered this time. Even, and thoughtful.

"What servants?" She asked.

"What servants?" He repeated, blurting out his disbelief. "Lydia, my lady? Do you not remember her?"

"I recall," She said coolly. "A rude old woman being dismissed after a lifetime being indulged by the men of your house. Why was that, I wonder?"

He wanted to resent that, but the supposed bastard she and Luwin had nursed back to health last night was living proof of the validity of her point. Still, however, he could not allow her to have this victory, not with so much else at stake. "You have imagined threats," he informed her. "And replaced them with real ones."

She studied him again, finally nodding in understanding. "Marie?" she asked.

"Aye," he acknowledged. "She stopped me and undressed before me as I left my chambers."

The cool fury of a woman scorned adorned her features as naturally as the golden stag crown had Robert the day of his coronation at the trident, Ned thought as he tried to study her as she had him. But it was to no avail. All he could tell was that she was angry, not who with.

"And why would you tell me this?" She asked him in a deceptively calm tone. "Have you not incurred enough of my ire to last you one lifetime?"

Ned paused to consider how he should answer her question. He wanted to tell her the truth, that he was simply trying to do the right thing. That he was a man of honor who truly wished no ill on her. But the whole truth was liable to be unbelievable to a woman as shrewd and cunning as Cersei Stark.

"I wanted you to know that I've no intentions of dishonoring you again," he said. It was as honest as he could be, now that he'd claimed Jon as his bastard and not Lyanna's. Still, he hoped it would suffice. But his hopes were dashed quickly when her eyes narrowed as she inspected him, his answer seemingly suspicious and implausible to her. Sensing she wouldn't be the one to break the silence, he did so himself. "And I wanted to propose a bargain."

"A bargain?" she inquired, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips, distracting him.

"Aye," he replied. "If you will tend to your own affairs, easing up on the servants, and…" he struggled to think of how he ought to phrase the next part. "Embrace all of your duties to our house…" He stared at her for any signs of ire or contempt and, not finding any, continued. "Then I will invite your father to Winterfell."

Her eyebrows arched suddenly at that, though the excitement in her eyes was hard for even her to hide. Even still, it was gone in an instant. Hidden behind the cold, impenetrable visage he had grown used to. "My Father," she began tepidly. "Is a practical man. He won't ride all the way up here just to eat dinner with his daughter."

Ned nodded, grimacing. The last thing he wanted was an overly officious meeting with the infamously shrewd and brutal Warden of the West. "What do you suggest, then?"

"A tourney," she answered too quickly. Ned almost laughed, but did his best to match her own air of indifference. So far, it seemed as though he was succeeding. "To celebrate the joining of our houses."

"Alright," he agreed curtly, trying not to show his relief. It was, after all, a small price to pay all things considered. Even with all the food and money it would take, keeping the realm intact and Tywin Lannister at bay was practically priceless.

"And one more thing," she said.

Ned sighed and waited. He would do almost anything at this point. Anything to alleviate the stresses of a new bloodline on the throne, to ease the strain that Tywin Lannister had put on the realm at large. Whatever it took, Ned Stark just wanted peace back in what had once been his quiet home at Winterfell.

"Name it," he said, resigning. At this, Cersei gave him a calculating, dark, and downright unpleasant grin.

"I get to do what I want with Marie."