Author's Note: A quick look at the Martell brothers before we go and see Ned and Jon. Read and review guys. Warning for violence and foul language.
Chapter 5
A Stag's True Colours
Oberyn
The sun was shining bright today, and it made the Water Gardens all the more beautiful in Oberyn's opinion. He walked through the corridor to a balcony that overlooked one of the many pools where children would be playing, true-born and bastard born alike; in Dorne a person was never despised simply for being a bastard, and many never saw the need to hide away their bastard children. Oberyn himself had eight daughters, all of them bastards, and he loved each and every one of them unconditionally. His two oldest girls were walking beside him just now, Obara and Nymeria. Obara walked with her spear in hand, her rat brown hair tied back to keep it out of her face, while Nymeria had her long black hair braided and was playing with one of her dozen daggers. All three of them had wide smiles on their faces however; they had received news that made them very happy. The news made Oberyn so happy that before he left Sunspear, the seat of House Martell, he had grabbed his paramour Ellaria Sand and made fierce love to her, giving her his seed several times. The thought made him smile wider.
As they approached the balcony the sounds of laughter met Oberyn's ears. He rested his hands on the wall and watched the children playing their games. It made him smile to watch them, and it reminded him of happier days when he was younger. He remembered the days when he would chase after his older sister Elia, playing games with her and teasing her, and being chastised by his mother for doing so. Of course his mother usually smiled whenever she was chastising him. He remembered Elia's smiles back then, so full of love and life. And before too long his smile fell as he remembered what became of her. She had married Rhaegar Targaryen, the then Crown Prince, eldest son and heir of the Mad King, Aerys the Second; she had given him two children, a girl and then a son; then Rhaegar ran off and took another woman, Lyanna Stark, which then started the war that saw the Targaryens nearly destroyed. Rhaegar was killed by Robert Baratheon, the fat fool who took the Iron Throne, who was also a cousin of Rhaegar. After killing Oberyn's idiot of a good-brother Baratheon took the throne, stepping over the bodies of innocents to get there; his niece Rhaenys, who had been stabbed half a hundred times they said, and his nephew Aegon, a babe whose skull was smashed against a wall, and his beloved sister Elia, who had been raped before being horrifically murdered herself.
Oberyn shook his head to clear his thoughts; it would not do to go and see his brother with angry thoughts, not when he had arrived to deliver good news. Oberyn sighed before looking over his shoulder at his daughters. Obara stood with her spear resting against her shoulder while Nymeria was tossing her dagger up and catching it.
"Come on, let's go and see your uncle," he told them as he led them along the balcony. They walked for a minute until they came upon a broad shouldered man who had white hair and a full beard and was armed with a longaxe which had a six foot long shaft. He looked at the three of them with a stern face.
"Prince Doran does not wish to be disturbed," he stated as he moved to block Oberyn's path.
"Ah, come now Areo," Oberyn said to the man who was captain of Doran's guard. "I'm sure he will make an exception for his little brother and his nieces." Oberyn spoke loudly, knowing that Doran would be nearby. Areo opened his mouth to speak until a voice called to him to allow Oberyn to pass. The Norvosi moved his head slightly to the side before stepping out of Oberyn's way, and Oberyn walked in with his daughters close behind.
The room they entered was quite spacious, with a desk to one side and a couple of chairs to the other. A large doorway led to a closed off balcony that overlooked another part of the Water Gardens. In the middle of the room sat on his wheelchair was the Prince of Dorne himself, Doran Martell. The Lord of Sunspear has been in the Water Gardens for the last few weeks, since word of the Usurper's death had reached them. That news was followed by the news of Eddard Stark's arrest for treason, and then followed by word of Renly Baratheon naming himself King. Oberyn stood next to his elder brother and looked at him with a wide smile.
"I have such wonderful news dear brother," he said. Doran looked up at him and clasped his hands together over his lap, his face betraying nothing as usual.
"Well don't leave us in suspense Oberyn," Doran replied. "Do share this wonderful news." Oberyn turned to look at Nymeria who reached into her dress and pulled out the letter that had arrived not that long ago. Oberyn took the letter and read it again.
To Prince Doran of the House Martell,
I write to you to deliver news that I have successfully captured Lord Tywin Lannister after luring him into a trap just east of the Green Fork of the Trident. I hold the Lord of Casterly Rock as my prisoner, as well as his second son Lord Tyrion and his nephews Willem and Martyn, the twin sons of Ser Kevan Lannister. I write this letter to other Lords Paramount of the Seven Kingdoms.
I write to you personally to invite you to travel to Riverrun to discuss an alliance against the Lannisters, and to offer you a chance to right the wrongs committed against your family years ago. My lord father told me once about the unforgivable crimes that your family had suffered, and I find it shocking that justice was never properly served. Therefore I offer to you unconditionally the head of Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain that Rides, as well as Ser Amory Lorch who still draws breath. As I understand it, these are the two who had committed the atrocious acts against Princess Elia and her children, your niece and nephew Rhaenys and Aegon. If we can agree to an alliance then I also offer you the chance to punish Tywin Lannister as you see fit.
Yours sincerely,
Robb Stark, Heir to Winterfell
Oberyn smiled after reading the letter again, then he gave it to Doran who had held his hand out for it. Doran read the letter quickly, his eyes moving fast, before a slight smile formed on his lips.
"So, the Young Wolf has achieved an impressive victory against the lions," he stated. Oberyn smirked.
"He has taken Tywin Lannister prisoner and he has taken the Mountain's head which he offers to us freely," he said to him. Doran hummed in response.
"As well as offering Amory Lorch and the chance to deal with Tywin ourselves." The two of them fell quiet for a minute, Doran thinking about what actions to take while Oberyn waited for his brother and lord to speak. Finally Doran broke the silence. "It seems to me that we have ourselves a little situation that could become complicated very quickly," he said. Oberyn raised a brow at this.
"What do you mean?" he asked, confused by his brother's words. Doran looked up at him and sighed.
"We have had word from the east," he began. "Viserys Targaryen is dead; the fool proved himself his father's son by wielding a sword in Veas Dothrak, where carrying weapons is forbidden, and threatening his sister Daenerys, who is married to a Dothraki Khal. The Khal in question, a man named Drogo, was present when Viserys did as he did, and killed him by, so I am told, pouring molten gold over his head." Oberyn grimaced at that news. "After that little incident a man sent presumably by the Usurper or someone on his council tried to poison Daenerys, but was foiled and captured. Word is that Khal Drogo is on the warpath and has begun to raid and pillage villages in his path. Which is all well and good, but a sellsword company is tracking them." Oberyn sighed.
"That is not very good," he said, and Doran shook his head in agreement.
"It'll be worse for Daenerys if the sellswords in question catch her and recognise her as a Targaryen," he said as he looked away from Oberyn, who was confused for a moment before he realised what Doran could have meant.
"Yes, I suppose the Golden Company would not be very friendly to her," he said.
"It is not the Golden Company tracking Khal Drogo," Doran said before slowly looking back at Oberyn. "It is the Company of the Rose, a sellsword company made of the descendants of Northmen who entered voluntary exile after the last King in the North bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror." A shiver went up Oberyn's back at the mention of the Company of the Rose, who are known to hate the Targaryens as much as the Usurper did.
During his brief exile to Essos Oberyn served with the Second Sons sellsword company, and he had fought against the Company of the Rose during one of their contracts. The Second Sons were fighting for a nobleman from Volantis who was wanting some escaped slaves returned to him, which Oberyn did not know about until they caught up with them, and once he learned the truth he was not happy about it. The company tracked the escaped slaves only to find them under the protection of the Company of the Rose. Oberyn had fought several of their number, killing some of them before being overpowered by a brute of a woman who disarmed him and kicked him to the side knocking him out. The Second Sons did not succeed in reclaiming the slaves, who were taken to Braavos where slavery is outlawed. Many months later Oberyn met the same woman who had beaten him, and despite being on opposing sides the woman held no ill will towards him once he made it clear that he was not happy about the contract the Second Sons had taken. The woman, who named herself as Bera, drank with him for a time and they traded stories before Bera left with her comrades. Oberyn has never seen her since, which was a shame to him; despite being a beast of a warrior Bera was a lovely woman, and Oberyn would have loved to have had her in bed.
Sighing as he took a seat and faced his brother, Oberyn rested his elbows on his knees and propped his chin on his hands.
"The Company of the Rose are a different breed of sellsword," Oberyn said as he remembered Bera telling him about their company and their hate for Targaryens. "They are careful about which contracts they take, and any contract that involves the possibility of killing a Targaryen will always grab their attention over anything else." Doran nodded his head in agreement.
"They would never stop their hunt until their chosen prey has either gone to ground or been caught," he said looking straight ahead before looking back at Oberyn. "They may not know of Daenerys Targaryen's presence, but if they learn of it then they will harm her. But that is not all that we should be worried about." As he finished speaking Doran pulled out a letter from his robes. "A spy report from my people in King's Landing. Read it." Oberyn took the letter and opened it carefully. He looked over it and read it several times.
My Prince,
We have a new development in the capitol. It seems that the Usurper's Hand, Eddard Stark of Winterfell, has escaped from custody with his daughter Lady Sansa. Word is that Varys was seen leaving with them and the younger daughter Lady Arya. The capitol is under lock down, and there have been some unpleasant situations happening. One of my own helpers was nearly killed over her having a loaf of bread. The Boy King has closed the gates to refugees fleeing the war in the Riverlands, and there is talk of the Usurper's brothers naming themselves as contenders to the Iron Throne. Supplies of food from the Reach have all ceased, and crime has increased since. I hope to have more information for you soon. I do hope the last messenger that I sent has reached you with the details of the battle near the Trident.
Your ears in the capitol
Oberyn looked up at Doran after he had read the letter.
"There was a messenger who had details about the battle the Young Wolf had fought?" he asked. Doran smiled at that.
"So that letter says, but that letter you have in your hand is the first since we heard of Stark's arrest," he answered. "No letter with details on any battle has reached me, which means either the messenger got lost, was killed and his letter destroyed, had been captured and interrogated over the letter's contents, or was simply incompetent. Whatever the case it presents a problem that I could do without."
"And Eddard Stark escaping is a problem because?" he asked his brother, who sighed in annoyance.
"I had hoped that Stark would have been disgraced while Baratheon still lived," he replied. "Nothing would've hurt the Usurper more than to see his childhood friend being publicly disgraced in court. I had hoped to start rumours in regards to his bastard son that would have circulated and perhaps rattled him enough to result in him making errors and have people question his suitability as Hand, but with the boy not being with him I needed something else to cause him problems. But before I could think of something the current conflict prevented all chance of that happening." Oberyn was shocked by this admission. The idea could have worked if it had succeeded, and perhaps it could have led to tension between the Baratheons and the Starks. At the same time however Oberyn was furious with Doran for considering such tactics.
"I get that you want to hurt the Baratheons, and what better way than to have them and the Starks, their closest friends, no longer trusting each other," he said. "But to use a child as a potential pawn in such a scheme? That's low, even for you brother." Doran looked up at him, his eyes hard while his face remained passive.
"The Quiet Wolf fought for the Usurper, or had you forgotten that Oberyn?" he snapped. "Eddard Stark fought to remove the Targaryens after the deaths of his father and older brother."
"Because Mad Aerys ordered their deaths and then commanded old Jon Arryn to deliver to him the heads of both Stark and Baratheon," Oberyn cut in, his voice raised. "I am aware of that Doran. And I tell you now that if the roles were reversed, if it had been you and our mother burned by the Mad King after Elia had been kidnapped by Rhaegar then I would've gladly gone to war with the Targaryens as Eddard Stark did. Have you forgotten that of all of the Usurper's allies, it was Stark who voiced disgust at what happened to Elia?" Doran looked away from him at those words.
"No," he stated quietly. "I have not. I respect Stark greatly for his honour, and I do not hate him, nor would I wish ill upon his family as they had suffered as much as ours had. But if killing him would have aided our cause then I would do just that." Oberyn stood up and walked towards the doorway that led to the balcony where Doran was looking.
"And his family?" he asked, his voice angry. There were many things that Oberyn would do to those who he believed needed to die, but harming women and children was a line that Oberyn swore he would never cross. Doran looked away for a moment before looking back at him, his eyes staring into Oberyn's own.
"You know I would never sink as low as Tywin Lannister," he said with conviction. Doran may have been playing this political game for years but Oberyn could tell when his brother spoke truthfully, which he was clearly doing now. "But with Robert Baratheon dead and Eddard Stark on the run and more than likely trying to get to his son, he may still support Stannis Baratheon, which will put us at odds."
"Unless we can convince him to not support Stannis," Oberyn said more calmly than when he spoke earlier. Doran looked at him sceptically then.
"His own honour would demand that he support the next in line," Doran said. "Which would be Stannis unless he believes that Joffrey and Tommen are the heirs of Robert Baratheon, but considering what he was said to have said in the throne room before his arrest I doubt he will support Tommen." Oberyn snorted at that.
"What do you make of Eddard Stark's allegations?" he asked. Doran smiled slightly.
"Either case could be true; Cersei's children are not the get of the Usurper making Stannis the rightful heir, or Stark and Stannis are plotting against Cersei and her children. Who can say what is fact?" Doran's cryptic answer annoyed Oberyn. He turned to face his daughters, who were both standing waiting for a decision to be made.
"What does it matter what is true in this regards uncle?" Obara asked, blunt as ever. "We should join the Starks in their war against the Lannisters at least. If they support the Baratheons afterwards we can deal with them later." Doran chuckled briefly at Obara's words.
"Oh my niece," he said. "If only it were as simple as that. If we support the Northmen against the Westerlands, we will be expected to bend the knee with them if they pledge themselves to either of the Baratheons, which I rather we do not do. We would eventually be at war with the Baratheons, and we would find ourselves against our former allies, and if we made any agreements with the Young Wolf he will see us as oathbreakers and traitors to be taught a lesson for betraying him and his people, such is the way of the North and its lords." Oberyn looked at Obara who looked over to Nymeria who was now smirking.
"So we do our best to convince the Starks to fight against the Baratheons," she stated, being as diplomatic as possible. "We go to Riverrun, take Clegane's head and bring Lorch back with us, as has been offered to us, freely might I add, by the Stark boy. We then speak with him about making alliances with him, and if we cannot convince him to fight against the Baratheons then we simply thank him for the gifts and leave, and the last thing we need worry about when and if we go to war with the Baratheons is vengeful Northmen wanting to make decorations out of our heads, which they will be less inclined to do if we did not fully ally ourselves with them." Oberyn looked back at Doran and saw him sitting with his hand scratching his chin, clearly thinking things over.
"Well now," he said after a few minutes. "I think we need to sit back and watch for now," he said, which Oberyn sighed at. "However, we will need to keep a closer eye on this situation." That drew Oberyn's attention.
"What do you mean?" Nymeria asked, her voice hopeful Oberyn noticed.
"We shall have our people keep a close eye on Riverrun," Doran replied. Oberyn grinned at that.
"Send me brother," he said as he stepped closer to him, leaning against the arm of the wheelchair. "Let me go and watch things, then I'll be able to decide on what to do once we know more." Oberyn looked at Doran, willing him to decide on the matter. After a minute Doran nodded his head.
"Fine, but you will not go alone," he told him. "You will take twenty men with you and travel as merchants. Have Obara and Nymeria go with you to watch your back. Don't pick a fight that we cannot hope to win." Doran's voice was stern as he gave his brother his orders. Oberyn smiled as he stood up straight and turned to face his daughters, both looking quite happy. "And Oberyn?" Doran's voice halted him before he could move his legs. "Do not worry too much about Tywin Lannister. The Young Wolf may have decided that we should have our way with him, but his father might well overrule him on that and bring about Lannister's end himself." Oberyn inclined his head in response before walking out, Obara and Nymeria close behind him. As they walked out Oberyn whistled a tune that he has hated ever since the Sack of King's Landing when Elia and her children were killed by Lannister's mad dogs. Even though he hated it for being a Lannister song Oberyn found the words quite appropriate for the situation that the Old Lion had found himself in.
Yes now the rains weep o'er his hall, and not a soul to hear.
Eddard
His leg itched slightly when he moved, but it was much better than before Varys's healer treated it. Eddard was beyond thankful for the skilled healer, a man who was from one of the Free Cities like Varys. Over the nine days that they were on the ship Eddard had slowly gotten use of his leg back to what it was before he broke it after his confrontation with Jamie Lannister months ago. He was not limping quite as badly, and he did not need that blasted cane to help him either. Sansa was unusually quiet for most of the journey, as was Arya. He had explained to them why he had never spoken the truth about Jon's birth and he got them both to promise him that they would not speak of it to anyone outside of the family, and he also asked them to let him speak with Jon himself, as well as their mother and Robb. After that he had told them of the truth about Joffrey and his siblings. Arya was quite shocked by that news while Sansa had been horrified about the fact that she had been betrothed to an incest born bastard.
After nine long days on the ship Eddard and his girls got off the ship and began their ride to Harrenhal, where they would find Eddard's bannermen stationed. They were accompanied by Varys and his twenty or so companions. Most of them were sellswords, while some were what Eddard could only describe as run of the mill spies. The healer was there, and so was Elyn, the woman who had helped to get Sansa out of the Red Keep. She kept close to the sellsword named Duncan, who had retrieved Ice from Ser Ilyn Payne and returned it to Eddard. Ice rested on his back just now, sheathed in its wolf pelt scabbard; he felt more secure with the Valyrian steel greatsword within reach. Ice was never meant to be his to wield, his older brother Brandon should have had that honour as well as being the Lord of Winterfell and all that went with it, but Eddard had gotten used to it over the years after Brandon's murder. He still felt something akin to guilt for having the sword, but he would never trade Ice for another blade during battle.
The small group rode through the woods and along the roads, stopping only to rest the horses every now and then. Eddard was eager for the next rest, but he wanted to get to Harrenhal soon. The sooner he got there the sooner he got back to Cat and Robb. It was their second day on dry land, and so far they have not had any problems. They began to slow down after midday, and a half hour later they had stopped to let the horses rest. Eddard struggled off of his horse, reminding himself to put his good leg on solid ground first. Once he was on the earth he walked over to Sansa to help her down, wincing as a slight jab of pain shot up his leg to remind him of his injury. Damn Pycelle, he cursed, thinking of the aged Grand Maester back in the capitol. Once Sansa was on the ground he turned to help Arya, only to find her already dismounted.
"Girls, come here," he said softly. Both of them came up to him. "If either of you need to relieve yourselves go together and have Elyn nearby, okay?" Arya nodded her head while Sansa spoke her agreement softly. "Now, I need to speak with Lord Varys privately, so if you need me get Elyn to get me." With that he turned and walked away. "And no wandering away, either of you," he called out to them. "I don't need to remind you that there is a war going on."
"Yes father," Sansa replied.
"Alright father," came Arya's voice. The two sisters seemed to have settled their differences for now, which Eddard was grateful for. As he walked slowly he came across the man he was looking for, who was speaking with Duncan.
"If Northmen find us we're fine, but if Lannister or gods forbid Baratheon men find us then we're fucked," Duncan said quietly.
"Have no worries there my friend," Varys tittered. "The Lannisters won't be a problem this far out, and Lord Stannis's men have not been seen leaving Dragonstone for some time, so we should be fine." The sellsword nodded his head and walked off, leaving Eddard with Varys.
"Lord Varys," he addressed the man. The eunuch turned around to look at him and he smiled.
"Lord Eddard, how may I help you?" he asked. Eddard walked closer to him and looked into the man's eyes.
"I need to know a little more about this red priestess of Stannis's," he told him. "I have not heard much about the priesthood of R'hllor, but what little I have heard has not been kind, especially about them being sorcerers using blood for their magic rituals." Varys looked incredibly uncomfortable with what Eddard asked, but after a moment he sighed.
"Very well my lord," he said as he began to walk. "Tell me, what do you know of Shadowbinders?" Eddard resisted the urge to sigh.
"Nothing," he admitted.
"Then I envy you," Varys stated. "Shadowbinders are able to bind shadows to do their bidding, from simply passing along information, to performing terrible deeds such as assassination. The red priestess Mellisandre is a Shadowbinder as well as a priestess of R'hllor. She claims that shadows are servants of light, set to do the bidding of the Lord of Light. As a Shadowbinder she can use these shadows as she chooses, while spreading her religion. She is unfortunately for us a fanatic." Vary paused to take a breath and stand by a tree. Eddard looked at the man and scratched his jaw, still not used to having a clean beard; after weeks of imprisonment he was grateful that he had the chance to clean himself and trim his beard back on the ship after weeks of discomfort from not being able to wash himself. It would be just one more thing that Eddard would like to strangle Littlefinger for, aside from holding a dagger to his throat and betraying him in the throne room.
"Are all the red priests fanatical?" he asked. Varys gave a sad smile and a shrug of his shoulders.
"Some more than others," he responded. "While some are fanatically devoted like Mellisandre is, others are thankfully more tolerant of others and their religions. From what I remember most red priests are more passive and prefer the message of their faith to spread by word of mouth only, and not by acts of war. It all depends on the priest in question. For ever few priests who would rather be diplomatic and use words alone there is one who believes that more drastic action should be used. The same as with the septas and septons who preach the faith of the Seven really. Some are tolerant and understanding while others are intolerant and refuse to acknowledge other faiths." Eddard shook his head in response to that.
"So this Mellisandre will be a threat to us then?" he asked, to which Varys nodded his head. "Well, what about all of this talk about sacrifices?" Varys's eyes widened slightly, as if remembering a foul memory.
"About that my lord," he began, but never finished.
As Varys was about to continue an arrow struck him in the side of the neck, piercing the skin and severing the artery beneath. Varys coughed up blood and clutched his neck, falling to his knees. Eddard grabbed him as he fell, ignoring the pain he felt in his leg as he moved. He held Varys up, surprised at how light he really was despite his build.
"Varys, hold on," he urged him as blood ran from his neck like a fast flowing river. The people of the group began to shout out in alarm, the sellswords drawing their steel.
"Baratheon men!" someone shouted. Eddard looked up and saw men mounted on horses riding towards them. He saw a banner that had the Baratheon's black crowned stag, but rather than being on a yellow field the stag was within a fire wreathed heart.
"Stannis's men," Varys gurgled. "That- that's his per- personal sigil." He coughed up blood, which now ran down his chin.
"Stay still Varys," Eddard said. "Don't move too much." Varys just coughed up more blood before he gasped for breath.
"H- hurry my lo- lord," he struggled. "Ge- get you- your daughters to- safety- be- b- before-" Varys's eyes lost all focus, and soon he went limp in Eddard's arms. Eddard lay the deceased master of whisperers down gently as the Baratheon horsemen rode towards the group.
"LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS! IN THE NAME OF THE ONE TRUE KING, LAY DOWN YOUR ARMS!" one of them shouted. Eddard stood up, grimacing in pain as he did, and reached over his back. His fingers brushed the hilt of his sword as he saw two of Varys's sellswords being cut down. Wrapping his fingers around the hilt he drew Ice from its scabbard and held the greatsword in both hands.
"Sansa! Arya!" he called out. Just then Sansa came running towards him. "Get behind me. Where's your sister?" Sansa looked around her only to look more frightened.
"I don't know," she said as tears streamed down her face. Eddard noticed that there was blood splashed onto her dress. "A knight rode past us and killed one of Lord Varys's men. I ran one way, I think Arya must have run the other." As she talked they heard a woman screaming. Eddard looked in the direction of the scream to see four men tackling a woman to the ground roughly ten yards away; he also noticed one of them unbuckling his breeches. Honour-less cur, he thought as he stomped over to them.
"Sansa, get behind that tree there," he told his daughter pointing at the tree to his left. Sansa ran to the tree that was a couple of yards away from where the Baratheon men were.
"Stop yer struggling woman," one of them said as they pinned the woman down. As he got closer Eddard recognised the woman as Elyn. "You'll be glad once you get a cock shoved into yer cunt." The men laughed as they pulled her skirt up.
"No please, don't," she begged as she tried to get out of their grasp. Eddard swung Ice out at the man who had loosened his breeches, slicing his head clean off.
"Fuck!" the Baratheon man in front of him shouted before Eddard slashed at the man's back, opening him up. The man yelled in pain as he tumbled to the ground, his blood rushing out onto the dirt. The other two stood up as quickly as they could, but Eddard was too fast for them; he thrust Ice into the stomach of the one right across from him, opening his belly as he drew the blade out, then he turned onto the other man who had just got his sword back in hand. That man lunged at Eddard, swinging wildly at him trying to take his head off, but Eddard let him land his strikes before he pushed forward on the man's fifth strike, knocking him off balance. As the man staggered back Eddard brought Ice up over his head and swung down, and sliced the man in half from scalp to groin.
Eddard looked at Elyn, who was pulling her skirt back down over her legs. She looked up at him and gave him a thankful look before standing up. Eddard led her to the tree and told Sansa to follow them, telling both of them to stay right behind him. As he walked Eddard saw thirty Baratheon men cutting down Varys's men. What angered him most of all was that they made no distinction between combatants and non-combatants. Eddard saw three of the sellswords take down a Baratheon man before two more killed them; he watched as a horseman rode down a woman, slashing her back open; he glared as four of the men thrust their spears into the healer who had treated Eddard's wounded leg. Just then three of the Baratheon men approached Eddard on foot, their swords drawn, and when they got closer they charged him. Eddard blocked the first strike before pushing that man into the man behind him.
"Look away Sansa!" he commanded his daughter, hoping that she would. The third man lunged at him, but Eddard parried the blow away and stood still as the man's momentum brought him close enough for Eddard to slice his neck open with Ice. Blood splashed onto Eddard's face as the man fell gurgling. The other two watched their friend fall, which cost one of them their life as Eddard swung Ice in an upwards arc, cutting him open from hip to collar bone.
"You Northern shit!" the last man spat venomously as he launched a flurry of strikes, aiming to take Eddard's sword arm off. As the man prepared for an overhead strike Eddard stepped to the side, and just as he thought the man's sword swung through air and got stuck into the dirt. Not letting him recover Eddard slashed with Ice as hard as he could against his opponent's blade, and shattered the sword into three pieces. The man looked at his broken sword dumbfounded, and Eddard thrust Ice into the man's chest, through his heart.
"Valyrian steel does that," he said before he drew his sword out of the man. He looked over his shoulder at Elyn and Sansa, who had looked away. "Let's go," he told them. They walked through the trees trying to get out of sight, but half a dozen men ran in front of them.
"Put the sword down old man," one of them said. Before Eddard could respond a spear burst out of that man's chest. His death cry drew the attention of his friends and soon they were swarmed by a group of familiar looking warriors. Eddard watched as the wielder of the spear walked into view, and he was never happier to see the She-Bear herself.
"No one threatens the Stark of Winterfell fool," she spat before grabbing the man's head and twisting it violently to the side, snapping his neck.
"Lady Mormont," Eddard said as she walked over to him, unhooking her mace. "You're a sight for sore eyes." Maege smiled at him as she rested the haft of her mace against her shoulder.
"We heard the commotion my lord," she said. "Thought it would be good to stretch these old arms of mine."
With the appearance of Maege Mormont and her Bear Islanders, Eddard turned to face the Baratheon men, who were down to about eighteen men. Only three of Varys's people lived (including Duncan who sported a rather nasty cut to his face), all disarmed and forced to their knees. Eddard and Maege walked towards the Baratheon men, keeping their weapons in view. An archer on horseback saw them and reached for an arrow, but one of Maege's men loosed off an arrow faster than he could draw his arrow from the quiver. The mounted archer tumbled from his steed, drawing the attention of the Baratheon soldiers.
"That's enough!" Eddard shouted. "Put your weapons down at once and I'll be inclined to show you some mercy! Refuse, and you will die!" The biggest of the Baratheon soldiers dismounted his horse and walked closer to him, followed by five of his men. The man was quite tall and broad shouldered, with a brawny look to him.
"Eddard Stark!" he yelled. "In the name of the One True King, surrender at once!" Eddard glared at this man.
"To whom am I talking to?" he demanded.
"Ser Godry Farring, sworn to his grace Stannis of the House Baratheon," he said. "I serve the Lord of Light, as does my King. In his name I command you to surrender now, or be responsible for the deaths of these people." Eddard fumed at this knight's arrogant manner. Maege stepped forward just then, her face angry.
"You will not speak to your betters in such a manner cur," she spat. The knight did not even look at her.
"By the grace of R'hllor you are considered by King Stannis to be of more use alive than dead," he said. "Now surrender your sword. Valyrian steel should be used by a warrior worthy of it such as myself, not some lord who only uses it to scratch his arse." Eddard stepped forward then, raising Ice up and holding it two handed.
"I am more of a warrior than you'll ever be Ser Godry," he said. "If you harm me and mine you will get nothing but war from the North, or have you not heard of my son's victory over Tywin Lannister?"
"I don't give two shits for some cunt of a pup," he spat. Eddard narrowed his eyes at the man, angry at him for insulting his son. He wanted to attack him but he knew that Farring was deliberately goading him. "But you do, so let's see if this changes your mind." Farring waved his hand, and the men behind him stepped aside to allow another man forward, holding onto a struggling Arya.
"Let me go!" she yelled, earning her a backhanded swipe from Farring.
"Shut it bitch!" he snapped. Eddard stepped forward angrily.
"Let her go Farring!" he shouted. The man drew his sword and held the blade against Arya's throat, making Eddard hesitate while Arya stopped struggling.
"Here's what's going to happen Stark," he said. "If you refuse we will kill the girl and then kill you." Farring paused before smirking in an evil manner. "Actually, no. We will kill you and your men, and when King Stannis takes the Iron Throne I'll claim Winterfell by marrying your youngest girl here while your eldest daughter is taken to wherever the King sees fit to send her. If you surrender though, and swear to cast aside your heathen gods and burn your weirwoods then the King will let you keep your cursed lands, not that you deserved them if you got captured by lions so easily." The Baratheon men laughed at their commander's words. Eddard was furious with the man, and noticed that his hesitation allowed the Baratheon archers to knock their arrows. "So what's it going to be?" Farring asked. Eddard wanted to run Ice through this excuse of a knight for insulting his family and threatening his daughters, but knew that he and Maege were out manoeuvred here.
As Eddard struggled with what to do something peculiar happened; a fat boy emerged from the bushes just several yards off to Farring's right. He had short dark hair and some growth on his chin and jaw, a large belly and hardly any muscle at all, and a chubby face. He wore black clothing and held a longsword in his hands, like a novice Eddard noted. The Baratheon men all looked at him and laughed.
"Well what's this?" one of them called out. "A pig's come out to play?" Most of the archers kept their bows strung while trying not to laugh. The boy held the sword up and looked at the men nervously.
"D... DROP HER!" he called out to them with some conviction, but that only made them laugh even more.
"You what!?" Farring called out. The boy visibly shuddered.
"I... I said... d... dr... drop her!" he called out again, lacking the same conviction as before. Eddard glared at the scene in front of him as the Baratheon men kept on laughing.
"You want her?" Farring said as he grabbed hold of Arya by her throat. Eddard stepped forward but was held back as one of the archers loosed off an arrow at his feet as a warning. "Then have her you fat shit!" Farring yelled as he hurled Eddard's youngest daughter at the fat boy.
"ARYA!" Sansa shrieked in horror as her sister flew through the air. Eddard watched on in horror, his heart racing, as Arya collided with the boy who had dropped his sword to the ground, much to Farring's amusement. The laughter continued for a moment after Arya and the boy tumbled to the ground until a white blur took one of the archers off of his horse.
"What the fuck?" another archer called out. As the Baratheon men looked around, a group of nine men charged out from the bushes, roaring battle cries as loud as their lungs could let them. Eddard looked at the first three who came out; one was a tall and thick necked lad a couple of years older than Robb and Jon, with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard, holding onto a sword like a trained soldier; the second was about the same age, with a smaller build and large ears and moved faster than the first; the third one had dark hair, grey eyes and a lean build, and it was this man who shocked Eddard.
"Is that Jon?" he heard Sansa ask. Eddard watched as Jon slashed his sword at the first man he came across, his sword cutting into the man's lower belly. The other men all engaged the Baratheon men, who found themselves being overwhelmed by the unexpected assault. The archers were trying to decide who to loose their arrows off at, only to either fall to one of Maege's archers or be pulled down by the white blur that Eddard realised was Jon's direwolf Ghost. Eddard strode forward with Maege beside him and four of her warriors following close behind. Eddard stalked towards Farring who was shouting orders to his men.
"Ser Godry!" a man shouted before Ghost tore him down. Farring turned around to see Eddard stomping to him with his sword raised. The knight raised his sword to block as he swung Ice down hard, and to Eddard's satisfaction Farring's sword proved incapable of stopping Valyrian steel. Ice shattered the weaker steel of Farring's sword and carved into his right shoulder, slicing through his steel plate as Eddard drove Ice halfway down the knight's chest. Farring gasped in shock, and began to tremble before his knees gave out.
"No one," Eddard said as he thrust Ice further into Farring's chest, "ever threatens my kin." With that he pulled Ice out of the man and brought the greatsword up over his head, and in the next swing Ser Godry Farring's head was parted from his body, rolling along the ground as his corpse dropped with a squelch, spraying blood everywhere.
As he took his eyes away from the dead knight Eddard looked around to see both Maege's men and Jon's men finish off the Baratheon soldiers. Jon thrust his sword into the belly of a soldier who was pleading for mercy, but like Eddard he seemed to have gone deaf to such pleas from these men. He watched as the boy he has raised as his son tore his sword free and turned to look at him, his face as sullen as ever.
"Father," he said as he walked over to him. Eddard felt a sudden tightening in his chest then, which he last felt when Jon called him father for the first time years ago when he was a young boy. Eddard stepped closer to Jon then, wincing as a sharp pain shot up through his leg.
"Jon," he managed to say through gritted teeth. Jon flinched at his tone, and Eddard chuckled slightly. "Relax lad, it's just my leg reminding me of my wound." Jon relaxed then before walking up to him and wrapping his free arm around him. Eddard did not hesitate like he normally would do, and wrapped his free arm over his nephew.
"JON!" Sansa shouted. Eddard let go of Jon and stepped back, only to see Sansa crash into Jon, wrapping her arms around him. Jon's eyes widened in surprise at that, but soon he returned her embrace and smiled.
"Hello Sansa," he said. Eddard looked over to where Jon and his group had emerged from to see Arya dusting herself off, the fat boy trying to help her.
"I'm not a prissy damsel in distress," she said sharply.
"I'm sor... sorry my lad-" he began only to be cut off by Jon.
"Do not finish that sentence Sam," he called out. "That is probably the worst thing to say to Arya." Hearing Jon's voice Arya looked up at him and smiled widely before running faster than Eddard has seen her do in a long time. Jon dropped his sword to the ground and knelt down with his arms open as Arya barged into him as if intending to tackle him to the ground. Jon however just stood up with Arya in his arms, both of them laughing away. As they laughed Eddard saw the other men who were with Jon approach, and he noticed that six of them were wearing the armour of the guards of Winterfell.
"Milord," one of them said, bowing his head. "We are relieved to see you." Eddard nodded his head in response.
"Not as relieved as I am to see friendly faces," he said. He turned back to Jon who was now looking at him. "How on earth did you manage to get half a dozen men of Winterfell to follow you?" he asked. Jon put Arya back down on the ground and picked up his sword.
"As I was leaving Winterfell Ser Rodrik sent them with me," he answered. Eddard nodded his head before looking at Sam, who was the fat boy in black, and the other two who charged out with Jon.
"Who are these three?" he asked. Jon shifted nervously on his feet as he walked closer to them.
"My friends who joined me from the Wall," he replied, and Eddard noticed the smaller lad flinch at the mention of the Wall. Jon pointed to the thick necked lad first. "This is Grenn, who is nearly as good with a sword as I am."
"Only thanks to you Jon," Grenn said. Jon patted him on the shoulder before pointing to the smaller lad.
"That there is Pypar, or Pyp as we normally call him." The young lad bowed at Eddard, murmuring a quick greeting. "And this brave one here is Samwell Tarly," Jon finished. Eddard looked at the boy and frowned slightly.
"Are you Lord Randyll Tarly's kin?" he asked him. The boy nodded his head, his lips quivering slightly.
"Y... yes my lord," he answered. "His eldest s... son." As he spoke Eddard noticed Maege walk up to them, clearing her throat. Jon looked at her and quickly bowed his head.
"Lady Mormont," he said, his voice serious. Arya gasped before looking up at her.
"You're the She-Bear?" she asked, her voice full of wonderment.
"Arya," Sansa groaned, making Eddard chuckle. Maege smiled at the little girl in front of her.
"Yes little wolf, that I am," she said before turning her gaze onto Jon. "Jon Snow. The last time I saw you, you were maybe twice the size of my mace here," she said lifting her weapon up for him to see. Eddard watched as Jon gulped nervously. "I remember my Dacey and Alysane holding onto you and chatting away while you made the noises that babes always make. If I remember rightly Lady Stark was quite uncomfortable with that, and seemed relieved when they left you to pay more attention to your brother Robb." Jon shifted on the spot, looking rather uncomfortable under Maege's gaze.
"Come on Maege, leave the lad be," Eddard said. "You're worse than your brother for that." Maege turned sharply at his words.
"I am not," she said incredulously. "Jeor is far worse than I am." After that retort she turned to look at Jon again. "So tell me Jon how is my brother? As stubborn as a bear I'd wager. You left the Wall before taking your vows I hope?" Jon smiled slightly before he answered.
"He is well my lady," he said. "Lord Commander Mormont was disappointed that I chose to leave instead of taking my vows and joining the Watch." Maege snorted then as she stepped away.
"With some of the twats that he has to put up with as underlings I don't blame you for leaving. Which twat was it anyway?" she asked him. Jon opened his mouth to answer but Maege cut him off. "I know it was one of those useless twats that led to you leaving Jon, I'm not daft. Was it Thorne?" Eddard noticed Jon's eyes widen slightly, and again he opened his mouth to speak and again Maege cut him off. "Of course it was, the useless old prick. Jeor's told me much about him in his letters, what few he decides to send when he remembers about his dear old little sister." Eddard chuckled slightly as she continued with her tirade. He chose that moment to lean over to Jon and speak.
"We can talk later Jon," he said quietly. "I'm sure you have much to say to me, and believe me so do I. But right now you had better listen to Maege as she rants. It's better than to not listen to her." Jon looked at him and nodded his head, his eyes wide.
"Yes father," he said before rushing off to listen to the Lady of Bear Island ranting away, much to Eddard's amusement. The girls sniggered as Jon followed Maege.
"Poor lad," one of the Bear Islanders said behind Eddard. "At least he don't need to 'ave his ears bent all the time like the rest o' us." Eddard looked over at the man.
"In my experience it is always best to let Lady Mormont rant away," he said. "Not letting her do so is unhealthy." Arya giggled while Sansa put her hand over her mouth to try and hide her own quiet laughter.
"Oh don't I know it milord," the man said. "I swear I've still got that bruise from when she whacked me last year. Most o' us here 'ave to learn the hard way not to rile Lady Mormont up."
While Maege ranted away with Jon listening to her doing so, Eddard set the men about clearing up the dead. He noticed Elyn was in Duncan's arms crying quietly, no doubt having told him what nearly happened to her. As he walked by Duncan looked over to him and gave him a grateful smile. Eddard nodded to him as he continued to walk along.
"Father," Sansa called out to him. He turned to see his daughters walking over to him. "Where's Lord Varys?" she asked. Eddard sighed then.
"He is dead," he told them. "Killed at the start of the attack." Both of his girls looked shocked at that. After a brief moment Arya spoke up.
"I'm not sure if that is a bad thing or not," she said, earning a look of disgust from Sansa. Before either Sansa or Eddard could say anything Arya quickly explained, "I mean, I'm sure Lord Varys was the man that I saw in the tunnels, when I got lost and you had the men out looking for me." Eddard looked at her pointedly.
"Wait, what tunnels?" Sansa asked, to which Arya rolled her eyes.
"The ones beneath the Red Keep and the Tower of the Hand," she answered. "The tunnels that one of the Targaryen kings built when the castle was still being built hundreds of years ago."
"Maegor the Cruel," Eddard said with a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Arya, are you saying that Varys was one of the two men that you had overheard talking about me having the book and finding the bastard like Lord Arryn did?" he asked her. Arya looked at him and nodded her head.
"He looks and sounds similar to that man father," she said. "I can't think of it being anyone else. I never really trusted him after we got on the boat."
"Arya, how can you say that?" Sansa asked, stunned at Arya. "It was because of Lord Varys that we got out of King's Landing."
"And he could've helped us to get out sooner," Arya suggested. "Or helped father to bring Joffrey and the Queen down rather than not doing anything."
"Arya," Eddard spoke warningly then. Arya looked at him and fell silent. He then looked at Sansa. "Nevertheless Arya is right Sansa," he said. "Varys was not someone that I trusted easily. The man had an agenda. We may never know the extent of it now that he is dead, but he withheld too much information. And he knew a lot of information, and not just about Jon." Eddard said that last part quietly, as he saw Jon and Maege walking over to them. "Remember what I said?" he asked them, and to his relief the girls nodded their heads. Just then Maege cleared her throat.
"My lord, I meant to tell you earlier," she began as she stopped before Eddard. "A group of men travelling to the Wall stopped at Harrenhal not long after we had secured the castle. The recruiter dropped one of the lads off with us, saying that you had wanted him taken away but not to the Wall." Eddard blinked at that, trying to figure out what Maege was talking about. "The recruiter said that a fat man smelling of perfume had said that you wanted the lad taken away from King's Landing and sent to either Harrenhal or Winterfell. The lad has black hair..."
"Blue eyes and answers to the name Gendry," he finished. "I know the lad Maege, but I did not ask for him to be removed from the city. The fat man smelling of perfume was Lord Varys, who is among the dead here." He stroked his hand through his hair, sighing as he did. "Anyway, how is the situation at Harrenhal?" he asked. Maege looked off to the side before looking at him again.
"Ser Helman Tallhart commands the garrison that your son left there," she answered. "Lady Shella Whent has been restored as the Lady of Harrenhal after having yielded the castle to the Lannisters, but her health is failing. The castle has been fortified by our soldiers, and Ser Helman sends out patrols regularly, and as you may have gathered I lead some of those patrols. I can't stand being near Helman at the moment; the prat cannot shut up about finding a decent wife for his son Benfred." Eddard smirked at Maege's exasperation. "Last week it was Jorelle, the week before it was Lyra, the week before that it was Dacey because he knows Alysane has children. How long until the twit suggests my Lyanna? If he does I'm likely to brain him."
"I'll talk with Helman once we are there," Eddard said before she could continue. "I'll let him know to drop the suggestions." Maege looked at him and gave him a smile while Arya laughed beside him. "So, Lady Whent is dying, so House Whent is at its end. The supposed curse of Harrenhal has claimed another House it seems. I'd have that wretched castle torn down if I had the power to do that, and not just for its so-called curse." Eddard remembered nearly twenty years ago when he had first seen Harrenhal, when Lady Shella Whent's husband Lord Walter Whent hosted a tourney there. It was at that tourney that Rhaegar Targaryen first laid eyes on his sister Lyanna, and where he crowned Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty instead of his own wife Princess Elia. Harrenhal has always been an unpleasant memory for Eddard, and he cannot stand the castle. He has never been a superstitious man, but Eddard cannot help but think that demolishing that castle would do the land a lot of good.
"Well my lord, we can always sort that out after this war has been done," Maege said. "I suppose you won't support Stannis Baratheon's claim to the Iron Throne?" Eddard shook his head.
"Not after this Lady Mormont," he responded. "Stannis has shown his true colours now. I will not support a man who sends false knights to intimidate those he would rule over."
"We could always put Tommen on the Iron Throne?" Maege offered.
"We could, if he was not a bastard born of incest, like his brother Joffrey," Eddard said bluntly. Maege looked at him, her eyes wide. It almost looked as if they were about to bulge out of her sockets of their own accord.
"What?" she said, her statement echoed by Jon and some of the gathered men.
"Where to begin?" Eddard muttered before he told Maege and Jon about all he had learned.
Robb
Riverrun was theirs, but at great cost. Robb was sat down in his grandfather's solar with Greatjon and Harrion beside him. Harrion has been looking dreadful since learning of his brother Eddard's death during the fighting in the Whispering Wood, but he was looking nowhere near as dreadful as his father Lord Rickard was. Torrhen was recovering from a broken rib after his fight with a knight from House Crakehall, who was the same knight who killed Eddard. The fighting in the Whispering Wood had nearly been a disaster thanks to Ryman Frey, Lord Stevron's eldest son who was now stripped of his knighthood and inheritance. It was Ryman's folly that got not just Eddard killed but also two of Ryman's sons, as well as other men.
When the single flaming arrow had been loosed off Robb had cursed their foul luck, but upon learning that the Kingslayer had not taken the bait he felt awful; those men who died in the woods north of Riverrun had died for nought, and Jamie Lannister had led the defence of his own camp as best as he could. Robb learned that the Kingslayer had killed several of Bolton's commanders and had fought the Lord of the Dreadfort himself, wounding him by cutting off his left arm above the elbow. Then he had drawn Lord Blackwood away from the castle after the man had led a sortie out to rescue Robb's uncle and the other prisoners. Robb had watched the outcome of that fight himself, as Tytos Blackwood fought Jamie Lannister just across the Red Fork where Robb and Theon were stood with Lord Rickard and the Imp. Robb called out to Jamie Lannister after Theon loosed off an arrow past the man's face. They both shouted across to each other until a man Robb learned later was Tytos Blackwood's second son had arrived and distracted the Kingslayer, which allowed Lord Tytos to grab a sword and cut off the Kingslayer's sword arm. After that the man fell, and Robb later learned that the Lord of Raventree Hall had died.
Hundreds of men had died and even more were wounded at the battle in the camps; half of the Rivermen soldiers were slain as were a third of the Northmen, most of those being Lord Bolton's men. Lord Karyl Vance had been killed by a Westerman pikeman who had gotten lucky, while Ser Marq came close to death but was saved by the timely arrival of one of his father's knights who died in his stead. Smalljon had been brought low by a knight that would have killed him had Robb not hacked the knight's arm off. Dacey lost one of her subordinate commanders and had an arrow hit her in the shoulder but was saved from being skewered by a lance when Grey Wind lunged at the horse and killed it, leading to said horse's rider flying from his mount and breaking his neck when he landed on the ground.
As they sat there mulling over the outcome and the cost of the battle the door to the solar opened to reveal Maester Vyman. All three of them stood up as the aged man entered the room. Greatjon cleared his throat loudly.
"My son Maester?" he asked. Although he did not show it Robb knew that the man was worried for his heir.
"Jon has only got a small lump on his head to worry about Lord Umber," Vyman reported. At that the Greatjon snorted.
"Is that all?" he asked with a chortle.
"At worst he may have some sense knocked into him," the Maester japed, earning a roar of laughter from the three of them.
"We've more chance of Jon swearing off women than we have of him getting sense knocked into him," Greatjon said once he got his laughter under control. Robb calmed himself before he looked at the man.
"My brother Torrhen?" Harrion asked before Robb could speak.
"His ribs will heal with time," Vyman answered. "As it turned out he had two broken ribs, not one. It was good fortune as well as his armour that saved young Torrhen from having more ribs broken, or worse being killed." Robb heard his friend breath a sigh of relief at that news. Robb looked at the Maester and spoke next.
"What of the other casualties?" he asked him. The aged man shuffled closer before he clasped his hands in front of him.
"Lady Dacey only needed a couple of stitches and a bandage after the wound was cleansed," he said with a frown. "I have heard ladies curse before while giving birth, but I never thought I would live to see a young woman uttering every third word as a curse while having a small cut like that stitched." Robb smiled while Greatjon chuckled.
"If you think Dacey's bad just wait until you have to treat her mother," he said. "Old Maege curses an awful lot when she gets her armour dented, and she's worse when she actually gets wounded." Vyman shook his head in disbelief at Greatjon's words. Robb put his hand over his mouth to hide his smirk before nodding at him to continue.
"Ser Marq's wounds were mainly superficial, the only serious one being the cut on his upper arm which was a bit too close to the artery there. If the cut was another inch in then Ser Marq would have likely died before I could treat him," he told them. Vyman coughed slightly before he continued. "Lord Bolton however is not doing too well I'm afraid. He lost far too much blood after Ser Jamie cut off his arm. I fear that my efforts will likely have been for nought." Robb closed his eyes at that; he may not trust the man but there was no denying that Roose Bolton was one of the best generals that they had. When Robb opened his eyes he looked squarely at Vyman, keeping his face hard as he spoke his next words.
"And our guests?" he asked. The Maester looked at Robb with wry amusement then.
"Ser Jamie will live, though I get the feeling that you may need to force food down his throat for however long he will live," Vyman said. "Lord Tywin on the other hand will have to lose his leg." Robb was a little bit stunned at that. "His leg has gotten infected and the corruption is spreading. If I do not amputate then he will die. I'm sure you would rather he live to face justice my lord?" Robb nodded his head.
"Aye Maester," he replied. "See that it is done. Let me know if anything else should happen in regards to the prisoners."
"Yes my lord," Vyman said with a bow before leaving the room.
Once the man had left Robb and the others sat down on their seats. They were joined shortly afterwards by Theon and Dacey, who looked ready to rip Theon's throat out. When those two had taken their seats Robb's mother walked in with her uncle. She looked like she had been crying for a while, and Robb was worried.
"Mother?" he asked. Catelyn wiped her hand over her cheeks before she sniffled.
"You grandfather would like to see you as soon as possible Robb," she said to him. Robb winced slightly at those words, knowing that his grandfather was in poor health.
"How bad?" he asked, trying not to let his pain show, though the look his mother gave him let him know he did not do that well.
"He may not be with us for long," she said. "Perhaps a few more months, but no more than a year." Robb felt his heart sink at the sound of his mother's voice breaking. He wanted to stay and speak with his friends; they have had no word from the capitol about his father and sisters, and they do not know if either of King Robert's brothers have responded to his letters if indeed they have received them yet. Being with his friends has helped him to stay relatively sane over the last few weeks, but only just. A part of him selfishly did not want to see his grandfather as he was just now, but he had never met the man at all in his life. Can I really do that to my mother? he thought. Can I really be so cruel to her and not see my grandfather? He had never met either of his grandfathers; his father's father was murdered by the Mad King before he had been born, and he was a babe when his grandfather last saw him.
"I will go just now mother," he said to her having made up his mind. He looked to his friends around him. "I will be back in a short while," he said to them. Greatjon stood up and patted him on the shoulder.
"Don't you worry lad, we'll keep ourselves occupied until you get back," he said, his voice respectfully quiet for a change. "Now go see him, and take as much time as you need. We won't begrudge you this." Robb nodded his thanks to him before leaving the room, his great-uncle leading the way.
It took them ten minutes to reach the room where Lord Hoster Tully was resting. As they approached the door Brynden opened it for Robb and told him to go on inside, saying he will visit his brother later. Robb did not ask him why for he knows of the feud between his grandfather and great-uncle that goes back for some three decades or so. Entering the bedroom Robb walked over to the bed next to the window, where a servant bowed to the man in the bed before leaving, murmuring to Robb as he left. Robb approached the bed slowly and felt his throat constrict slightly upon looking at the man laying there; he remembers his mother telling him that his grandfather had been a tall and broad man when he was younger, with red-brown hair and vibrant blue eyes and never staying still for too long. The man laying before him though was not that man. The man was old and very skinny, practically skin and bones; his hair was grey, and his eyes seemed unfocused. The Hoster Tully before him seemed a far cry from the man Robb had heard his mother speak of. Robb stepped closer to the bed, and Hoster Tully looked up at him, his eyes narrowing as they focused on him.
"Edmure?" he breathed out. "I thought I... told you to go to... King's Landing to get the Crown's help... with those brigands." Robb was confused for only a moment before he realised that his grandfather had mistaken him for his uncle.
"I'm not your son my lord," Robb said. "I'm your grandson." Hoster Tully looked at him for a few quiet moments. "Cat's son, born right here in this castle," he added, hoping that it would jog his grandfather's memory. Hoster's eyes softened then as he looked at him.
"Robb?" he managed. "Come closer lad. Let me see you clearly." Robb did as he was bid, leaning closer to his grandfather so that he could see him better. "By the gods... you look so much like your uncle... although the beard suits you better than it does him." Hoster laughed at that, as did Robb, who was fighting to keep the tears from running down his face. "My my... fifteen years since your mother birthed you... and you look as old as your father was the first time I met him," he said with a smile. "Oh I remember young Eddard back then... so quiet, yet so sharp too... he hardly ever smiled, although he had no reason to back then... a second son becoming the lord of his father's lands and castle... such a cruel way to come to such responsibilities." Robb smiled, blinking his eyes clear.
"I wish I had come south sooner," Robb said to him. "I wish I could have seen you years ago, when things were easier." Hoster looked off to the window then, gazing out to the sky before turning back to face him.
"I heard that it was you that led the attack," he stated. "Edmure was always wanting to be a strong warrior when he was younger... and you have already won three battles... Cat told me about the battle with Tywin Lannister's host near the Green Fork... I wish I could have seen the look on the Old Lion's face when you took him captive... that would have been a magnificent sight..." Robb chuckled at that. "And then the battle in the woods... I'm glad to see Stevron is the Lord of the Crossing now... Late Walder was always a pain in the backside... Stevron is a better man than his father, despite waiting sixty years to take his father's place... he must have been heartbroken to send his eldest son away in disgrace like that though... and to lose two of his grandsons as well... I'm not sure that I could have dealt with such news..." Robb swallowed at those words, trying not to think about suffering such a fate; he could not begin to imagine Lord Stevron's pain.
"Lord Stevron did his duty to you grandfather," Robb said to him. "He arrived to help in the end." Hoster smiled slightly then.
"Yes Robb... he helped in the end... that's what matters," he said, his voice soft. Just then his eyes snapped shut and he gritted his teeth. "Argh curse this illness... the crabs are always pinching away at me..." Robb sighed, feeling helpless at his grandfather's suffering. "If only the gods could have chosen a less painful means of finishing me off." Hoster looked back at Robb after a moment and seemed to focus on him. "You still have my eyes lad," he said with a smile. "I remember Cat being... worried that your father would reject you... for not looking like a Stark... I told her to not be so silly..." Robb smirked at that as Hoster smiled. "I told her Lord Eddard would love you no matter what you eyes and hair looked like. Ah sweet Cat... always dutiful... is it just you here Robb? None of my other grandchildren..." Hoster began to cough just then and pointed to a cup on his bedside table. Robb took the cup and gave it to his grandfather, who drank it gratefully before giving him the cup.
"No grandfather," Robb said when he put the cup back down. "The girls are in the capitol, and my brothers are too young to travel let alone see a battle." Hoster smiled at him then, though it was a sad smile.
"Oh... I wish I could see them," he said. "I fear that I will be meeting the Stranger very soon. Tell me of your sisters Robb, would you?" he asked him. Robb smiled, wiping his hand over his eyes.
"Sansa, the older of the two, has mother's hair and eyes," he told him. "Mother says she looks just like she did when she was that age. And Arya," Robb laughed then, thinking of his youngest sister. "She has father's look, brown hair and grey eyes. She is Sansa's opposite; where Sansa is the proper lady, Arya's running wild." Hoster laughed at that.
"Sounds like Arya has... the wolf blood I heard that you Starks have," he said with a chuckle. "I remember your father's father, Lord Rickard... when he wrote to me about your father, uncles and aunt he had used the term... wolf blood to describe Brandon and Lyanna... but I wonder if Arya had gotten some of that from Cat instead." The thought of his mother being like Arya was amusing to Robb, and before he knew it both of them were laughing. When their laughter died down Hoster had a faraway look in his eyes. "And what of your brothers?" he asked after a moment. Robb took a deep breath then.
"Bran and Rickon both have our look grandfather," Robb answered. "Rickon is nearly four, but he runs mother and the servants ragged most of the time. And Bran, he has become more solemn recently, but despite that he seems to be more studious." Robb decided not to tell Hoster about Bran's fall. The last thing his grandfather needed to know was that one of his grandchildren was almost crippled.
"And how's your other brother?" Hoster asked, which shocked Robb. He did not expect his grandfather to enquire about Jon, who was not of Hoster's blood. "Has Cat accepted him at all?" Robb swallowed thickly then, and sighed.
"My other brother, Jon..." Robb trailed off then, not sure where to start. Before he could speak though Hoster spoke up.
"Oh, what am I saying, of course Cat hasn't accepted him," he said. "She gets that from her mother... my Minisa, your grandmother. She was always a proud woman... I think that was just her Whent blood though... the Whents were always proud, and took no insult no matter what form such an insult took." Hoster pointed to the cup again, and Robb passed it to him. He drank from the cup before giving it back to Robb. "I was disappointed with your father... when he brought his son with him," he spoke as Robb put the cup back down. "Of course I was... he dishonoured my daughter, your mother... but at the same time he did right by the boy. Cat was not happy about it... but even I could see that Eddard had no real choice... what kind of father could he be to you and your true-blooded siblings if he did not take care of his child by a woman who wasn't his wife?" Hoster let the question hang in the air for a few moments. "Where is he anyway? Is he with you?" Robb shook his head.
"My brother..." he began before clearing his throat. "Jon went to the Wall months ago. When father left to become King Robert's Hand, Jon left to join the Night's Watch." And escape my mother, he added bitterly in his mind. It was the one thing he resented both of his parents for; he resented his mother for her treatment of Jon over the years, and he resented his father for not speaking about Jon's mother. There was nothing that Robb could do about it, but that was just how he felt. He loved Jon the same as he loved the rest of his siblings,and if he could he would have kept Jon nearby as part of the household, regardless of what his mother said to that. But he could not tell Jon what to do; Jon was his own man now, and only Jon had any say in what he did.
"An honourable decision," Hoster wheezed. "Even a bastard can rise high... at the Wall. Has he taken his vows though?" Robb blinked at that. Why are you interested in Jon? He is not your grandchild?
"I don't know," he answered. "He must have done by now, but I don't rightly know." Hoster smiled at him.
"If you want him back at Winterfell, you need only send word to him, so long as he hasn't sworn his vows," he said. "He is kin to you Robb... Cat may not like it, but so what? She put up with him for nearly fifteen years, what's another fifteen?" Robb laughed nervously at that.
"I'm not sure I would say that to my mother grandfather," he responded, and Hoster chuckled in response.
"Why, what's Cat going to do? Send me to bed?" And both of them laughed for quite some time at that jape.
They spoke with each other for at least a couple of hours, if not longer. Robb sat and listened to his grandfather as he told him stories from his youth to his later life; his first meeting with Minisa Whent years before they married; the War of the Ninepenny Kings where both Hoster and Brynden fought and earned names for themselves; his marriage to Minisa, and the arguments he had with Brynden about his refusal to marry Bethany Redwyne; his joy at the birth of his first two sons, only for them to die in infancy; his worry over the birth of Robb's mother, and his joy when she lived; the love he felt when Minisa gave him Lysa and Edmure, and his heartache when she and their last son died on the birthing bed; his fury at the Targaryens over the Mad King's murder of Robb's uncle and grandfather; the battles he fought during Robert's Rebellion; and his joy at Robb being born here in Riverrun.
"Your mother wept tears of joy when she held you for the first time lad," Hoster told Robb as he sat there with a smile, his elbow propped on the bedside table with his cheek resting against his hand. "When she put you into my arms, it was like my first time holding a child all over again." He laughed slightly at that before looking out the window again. "It's getting late now," he said before looking back at Robb. "Your lords will be wondering where you are. You may still be the heir... but you have proven yourself a worthy lord to those men out there... and the women as well... can't forget the Mormonts now, can we?"
"No, we mustn't," Robb said as he stood up. "Would you like me to send anyone to you?" Hoster nodded his head.
"Send for Vyman, when he has a free moment," Hoster said as he held his hand out to Robb. He took his grandfather's hand and held it. For a dying man Hoster still had quite a grip.
"You are still young Robb," he said. "When we are young we always make mistakes. Some are quite lucky and make few mistakes. Fewer still, like Tywin Lannister, hardly ever seem to fail. You have won three battles lad." Hoster seemed to grip Robb's hand harder then. "The one where you took old Tywin prisoner... the battle up in the Whispering Wood... and your battle out there, beyond Riverrun's walls. But don't let that get to your head." Hoster's voice hardened then, his eyes boring into Robb's. "I fear that if you are not careful you will fall into the same trap Tywin fell into." Robb frowned at that.
"What trap is that?" he asked his grandfather. Hoster gave a slight smile.
"Pride, my boy," he answered. "Pride is the bane of all lords if they do not keep it in check. Tywin Lannister had brought his House back from the brink when he crushed Houses Reyne and Tarbeck, but his pride took over. He was proud of his accomplishments, and when Mad Aerys made him Hand back before he was mad and the two were still close friends, he became more proud. And his pride swelled to the point that he would not let himself be humbled. The man was too proud... sending a bard with a harp to play that accursed song of his commemorating what he did at Castamere... as a way to subdue potential rebel lords... his pride led to arrogance... and has led to his downfall, at your hands Robb. Tywin let his pride rule him... don't let it rule you." Robb looked at his grandfather intently then, looking him in the eye; this was not the ramblings of an old man nearing his end, he realised, but rather it was the wisdom of a man who knew what the price of pride was and was warning his kin against letting it rule their hearts. "Never... ever let pride rule you lad... it will lead to your downfall, as it has for Tywin." His voice fell to a whisper as Hoster let go of Robb's hand. "As it has for Tywin."
Author's Note: So, poor Varys. I like him (to an extent) but i wanted him out of the picture for this fic.
The last bit with Robb speaking with his grandfather was something I literally just came up with a few hours before posting this chapter. I must admit that it was hard for me to do this scene with Hoster bedridden as it reminded me of the last time I saw my own grandfather a couple of years back before he died. Writing that just reminded me about back then, which was hard for me then.
Anyway, let me know what you think guys, I would love to hear your opinions about this chapter, especially Robb and Hoster's interaction with each other.