Omake 27: Matter of succession or "Why Didn't I take the Black?" -Ned

King's Landing.

Ned was angry. . . no scratch that. He was furious. He had spent almost a year in the south in this stinking corrupted city. Manoeuvring through layers upon layers of schemes, intrigues and smokescreens. His friend Robert was hardly anything like the young man he grew up with in the Vale.

Stannis Baratheon had holed himself up in Dragonstone, refusing to even reply to any of Ned's letters. Ned had also had to suffer the presence of Varys, who gave him the creeps the way he looked at Ned, as if he knew some big secret, and Ned had to spend every day sweating, fearing that Varys knew or would find out the truth about Jon.

Littlefinger was also an ever present figure that Ned had to suffer. Despite having clearly managed to help Robert drive the Kingdoms into six million dragons in debt the whoring fleshpeddler was still the Master of Coin, though from what Ned had discovered since traveling south, Petyr Baelish was a broken man. Jon had apparently by accident taken everything from the man. All his whorehouses burnt or torn down, his female 'employees' had robbed him blind of whatever he had left and scarpered to Essos. And it became obvious to Ned who had learnt a thing or two over the years observing Jon that Baelish loved/hated a few select things in life.

He hated Jon, Ned himself and Ned's dead brother Brandon with a passion that almost excited Ned slightly whenever he conversed with the little rat who did his best to seem like a friendly subservient little worm eager to please, yet any mention of Ned, Jon Brandon or the word Stark in general would cause Baelish to flush angrily while his eyes burned with fury. It was also obvious that Petyr still loved Cat, and after deciding to take a page out of Robert's book, Ned amused himself by eagerly sharing rather intimate details, real or imagined that he'd had with Cat over the years if only to see the blasted menace's heart break, not to mention he was curious to see if he could do one better than Jon and actually cause a man to die from a heart attack, Jon himself had almost managed it, though Theon did recover after a week of rest and treatment by Maester Luwin who had Jon swear to never again mention his sexual escapades with his wife and three Dornish women, one of them who was the fucking Princess of Dorne.

Speaking of Dorne, Jon and Alys' little escapade with the three Dornish ladies was a cause for a month long headache for Ned. Prince Doran had not been pleased to have his daughter and two of his nieces return from the north with children in their bellies. He was even more displeased when he learned that his brother was not accompanying them so he could have someone to take his frustration out on, perfectly understandable to Ned, who himself regretted deeply that he had allowed Jon to travel north of the Wall, with several of his friends, whom apparently included Prince Oberyn and a few hundred men.

Of course Lya's devil spawn eventually returned and the news he had sent with him actually had Ned seek out Grand Maester Pycelle for something to settle his nerves and stomach, while bemoaning the fact that his hair had stopped going grey and shifted towards turning white. How the boy had managed to convince nearly one hundred thousand wildlings to apparently come south and settle peacefully in the North he doubted he'd ever know, even more shocking was the news that giants and mammoths were still alive and had come down too, along with what Jon told him were the last few hundred still living Children of the Forest.

The news of giants, children and mammoths still living, and now part of the Realm had caused such upheaval amongst the more pious Houses as well as large parts of the Faith that Ned had not only sent Sansa back home, but also ordered every smithy in the north to start producing arms by the bucketload.

And what did Robert do about this one might ask? Robert was just fucking laughing, whoring, eating and drinking, and occasionally actually being nice to Cersei whose belly was swelling more by the day. Then Robert left for a hunt, the very same day that Ned discovered that Cersei's children were not his, rather they had been sired by her own twin brother. After throwing up copiously at that thought he had gone to, foolishly some might say confront the Queen, only to be rebuffed at the door by a maid who informed him that the Queen was in labour.

So he'd been forced to wait as things turned from bad to fucking catastrophic. While waiting for the Queen to birth her latest bastard (from the Kingslayer no doubt), he was informed that little Tommen had perished as he tried to chase down his little cat named Ser Pounce, only to trip at the top of the stairs. Joffrey likewise had managed to miraculously get himself killed by Petyr Baelish's own hand. Exactly what Joffrey had said or done to get Baelish so furious and/or scared that the little Lord of the Fingers decided to open his throat was irrelevant to Ned, all that he cared about was the fact that he was denied the pleasure of killing Baelish himself either through beheading, or the aforementioned 'words induced' heart attack since Ser Ilyn (who was a mute and illiterate) had used his sword to immediately part Baelish's head from his shoulders

At least two of Cersei's bastard spawn were dead, and from the furious howls of Cersei he knew she had been informed of the matter and Ned took a particular loathsome pride in the fact that all of her dreams of seating a Lannister bastard on the throne were about to come crashing down. Then Robert returned. . .dead. Apparently a rider had found Robert and his hunting party to inform the King of the death of both his sons and Robert had promptly ridden back to the capital, riding his horse so hard and fast that when the beast suddenly collapsed Robert didn't stand a chance and died on the spot as the great charger broke his neck and caved in his chest, a mere hour later Cersei had finally given birth and he was allowed into her chambers shortly after.

Though she was obviously tired and grief stricken she still managed to look not only perfect, but also smug and condescending at the same time.

"It's over," he told Cersei who merely replied by raising an eyebrow. "I know about you and Ser Jaime, and the laws of inheritance is clear, Myrcella can not inherit before Stannis or Renly."

Cersei laughed, as if he had told her the funniest jape in the world. "A son comes before his uncles Lord Stark," she told him smugly.

Ned almost spat at the floor in disgust. "If you think for one second that the Realm will rally to a Lannister bastard babe you are sorely mistaken."

Cersei's grin grew wider. "I think that when everything becomes clear you'll support my son's claim before either Stannis or Renly," she told him smugly.

"Never," Ned hissed. "I'll let you leave the city before I inform Stannis, I'll not have the blood of children on my hands if I can avoid it."

"I had another offer in mind," she said. "You'll serve as Regent while my father will take the position of Hand of the King."

Ned almost laughed, how delusional could the woman get? "Why on earth would I accept this?" he asked.

Instead of replying Cersei picked up her now only living son and carefully placed him in Ned's arms and Ned almost collapsed, both in despair, shock and fury all at the same time. For perhaps one second he'd thought that Robert had finally managed to place a babe in her after all, but more close scrutiny told a different story. While the child may have his mother's emerald orbs as eyes, the somewhat curly raven hair, long face and wide grin was pure Jon. "How," he whispered.

Cersei's face was almost splitting in two from her amused triumphant grin. "I'm sure I don't have to explain to you who have sired five children on how babes are made," she said drily. "All you need to know is that Lord Jon had me over a barrel so to speak, so I. . . sacrificed one night, which turned out to be no sacrifice at all, in return for his favour in a matter that is and will remain private."

Ned slumped, he had to go along with the plan now. He had forsaken his honour once by promising Lya to protect Jon, and he could no more allow Lya's grandson, Jon's very own flesh and blood be murdered than he could allow Jon or one of his own five children be murdered. "Fine," he grumbled. "Bu I will have a few concessions of my own, amongst them will be the members of the Small Council, I'll not have it filled with Lannister lickspittles, nor will I stay here in King's Landing without at least a thousand men at arms whose loyalty I trust."

"Done," Cersei told him, almost causing Ned to raise his eyebrows, 'that was easy,' he thought.

"I'll be back within a moon's turn," he told her as he laid Jon's newest misadventure back in his crib.

"What?" Cersei asked, "Where are you going?"

"First," Ned said as he raised a finger. "I'm taking a ship north to gather enough men to bring with me back south, and then I'll stop by Moat Cailin and either murder my nephew or beat him within an inch of his life so that he may finally learn some respect."

"Ahh," the sudden look of understanding and sympathy on Cersei's face was more disturbing than anything he had ever experienced, and he'd listened through Maege Mormont's drunken tales of getting fucked by a bear. "Good luck on your travels Lord Regent, and be back soon."

"Oh I will," Ned muttered, "And it's Jon who should pray for luck, not me," and then he walked off towards the port. Jon had a lot to answer for, and by the Old Gods and the New, he was going to fucking listen this time, if only Ned had taken the Black instead of agreeing to become hand things would be so much easier, why Robert may have even found someone qualified for the position, after all not even Robert was stupid enough to appoint someone like Jon or Tywin to the position. . .