EDDARD I

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Late morning

20th Day of the 1st Month; 298 A.L.

Winterfell

The North; Westeros

Eddard Stark stood straight, his head held high and his eyes roaming around the expansive courtyard.

The pommel of the greatsword Ice, crafted in the form of the Stark direwolf, lay comfortably in his rugged hands, the tip pointed downwards and facing outwards, ready for him to kneel before his overlord and friend. Eddard had done so many times before, but for some reason, a hint of apprehensive seemed to be present this time.

Robert had not deigned to come north ever since his coronation, and though it pained him to admit it, Eddard did not blame him. The North was a cold and dark place, where the gathering of food and the reinforcing of basic structures always took more attention than the tourneys and martial pursuits that were common to the south. The King, being the larger-than-life character that he was, embraced those pursuits with open arms, especially the other 'pursuits' that such a lifestyle would afford him.

Furthermore, the northern lord knew that his dear friend had his own host of troubles in the capital. Unlike in the North, where the threat of winter, wildlings, and southern influences more or less banded the competing interests together, there was no such moral unity in the rest of the realm. Lannisters, Tyrells, Martells and others all backstabbed and betrayed each other for what? Power? Influence? He knew himself that he would be lost in such a world of politics, and that was why he did not envy Robert's position.

The last time he had seen the King, it had been at Riverrun, no, Pyke, where they had stood triumphant over the defeated Greyjoys, their rebellion having been crushed into the sea. It had been concerning at first to see that the lean man he once knew had put on at least two or three stone, but that could easily be put down to the stresses of rule. Men like Robert found their calling on the battlefield of war, not on the chair of peace, and so it made sense that he would let himself go a bit.

Now though, Eddard was anxious. He wouldn't deny it.

It had been a little less than eight full years since he had seen his childhood companion, and decades since the Royal Family had come to Winterfell, let alone a single royal at that. Needless to say, the North had a contentious relationship with the "King in the South", as they would forever deem them. The last major interaction they had with one was the act of supplanting and replacing him with another. Even then, though, Robert had immediately lost his credibility as a friend of the Lord of Winterfell, instead becoming just another nameless royal that lived down in the Red Keep.

Worse so was the fact that said royal was not coming north alone. With him marched his Lannister wife, a number of her relatives, more than two hundred minor nobles, their retinues, and more than a hundred civil servants of the King's Court. Ever hesitant of the Lannisters and their dubious motivations, Ned had been, at one point, hesitant to welcome them into his home. His wife, Catelyn, had convinced him that such a move was beyond the pale and that, no matter how many reservations he had about their past behavior, he should play the role of the gracious host for now. To the surprise of non, he had promptly acquiesced.

All in all, there were around four hundred and sixty including the King, and their number would probably be increased by freeriders by the time they reached the gates of Winterfell. At the very least, he was glad that the whole court hadn't decided to pack up and make their way north. He remembered learning that the courts of the old Targaryen Kings had always been very small, never exceeding a hundred of so courtiers and small nobles. This was more so as to not alienate any one faction of the nobility, a game which Eddard knew to be complex and evil at its core.

However, the Mad King, Aerys, had opened up the doors of the Red Keep to any and all who would come in the early days of his reign. Though the books all painted him as a monster, as they should, Luwin told him that the mad King had started off quite sane indeed, wanting to let down the walls to power and expand access to the royal family. In his later years, though, the large court had been a way for Aerys to play one rival off of another, each of them working for his favor.

When Robert had ascended to the throne, the traditions set by Aerys had continued, with hundreds of knights, barons, and minor lords flocking to the Red Keep every year. For Robert, of course, this meant more tourneys and celebrations, which only encouraged more to come and attend. As a result, there were no more people accompany a King on a trip than ever before in recorded history, and they were all riding on Winterfell with the expectation of a grand feast to match those in the south.

All of this didn't mean that he was uninterested in all guests save his old friend. For one, he had never met the royal princes and princess. With the blood of Robert Baratheon, you could assume that they would all be equally as brash and confident as their father, but he had heard that, for some reason, they all sported the blonde hair and green eyes of the Lannisters. Was there more lion in them than stag?

Joffrey, the eldest, and the heir. Catelyn had once suggested a betrothal between him and their own eldest daughter, Sansa, years ago. Where once he would have been eager to complete such a proposition, he had not even met Joffrey, nor had he been in contact with Robert for many a year now. On the news that the Royal Family was traveling north, Catelyn had brought up the idea another time, and now he would have a chance to see the crown prince himself, and judge if he would be a worthy lord for his daughter. Maybe another great lord would have agreed on the spot just to secure a place in the royal succession, but Eddard was not like those other men, and he had long promised himself that he wouldn't sell away his daughter for a political arrangement.

And then there was Alexander, the second son, born almost a perfect year after his elder. According to what he had read from Jon Arryn's letters, the boy had been wild and confused in his youth, leading some to believe that he had been infected by a 'sickness of the mind'. It was not to be though, as he turned out to be quite adept at his early lessons, and Eddard had heard many a traveling southern lord praising the young boy's intellect and knowledge. It was said that he had in himself the makings of a great Maester, but clearly such a life was not in the interest of Alexander, for he had spent much of his youth traveling the breadth of the Seven Kingdoms, touring the lands and meeting all the interesting people he could. The only one of the Kingdoms that had escaped his travels was the North, but now it seemed that he would be able to complete his quest.

The two youngest, Tommen and Myrcella, he knew next to nothing about. They were described as cute and charming. He was not sure if they would be able to get along well with his own younger sons and daughter, especially Arya, but their arrival would at least give Eddard the chance to observe them as well as their older brothers.

Truly, with what felt like the might of the southern kingdoms bearing down upon Winterfell's gates, including the King and his royal children, Eddard was determined not to disappoint. In honor of Robert's arrival, he had spared no expense in preparing a great feast, a hunt, and sufficient accommodations for them all. The First Keep had been cleared of unnecessary guests and extensively refurbished in the past two weeks. Additional lodgments had been found in Wintertown by his steward, Poole, for the hundreds of other court members and freeriders who would no doubt deserve proper residences as well.

Cat had been in charge of the food preparations, and judging by her prior experience, he had no doubt that Robert would be pleased. As always, she had done well to procure all the specialties from throughout the kingdom. Exotic spices from Manderly, cured meats from Glover, the finest lambs from Hornwood, fresh fish from Tallhart, amongst other things. It would be a feast to be remembered if he had anything to say about it.

Normally, the Stark family and household ate relatively little. The combination of a small retinue of guards and staff as well as a culture of temperate consumption meant that their needs were usually met by just half a dozen or so of the many farms on the outskirts of the city walls. Most of the rest, as far as he was aware, was either sold back to the farmers or traded at the open markets. However, the expected arrival of more than two hundred southern guests meant that six or seven of the many plots would not suffice.

As such, in the past week, cartloads of potatoes, carrots, barley, corn, and wheat had passed through the Wolf Gate of the castle. Almost every hour, it seemed, another peasant came wheeling their cart through the town, bringing with them a large assortment of produce indeed. At first, Eddard himself had been shocked by the sheer volume of food Winterfell's own plots apparently could furnace. Though Poole told him they had had to cut down on the regular practice of selling food back to the peasants, it was also that new changes in farming technique that was to blame for the surpluses.

He remembered, some years back, when he had heard of something about modifying the planting schedule. Not knowing much about agriculture himself, Eddard had thought little of it, until now. Perhaps, when the feast was over and the guests were gone, he could look into it himself and try to understand just what exactly had been changed and why.

He had been too busy to inquire at the moment, because he had been adding his special touches to the plans for the night. In the armory behind the kitchens, he had directed Luwin to acquire some of those 'fireworks' that Robert seemed so fond of down south. To his understanding, they were a rather recent thing, but it is said that his friend had never been happier that to see them explode above King's Landing for the first time on his return from the Greyjoy war. It had been difficult, but to his credit, Luwin had managed to buy an assortment of red and yellow ones from a merchant in Barrowtown. Even he had never seen the devices in action before, and he could think of no better time than reuniting with his old friend.

No matter how much the household had done to prepare for the King's arrival, the castle was still running around at the last minute. One of the watchmen had spotted the King's party, accompanied by Jory's escort, under a half hour ride away, and Winterfell had been in a state of acute panic ever since.

Even as Eddard stood calmly, the sword resting in his hands and his personal guard in their positions around him, chaos swirled around him. There were guardsmen lining up in formation, checking their equipment and making sure their armor was polished and clean. Horses and husbandry animals were being cleared from the main yard, either to be locked up back in the cavalry barracks or brought through the kitchens.

Above him, a cool wind blew through the grounds. High above, the large banners of House Stark fluttered back and forth, the simple direwolf displayed for all to see. There was a certain pride in the knowledge that one's ancestors, all far wiser and better rules than he, were looking down upon him. It was a heavy responsibility, for sure, but it was one that Eddard took one with appreciation, not greed. Let his ancestors look upon him proudly this day, for he would show all the nobility of the south how true and honest the northern hospitality was.

He returned his attention to the rest of the courtyard, observing as the rest of the household finally got itself orderly and the sounds of commotion slowly died down.

To the side, Cat was getting their children ready, fretting over Sansa's green dress and wiping off a smudge of dirt from bottom of it. Robb, his pride and joy, as well as his heir, sent him a small chuckle, marveling around as soldiers and servants ran around trying to arrange themselves. Unlike himself, Robb had never been present for such a great feast, being as uncommon as they were in The North. Gently, he reached over and ruffled his son's hair, laughing lightly all the while.

Behind him, Sansa yelped, causing Eddard to look over in concern until he saw that it was just his girl's direwolf, Lady, which had surprised her from behind. Unlike Robb, it seemed like Sansa was having a bit more of a difficult time adjusting to her new companion. Direwolves were very active and energetic creatures, especially the young ones. Sansa, like his wife, was a more subdued presence, and the personality of lady and wolf were sure to clash. All was fine, he told himself, for he was confident Sansa would soon figure out how to handle the new responsibility.

Rickon and Bran were playfully hitting each other at the end of the line, Sansa now trying to keep them separated from each other so as not to dirty their clothes. Bran, ever the knight, extended his arm like an invisible sword, pretending to take jabs at his younger brother like Cassel had taught him to. His smile slowly left his lips, however, as he noticed a few missing persons amongst his family.

His head swiveled around, trying to catch a sight of his youngest daughter. He groaned, lifting a hand to his forehead. He was about to turn around and ask Wyl to go and find her when he felt a small figure bump up against his leg and speed past him straight into Robb.

Arya was wearing a small grey dress and sporting a rather thick iron helmet, which Sansa was quick to snatch off her head and pass off to one of her attendants. Horrified, Catelyn pushed Arya next to her sister and set about correcting her posture as Robb chortled bemusedly at the whole thing.

She was giggling and squirming, seemingly unaware of everything going on around her. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw one of the nameless soldiers in grey armor try to hide a snigger at Arya's mischief, but one hard look from Eddard and he returned to his prior posture.

Arya, well, whatever his dear wife did, he doubted it would ever tame the wolf within his little girl. Her love of swords, armor, riding, it all reminded him far too much of . . .

He wiped a small tear from underneath his eye.

He took a deep breath, banishing away the painful memories of the past and refocusing himself back on his present family.

Wait.

Where was Jon?

Eddard looked over his children again, failing to find the boy hidden amongst them. He wasn't with the guards as well, not with the other noble sons assembled on the far side of the yard. Nor was he standing with the servants, nor with the Wintertown banners.

Damn it, he thought. Jon should be here for this. He should see his father paying his proper respects to the King and, well, he should be seen as part of the family. Jon should be there, next to Robb, standing tall and proud like he did, clasping hands with the King and showing the world who he truly was.

Well, Eddard couldn't go off and find him now. Everybody was in position, his wife and children ready for the ceremonies.

Resigned to Jon being absent for the occasion, he closed his eyes for a second and calmed himself. There would be plenty of other opportunities in the future, and he would remember to seek out the boy later tonight when he had a spare moment to himself.

Cautiously, he looked over to his wife, wondering if she would have noticed Jon's absence.

No, she was too busy fixing up Sansa's skirt. Truthfully, he didn't expect her to, and hadn't before, but maybe, for something as grand as this, she would have given a care?

It was probably this same attitude that scared Jon away. Why would he want to be in the front, displayed for the world to see with his family, when he was treated the way he was. Robb would have treated him as his own, Eddard knew that at least, but a mother's love just couldn't ever be replaced. Not that Catelyn would ever really . . .

At that, the sound of a horn froze all of his immediate thoughts.

Robert was here.

At once, the assorted heralds spread out amongst the walls picked up the royal tune and the whole courtyard was filled with the blasting sound of music.

Eddard flinched. Harrenhal had been the last place where he had heard such a tune, and Harrenhal was, without a doubt, the place that had at once crushed his innocence and crush his dreams for the future. He shook off these dangerous thoughts once more, because that's what they were, dangerous, and they had no place in a day of celebration such as this one. For some reason, that day seemed to weigh on him more heavily than usual today, but Eddard would not fall into the trap of reminiscing about what could be. Not now.

Looking around, the guardsmen and servants straightened themselves and tightened their most professional faces, all hoping no doubt to make the best impression possible on the royals.

Then, in front of them all, the four-foot-thick metal of the Wolf Gate lifted itself from the cold ground. They all knew that on the inside of the outer walls a team of at least a dozen watchmen were heaving hard on the wheel to open the gate, but the vision of the great grey beast rising from the cold ground was a powerful one to behold.

On the other side, the wide crowd of horses started at a slow trot, easily clearing the gate. The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of red and gold, their polished steel glimmering in the reflection of the morning sun. Over four hundred strong, they made their way slowly into the expansive courtyard, the space somehow finding a way to hold the host of knights and court members. Looking through the group, the proud banners of the prancing stag were displayed prominently, a few other flags that Eddard couldn't recognize arrayed in the background.

There were many familiar faces, and then many more than he could not recognize.

The Kingslayer, Jaime Lannister, was an easy first. His long blonde hair and cocky smile would identify him from a hill away, and the way he looked down on all those assembled to great them was another instant clue.

To his side must have been his brother, the imp. Tyrion was his name, Tywin's third child, and Eddard vaguely recalled that he was now Master of Coin for the King. The man was certainly shorter than his brother, maybe only half his total height. His face though, was shaped the same as anyone else in the party, and at least he looked around the castle with obvious interest and amazement, a rare sign for a Lannister son.

The tall boy with the blonde hair, probably the crown prince, and his companion, the gruff man with burned skin scaring half of his face, must be the legendary Sandor Clegane, said to be the best non-knight fighter in the capital. Joffrey looked the quintessential Lannister, but on the other hand, he wore armor instead of robes, had Baratheon insignia painted all over them, and carried a large bastard sword which was hanging from his waist.

His eyes narrowed as he thought he caught a sight of Jacelyn Bywater in the sea of faces. If that was truly him, he had last seen the knight at the Battle of the Trident, leading his house's component of loyalist forces, where he had surrendered to Robert after the death of their leader.

There were a number of Stormlanders, as to be expected. In the forefront, Houses Horpe, Staedmon, Caron and Foote could be seen in attendance, along with many other minor knights whose names escaped Eddard's memory. On the other side he could make out a few Reachland knights, though he stood well to the side of the host, most likely wise to keep his distance from the stormlanders, of which there were many more.

Finally, of course, the huge man at the head of the column, his black and yellow armor contrasting with the plain white of the two Kingsguard who flanked him, was Robert Baratheon, in the flesh. His grizzly mane and large blue eyes were the same as Eddard remembered them.

And yet, this man, the man he knew so well, had thought of so frequently in the past weeks, looked a stranger to his blind eye. He was large, godly so, and it seemed as though his black warhorse was just barely carrying its massive charge upright. This . . . this was not the Robert he once knew.

A blonde haired boy, a squire no doubt, brought up a wooden box next to the King's horse, and Robert swung off the animal with an agility of a man far past his prime.

Nevertheless, he sported a massive grin on his great bearded face, and the next thing Eddard knew, the accumulation of all of his worries and anxieties stared him straight in the face.

He blinked, silently cursing his own emotions.

His entire body had frozen up, his muscles unable to move and his lips unable to speak.

"Well?" Robert spoke, his voice struggling to hide the sheer rush of joy and excitement behind it.

Quickly, Eddard dropped to his knee, and he barely registered as four hundred men and women around the courtyard followed him onto the ground.

He followed the custom he had been taught so long ago, resting his forehead against the pommel of the Stark's ancestral sword.

"My Lord," he began, "Winterfell is y . . . "

"Oh get up," Robert cut him off.

He blinked again, before a pair of strong arms literally lifted him from his kneeling position and wrapped around him in a tight embrace.

Though it was unseemly to be seen in such a way with the King, his lord, the part of his brain that saw the man in front of him as his childhood companion overpowered any sense of impropriety. This was the man Eddard had grown up, shared his fears and hopes with, and gone to war with. This was Robert, the joyful Stag that had shown him his place in the world when Eddard had felt abandoned and alone.

As he settled into the embrace, his more rational thoughts abandoning him, he felt, for just one moment, that everything was right with the world.

Perhaps the moment lasted for minutes, maybe hours, maybe seconds, but it was over all too soon, and then Robert's blue eyes were right in front of him again.

"Gods be good Ned!" he bellowed, his voice the sole sound in the entire courtyard, "It's been nine goddamn years! Where in the hell had you been?"

The northerner chuckled just a little, fond memories of Robert's crass language returning to him.

"Here," he said simply, "Guarding the North. Winterfell is yours as always, Your Grace."

Robert laughed and waved him off.

"And what have we here," he mused, turning his attention to Eddard's children.

The King moved over to face his namesake, shaking his hand with a firm grip.

"So you must be Robb," he affirmed, nodded all the while, "Always liked that name for some reason,"

Most of the people in close vicinity gave out a small chortle, the King's fondness for humor apparently still alive and ever present.

He preceded to move down the line of the Stark children, making small compliments and jokes at each one of them, but Eddard had turned his attention away from Robert and back towards the crowd.

The Queen's carriage, a large compartment with gold leaf covering much of it, came to a stop in front of the reception. The riders promptly dismounted and opened the door, allowing Cersei Lannister and her attendants to step out onto the cold dirt. She was wearing traditional southern robes, full with light colors and laced with gold ribbon. In such clothes, she would freeze if the North was in winter. Luckily for her, it was still summer, though Maester Luwin said that the end of it was just around the corner.

The Queen sniffed at the air, as if it was poisoned or filthy, then adopted the arrogant sneer on her face that was so common for her family members. Eddard would have scowled if it was but the two of them, but he knew that now was not the right time to do so.

Behind her, two small golden haired children emerged from the carriage, staying close to the Queen and holding onto her long robes.

Soon enough, Robert was done introducing himself to all of the Starks, and Cersei moved forwards, her movements like a lion slowly approaching a prey. She removed the white glove from her right hand and lay it before Eddard, who duly bent once more to kiss it lightly.

As soon as that ritual was completed, Robert took command of the crowd with his voice, calling his own children over for introductions.

Joffrey, with a perpetual scowl on his face, got down from his horse hesitantly and extended his hand to his father's friend, who promptly grasped it. The boy gave a small smile at that, nodding his head in acknowledgment. Eddard did not quite know what to think of the boy so far. If he had been like Robert, he would have tried to rib his own hand out of his arm, but perhaps that wasn't the characteristic he should be looking for.

Anyways, the crown prince quickly retreated back, allowing Tommen and Myrcella to approach one after the other and deliver their own greetings. Sweet they were indeed, their nervous smiles and careful handshakes reminding Eddard of his own children immediately. Now, there was only one more left . . .

"Alexander!" Robert shouted, "Where the hell are you, boy?"

There was total silence in the air for a moment, before a blonde haired youth Eddard had barely noticed before dropped down from his horse and fell into a deep bow.

"Right here, father," he responded plainly, rising once more and walking over to where the rest of his family was standing.

Behind him, an unshaven dark haired man on horse, looking suspiciously like a sellswords, sniggered at the prince's actions until another knight slammed his fist into the man's chest, shutting him up.

As Alexander came closer, Eddard could now notice some subtle differences between him and his older brother by one year. Where Joffrey eyes were a dull and darker shade of green, Alexander's were positively radiant, appearing more as an emerald color. His short hair was swept to the side rather than lined downwards, and he moved with poise and confidence, as opposed to hesitation and indecision.

Stepping past his family with barely a glance towards them, he seemed to dominate the entire mood.

When Eddard shook the boy hand, those sparkling green eyes stared straight into his own, and for a second, he thought the prince was gazing straight into his soul.

"Well met, Eddard Stark," he said softly, "I hope to become acquainted with you in the days to come."

His tone of voice, his soft spoken words, they were so different than the brittle speech of Robert, and yet no closer to the clean-cut words of his Lannister grandfather. Though, like both great men, it seemed he was able to take control of the presence with but a simple phrase.

"Indeed, my good prince," was all Eddard could muster, his mind lost in thoughts over the return of his oldest friend and the mystery that was his second son.

Alas, he didn't see Alexander tilt his head ever so slightly as he gazed upon the northern lord, a resigned and forlorn look crossing his face for just a second.