THIRTEEN: NED (III)

The children had grown solemn.

Each of them had their own reasons, of course, and Ned prided himself on solving each and every one of them. For Robb, it had been the death he had so nearly witnessed (and heard plenty about), and the shattering of the view he possessed over his king — not to mention the realisation that they inevitably shared; war was on the horizon, and there was naught they could do to stop it.

For Sansa, it was not only the execution of the queen and what she had discovered of Ser Jamie and Cersei, but also her anger at Ned for allowing it to happen and her disbelief at what she had been told. Her head was full of tales of knights and princesses, a fact which Ned had shamefully allowed to go on for far too long a time.

He would have to speak with both of them.

Bran was deeply troubled because of all of it, given what a depth-full soul he possessed, as well as his mother's heavy scolding for disobeying Robb. Bran bore Robb no ill will, surprisingly. Ned suspected he felt only humiliated. And Arya was angry because Jon was.

And Jon... Gods, it was beyond Ned's comprehension. He had answers to all of his children, but Lyanna's was a mystery to him as he had been for many years and, Ned suspected, always would be.

Unfortunately and fortunately, he discovered the answer from a very hesitant and concerned Robb, whom Ned had cornered after supper one night. Robb had told him, rather regretfully, that Jon's mother was ill and that was why he had become such a recluse.

"Probably," Robb had added afterward, avoiding eye-contact. "But then there's the matter that we're nearing on his nameday. And with his nameday comes Alys'. You know how withdrawn he gets this time of year, Father."

Aye, he did. And he regretted it. Gods, if only Alysanne had come with him instead of diverting her path to Highgarden. She could have grown up in Winterfell alongside her brothers and sisters, and Jon would have had a confidant aside from Robb and, he supposed, Arya.

Ned worried for Ashara, of course, but he worried for Jon just as much. Matters of the seven kingdoms could wait; he needed to understand. Lyanna's son would always come before war and death.

He found his nephew kneeling before the effigy of his sister. Ned wanted to cry out in sheer frustration, for with every day that passed Jon gave him more and more reason to suspect he knew the truth, and yet there was also substantial evidence that he did not, and was merely a figure of reminiscence and a sentimental mind.

"Jon," he called, trying not to sound exasperated.

His son rose steadily, though he had not yet turned. He gazed up at Lyanna with a fixating reverence. "She died around this time, did she not?"

"Aye," Ned confirmed solemnly. They always shared Lyanna; the memory of her weighed heavily on both of their hearts, but Ned knew that his nephew had reasons of his own in that. "I found her dying of a fever... And then I rode to Starfall, with Arthur Dayne's sword. I returned it to your mother, and there you and Alys were. Red cheeked, wild of hair, and true of heart."

Jon turned to him. There were tear tracks on his cheeks. "She is dead."

Ned frowned. "Yes, Jon. She has been for some time—"

"Not Aunt Lyanna," Jon sucked in a breath and pulled a missive from up his sleeve. The sight of it chipped something away of Ned. It crushed him, broke him, for he knew what Jon's next words would be. "My mother."

Both of them, lost to you. Gods, how I have let you down, my son. He took the scroll gingerly, almost afraid to touch it. He felt strangely numb as his eyes scanned over the words which were written in what must have been his daughter's hand, hasty and littered with water-marks — though whether those belonged to Jon or Alys or the both of them, only the Gods knew.

Ned hated the thought of her, hunched over a desk and crying. And yet he could see it perfectly, so it must be true. His heart crumbled to ash as the weight of the truth took over him. This grievance was not something that Jon should withstand alone, nor he himself.

"Jon..."

"I should have gone to see her," his son whispered. "I should have been with her when she..." His voice broke. He scrunched up his nose in that way Lyanna had done when she was being stubborn and bit down on his lip. "Excuse me, Father."

"Jon—"

"I must pray," said his son, though they both knew it was a lie.

He was gone, leaving Ned shocked and alone to grieve. He crumpled the letter in a shaking fist and fell to his knees. When he closed his eyes he could picture her, spinning in a circle in a dress of the finest purple silk, eyes alight with happiness and the sweetest laugh slipping past her lips.

He missed her. He had not thought of her in so long, and yet there was the feeling. It was there and he could do naught about it or for it. And they had seen one another for the last time on such bitter, crude terms. She had slapped him, had she not? And he had taken Jon from her.

She had never seen him again. Perhaps he had been wrong to do it.

Oh, Ashara, whispered his thoughts, as though she might hear. Is this what it feels like for your heart to break?

Robert was waiting for him in his solar, a heavy goblet of wine in his hands from which he drank leisurely.

There was nothing in his eyes; no guilt or pain, no sadness, no anger. Merely calm. As though nothing was wrong. As though Tywin Lannister was not steadily advancing north with an army of twenty-thousand, only held off by Howland Reed. As though Ashara Dayne was not dead. Ned's first true love and the mother of his enigmatic daughter.

"Your Grace," Ned greeted hollowly. He unfurled the ruined letter from his hand and spared it a last glance before flicking it into the fire. Dark wings, dark words.

"You seem upset," Robert observed, though any fool could have seen it. And you should be upset, Ned wanted to retort. You should be pacing in a leaner form, scratching your chin and pondering your next move with your council around you for guidance. And Jon should not be dead. And Ashara should not be dead. And Lyanna and Brandon and Father. And my daughter should not be thousands of leagues south, bearing a pain I cannot fix.

"Lady Ashara Dayne has passed," Ned said shortly. He, too, poured himself a goblet of wine — though it was watered down and only half-full at that. He would not become Robert.

Robert seemed to care little, though he did at least spare a frown. "She was the mother of your bastard, was she not?"

"Bastards," Ned corrected, despite his abhorrence of the word. "Alysanne is in Starfall once more, living with her uncle, aunts, and cousins."

Robert nodded. "Ashara was a right little minx," he said, smiling fondly. "It is a shame you were the only one to have your way with her, eh?"

Ned wanted to do so many things in that moment, his body trembled with the desire. The desire to beat his former foster-brother half to death. The desire to throttle him to the ground and deliver blow after blow, for it might have been the only way to make him see sense and rid himself of this heavy hatred. The desire to pack his saddlebags and ride south with Jon and the rest of his kin, to pull Alys into his arms and tell her all would be well, someday.

Instead he forced a smile to his lips; one of pain and bitterness which bore a mask of shared mirth. "Yes," said his mouth. No, hissed his heart.

Robert downed the dregs of his drink and rose to re-fill it. "The wench is dead," he sang, madly, and swayed.

Not yet, he wanted to say, before suddenly he realised... "Oh, Gods," Ned felt the air leave his lungs. He rubbed his temples. "Tell me you did not kill her?"

"Oh, I did." Robert drank. "Drove my axe straight into her chest," Robert drank, "cracked just like Rhaegar's did, oh gods, what a sight..." Robert drank, "blood went everywhere, Ned, you should have seen! Seven hells..." Robert drank and laughed, "she screamed. Would have fucked her corpse too if—"

Ned stood abruptly. "You fool," he whispered, disbelieving. How had Robert become this? What madness had deemed him worthy of such a tainted heart? Why was it that fate singled him out for so many mistakes? And yet the acts which Robert performed were his alone. He had taken delight in them. They would result in such violence. Ned could not have him endangering his family. He could not have him in his home; a very beacon for their enemies. "You complete, and utter fool..."

He was horrified with both himself and the man he was forced to call a king. Dear Gods, what had either of them ever done to deserve such a fate?!

"Say that again!" Robert roared, slamming his chalice down. Wine splashed. "Say that again, you blind bastard!"

"Is your heart so blackened?"

"Is your head so frozen?!" Robert stumbled forward. This was all moving far too fast for Ned's liking, and Robert was drunk like Ned had never even seen a man could be. "Tell me, Ned, why I should have kept her alive! Give me a reason, you fool!"

And then everything Ned had been feeling; every bad bit and piece, every shatter and smash, came out at once. His heart rate quickened and the blood rushed through his veins as though it was attempting a race. "SHE WAS A HOSTAGE!" Ned roared, forgetting himself. "SHE WAS OUR ONLY WEAPON AGAINST TYWIN AND NOW SHE IS GONE!"

Robert aimed a blow, but he missed for Ned dodged it with ease. This seemed to frustrate him even more. "I SHOULD HAVE YOUR HEAD ON A SPIKE!" He yelled. "WE HAVE HIS SON, NED!"

Ned shook his head in utter disbelief. Was Robert truly such an... An irrational idiot? "Do you honestly think that a man as prideful as Tywin Lannister bears his STUNTED SON A SECOND THOUGHT?! YOU ARE MAD!"

"I?!" Robert tried to tackle him. He only succeeded in throwing himself into the wall behind Ned and cursing every god who had ever been named. Ned winced, though not in sympathy.

"We had a chance," he hissed. "We could have exchanged both Cersei and Tyrion for a truce. Even Jamie, had you not been so FUCKING RASH!"

He never swore. Not ever. Not even as a boy, he had refused to speak such cruel words. And never when the children were only rooms away, most like having awoken at the sounds of their voices and growing concerned.

But damn it all to hell, he wanted to murder Robert in that moment.

The king took advantage of that momentary pause between them. He lunged, and suddenly fist was colliding with face. Ned's cheekbone was aflame. He cupped it, not even bothering to cry out or gasp, for of course Robert would punch him. "In the name of your sister, Ned, see sense," Robert panted, trying to be menacing.

Ned straightened. There was that darkness. "She never loved you," he spat, like he should not have. "She never wanted you."

"Well, now I have no one," Robert hissed, red and shaking. He looked more angry than Ned had ever seen him. "Perhaps I should take that bastard girl of yours. If she's as pretty as Ashara Dayne—"

The door swung open. Cat was there, braided hair a mess and eyes wide. Jory and Robb were behind her, and Ned suspected even more were close behind them. "Is all well?" She asked, though every soul in the keep knew that it was not. "Ned?"

"GET OUT, YOU FOOLISH CUNT!"

That was a step too far. Ned felt a fire churn in his stomach, which rushed through him and took over his body. He grabbed Robert by the collar of his over-stretched jerkin and slammed him into a wall. "DO NOT SPEAK TO MY WIFE IN THAT MATTER, YOU DAMNABLE BASTARD!"

Robert opened his mouth for more bitter words to spill out, but Ned avoided them by pulling him away, mustering all of his strength, and hauling him into the wall again. The wood rattled. Cat cried out. There were tears in her eyes; she was truly frightened.

Robb and Jory pushed through. Robb pulled Ned off of his former friend while Jory threw himself at the king to stabilise him. "Father," Robb placed his hands, so cool they were, on either side of Ned's face and met his eyes. Robb's own were pleading and full of sheer disbelief. He had never seen Ned this way. No one had.

No one living, anyway.

Brandon, Ned remembered. Brandon had seen him roar and rage just the once, after mother had died. Perhaps you have more wolf-blood than I previously thought, he had said breathlessly, and they had both erupted into peals of hysterical laughter.

Ned was not laughing now. His face contorted into the most twisted of scowls and he jerked himself out of Robb's grasp. "Get him out of my sight," he growled, toward Robert.

There was no love between them, now.

Ned sat on the edge of their bed, head hung, as she wrung out a washcloth.

Cat approached him and gently raised his chin. She pressed the rag to his bleeding skin. It stung. Ned winced, but he did not make any other noise or sign of the pain. She treated the wound tenderly after that.

"What will you do?" She asked.

The question was a deadly one. "I want to send him for Tywin to finish off, and speak the truth that I had little to do with the execution of his two most beloved children."

"Oh, Ned..." She dabbed the spot on his cheek again, once again careful to mind the broken bones beneath his skin and kissed his brow. "What did you think was going to happen when you outed Jamie and Cersei? That he would take it kindly?"

"I thought he would take it rationally," Ned corrected. "I thought he would listen to my council."

"Was he rational with the Targaryen babes?" Cat asked. "Was he rational with Rhaegar and Lyanna? Was he rational with you? When, Ned, has he ever listened to your council?"

She had a point, Ned realised begrudgingly. He scowled and balled his fists. "I was unwise," he confessed. "I made a mistake."

"But what will you do about it? You have as good as betrayed your King. You actually have, considering you assaulted him physically and detained him as well. There is little chance he will overlook this, my love."

"And if it comes to war?" He raised a brow.

She sighed. "Then I will stand by your side. As I always have."

She pressed her lips to his, then, very softly. Ned cupped her cheek, feeling as though the weight was being removed from his shoulders at last.

But just as quickly as it went, it came again in the form of a knock on the door. "Come in," they called together, separating. Cat wrung out the cloth once more. In slipped Robb, Jon, and, surprisingly, Theon. Jory had walked with them, but he merely nodded to Ned — who nodded back — and closed the door behind his brood.

"King Robert is passed out in his chambers with three of our men guarding the door," Robb reported. "His own men are a floor below guarding an empty chamber." Stiffly his eldest son sat before the empty hearth and hung his head in his hands. "Why did you have to tackle him, Father?"

Was he... Being reprimanded by his own son? Blinking in bemusement, Ned made to answer, but Cat beat him to it. "He was defending my honour," she said fondly, shaking out the rag and hanging it to dry.

Robb looked between them incredulously. "You act as though there is nothing wrong," he whispered, tone horrified. "Have you both gone mad?! We are on the brink of a war! We... With the King! Gods, Father, what will we do? Please speak!"

Ned stared at his son for a long moment. Then he rose, crossed the room, and sat across from him. He took one of Robb's hands in his own. "I must thank you for stopping me before things went further," he said.

"Things could have gone further?!" Theon demanded. His eyes were wide. There was some form of respect in them, though. Ned was glad to see it, though he was not glad for the circumstances which had made it so.

Ned nodded, and turned back to Robb. "I am mad, Robb," he said quietly. "With grief and loss, I am afraid. But that is no excuse for my actions tonight. I fear... The stress of the last few days has put a great weight on me, and with winter coming I... Lost all sense. It will not happen again. I promise you."

Robb swallowed. Then he closed his eyes and, for a while, Ned was kept waiting. His son had always been stubborn and set as Brandon had been, and brave. Always brave. But now he was shaking — it was slight enough for only Ned to notice but it was there all the same.

"What will we do?" Robb asked again, at last.

Ned's heart stopped for only a split second. It was Lyanna's voice that spoke to him, then; Fight, she whispered, while Ashara screamed in the background; Do not give up. You loved me and I loved you. I was yours and you were mine. Protect them for me, Ned.

It was a strange moment, and in an instant it was gone. Ned sighed. "We call the banners," he said, eyeing them. "Have the nearest of them here by midday tomorrow, I care not how long they have to ride for. We will have them assemble in the wolfswood, out of view, but there should we need them. Robb, tell Luwin."

His son nodded, and with that he had dashed out. "Is there anything you need from me, my lord?" Theon waited earnestly.

"Help Robb," he ordered.

Theon nodded, grateful, and then was gone. That left Ned, Cat, and Jon. It was certainly odd. He did not think he had been alone with the two of them... Ever. Yes, this was the first time. "Jon," he said, for he needed to address the issue.

Jon looked up. He had been staring forlornly at the floor. There was a sort of shocked rawness to him then that drew Ned toward the boy. He gripped the back of his neck and studied his face, stared deep into those eyes which had aged before their time. "You need to be strong," he said. They both knew the truth of strength, and they knew the truth of their hearts.

Jon gave him a half-smile. "Isn't that all I've ever been?"

Ned allowed himself a startled laugh and looked down at their touching boots. "No matter what," he said, "she will be beside you. She will love you and protect you like I cannot. Do you understand me, Jon?"

"Aye." Jon's voice had turned to steel.

"Alert the guards," Ned told him, releasing his grip. "Make sure there are a sufficient number outside Sansa and Arya's chambers. Keep the wolves at bay, and do not allow Robert's men to know of what transpired tonight."

Jon nodded. Then he was gone, as well.

Cat had been watching them. "What was that about, if I may ask, my lord husband?"

"Ashara... She has passed." Ned swallowed down his bitterness and pain. "Jon told me in the crypts before the fight. I worry for him, and Alys."

Cat flinched, near imperceptibly. Ned pretended not to see. "She remains in the south?"

You fear she is slinking north under the cover of shadow to take all that you hold dear? "She does." Alys had always been a sore spot between them. Cat had grown used to Jon. One might even say she cared for him. Not as her own, to tell it true, but enough. More than Ned would have asked of her.

But Alys... There were whispers amongst the servants that she was Ashara come again. A true beauty, like Cat feared she could never have been. It was hard to see, in a boy... But in Ashara's own daughter? There was the ice that had grown which Ned had tried so hard to defrost.

Cat had put up a wall, again. Her face was a mask of stone. "I will call upon Lysa and my brother, Edmure. I must warn him."

"Yes, you must," Ned agreed. "Tywin is far too close to Riverrun for any comfort."

She nodded with agreement and glided over to her writing desk to compose her letters. Ned stared down at his hands. They were not shaking. Was he foolish, or merely struck with insanity? Why was he so calm?

It must be the shock, he decided. And then he fell to his knees and wept.

AN: I've never been more nervous than I am now. The feedback from all of you has been wonderful, and yet I find myself SO ANXIOUS about this update. It's just so risky, because maybe some of you won't think it's realistic. I mean, it is. Ned is in shock, he's upset, he's not thinking rationally (and grief affects everyone in different ways, every time). Robert has lost so much over the past few weeks, he's drunk - basically neither of them are sound of mind. But things are pretty broken between them, now. It's bad, and I'm concerned you lot won't like it. But the happy fun times are over, so... sorry!

Review. Do it. I'm ready.