They had been at Riverrun for several days. The unfolding events remained a strange ordeal for him. It felt as if his world had transformed into a haunting nightmare, ever since he received word of his sister's unexpected arrival from Essos. He couldn't shake off the ominous feeling that her presence in Westeros would only pave the way for misfortune.
Ned couldn't help but direct his frustration towards his sister, blaming her vehemently for choosing to return to the western lands. "You would have been better off staying in Pentos, Lya," he muttered under his breath.
Yet, amidst his frustration, a tiny part of Ned's mind contemplated whether his sister had truly possessed any agency in the matter. Rhaegar, consumed by a burning desire to reclaim his throne and reunite with his daughter, seemed unlikely to yield to anyone's persuasion. After years of yearning, it was doubtful that anyone could have convinced the dragon prince to relinquish both his crown and his daughter, especially considering that both had been snatched away from him by the same man.
Ned loved Robert like a brother, they were brothers in all but blood. But Ned could not help but feel angry whenever he thought about his childhood friend marrying Rhaenys Targaryen. Despite knowing that she was a woman grown, whenever he saw his queen, Ned could not help but see a young girl, barefoot and covered in her mothers blood, sitting on her knees in front of the Iron Throne. He tried to shake that image out of his head but he simply couldn't. He attempted to banish this haunting image, but it stubbornly persisted. In his every glimpse of the young queen, he couldn't help but catch echoes of that frightened little girl she had been all those years ago, abandoned and surrounded by monsters who called themselves men.
The feeling he felt was still vivid in his memory, the surge of rage that coursed through Ned when he beheld the queen's beautiful face that was marred by an unsightly tapestry of blues and purples, inflicted on her by the fury of his friend. Aware of Robert's notorious hot temper, witnessing the aftermath of his ire being inflicted upon his young wife was an unexpected sight for Ned. Yet, he understood all too well that challenging Robert on this matter would prove futile. Regardless of their friendship and brotherly bond, Robert remained his king. Moreover, the king's stubbornness would render any attempt by Ned to make him acknowledge his wrongdoing futile; Robert would undoubtedly make excuses and justifications for his actions against the queen. He will not see that what he did was wrong and cowardly.
"Ned," a voice called out. Ned turned to find Edmure Tully, his wife Catelyn's younger brother, approaching. The striking resemblance between them, with their fiery red hair and piercing blue eyes, often left Ned with an uncomfortable sensation. There were moments when he felt discomfort. He would gaze into the face of a grown man and glimpse fragments of Catelyn, or even their own children, within Edmure's familiar features.
The man with dark hair shifted his gaze towards the heir of Riverrun. Edmure appeared breathless, his face tinged with a faint blush. His chest heaved irregularly as he struggled to regain his composure. Ned patiently awaited the younger man's recovery, turning his gaze onto the trees in front of him. The Lord of Winterfell continued to look at the Gods Wood that felt strangely empty without a Weirwood tree that all Gods Woods' had up in the North. A Gods Wood without a Weirwood tree is not a true place of worship, his mother had always told him.
After only a few short moments, Ned could no longer hear Edmure's loud breaths. As he turned to look at the red haired man, he noticed that his chest now moved normally, up and down in paced synchronized breaths.
"Robb's host of men has been spotted. They should be at the gates soon." conveyed the Tully. Robb. Ned had been eagerly waiting for his son's arrival.
"Let us greet them there." Ned affirmed with a quick nod of his head. Both men walked side by side to the castle's yard to await Robb.
"Has King Robert been informed?" the older man asked. Edmure nodded. "Yes, he is already at the courtyard, ready to greet Robb. My father is there as well." he added.
The courtyard was filled with men. The sound of swords clashing had become almost like a lingering hum, Ned heard the hum at all times throughout the day without fail. He heard the sound of the gates opening and closing, letting envoys ride out at the early hours of the morning and the late hours of the night to deliver messages to the many lords of Riverrun and beyond. The fires of the blacksmiths burned hot as they crafted hundreds of swords for the men gathered at Riverrun.
All of this brought Ned eerily back to when he fought his first war, Robert's Rebellion. Much has changed and yet here I am fighting, side by side with Robert, once more against Rhaegar.
He spotted his friend near the front of the gathering crowd. The man was surprised to see Robert in a heated discussion with Ser Barristan Selmy and Hoster Tully, though now as he neared his friend, Ned could see that the intense discussion was a lot more one sided than it had seemed. The commander of the Kingsguards looked calm while Robert was red in the face. The Lord of Riverrun seems to want to say something but the ramblings of the king prevented him from doing so.
"Your Grace, has something happened?" he heard himself ask just as he finished approaching the trio. The three of them turned in his direction.
But before Robert could answer him. The sound of a horn rang through the yard as a voice yelled. "Open the gates."
At the sound of that directive, the massive doors of the castle swung open, revealing Ned's son at the forefront of a Northern army. A surge of pride coursed through his veins as he watched his son march through the doors of Riverrun, leading a large host of northern men.
Robb appeared on his trusty brown steed, his cloak billowing in the wind. Secured by the emblem of their house, the direwolf, the cloak enveloped his shoulders.
Ned's keen eyes swiftly recognized the figures riding in tandem with Robb. There was Greatjon Umber, the formidable Lord of the Last Hearth, with his son Smalljon faithfully positioned by his side. Additionally, his gaze fell upon Roose Bolton, a man whose demeanor always carried an air of calculated shrewdness. Riding alongside Lord Bolton was a figure initially unfamiliar to Ned. However, after a few moments of keen observation, he pieced together the man's identity. It was Domeric Bolton, someone Ned had not seen in years. The last encounter had been when Domeric was merely ten and three years old, but now he had blossomed into a full-grown man.
Other familiar faces were amongst the host but Ned had little time to acknowledge them. Robb got off his horse in a swift motion and came straight towards him and just as his son was about to greet him, Robb seemed to remember that the king was there as well. With a subtle turn, Robb came face to face with his namesake.
"Your Grace." he greeted. Robert clasped his hand against Robb's shoulder. He congratulates Robb on leading an army down south all by himself. Ned watched as his son's face became flustered with a shade of pink.
Robb approached his grandfather, and Ned couldn't help but notice a momentary uneasiness between the two. Neither had crossed paths before this encounter. However, Ned took solace in the fact that his son possessed a natural charm reminiscent of his late brother, Brandon. Before long, the awkwardness dissipated, replaced by the warmth of familial connection as grandfather and grandson embraced in a heartfelt hug.
As Robb drew nearer, Ned's gaze fell upon the subtle stubble that now adorned his son's face. It added a touch of maturity, erasing the youthful face he had last glimpsed in his son back at Harrenhal. The passing of time had left its mark, transforming Robb into a young man before his very eyes.
The two were only able to share a quick hug before the king's loud voice broke father and son apart.
"Ned, we have urgent matters to discuss." Robert said. Ned gave his friend a worrisome look. The blue-eyed man ignored the concerned look and instead let out a loud gruff and began making his way back into the castle. Ned followed closely behind.
They all sat around a long table, safe for Robert who was pacing back and forth in the room. Ser Barristan Selmy, Hoster Tully and his son Edmure all exchanged worried glances with each other. Other lords from both the North and the Riverlands joined the meeting as well. Robb was at the edge of his seat as he watched Robert pace around the room. When no one gave any inclination of explaining what was going on, Ned heard himself ask what was happening.
It was his goodfather that answered his question. "Renly has failed to take back Dragonstone. He has made his way back to Kings Landing and has requested for more men."
"Then let us give him the men." Ned saw no problem in what Renly asked. Robert grunted at that. Clearly there was something that prevented them from sending men to Renly's aid.
Ned's words hung in the air for a moment, his earnestness tempered by the weight of Robert's silence. The room seemed to grow colder as the tension became thicker. Finally, it was Robert who broke the silence, his voice heavy with frustration.
"Ned, you don't understand. Renly's incompetence is becoming a liability," Robert retorted, his tone tinged with disappointment. "He should have been able to take Dragonstone with the forces he had. I cannot afford to divert more men to his cause when Storms End is being surrounded by the Valeryon fleet."
Ned's brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of Robert's words. The news of Renly's retreat was bad news but he could not understand why his king was so upset. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this situation than met the eye.
"Robert, what is it that troubles you so? You know that the Velaryons won't be able to take Storm's End and besides the loss of Dragonstone is bad yes, but that is all they have. A castle isolated from the rest of the kingdom," Ned reassures his friend, his voice steady.
Robert sighed heavily, weariness etched across his face. He leaned back against a wall, his gaze fixed on a distant point beyond the walls of the room. "We should just make our way to Dragonstone and put an end to all those fucking bastards."
"Such a course of action would be ill-advised, Your Grace," cautioned the knight, Ser Barristan Selmy. "Our spies have failed to amass sufficient intelligence on Rhaegar's army. The scouts we dispatched to Dragonstone have returned with no significant findings beyond what we already know."
"We are utterly in the dark regarding their forces, lacking any inkling of Rhaegar's troop numbers or the potential reinforcements he might amass," Hoster Tully continued. "No, if our aim is to defeat Rhaegar once and for all we must exercise patience until all the pieces align perfectly. We must wait."
Ned heard the string of curses Robert let out as he took a seat at the head of the table. The rest of them begin discussing the state of the realm.
"Conflict in the Dornish Marches has been reported," William Moonton relayed.
"There is never a shortage of skirmishes in the Dornish Marches," a new voice interjected. Ned turned to find the presence of Brynden Tully, known as the Blackfish, who had joined their conversation.
"True, but this time it carries a distinctiveness," William continued. "The Dornish have resorted to burning crops and plundering food-filled carts. They have even taken to setting fire to some of the ships safeguarding the coast."
"And what course of action do you suggest, Robert?" Ned inquired, but his friend appeared preoccupied, lost in his thoughts. It was the Kingsguard who spoke on his behalf.
"We have already dispatched additional troops as reinforcements," the Kingsguard responded. "Should the situation escalate further, we will be promptly informed and capable of providing sufficient reinforcements to address the issue."
A chorus of agreements resonated throughout the room, signaling unity and agreement among the attendees. The remainder of the meeting progressed smoothly, as plans were devised and debates arose between different houses, vying for leadership roles, on who would lead what and so on.
In their somber discussion they delve into the disconcerting reality of the houses that had already pledged their loyalty to Rhaegar Targaryen. The list of defections weighed heavily upon them, painting a grim picture of the shifting allegiances within the realm.
"The Reach has proven to be fertile ground for Rhaegar's cause," Ned lamented, his voice tinged with concern. "Notable houses like House Florent have turned their back on us, aligning themselves with the dragon. The Hightowers, too, have forsaken our cause in favor of Rhaegar's."
Robert's features hardened, his brow furrowing in frustration. "And House Tarly remains as unwaveringly devoted to the Targaryens as ever," he interjected, a mix of disappointment and anger in his tone. "Their allegiance to the dragons has persisted through generations."
As the weight of their conversation bore down upon them, Hoster Tully continued, listing the houses that had cast their lot with Rhaegar. "House Fossoway, House Rowan, House Merryweather, and House Caswell, among others, have all chosen to join the ranks of the dragon," he recounted, his voice heavy with a blend of sorrow and resignation.
"And what of House Tyrell? Have they declared for Rhaegar yet?" Ned asked. It was no secret that the Tyrell's had been Rhaegar's biggest supporters during the rebellion, Ned himself had been the one that broke the siege on Storms End that was imposed by Mace Tyrell. Which is why it came as a shock when he was told that the Tyrell's had not yet claimed to support Rhaegar.
"They haven't declared for Rhaegar but they have yet to declare for me. Those Tyrell's have not sent me any men." Robert snapped.
Even within the Stormlands, a region traditionally loyal to Robert Baratheon, signs of allegiance to Rhaegar Targaryen had emerged, further complicating the delicate web of loyalties and alliances. Ned brooded over the unsettling truth that some houses from Robert's own homeland had cast their lot with the dragon's cause.
"It seems even the Stormlands are not impervious to Rhaegar's influence," Hoster Tully remarked with a heavy sigh, his voice laced with a mix of disappointment and concern. "Some houses, once steadfast in their support of our cause, have now pledged themselves to Rhaegar."
Robert clenched his jaw, his eyes narrowing with a mixture of frustration and incredulity. "Stormlords turning their backs on us? I never thought I would see the day," he muttered, his voice tinged with bitter resignation. "Who among them has chosen the path of betrayal?"
Ned's gaze turned distant as he recalled the names of those who had forsaken their alliance. "House Connington, House Swann, House Dondarrion, and others," he listed, each name carrying a sting of betrayal. "Their reasons vary, but it appears that the allure of Rhaegar's cause has clouded their judgment."
A somber silence enveloped the room as they contemplated the ramifications of these defections. The Stormlands, once a hotspot of Robert's strength, now threatened to become a breeding ground for disunity.
In the end, the feeling in the room was somber after they finished discussing the matters of war.
With the conclusion of the meeting, Ned seized the opportunity to have a private conversation with his son. Together, they silently made their way to the quarters designated for Robb. As they entered the room, they felt at ease to express themselves openly.
"How is your mother?" Ned inquired, his concern evident. Robb let out a weary sigh that told Ned everything he needed to know about how things were going on back home.
"She's worried," Ned confirmed, understanding the sentiments.
"Of course she is, father. She attempted to conceal it, but I could sense her reluctance to see me leave," Robb replied.
"And what about Bran and Rickon? How did they react to the news?" Ned pondered.
Robb shook his head. "Not well. Bran nearly shed tears when I informed him that I had to depart again, and this time he couldn't accompany me. Rickon pleaded for me to stay, but mother managed to console him in the end."
Ned only nodded. He missed Catelyn and the boys, he wished that he and the girls and Robb were all back home in Winterfell. But instead his daughters were all alone in Kings Landing with the young queen, Robb was here in Riverrun with him preparing for a war and his wife and youngest children are probably sick with worry waiting for them to return. If we return home.
The thought of him not ever returning to Winterfell made his heart feel heavy, the thought of Robb never returning home made his heart ache.
"Father," Robb pleaded. "Is there truly no other way? Must we embark on this path of war, turning against our own kin?" Ned couldn't help but feel a pang of sorrow as he witnessed the weariness and distress etched on his son's face.
Allowing himself a brief pause, Ned pondered the question before formulating his reply.
"Son, I understand the weight of these emotions," Ned spoke softly, pausing as Robb raised his gaze. "Lyanna... she is our blood, no matter the choices she has made. However, she has aligned herself with Rhaegar. And now, I too must choose my allegiance."
"While I cannot guarantee our safety if Rhaegar were to triumph, I believe that if Robert can vanquish him once and for all, we will find security," Ned explained, his voice laced with conviction.
In that moment, Ned recalled the wisdom imparted by his own father. "The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives."
"What?" Robb questioned, his brows furrowed in confusion. Ned responded, a faint smile gracing his lips, as he explained those words for his son.
"Lyanna, my dear boy, symbolizes the lone wolf," Ned began, his voice carrying a mixture of nostalgia. "Her children, those born from her union with Rhaegar, are not wolves like us. They are dragons, embodying the fiery blood of their Targaryen heritage. Lyanna, in her fervent spirit, chose to abandon our pack all those years ago. She ventured out on her own path, untamed and relentless. It was unexpected to see her become the lone wolf, as she had always seemed to fit so seamlessly within the pack. Your late uncle Brandon and even your uncle Benjen possessed the wolf blood, but it skipped me."
Ned's gaze turned introspective for a moment, reminiscing on his past and the words of his own father. "Whenever my father spoke of the lone wolf, I believed he was referring to me—a fate of loneliness and separation from my loved ones. But now, with a deeper understanding, I realize that Lyanna is the embodiment of the lone wolf."
He paused, his voice tinged with a mix of sorrow and determination. "For us to survive, she must face her ultimate fate. The lone wolf must die if we wish to survive."
Riverrun, once a tranquil seat of House Tully, now bustled with a sea of men hailing from every corner of the Seven Kingdoms. Knights, weathered by years of service, and eager young warriors alike had gathered, their swords pledged to King Robert's cause. The prospect of amassing a formidable force to face the dragon prince was a matter that brought a gleam of satisfaction to Robert's eyes.
Within the walls of Riverrun, the air was thick with anticipation and revelry. Feasts stretched on for days, as tables groaned under the weight of dishes and overflowing goblets. Loud voices filled the halls, echoing with laughter and the clinking of glasses.
King Robert, renowned throughout the realm for his insatiable love for both drinking and pleasure, indulged in the festivities with unabashed delight. The looming war seemed to fade into the background, unable to overshadow the king's unwavering passion for drinking and whoring. Despite the gravity of the impending conflict, Robert's dedication to celebrate continued without interruption.
Yet amidst the feasting and celebration, there remained an underlying awareness of the approaching war. Whispers of strategy and impending battles circulated among the knights and lords, their minds torn between revelry and the gravity of the conflict ahead. While the king revealed, his loyal subjects contemplated the sacrifices and risks that lay before them, their hearts burdened with the weight of duty and the uncertainty of the days to come with the Targaryens that loomed ahead of them.
The likes of Smalljon Umber were among the many northern lords basking in the festivities. Amidst the enthusiastic crowd, Ned could distinguish Smalljon's booming voice as he spoke to the Riverland lords with tales of Northern folklore. Amused, Ned chuckled while Smalljon entertained Edmure Tully with stories of the Others. The mention of the Others immediately conjured images of Old Nan, the elderly woman who had often frightened him with her tales, though his siblings had always loved them. Yet, Ned's curiosity piqued when he overheard Smalljon mentioning something peculiar.
"Dragons have made their return," slurred Smalljon, clearly intoxicated as he wobbled on his feet.
"Obviously," Edmure retorted.
"No, I mean real dragons," insisted the burly man, his words slightly garbled. "Folk from the Last Hearth claim to have seen dragons soaring in the skies."
Edmure burst into laughter, playfully gripping Smalljon's shoulder. "I swear it's true, my friend. The smallfolk dare not venture out after dark, fearing the dragons. A sheep herder was even taken by one."
"I believe you, my friend," Edmure said, teasing Smalljon with a playful tone. However, the inebriated man seemed oblivious to Edmure's jesting. Smalljon swiftly shifted the conversation to the topic of the beautiful kitchen maids at Riverrun, capturing Edmure's attention with greater enthusiasm than the tales of dragons.
Ned laughed at the notion of a dragon flying over the Last Hearth.
Within the vibrant atmosphere of the Great Hall at Riverrun, brimming with enthusiasm and joyous celebrations, there existed a stark contrast within Ned's heart. Despite the apparent mirth that engulfed the hall, his spirit yearned for solace, seeking an escape from the ceaseless festivities. As the night wore on, the celebration around him grew overwhelming, gradually chipping away at Ned's endurance and composure.
Feeling a rising restlessness and a longing to leave, Ned quietly excused himself, his departure noted solely by his son and the king before he retreated to his own chambers. The weight of responsibilities and the gravity of the impending conflict pressed upon him, urging him to seek solace in the confines of his private sanctuary.
The hour grew late, the moon casting its pale glow upon Riverrun, as Ned, wide awake and consumed by his duties, sat meticulously writing letters. Each stroke of the quill carried a fragment of his love and concern, as he poured his thoughts onto parchment, addressing his letters to his daughters in King's Landing and to his family residing in the warm halls of Winterfell.
In the midst of this, the tranquility was abruptly shattered by an insistent, thunderous knock that resonated through the corridors. Although the lateness of the hour suggested an intrusion upon Ned's solace, his senses remained sharp, attuned to the presence beyond his door. The relentless pounding persisted, growing increasingly erratic and forceful, amplifying Ned's curiosity and drawing him closer to the source.
With measured steps, Ned approached the door, a sense of caution mingling with anticipation. As the door creaked open, revealing the mysterious visitor. It took Ned a moment to recognize the figure.
"Lord Harry?" Ned asked, puzzled as to why Robert's squire would come knocking on his door so late at night.
"My Lord, the King has requested your presence in his chambers," he said.
"At this hour?"
"The matter is urgent." was all the young man said. With a nod, Harry Hardying took him to the king's chambers.
The chamber was bathed in a soft, flickering radiance, courtesy of numerous candles that adorned every available surface. Their warm glow danced upon the walls, casting ethereal shadows that danced in harmony with the crackling fire nestled in the hearth. The flames breathed life into the room, their gentle warmth warding off the chill that seeped in from the depths of the night. The murmurs of distant voices reached his ears, floating through the thick wooden doors. The tones which were distinct and animated, resonated with an undeniable urgency. They are arguing.
As Ned ventured into the bustling common area, his eyes were immediately drawn to a figure that stood still in the middle of the room. There, amidst the sea of ordinary folk, stood a mesmerizing man with flowing locks of golden hair, cascading down his lean shoulders. Clad in an ensemble of vibrant red and gold, this individual exuded an aura of opulence and extravagance. A doublet with embroidery that would have made the septa from Winterfell cry with its pristine and neat needle work. The cloak the man wore was an obnoxious gold color that stood out amidst the nightwear the rest of the men in the room wore. As he got closer, Ned was able to make out the Lannister lion brooch that held the cloak together.
A Lannister? But which one could it be?
Robert seemed on the verge of beating the golden haired man into a plum, the rest of the lords that stood in the room seemed apprehensive of the Lannister while others looked grateful to see the lion. Amidst this charged atmosphere, a familiar voice rang out across the room, cutting through the tense airwaves and reaching Ned's ears. "Ned!" The urgency and relief resonated in the call, drawing Ned's attention towards the source. It was Petyr Baelish, the shrewd and enigmatic Master of Coins, who stood among the onlookers.
Although Ned tried to conceal his disdain for the man, he suspected that his attempt was futile, judging by the pleased expression that danced upon Littlefinger's face. Petyr had a way of unsettling him, a knack for making him feel uncomfortably exposed. Nonetheless, Ned strove to maintain his composure, concealing his inner turmoil beneath a veil of stoicism.
The Master of Coins had a gift for getting under Ned's skin, making him acutely uncomfortable. Yet, Ned knew that in this delicate dance of power, he had to tread carefully, masking his true sentiments behind a mask of diplomacy. Littlefinger was a predator and Ned had no desire to be his prey.
"Lord Baelish, what brings you here?" Ned inquired, his voice laced with an air of cautious curiosity.
Petyr, wearing a self-assured smirk, responded, "Oh, nothing of great importance, My Lord. The Hand thought it prudent for me to personally inquire about any updates on the progress of the war and to apprise the King of the latest happenings in King's Landing."
Ned's skepticism prickled at the edges of his mind. It seemed peculiar for the Master of Coins to venture all this way merely to seek updates on the war. "Could you not have relayed such information through a raven or sent an envoy?" Ned's voice betrayed a hint of perplexity.
Petyr's smirk widened, relishing the tension. "Oh certainly, My Lord. But I felt it necessary to attend in person," he replied, his tone tinged with an enigmatic gleam in his eyes. Before either of them could delve deeper into the matter, Robert's booming voice called out, interrupting their conversation and demanding their attention.
"Ned, what do you think?" Robert's voice carried a hint of desperation, his piercing blue eyes begging Ned to offer his honest insight.
Caught off guard by the abrupt question, Ned's brows furrowed in confusion. "About what, Your Grace?" he asked, seeking clarification. With a dismissive wave of his hand, Robert gestured for someone else to enlighten Ned.
True to form, Petyr stepped forward, assuming the responsibility of explaining the situation. "Lord Stark, allow me to explain," he interjected, his tone laced with an air of self-assuredness. Motioning towards the golden-haired man, Petyr directed Ned's attention towards him. "Lord Stark, have you met Lancel Lannister?" he asked. The Lannister looked at him with an unpleasant smile as if he wished to be anywhere else but here.
"No, I have not had the pleasure," Ned replied evenly, his curiosity peaked by Petyr's mention of the unfamiliar Lannister.
Petyr's gaze bore into Ned's, his voice heavy with the weight of grave tidings. "Well, Lancel has brought us distressing news. It appears that our Lord of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister, has met his end at the hands of Rhaegar Targaryen. In light of this tragedy, Kevan Lannister has pledged his support and offered King Robert his men."
The unexpected revelation hit Ned hard, stirring a flurry of conflicting emotions within him. Tywin Lannister, the cunning and dangerous lord of House Lannister, dead? The news both intrigued and unnerved him, for the implications of such a significant loss would undoubtedly reshape the delicate balance of power in the realm.
As questions swirled within him, Ned resisted the urge to delve further into the matter. A glimmer of relief coursed through his veins, as he contemplated the long overdue declaration of allegiances from the Lannisters. Their support for King Robert was a welcome development, aligning with the cause that Ned held dear.
Suppressing his desire for more information, Ned maintained his composure, understanding that the time for questions would come later. For now, he chose to bask in the reassurance that the tides were turning in their favor. The demise of Tywin Lannister had set in motion a chain of events that had brought the Lannisters to the side of the king, a prospect that offered a glimmer of hope in the tumultuous realm they all inhabited now with Rhaegar's return.
As Ned beheld the unmistakable blaze of fury flickering in his friend's eyes, it became clear to him that Robert was seething with discontent. Yet, Ned couldn't fathom the reason behind this deep-rooted animosity. He has the wealth of the Lannister's at his side, why does he look so upset?
"Your Grace, may we have a moment alone?" Ned ventured, his voice laced with a sense of urgency. With a subtle nod, the room emptied, leaving only Ned and Robert in the private space. However, Ned couldn't ignore the venomous glare cast his way by Lancel as he exited the room, a silent reminder of the complexities at play.
Curiosity brimming within him, Ned seized the opportunity to address the matter that troubled him. "The Lannisters could prove to be valuable allies, Your Grace, but I cannot help but sense your apprehension towards them," he probed, his words brimming with genuine concern. Ned knew that Robert had no love for the lions after what had happened with his first wife but still, the Lannisters are a powerful house that could undoubtedly change the course of the war if they did indeed align themselves with Robert.
Robert exhaled heavily, weariness etched upon his face, and Ned observed as his friend's hands clenched into fists, veins pulsating with barely contained anger. "They tried to have my wife and son killed," Robert confessed, the words lingering in the air, almost causing Ned to stumble in disbelief. "It happened some time ago, an assassin hired by the Lannisters targeted them while they were walking in the fucking gardens."
Ned recoiled, his mind struggling to process this revelation. The weight of the revelation pressed down upon him, threatening to shatter his understanding of the politics at play. "And you took no action?" he asked, his voice laced with a mix of astonishment and disbelief. Ned had a hard time believing that Robert would have let them get away with killing his son and heir.
Robert's fist pounded forcefully onto the table, the resounding thud echoing through the room, nearly causing Ned to startle. "I wanted to, by the gods, I wanted to!" Robert bellowed, his voice brimming with frustration. "But Jon convinced me otherwise. He said the Lannisters would never admit their guilt. Dammit, Ned, I should have journeyed to Casterly Rock myself and slain that wretched old lion, but now that silver-haired cunt beat me to it."
The revelation stung within Ned's being, stirring a whirlwind of emotions. Betrayal mingled with outrage as he contemplated the audacity of the Lannisters' treacherous act. Yet, alongside the tumultuous waves of emotion, a haunting realization took hold—that the repercussions of these events had brought about dire consequences, ones that now threatened to unravel the realm even further.
Ned grappled with the unenviable task of confronting his friend with the harsh reality that he had thus far avoided. As the Warden of the North, it was his duty to uphold the truth, no matter how unsightly or difficult it may be.
"Robert, you must come to terms with accepting the Lannisters' allegiance," Ned asserted, his voice laced with a tinge of regret. He shook his head solemnly, fully aware of the weight his words carried. "We need them, Robert. Disregarding their support could provide an opening for Rhaegar to coerce them into joining his cause. We cannot afford to let that happen, especially considering that Dorne, a significant portion of the Reach, and even some of the Stormlands have already pledged their loyalty to Rhaegar."
The words hung in the air, the bitter truth casting a pall over their conversation. Robert, consumed by a horrifying fury, erupted in a torrent of anger. "You expect me to embrace those who attempted to take my son's life?" his voice thundered, reverberating through the room.
Ned met his friend's gaze with unwavering resolve, mustering all his persuasive abilities to convey his message. "I do not wish for this, Robert. You know that," he countered, his tone laden with empathy. "Believe me, there is nothing I desire more than to see the Lannisters held accountable for their actions. But the reality remains—we need their support if we are to stand a chance against the forces aligned with Rhaegar."
The silence that followed was deafening, heavy with the weight of their shared burden. Ned pressed on, his voice tinged with urgency. "I implore you to consider the bigger picture, my friend. We stand on the precipice of a war that will decide the fate of the Seven Kingdoms. Our unity is crucial, even if it means accepting the assistance of those who have wronged us."
Robert's features contorted with conflicting emotions as he grappled with the weighty decision before him. "I need time to think," he finally murmured, his voice heavy with contemplation. "Go, Ned. Give me the space to think about my decision."
Ned bowed his head, understanding the gravity of the situation. He silently retreated from the room, leaving his friend to wrestle with the formidable task of ignoring personal vendettas for the sake of political strategy. As he departed, the weight of responsibility settled heavily upon Ned's shoulders, for he knew that the outcome of Robert's choice could shape the destiny of the realm itself.
I was supper excited to write this chapter mainly because I wanted to write about Ned and Lyanna's relationship. Their relationship is one that i'm very eager to write about in the future.
See you guys next week!
(You can find me on tumblr sunsetstarrogue)