Wife of the Wolf, Husband of the Sun.

Book 2

Chapter One-Hundred and Fourteen

She stood tall before them and did not bend her head, even though she was only the owner of a brothel and she stood before some of the most powerful lords of the realm, her queen and her king and Ned would not deny that it impressed him to see that she did not cower. She answered every question they had for her and she never lost even the slightest amount of her composure and she had no trouble in meeting any of their eyes.

They had questioned everyone in that brothel, patrons and workers alike and they had been questioned firmly, even the slightest hesitation or discrepancy was sized on to see if there had been more to this, they could not rule out there was a hidden hand behind the foul attempt on his eldest son's life.

But it seemed that none of the people, other than the culprit who had done the stabbing herself, had anything to do with it.

All proclaimed their innocence of course, but if any of them were lying about it there was no evidence of it and until they had such evidence then there was naught that they could do but to take their word for it. The city guard was investigating and Varys's little birds were always listening but it did not sit well with him that his son had been harmed and that none had been able to do anything to stop it, that he had not been able to do anything to stop it.

Ned resisted the urge to sigh, he was the King and he could not appear weak in front of his councilors and addressed the brothel owner. "Thank you for coming to answer our questions madam, I do not think we have any more for you so you may return to your establishment but I must ask that you do not leave the city for a moon's turn and that you make yourself available to any further questioning."

"Of course Your Grace," The woman said, her words lightly accented with the tones of the summer isles, and the page showed her out of the council chambers and Ned allowed some of the tension to bleed out of his shoulders before he glanced around at his small council.

Well, small was probably not the right word for it.

At his left sat his Hand of the King, Hoster Tully of Riverrun. Ned had not chosen the man, he would not have been his first choice or his second or his hundredth. He had not forgiven him for what he had said to Elia which had nearly cost her life and his eldest daughter's life as well. But he knew that if he did as he wished and dismissed Tully from the office then it would only cause more trouble with the Riverlands.

At his right sat his Master of Laws, Lord Jon Arryn. Jon was one of the few men in the entire city that he could truly say that he trusted and he viewed the man as his true Hand in his heart, even if he wasn't so in truth.

Next to Hoster Tully was his Master of Ships, Quellon Greyjoy. The man had clung on to life since he had first come to claim his seat on the small council that Ned's wife had promised him and he had served the realm well in the post, the royal fleet had been well maintained even if its growth over the past two decades had been slow, Ned had to wonder if he was considering a future where the ships he had overseen could one day be used against his home and that was why he had not grown it as much as he could have.

Across from the Lord of Pyke sat the King's Master of Coin, Ned had offered the seat to Mace Tyrell long ago but while the Lord of Highgarden had made all the proper noises about how flattered he was to be considered for the role he had to turn it down as his place was in Highgarden, it was where he belonged and where he could best serve the realm and the King.

But Mace Tyrell was not going to pass up the chance to have one of his own sitting on the small council and so he offered up his uncle, Garth Tyrell, instead. The man had given Ned no reason to complain over the past twenty years, he was pleasant enough and he had been able to keep the city coffers full and invested prudently but Ned could not say that he trusted him, and his flatulence stunk up the small council chamber something awful.

Truly, nothing made your patience with someone wear thin than twenty years of pretending that their farts didn't stink.

Next to Garth was the Eunuch, Ned had wanted to be rid of him as soon as the crown was placed on his brow but Elia had pleaded her case for him, she trusted Varys as little as he did and she liked him even less but the sheer amount of spies he had and where they were placed meant that he was utterly invaluable and so Varys remained all through it was difficult not to strangle the creature most days.

He could not forget Grand Maester Pycelle, the man had been old before Ned had claimed the throne but he had the wisdom that came with those years even though over the past two decades he had learned that the man was not quite as true to his vows as he should have been, but alas he would rather have him on side than not.

The final traditional role on the small council was Lord Commander of the Kingsguard and that honor fell to Ser Barristan Selmy, the only one of Aerys's original seven to still wear the white cloak. A good man, well-loved by all even as the years had made their marks on him. Still, his sword arm was still strong and skilled and Ned was fortunate to have him on his side.

After him, however, the small council was filled with the new roles that Ned had added to it.

First was the Lord Commander of the Queensguard, a role which he had left to Elia to fill as she choose. He had assumed that his wife would choose her uncle to fill the role and indeed he had been the acting Lord Commander when it has just been Lewyn Martell and Jaime Lannister who had been Elia's swords but when the guard had grown to seven, out of thousands of candidates, she had made a different choice.

She had chosen a knight of the Vale, Ser Mandon Moore. He was a strange man, Ned did not like his eyes as they were so pale and grey and lifeless. He spoke little, but Elia praised him well enough as a protector. He had been silent through all of the questionings, but he had stared deep into every witness who had come into the council chamber as if he could see into their souls.

Next was the Alderman of Flea Bottom, the rich merchants of the city and other affluent citizens of King's Landing had a thousand ways to make their voices known to him if they had a complaint but the poorer districts were almost voiceless and so Ned had seen to that by giving them a voice that would come and speak on the councilor by having them choose on their own.

Alderman Pate was a man of sixty, stocky with a thick beard. He had seven daughters, fifteen grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren. The man could not read or write but he was well-loved in the low district and he fought fiercely for them. Ned both liked him and respected him, even if placing him on the small council was not a decision that the lords of Westeros had loved him for.

The High Septon also had a permanent seat on the council as well. In truth that had been more Elia's idea than his but he had gone along with it, the man was sharp-featured and Ned always got the sense that the man did not like him and did not approve of him either, as if he expected Ned to rip the heart out of a lamb and perform a blood magic ritual in the royal sept.

When the High Septon was too busy to attend, which was often and Ned thanked the gods both old and new for that, then a member of the Most Devout would be sent in his place. But the High Septon had come tonight, even he knew that this was clearly not a matter to have anyone else attended to, though Ned wished that he had as he could not consider the other man's presence a comfort.

And then there was the Commander of the city watch, Ser Martyn Sand, a Dornish bastard that had been placed within the city guard twenty years ago, rose through the ranks till he was made captain of the Dragon Gate and when the previous Commander, Manly Stokeworth, died he had risen to the command. He had done well enough so far, to Ned's mind.

And then the final members of the small council, the representatives from each corner of the realm. A permanent member from each kingdom to sit on the small council so all of them could tell him truly what problems faced their lands.

From the North was Rickard Karstark, From the Riverlands was Jason Mallister, from the Reach was Baelor Hightower, getting a lord to represent the Westerlands had been like trying to get blood out of a stone but in the end, they had relented and sent Sebaston Farman, the Lord of Fair Isle.

From the Iron Islands was Lord Rodrik Harlaw, from Dorne was Lord Franklyn Fowler, from the Stormlands was Lord Alesander Staedmon, from the Vale was Bronze Yohn Royce, and from the Crownlands was Lord Davon Harte.

Any of these men could tell me falsehoods to benefit their lands or themselves, but all of them must tell me different lies in order to do so. Through those lies, I can glimpse the truth. Ned thought to himself.

And finally, there was Elia. When it had come to the first small council meeting all those many years ago he had intended for her to sit at his left side across from Hoster Tully. To let the council know that he valued his wife's advice highly, as much or more than the Hand of the King's, and as well to shame Lord Tully with Elia's presence, a silent reminder that the words he had spoken to Elia had not killed her but neither of them had forgotten them.

But when she had walked up to take her seat she had simply smiled, kissed his cheek, and then pulled her chair away from the council table and placed it against the wall of the chamber, sat down, and started to sew. And it had been the same with every council session that she attended, she would sit in her chair and sew and simply listen, every now and then asking a question for clarification or clarifying something else someone else had said.

But other than that, she just sewed.

It was the same now, as she worked on making a dress from grey silk and cloth-of-silver. "It is a gown for Sansa." She had told him a few nights ago when she had started on it. "She tried to worm her way out of her lessons and she played sick to do it, I punished her but I fear that I was too hard on her and so I thought I would make her a dress for a peace offering, besides she is growing up and it is time for her to stop dressing as though she was still a little girl."

Elia had been focused solely on the dress as the council had asked its questions, to some it might seem that his Queen was not interested at all but Ned knew that she was listening to every single word that was spoken and he had seen how upset she had been when their sons had returned to the Red Keep, covered in blood even though she had done her best to hide it.

It had been one of the worst things that Ned had ever seen as well. He was used to blood but he had always hoped, even if he knew it was a vain hope, that his sons would be able to be spared from the cruelty of the world. Now they had seen it for what it truly was and in such a terrible way.

Oddly, it had been Mors who had been the more upset of the twins, the younger twin had always been solemn and quiet compared to his older brother but when he had walked through the gates in the middle of the night with his brothers he had been hysterical, tears running down his cheeks and nothing seemed able to stop them. They had needed to send the boy to bed and according to Pycelle it had taken a cup and a half of dreamwine to put him to bed, he would not wake till the next day now.

Torrhen had been calmer, subdued when compared to his brother. He had walked through the gates and simply endured as his Mother had come running up to him, cradling his face and placing her hand over the cuts in his shirt. He had made a joke then, something about how he had gone to a brothel but he had been the one who ended up getting poked.

But his eyes had been far away, and Ned had the feeling that if it had not been for the red woman supporting him then he would have fallen to the ground.

My poor boys. Ned still remembered how it felt to hold them for the first time, how it had felt to watch Elia nurse them even though she needed to share the duty with a wet nurse. He was their father, his duty was to protect them and guide them and he had failed in that, he was a king with a crown and yet good was the ugly chair he sat on if he could not defend those dearest to his heart?

He could do his best to ensure that it did not happen again, and so Eddard Stark sat tall with his head up and his shoulders back, and when he spoke it was with all the coldness of winter. "What do my lords make of it?"

"It seems quite plain enough to me." Rickard Karstark spoke, his dark eyes cutting over to the High Septon before he turned his gaze on to Ned. "It's those fanatics making in trouble in the Riverlands, they've had enough of burning trees and hanging people from branches. They've decided to set their sights on something greater, and what's greater than killing a heretic prince."

Noone could pretend that they didn't know what the Lord of Karhold meant, the Seven Swords. After Ned had become King it had spread like wildfire throughout the Seven Kingdoms that, other than when he had the crown placed on his brow, Ned had never stepped foot inside of a sept and that when he wished to pray that he would go to the godswood instead.

Some had taken offense to that, even more so when having a king who worshiped the old gods had caused something of a resurgence in their worship below the Neck. The Faith of the Seven was still unquestionably the dominant faith in the South but the Old Gods had gained a foothold as well and the Seven Swords had been the response, highborn fanatics with a large army of small folk backing them.

"Their leader is Ser Bonifer Hasty, or so my little birds sing to me," Varys had tittered during a council meeting when word of the Swords had first reached them. "Oh, such a sad story. They say he loved poor dear Queen Rhaella more than life itself, and she him. But a landed knight was too low a match for a princess of the realm and so he devoted himself to the Seven instead, and now poor Queen Rhaella is dead and trees of the old gods sprout up in the Riverlands. It seems the man has had enough."

Hasty had been stripped of his lands and in his title but that had not stopped him, his holy hundred was now the core of a small army and he had brought terror down on the Riverlands.

The High Septon, to his credit, did not shrink under Rickard Karstark's gaze, and when he spoke his voice was calm and cool. "Ser Bonifer Hasty is a dangerous fanatic, his movement has been declared anathema to the Faith. However, I do wonder if perhaps he is being used as a distraction, the girl does have their sigil burned onto the back of her hand I know but anyone can burn themselves with whatever they wish. If the girl is a true member of the Seven Swords then I have to ask why they have changed their ways now, why try and assassinate the heir to the throne now."

"Maybe because now is a perfect time," That was Ser Mandon Moore and it spoke to how little he had heard the man speak that even after twenty years Ned did not know his voice. "The city is filled with strangers now, thousands and thousands of them. Who is going to pay attention to one ugly lowborn girl with something burned on the back of her hand when there is so much else to call to their attention?"

"I've been asking around Flea Bottom m'lords," Pate choose to cut in then, stroking his beard as his golden chain of office shinned in the light of the candles that burned on the table. "None claim to know anything about the girl, and I don't think any of them is lying to me. Everyone in the city loves the princes, they remember well how Prince Torrhen once came down and taught their lads to fight with wooden swords and Prince Mors read them stories about dragons and knights. This woman is not one of us, I'd stake my chain on it."

"Regardless, what needs to be done now is clear," Jon Arryn spoke, and twenty years had not worn down the power in his voice even a little bit. "The Seven Swords have terrorized the realm for too long now, it is time we make an end to them," Jon turned his gaze on to Hoster. "How many men does your son have to hand in Riverun?"

Hoster Tully frowned and was silent as he thought, his blue eyes narrowing. "In Riverrun alone? Maybe three hundred, the Seven Swords are not a great host but a ravaging band. They do not stay in one place too long, large numbers will not serve us well."

"Then three hundred should serve," Ned sighed and then rose from where he was sitting and all of his lords stood with him, Elia remained sitting as she continued to work on the dress. "I will send two hundred men into the Riverlands as support, I want every single stone turned over. Our goal here is to capture Lord Hasty. The man has crimes enough to answer on his own but I am not overlooking the possibility that someone is using him as a patsy and thus I wish to question him before I take his head. You may leave."

With over a dozen muttered 'your grace's the room cleared out until it was just himself and Elia left alone, when the door clicked shut Elia let out a heavy sigh and looked up from her work. "What do you mean to do with the girl?"

"I'll have her head."

"The traditional punishment for an attempt on the royal line by someone of low birth is drawing and quartering."

"You've never advocated for that before, never." Ned had always taken heads, high or low it had always been a single clean chop with a blade and Ned had always been the one to swing it himself and Elia had never voiced a word of complaint.

"She hurt our son." She killed our son, is what he knew Elia wanted to say. That was what both Mors and Rickard had said had happened, and what Prince Lewyn had said had happened to him as well. Their son had died and then the Red Witch had done something to him, had said something to him and brought him back from death's grasp.

"Yes, she did and she will pay for that with her head but that does not change the fact that drawing and quartering is cruel and I will not inflict that to anyone, no matter their crime, certainly not on a girl who is younger than Meria." If that made him a coward, then so be it.

Elia sighed and put her needle down and folded the unfinished dress up in her lap and rose from where she was sitting and held out her hand for him and he took it gladly, pressing a kiss to the back of it. "I know, I know that you are right and I am glad that you have a cooler head than I. Come, it is time for breakfast."

Gods, it was wasn't it? The questioning had taken all night and it had all been so sudden that Ned had not thought to ask the servants to bring some food in for the session, he had still been half asleep after all. He and Elia had been sleeping peacefully, their arms wrapped around one another when the hammering had come at their chamber door and their peaceful world came crashing down around them.

Ned and Elia walked out of the council chamber where one of each of their guards stood at the door, in the white stood Ser Brynden Tully who had taken the offer of the white cloak well enough and Hoster Tully had been pleased by the placement as well, glad that his younger brother was finally doing something to bring honor to their family if he would not wed.

In the black and orange of the Queensguard stood Ser Balon Swann, Ned liked the man and Elia had spoken her praises of him well enough and he often had the honor of guarding Brandon and Rickon, a duty which showed how much faith the Queen had in him.

Swann was dismissed back to his tower, another order of guards meant that a second tower had to be built within the Red Keep and the tower did not have an actual name yet though Ned knew the servants liked to call it the Queen's tower. Brynden Tully had the honor of guarding them and so he followed them as they made their way through the castle towards their small breakfast chamber.

"It is still not letting up," Elia murmured and Ned could hear that she was right, in the middle of the night rain had started to come down in heavy black sheets and it had not stopped for a single second. The rain was hammering on the roof of Maegor's holdfast, like the gods were throwing handfuls of pebbles without stopping. Ned frowned as he listened to the relentless assault.

"If we're not in autumn already then we will be soon enough," Ned muttered as they kept walking and he felt Elia's worried gaze burning into his neck. He was worried as well, they had done their best to help the city to prepare for winter and for a hard winter as well but there was only so much that they could do, they simply had to hope that when Winter came it would be a mild one as the south was known for.

But mild or harsh, the smallfolk always died in great numbers regardless.

Rohanne, Meria, Sansa, and Arya were already waiting in the breakfast chamber for them, the girls had been told their elder brothers had soreheads from the night before and that was why they would not be joining them and the younger boys still broke their fast in the nursery.

Their eldest daughter was dressed in a dark green lambswool day dress which buttoned at the sleeves and up to her throat with buttons made out of Mother of Pearl, a silk shawl around her shoulders. In her hands were a few papers, letters from other ladies or suiters Ned had to assume. Her cat was slumbering peacefully in the princess's lap, a foul-tempered little beast if Ned was being honest but he knew better than to say anything.

Meria, as usual, dressed more daring than her elder sister in a blue silk gown which was cut daring in front and bared her shoulders and made Ned want to order her back to her room to change but he knew that if he did that Meria would simply come back dressed in something more daring. In front of her was a plate piled high with bacon, black puddings, sausages, gammon stakes, and eggs.

Sansa had a bowl of porridge in front of her and was sewing something or other in her lap and Arya had a plate piled high with saffron and raisin buns and was tearing chunks off one-off and passing them under the table in a way that she probably thought was subtle.

Elia felt into her usual role easily enough, "Rohanne, put those down and have something to eat, all of that will keep for later. Sansa, I've told you not to sew at the table haven't I? Meria, is there any livestock left in the Seven Kingdoms, or do we have nothing to salt down for the winter? I want something green on that plate and I want it on there now. Arya, you are not eating all of those and what are you feeding under the table?"

"They're not mine!" Arya said with a bright grin and when two shaggy-haired hunting dogs plopped their heads on the table the Queen groaned and Ned could not quite stop a smirk from pulling at the corners of his lips. "But Meria wouldn't give them anything from her plate!"

"Because they are meant to be hunters, not spoiled lapdogs," Meria said in between bites of a rasher of bacon, Ned remembered well how she had claimed both dogs for her own. A bitch in the kennel had a litter of nine dogs, seven were strong but two were runts and were most likely to die. Ned had explained it to his daughter but the little princess had simply stamped her foot, told him no, and cared for the dogs herself.

And now both dogs are bigger than any of their littermates, Meria had named the elder dog Winterfell and the younger one Sunspear, and the princess was barely seen without them around the castle. Winterfell padded up to her and put his head in her lap and the princess sighed. "Oh fine," She huffed before snatching a sausage off of her plate and feeding it to him.

"They are supposed to be in the kennels," Elia said as she sat down at the table and smoothed out her skirts.

Meria let out a gasp that would put a murmmur to shame. "Why dearest mother, I could not do that to them. I love them too much, how would you feel if someone put me in a kennel?!"

"I would sleep a great deal easier." Laughter rose up in answer to that, and none laughed harder than Meria.

The morning carried on as a normal morning would, there was laughter and joy and choice gossip and Ned enjoyed every single second of it as it was another second that he could pretend that everything was well.

Soon their fast had been broken and all Ned wished to do was go back to sleep but there was still a great deal that needed to be done, the girls were sent on their way, not before a kiss was placed on each cheek, and Ned rose from his chair and kissed Elia deeply. "I will see you tonight." He said in between kisses and left her in the breakfast chamber.

The rain had slowed a little bit, thank all the gods for that, but it was still coming down hard and it only took a few seconds of being outside the walls of the holdfast for Ned to be soaked. He wanted to get this done as quickly as possible.

He strode to the wooden platform that had been set up where one of his squires, one of Garth Tyrell's bastard sons, was waiting for him with the sheath of the greatsword that he used for these moments. When it came to moments like this Ned never really stopped wishing that he had Ice with him, the blade was finely made and sharp as only castle forged steel could but nothing cut as clean as Valyrian Steel.

The southern lords often didn't like to watch the sentence being carried out and the hard rain meant that there were even fewer than usual coming to watch the head role from the shoulders but even with that said there was still a good two dozen gathered around the platform, and Cersei Lannister stood in the window of her apartments above the Kitchen Keep, a golden wraith silent and terrible.

They brought the girl out, she had confessed to her crime almost giddily, and even if she had not there were dozens of witnesses to speak out against her, she was dressed in the same roughspun gown that she had been captured in and she walked to the platform as at ease as if she was simply walking down to the market to see what the catch of the day was and to buy some eggs.

She walked up the steps of the platform without any prompting but she did refuse to kneel and so one of the guards had to make her by jamming the butt of his spear into her back which sent her down to her knees with a breathless cry.

It had to be done, Ned stepped closer and drew the greatsword from the sheath that his squire held and rested his chin on it with his eyes shut. "I, Eddard of the House Stark, first of my name. King of the Andals, The First Men, and the Rhoynar, do find you guilty of the crimes of assault, high treason, and conspiracy to murder a member of the royal family. I thus sentence you to die."

He rested the edge of the blade against her neck, her skin broke out in goose pimples from the cold of the steel but she did not shudder or scream or cry out of beg for mercy. "If you have any final words to speak, now is the time."

"I am a warrior of the one true faith, I have committed no true crime and I shall be rewarded in finest of the seven heavens while all who stood by and let the travesty that is your reign continue will be found wanting and will be condemned to the worst of the seven hells." The girl's voice was calm and clear as she stared out into the crowd, not a single bit of fear in her. "Do your worst, you are no king of mine."

Ned breathed out, rose the sword, and brought it down.

And the rain just kept falling down.

End of Chapter One-Hundred and Fourteen

WELP, that's another chapter done and dusted.

I knew that I wanted to carry on with the aftermath of what happened in the last chapter as well as establish some more characters and how the canon has changed a bit more and who the new players are and hey, we have our first chapter with Ned! I wanted to show that is still an honorable man but twenty years of living in King's Landing and being King has made him a little shrewder.

Elia is still something of a blind spot for him, however.

Also, there are more bastards about in King's Landing. Huh.

Anywho, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and next time...

Well, I think we'll head south and we'll see what changes have happened in Dorne.