A/N: I'm sorry for the delay in updates, real life's just been…Ya know? I just want to say thanks to all those who take the time to leave such warm and encouraging reviews. They mean a lot to me. And are something I go back to when I'm struggling whether it be writing or real life stuff. They really help. So thanks.

Note: Ned's last POV was chapter 13, while the last Vale POV came from Ysilla Royce in chapter 18. So it's safe to say that it's been awhile.

Our Blades Are Sharp 2: The Red Reign

By Spectre4hire

Twenty-two

Eddard:

After weeks of messages and meetings the Vale lords had gathered. They were waiting for the last to arrive, Lysa Arryn. The Lady Regent of the Vale of Arryn.

Ned watched them talk and eat, and though he had known many of those who sat with him since he was a boy in the Vale, he didn't join them in their discussion.

"I did not think I'd see Lady Lysa ever leave her nest," Lady Waynwood was the last to join the lords at their table that evening for supper, "But the arrival of Lord Stark has flushed her out."

It was not supposed to be like this. He had come to the Vale seeking an audience with his good sister. To remind her of the alliance between their families. There is still time, he reminded himself. Knowing the Lords of the Vale though frustrated were men and women of honor. They would not scheme to split a boy from his mother. They would not wish to sully the memory of the late Lord Jon Arryn, who was respected by all throughout the Vale.

All parties had agreed to meet in an impartial site in the Vale of Arryn at an old watchtower which had been built long ago in the Vale's wars with the mountain clans. This watchtower was one of many built and placed to guard the vale from raids. Farms dotted the lands and countless homesteads with hamlets along its rivers and lakes. It was good land. Ned had fond memories of riding through these lands with Robert when they were young. When wars were only stories, and their only concerns were sneaking into the larder without Jon finding out.

Now, the fields were burning. The mountain clans were armed with good steel and fast horses. They had been emboldened, raiding hard and fast along these rich lands, burning farms, killing farmers, and abducting their wives and daughters.

Their party had taken all precautions to deter the mountain clans from considering attacking them. The lords of the Vale brought more than two thousand men, set up barricades, put up countless sentries and set out patrols to keep the clans away. The clans' countless attacks had been too much for the Vale lords to ignore. While Lysa's indifference to their pleas made even the most stalwart lord wonder of her ability to lead them.

It was not my intention to cast judgment on Lysa's regency. Ever since he arrived, Ned had heard stories from its lords of his good sister's poor handling of her important duties. A twinge of pain from his leg made him clench his grip around his chair's armrest. The potions and poultices over the past several weeks had helped to dull the pain and lessen its visits, but the maesters had told him it would take months for it to fully recover.

In his grave, Lannister still stabs at me. Ned had not mourned the Lannister losses when Renly's victory came to them. Lord Redfort had been delighted at the news. The Lannisters had earned the Vale's enmity when they armed the mountain clans. There were still Lannisters in the west, where Robb had gone to secure a peace. He was not sure how an alliance between the west and the Vale would hold, but he put aside those concerns. That was for Stannis to manage, not him. Ned did not plan on staying in the south once this was over. He was going to go to get Cat and they would return to Winterfell.

The thought of Cat gave him a wistful smile. He kept the letter on him that she had written, informing him that she was with child. Their child, boy or girl, Ned would love them. This miracle babe, that he never thought would come. Not when he was in the Black Cells with his ruined leg, his fever, and the certainty of death pressed against his neck as cold as ice. But before I could go to her, he had to help deliver the Vale to Stannis. With his good sister as Lady Regent, this should have been a brief visit, but Lysa had proven uncooperative.

"She is unfit to rule the Vale," Lady Waynwood said plainly. "Lord Stark's arrival is most welcomed if it will make Lady Lysa see reason."

"Reason?" Lord Redfort sounded amused, sitting across from her. "Our dear lady is still breastfeeding her boy," he frowned down into his wine glass. "Our Warden of the East is still at his mother's teat at nearly ten and one!"

"Shameful," Lady Waynwood sounded personally offended by Lysa's behavior, though a flicker of approval came over her stern countenance when she added. "However, how she strung her suitors along all these months," her smile was wry. "The softer sex isn't without their own sharpness."

Their table was filled with some of said suitors. Lord Redfort was the only one who took the ribbing with any mirth. He chuckled, but his only response was to get more wine from a passing servant.

"Her suitors have all left," Lord Royce wore simple brown and bronze finery. "Back to their castles where they've learned at their own peril how dangerous the roads have gotten."

There was a dark murmuring around the table at the increasing threat that the Vale Mountain clans had become. They had brazenly attacked Lord Royce's party several times on his trip to the Redfort. And during their own journey to meet with Lady Lysa, they had been attacked twice. The clans attacked the baggage train. They were beaten back but men and supplies were lost both times.

"I told her," Horton Redfort's thin grey hairs on his face quivered. "I warned her they were armed and getting dangerous." He pointed angrily with his fork, "But she called it sword rattling." His face darkened at her dismissal.

"She sees lies and schemes in every shadow," Lady Waynwood noted. "When we told her the wisdom to bring more men to make the journey, she saw it as an open threat against herself."

"She is unwell at a moment when the Vale needs strength," Yohn said somberly. "Even with the Lannisters defeated, we'll be spending the next several years uprooting and defanging what they've started with the clans."

"I lost eleven men to those dirty brigands," Ser Symond Templeton had brought more than two hundred men with him to this parlay. However, when he had left the Eyrie, he had less than two dozen to make his return to his seat, Ninestars. His blue eyes were ice cold when he recalled his harrowing escape.

Ser Gilwood Hunter, another one of Lysa's suitors who had been staying in the Eyrie had recounted his own ordeal when making his return to Longbow Hall. "A Protector who can't protect her own roads," he had flecks of wine in his bushy mustache reminding Ned of a hound's wet muzzle after they raised their head from their water trough.

What has happened? Ned wondered after his good sister, and not for the first time. She had warned them of the Lannisters plot, but then had given them nothing but stony silence. Her family had asked for her help, but she ignored them. His Cat lived by her house's words, Family, Duty, Honor, but Lysa, he did not know what words if any she lived by. Certainly not her husband's.

A great noise pierced his thoughts. A wave of tumult carried through the camp as voices were raised, men were shouting over the rising commotion. Attack? Ned wondered if the mountain clans were attacking their camp.

"The mountain clans," growled Redfort who had come to a similar conclusion. He rose out of his seat as did several other Vale lords, but before any of them could leave, a figure came into the tent.

"My lords," It was Cley Cerwyn, Ned's squire. Pale face he reported the news that had set the camp into a frenzy. "Lady Lysa's caravan has been attacked on the road."

"M-mother?"

"No," Ned said softly to the shivering shadow that was his nephew.

Robert Arryn had wrapped himself tightly within his sheets and blankets. Using the bedding as a shell or a shield, he burrowed within them. All Ned could see of his nephew were his big eyes wet with tears. His face hooded in shadow, but the blankets that covered him were trembling. Sniffing and hiccupping followed to show, he was crying again.

"Enough," the word cut through the bickering Vale lords.

Ned had heard enough. How did it come to this? The recent memories played before him, first of his nephew, and then of Lysa, lying before him, while her body was being tended to by the Silent Sisters. What will I tell Cat? He worried how the news would affect her, especially now that she was with child.

My good sister is dead. To get the Vale at such a price, it turned his stomach. And my nephew is now an orphan. He was the reason for all the bickering, the Vale lords circled him like vultures. All wanting to take him, to make themselves the Regent of the Vale.

Robin had been saved by Ser Marwyn Belmore. The knight having rescued the boy in the middle of the chaos. He had saved him from the savage mountain clans, but not in time to save him from watching his guards die and his screaming mother being taken. The knights of the Vale had found her a day or more later, but she was already dead.

"Your king needs you," he said to the quiet Vale lords. Some looked contemplative, others gave him assuring nods, while some looked annoyed that he was interfering with their politics.

"And what of Lord Robert?" One of them asked, which one he could not guess.

"I will take him," Ned answered without hesitation. He owed Jon and Lysa that much. "I shall take him as my ward, just as Jon took and raised me." He knew Lord Arryn's reputation was still highly regarded amongst the Vale lords, and the reminder of Ned's fostering with him stirred the desired effect amongst them.

"I think Lord Robert would do well in the company of his family," Lord Royce agreed.

Others gave their approval, including Lady Waynwood and Lord Redfort, voices Ned knew he'd need to keep the Vale.

"And what of the Vale?"

"King Stannis will name an acting Warden of the East," Davos stepped forward, "King Stannis is a righteous man, he'll ensure the mountain clans will be punished for their attacks and he'll install a respectable lord," Davos; eyes then found Lady Waynwood, in which he amended, "Or lady to serve as Regent to oversee the Vale while Lord Robert is fostering at Winterfell."

"And what of the mountain clans?" Ser Symond Templeton asked, "We can't just empty our kingdom of men and knights while they're raiding and burning our lands and killing our people."

"We'll not take all of our levies," Lord Royce suggested. "We'll have some stay behind to fight the Mountain Clans and show them that the swords of the Vale have not dulled."

"And who will stay behind, Lord Royce," asked Ser Lyn Corbray. " You? " The word sent the nobles into another frenzy, as some of the support they had gotten, deflated with the notion that one of them would get the coveted position instead of them. For whoever stayed behind, it would surely help their chances at being named a potential Warden of the East and Regent of the Vale, if they could successfully disarm and defeat the clans.

Ned kept his eyes on the Vale knight, recalling an earlier conversation he had had with Davos. "Arranged by Littlefinger?"

Davos nodded. "Discreetly, but I made plenty of friends in Gulltown before I served Stannis," he said. "It's between Lord Lyonel and a merchant's daughter."

Ned had heard of Lyonel Corbray's pending marriage. It was why he excused himself from attending and sent his brother. Davos had warned him that Baelish had friends in Gulltown and in the Vale. Ned had just not thought those friends could be in such high places within the honorable lords of the Vale.

I told you not to trust me. He still dreamed of Petyr's dagger pressed against his throat, but in the dreams, it wasn't the royal family looking on, but his own. Before he could say anything to them, to calm them, to apologize, the dagger was always drawn across his throat.

Baelish is no friend of ours, he had experienced Littlefinger's fidelity. He planned to return Littlefinger the kindness at their next encounter, with Ice pressed against the back of Baelish's neck. They had no proof of Baelish's involvement in the Corbray match save for Gulltown gossip that Davos drudged up, but Ned believed the former smuggler. His time in the Black Cells may have shaken him, but he'd refuse to have it undo him.

"Sers Symond, Lyn," Ned's voice once more brought them to pause. "You've both proven your valor in battle, I believe King Stannis would agree with me that leaving you behind to fight the mountain clans would surely benefit the Vale," he saw the brief look of surprise at Ser Lyn, who clearly was anticipating a different name. Lord Royce, mayhaps? Ned didn't give him the opportunity. "With Lady Waynwood helping to maintain the Vale while keeping in contact with the Vale army. That will keep the Vale united in its purpose in aiding the one true king, Stannis Baratheon."

With his suggestion, he was honoring three noble houses of the Vale without a hint of favoring. Sers Lyn and Symond could cover themselves in glory against the mountain clans while Lady Anya, whose family was just as strong and respected, was given a position to help balance the two ambitious knights. If Corbray was in league with Baelish, better to keep him fighting the mountain clans instead of trying to undo the Vale alliance with King Stannis. And once news came of Baelish's defeat, the Corbrays would quietly return to the fold. Believing their ties to him would remain unknown.

His proposal was met with stony silence. He knew those named were quite pleased at being chosen but would not dare be the first to show their support for it.

"I think it a fine idea, Lord Stark," Lord Redfort wrapped his knuckles across the table.

Lord Royce echoed his agreement. Their support helped to push the other nobles who were undecided while those who were friends with Corbray, Templeton or Waynwood would be last to give their acceptance, while all hoping for their own gains.

When the commotion died down amongst them, Ned pushed himself to his feet, ignoring the pain in his leg. "Will the men of the Vale heed their king's call?"

They answered as one, rising to their feet, and drawing their swords. They raised their voices to chant: "Stannis! Stannis! STANNIS!"

The army of the Vale was marching to war.

Garlan:

"To me, to me!" Garlan shouted over the wails of the dying. In mud and shit, he fought.

Robb Stark's army had been far deeper in the Reach then they realized. Their movement had been shielded while a false trail had been planted. They had been told the Young Wolf was days away. When in truth he was actually south of Goldengrove, on the westbank of the river, lying in wait. They didn't realize the deception until it was too late.

Early in the fighting, he had seen Lord Tarly pulled from his horse by the direwolf. He had promised to return to the capital with the wolf's pelt, but it was the beast that claimed him. Monstrous, was the word that came to him when he saw the direwolf. The stories didn't do it justice, larger than a horse. It prowled the battlefield like an escaped monster from your worst nightmare. Then the battle got worse when houses Rowan, Florent, and Oakheart turned cloak, striking them from the rear.

They were losing, but he couldn't think of his family's legacy or even his father's absence. Leonette , the word was the charge that made him fight. He was trying to rally what remained of his men, to organize a retreat. The battle had turned into a slaughter.

This all passed before his mind in the time it took him to raise his sword and deflect a strike. Garlan's sword sent the northmen into the ground, sensing danger he spun to deflect another blow, pushing the attacker away. They stumbled in the mud, surprised by his quick reflexes, his opponent fell into the mud with a shout. There was no honor in it, but Garlan stuck his sword through his tripped opponent without hesitation.

"Men!" Garlan was cutting and hacking his way out when he saw the opening. A sliver, as if an invisible sword had cut through the maelstrom of battle. He urged his men forward. He wasn't thinking of victory or defeat, only to escape.

The ground was slick, making Garlan's foot slip. He caught himself before tumbling, but the action made him look down to see he had stepped inside someone's caved chest. Garlan's stomach twisted. His foot was covered in white, writhing intestines that slithered over and around him as if they were living. He freed his foot, ignoring the wet squelch it made, when it slipped out of the spongy flesh of the corpse.

No older than ten and five, he thought grimly, a nameless face laying in a pool of his own blood, piss, and shit. He kept moving, leading his men, trying to escape this battle that moved and reacted all around them like a living thing.

A howl cut through the clamor of swords. It struck a chill through him, sinking into his sinews and marrow like cold fangs.

"RUN!"

"SEVEN HELLS!"

"IT'S THE WOLF!"

The voices rose in a frenzied panic as his men lost all control. The wolf sent them scattering. He heard their hurried footsteps from behind him before he felt them. Shoving, and pushing him, a stampede of men desperately trying to escape. One of them barreled through Garlan, sending him crashing into the ground.

My own men, he thought in a daze, while his fingers clawed the mud, trying to find purchase. He was about to push himself up until he was sent back into the ground, hard. His men stomped him, sending jolts of pain through him from where they were stepping on him. Back, arms, shoulders, each footstep pushing his body deeper into the battlefield stew of mud, blood, shit, and guts. It leaked into his mouth. The taste made his stomach churn violently. He saw blackness and fuzzy white stars. His hands scrambled to free him from the wet, sucking grip of the ground.

His heart pounded hard and painful against his ribs. His thoughts clamored and crowded each other forming a seething mass of confusion. Leonette, he tried to use her name to calm himself, to direct himself. Her face swam into view, pretty and smiling. Her eyes wet with tears at their parting, despite his assurances he'd return to her. I must.

He pushed down his own fear, his own revulsion to free himself from the mud. The air was a gentle kiss against his caked face. The first breath was a shudder, and the second. His vision blurry as grime trickled down his eyes from his forehead. He was one of thousands, fighting and dying, each man their own little island. Enemy and ally, wrought with the same fears, the same pains, fathers, and sons, and brothers just like them, with mothers and wives, and sisters or children waiting for them. Time slowed down, each breath passing before him felt like a minute instead of the heartbeats it was.

The slow spread of time sprung back to an instant like a pulled coil. The cold fear slid down his back, at the sound of footsteps, but he was already reacting, raising his sword, but he was too slow. The jaws of the monstrous direwolf crushed his arm with a savage bite.

Garlan screamed, watching his sword drop from fingers, he could no longer feel, or control. The direwolf's breath hit him in waves of hot puffs. It carried a noxious odor that made his stomach twist. He tried to free himself, but the wolf was merciless. Its large, yellow teeth sunk deeper into his arm and with a shake of its massive head, he felt the pull before he heard the wet crunch. His arm dangled in the wolf's mouth like some toy before it dropped it, uninterested. Its maw was red and its yellow eyes gleamed.

His other hand went for the dagger at his belt, ignoring the pain, he rallied around her name, her face, but the wolf was so much faster. It tackled him to the ground, pushing the air out of his lungs. He gasped, as its massive paws sunk into him, pushing him deeper into the soiled, sucking embrace of the earth. Feeling the tears pool in his eyes as the pain burned through his body. With his fingers still on the sheathed dagger, he felt the jaws at his neck. He tried to say her name, but it was smothered in his shattered throat.

Her face swam into view for a lone, bright instant. He felt neither pain nor fear, taking succor in his wife's loveliness, and then the black swallowed her and his whole world with it.

A/N:

RIP Garlan and Lysa.

Lysa's that bad boss none of your coworkers complain about until they're all out together at happy hour. Ned gains the Vale, but loses his good sister. Whoops. Her death may be a bit sudden & jarring, but I did drop earlier hints of the Mountain clans being dangerous and attacking caravans and the like. However, I also won't blame anyone for forgetting them since those took place in chapters that happened many months ago. That's why I added a bit in the first scene to show their dangers and Lysa's continued mishandling of them.

Thanks to everyone who suggested battles, I appreciate it. In the end, I decided to make Garlan's POV short and to just drop him into the middle of the action. Some inspiration for the battle comes from the Battle of the Trebia. But again these aren't one to one comparisons. Again, sorry for the poor battle scene, but at least I wrote it relatively short this time to spare you the pain of having to read it.

Garlan's death may be too similar to Kevan's for some of your liking, but I thought it made sense that their last seconds would be of their loved ones as they're dying. I also wanted to give them 'unfair' ends: Kevan's body being stripped, Garlan being trampled by his own men to show the ugliness of war. These aren't the songs.

If you want to label this story a "Stark Wank" you can, it definitely has merit. To me, I'd call it: "Everything's coming up Stannis!" And he doesn't even have to show up to make it happen. That being said, I've tried to make the opposing side (Myrcella, Kevan, Garlan) sympathetic so their loss/defeat/death brings some sense of sympathy and regret. Now, the level of success (if any) I've had is entirely up to you, the reader.

Until next time,

-Spectre4hire

An additional author's ramblings/confession:

Working on this story just made me realize, I'm never going to try to write a fic like this again. It's just too many mistakes that I regret. I should've trimmed the povs by way more than I did. Or just never attempted to write this sequel and leave it as a single story. I mean OBAS has 3,000 favorites while this story hasn't even reached 1,000 yet. So clearly lots of fans were content with OBAS and how it ended. Is there some sort of curse for sequels? I blame the muse.

To those who have followed this sequel, you are my rock, and the reason I'm still writing this. So thank you so much for your incredible patience and support. All of which is awesome and humbling, especially the idea that a story focused on a rare pairing Domeric/Sansa could first generate 3,000 favorites and then have a sequel that is still compelling enough to bring in close to 1,000 favorites. These are not small numbers and I'm so thankful for you all for taking the time to not only check out this random pairing and idea, but staying with it, and going further by showing your support with favorites, followers, and wonderful reviews. THANK YOU!

I'm hoping the next chapter will not take nearly as long as this one (Ned's POV really dragged me down). Also if anyone is concerned, this story is fully outlined, with each chapter having a summary of what happens, but sometimes its a bit difficult to take those paragraphs and turn them into actual scenes.

To any readers who also follow my new ironborn OC story: "Farwynd & Fire" expect an update this week.