Ned stood with Robert, Jon Arryn and Hoster Tully, waiting for the arrival of the Terras who had informed them that they would be returning his father, his sister, and Ethan Glover. When Ned had first received the letter informing him of their imminent arrival, he had dismissed it, thinking it a ruse of sorts. After all, if his father, sister and bannerman had been abducted from the hold of the Targaryens it would be known throughout the realm within a fortnight from gossip alone. Still, he was here, in no small part due to the men and women who stood behind him.
The Echoes had become a significant force in the rebel army. Ten marcher men and woman who had joined up with the rebellion at its infancy in the Stormlands. They had distinguished themselves at the battles of Summerhall. Earned renown at Ashford. Expanded though the Reach and Riverlands, and finally become legendary during the preamble, and battle, of Stoney Sept. They numbered a mere two-hundred men and thirty women, but each of them had been grown, trained, and raised from simple peasants or militiamen into warriors. They wore armour befitting of knights, mostly due to the fact that most had taken their armour from knights they had killed. Some of the knights of the rebel side had scorned peasants wearing the garb of nobles, much less knights of the seven, but few could say anything, and those who did often answered to the ten captains of the company.
Ned of course had little to complain about, for the North cared not for the seven and their traditions in the face of capable warriors clad in well forged armour. Robert cared even less and could often be found celebrating nights alongside the rowdy common men who made up the company.
It was the men of the Vale and Riverlands who had held the greatest distaste for the Echoes ways of armouring and arming themselves. More than one knight of the Vale's ancient houses had offered challenges to members of the Echoes, and while a many of them had emerged victorious from their duels, the fact that any of these peasant men and women had bested the pride and chivalry of two of the seven kingdoms had bred some bad blood within their own forces.
Jon and Denys Arryn had done what they could, and Ned knew that his foster father had worked hard to deal with the lingering resentment that was present in the honourable men of the Vale in the face of the 'dishonour' that was the appropriation of knightly arms and armour by common men. Jon himself was less than pleased with it, something Ned could understand given how deeply the Vale's history was rooted in their chivalric traditions. The Arryns, the Corbrays, the Waynwoods, they descended from the oldest knightly houses of the Andals, the first real knights to land in Westeros during the coming of those people from across the sea.
Still, Jon Arryn's pragmatism outweighed his distaste, as it should in Ned opinion, and the increase in skilled and armed men in their army was not something to bemoan given how outnumbered they still were by those forces who proclaimed loyalty to the dragons. The forces of the Reach still outnumbered them two to one, and their sides would not truly even until Robert's marriage to Lady Cersei Lannister and the joining of the Old Lion's armies with their own.
Ned scowled slightly when he thought of Lord Tywin. The man was a shrewd one, and Ned was not convinced of the idea that the Lord of Casterly Rock had joined their forces and bound himself to their cause simply because he believed in it. The man had already secured a high position for his daughter, and if the war ended in rebel victory it was likely Tywin would get to see what he had wanted for years; his daughter, his blood, seated on the Iron Throne.
No matter Eddard's dislike for the man's guile and cunning, he was grateful for the man's plans, at least in some ways. The revelation of the Echoes ten captains had been something of a shock, given how much of their renown had been how long they had been members of the Rebellion. The idea that Lord Tywin had had his forces aiding them from the shadows for so long with no one the wiser was a chilling one, but could Ned truly complain when it was him Tywin's forces had fought for, his friend they had saved, and his army that they had trained and kept alive?
Ned was cut off suddenly from his inner thoughts by the sound of something large approaching. The sound of thundering hooves echoes along the road and Ned saw a large shape appear around the bend in the forest that surrounded the western side of their camp. From the trees, a large carriage appeared, drawn by a quintet of horses and driven by a man. Ned tensed and looking around, he could see that the rest of the rebel lords, from Jon Arryn to Hoster Tully and even Robert, seemed to share in his nervousness.
The man driving the carriage stopped somewhat clumsily, bringing the carriage to a stop, and revealing it to be longer than Ned originally thought. The door on the side swung open and Ned prepared himself for disappointment. He was spared that feeling however, when the familiar form of his father marched down onto the dirt in front of him. In an instant, Ned felt emotion erupt in his chest. Breaking every rule of polite decorum, he brought into a jog and rushed towards his father.
Rickard Stark barely looked up before Ned was pulling the man into a hug. The old lord of Winterfell felt his son wrap his arms around him and with a smile of his own to match his son's he returned the embrace with gusto,
"Father." Ned's voice quivered and for a moment he feared that he might start crying in front of his men.
He managed to hold back his tears, though they still shined unshed in his eyes, as he pulled back from the hug to look at his father's face. The older Stark was worn and gaunt, thin from the months of time spent in captivity, but still looked strong in his own way and stood tall and form as he held his son by the arms.
"Ned." He breathed, placing his hands on his son's shoulders and regarding the boy he had left behind, who had in such a short time transformed into a man.
"Father." Ned repeated, marvelling at the sight of his father standing before him.
His eyes widened as he realised just how he had broken formality, and he dropped to one knee in front of him.
"Lord Stark." He said. "The North is yours. I have led your forces in your absence, I hope to your satisfaction."
Rickard regarded his son as he knelt down.
"Rise, Lord Stark." He placed his hand on Eddard's shoulder. "In this time of crisis for our house, you did well to rise as the Lord of Winterfell. I have heard of your actions in avenging our family, and I can say that you have performed with a vigour and ability that has impressed our ancestors and marvelled me."
Ned rose to his feet, staring shocked at Rickard who gave him a warm smile.
Movement from the carriage stopped Ned in his tracks, tearing away the joy from the long overdue reunion between father and son.
"Lyanna."
Lyanna Stark barely looked at her brother. Her eyes were empty and blank, staring off into the distance as if looking at something that no one else could see. Around her, several people who Eddard could only guess were maesters and midwives crowded around her, helping his heavily pregnant sister as she disembarked from the carriage.
Seeing the bulge of her belly. Ned felt his stomach twist, and a renewed distaste for Rhaegar Targaryen fill him. His sister had once been a girl of such vigour, such wildness and exuberance. She could fill the whole of Winterfell with laughter over her antics and had been the darling of the North. Now that wild girl was but a pale shadow of her former self. She walked as if she was following a path she did not know, always hunched and looking smaller than he had seen her since she had been a child. As he watched her, Ned felt a pang of regret fill his chest. Perhaps he should have answered her letters, or at least read the later ones rather than simply leave them unread in his saddleback.
As he reached out to her, his father caught his hand, holding him back with a sorrowful look in his eye.
"Leave her." He said, returning Ned attention to him. "She hasn't been the same since her silver prince died."
Rickard spat the words 'silver prince' as if they were poison, but Lyanna seemed to take no heed of the venom in her father's word towards her husband. She simply walked, ushered forth by her attendants.
"Father," he said, watching his sister retreat. "How did this happen?"
"Inside." Rickard said, turning to regard the rest of the rebel lords. "We can discuss this, and other matters further with privacy."
As the assembled lords turned to leave there was noticeable dip and squeak from the carriage. Stepping out and into the road, a man Ned recognised disembarked. Lord Kurt Ambrose of House Terra cut an imposing presence no matter where one was, especially since he stood taller than even the mountain that rides, according to some. But standing there, accompanying his father and sister, having delivered them from Targaryen hands, Ned felt a shiver travel up his spine at the forces the man must have commanded.
As the other lords in attendance turned to leave. Ned stayed behind with his father, offering a smaller but heartfelt greeting to Lord Glover before the three men moved toward the command tent of the rebel army. As they passed the ten captains, Lord Ambrose turned to regard each one.
"Well done." He offered a warm smile and a nod. "Take the next few days for shore leave. No mission parameters."
"Yes Sir." They all chorused, snapping into crisp stances that Ned assumed to be some kind of Terra salute.
As they entered into the tent that served as the meeting place for the commanding lords of the rebel army, the united front of the rebels quickly turned to regard Lord Ambrose with suspicion and weariness. In turn, the Lord of Fair Isle returned their suspicion with a kind smile.
"I assume that we have business to discuss."
Ned moved around the man, while his father took a seat next to the spartan lord. As he sat, making sure that his father was never far, with Robert on his other side and the rest of the lords around the table, they listened to what information that Lord Terra provided them.
"King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar are dead, and the remaining members of the royal family are safely removed form the Red Keep and King's Landing in our custody. News of this will likely spread in the coming days or weeks."
It was quite a piece of information to simply announce, much less with the calm and casual nature that Lord Terra delivered it. The silence that followed the revelation was loaded and potent as a cask of wildfire and exploded with about the same force as the assembled lords erupted into accusations, deliberations, and argument.
"The mad king is dead?" One Riverlord demanded, seeming almost disbelieving.
"He was assassinated successfully just three days ago. It is likely that ravens or other modes of communication will be sent out." Lord Terra said.
"It was your men who killed him?" Asked Jon Arryn. His commanding voice cutting through the chaos.
The entire table fell silent as they regarded the man.
"One of my men did kill King Aerys." Kurt nodded. "I myself killed Prince Rhaegar during the operation."
Silence reigned and Ned felt a thousand words he wanted to say to the man. Turning to his father, he looked for confirmation from the Lord of Winterfell. As their eyes met, Rickard only offered the faintest of nods in answer, but it was enough for Ned.
In that instant, he didn't know what to do. He was of course happy for the quick and mostly bloodless way the war had ended, but at the same time it seemed so… flat. He had expected the war to end in battle, a battle where he could face the men who had harmed his family on the field of battle and slay them there. To know what Aerys and Rhaegar had been ended by knives in their own homes, it prickled at Ned's honour to hear that the dragons had been killed in such a way."
"Bah." Robert spat. "Too good a death for the madman and his spawn, and the rest?"
Ned felt his blood freeze at the fire in Robert's voice. Of course, he did not mourn the death of Aerys or Rhaegar, no matter his thoughts on the manner of their deaths, but Robert's fury seemed to have moved to more than just the mad king and his son.
"Safely in our custody." Lord Terra said, smiling kindly. "And there they will stay, until your coronation Lord Baratheon."
Robert's eyes widened looking around as if wondering who else Lord Terra might be speaking to.
"You are the next in line, are you not?" The Lord of Fair Isle asked. "Lord Tywin offered you his daughter so that she might be queen, and so far, there is no one else that the lords of Westeros could raise as the next king."
The rebel lords looked amongst themselves before their gazes landed firmly on Robert, who seemed at once rather uncomfortable with the attention for once.
Ned understood his old friend. Robert had never really cared for the crown that might have come with winning. They had only really rebelled because of the madness of Aerys in demanding their heads and falsely execution Ned's family. The idea of usurping the crown from Aerys and the Targaryens had only come later, long after the knowledge of Lyanna and Rhaegar's true actions had come to light
"Unless of course you would prefer we allow Prince Aegon to take the throne." Lord Terra said, sitting straight in his chair and regarding them with serious eyes.
Not one of the rebel lords seemed even to consider it, and neither did Ned. A babe Aegon might be, but he was of Aerys and Rhaegar's blood, and the chances of him inheriting his father and grandfather madness was not unlikely. Not only that, but none of them wanted a king who would most likely hold rather strong grudges against their houses considering their rebellion against his family.
"No." Said Jon Arryn. "After all that has been done, all the death. We have fought too hard to see the throne passed on to the son and grandson of two madmen."
"Agreed." Nodded Lord Royce. "The Great Council of 233 discounted the claim of prince Maegor, son of Aerion Targaryen, due to the need for a long regency and fear of the Targaryen madness. Prince Aegon has come from not only Aerys' line, but also Rhaegar, who has proven to be almost as mad as his father, though perhaps not quite so openly cruel."
"Either way." Lord Kurt said. "Lord Tywin and the Westerlands are willing to place their backing towards Lord Robert's claim."
"And in doing so, he will have his daughter as queen once Robert is coronated." Lord Estermont said, a sneer on his face.
Lord Terra simply shrugged.
"If you wish to speak more of that, you should speak with Lord Tywin, I am merely here to deliver Lord and Lady Stark and Lord Glover and inform you of the actions that Lord Tywin has ordered."
The meeting carried on for a while more, though it mostly consisted of the lords debating the risks and rewards of a march on King's Landing before word of the King's death reached every corner of the kingdoms. Lord Terra had not added much more after his initial announcement, and when the meeting finally did end, he immediately went to meet with his ten spartans who had aided their army.
As the sun set and the campfires began to burn in the darkness, Ned ushered his father to his tent in the part of the camp that the Northerners had gathered together and claimed.
"By the gods." Great Jon Umber bellowed, lifting his tankard of ale. "Rickard? Is that you?"
Several other men stopped in their drinking and merrymaking, instead looking at the newly returned Lord of the North.
"Lord Umber." Rickard nodded. "I don't suppose you have a tankard for me?"
The massive Northern lord snapped out of his shock a moment later, laughing up roaringly before yelling for another mug of ale.
"Of course, my lord. The day the Umbers run out of ale for the Starks is the day the Others cross the wall, though I'd have to trade it for the story of how you got here my lord."
Other Northemen and lords seemed to be gathering around them, looking at his father as if he were a ghost. Rickard just took the mug of ale that was offered in time by Lord Umber and sat down on a log.
"Of course, my lord, I'd never deprive my men of how I valiantly escaped from the maw of the dragon."
Ned sat beside his father and allowed himself the bask in his return. The lords and men around him seemed to forget about him over the night, only really speaking to his father. They asked about his escape, about the Targaryens, and his father returned their interest with stories of the black cells. Ned shivered at the thought of them, but the way Rickard spoke of it, it wasn't nearly as bad as he'd heard from the stories that the southerners told of the lowest levels of Maegor's dungeons.
As the night dragged on, Ned found himself laughing, almost free of care for the first time in weeks. His father was home, as was his sister. Brandon was dead, but the rest of his family was finally safe, and the war seemed to be entering its last stages.
Ned finally entered into the Stark tent, where he had eaten worked, and slept for the last year. Looking around, he found his father sitting at the wooden desk that rested at one end of the tent. It occurred to Ned in that moment that this tent, the tent of the Lord of Winterfell, was no longer his. He turned, making to leave, but a voice stopped him.
"Ned, wait."
Turning back, he met his father's eyes, and there was a sadness in them.
"Come and sit son. There are some things we must speak of."
Ned approached, nervous all of a sudden at the tone of his father's voice.
"Ned. I know about you and Ashara Dayne."
As Ned listened, he felt the bottom drop from his stomach. He felt his heart drop into a pit in his chest, and he wondered if the gods had decided he was to suffer endlessly for holding to oaths that he had not made, responsibilities that were not his, all for honour's sake.
A short chapter, but I wanted to do something for Ned, and I'm just glad I can catch up on the backlog by adding this one. As you can guess, Rickard's return is not all good news, and Ned is not going to be happy learning about what he's lost.
We'll likely spend a chapter or two amongst the locals before we get back to the Plataea again. The great council is coming up, as is Kurt's wedding to Rhaella. What a spectacle that will be, and what a reaction Tywin will have.
I've also just realised something. I write best when under monumental stress, which probably explains why I got so little done over the summer. Thankfully now I'm back to work and study, and as I get more stressed I'll write faster XD.